The crimson eclipse hung over Eldrin like a bleeding wound in the sky, its light casting the city in a surreal glow of red and shadow. The air was thick with the scent of blood and ash, a lingering echo of the Eclipse Hollow's rift, and the ground trembled faintly with the Abyssborn's heartbeat—a rhythm that seemed to pulse in time with Beelzebub's own. At Level 29, with 13545 EXP, Beelzebub's stats were a towering force—Strength at 3629, Speed at 3038, Defense at 2231, Mana at 4344, Luck at 275, Charisma at 275 after absorbing the Eclipse Harbinger's essence. His aura, a twenty-meter storm of cold dominance amplified by his Devourer profession, now shimmered with void-like tendrils laced with crimson, a visual testament to the Crimson Eclipse bloodline and Bloodlight Surge talent. The SS-tier Eclipse Scythe in his hand glowed with a blood-red hue (+100 Strength, +35% Blood Damage), its hum a constant reminder of the Abyssborn's rising influence.
The voices in his mind—Harbinger's bloodlight, Wraith's shadow, Fate's starlight—clawed louder, a cacophony that threatened to unravel him. Blood… void… chaos… who am I? The strain of Gluttony pulsed harder, his identity a fraying tapestry woven with stolen wills. He clenched the Eclipse Scythe, its crimson glow reflecting in his void-like eyes—eyes that now flickered with a blood-red sheen, a physical manifestation of his evolving magic. He growled, "I'm Beelzebub," shoving the chaos down, but the doubt in his crimson gaze deepened. The Abyssborn's presence was no longer a whisper—it was a roar, and he felt its gaze like a weight on his soul, tempting him with power while threatening to consume him.
Ryn walked beside him, her cloak stained with the ash of the Eclipse Hollow, her dagger sheathed but her posture alert. Her trust had risen to 48% after their shared moment in the rift, and her eyes, though shadowed by her cursed past, held a quiet resolve as she glanced at the crimson sky. "The eclipse… it's not fading," she said, her voice soft but heavy with unease. "The Abyssborn—it's closer than ever."
Beelzebub turned, Charisma weaving a flirty edge into his sharp tone, but his gaze softened with a rare vulnerability. "It's calling, Blade. But I'll make it kneel. Stay with me—you'll see me break it." Her lips curved into a faint smile, her trust ticking up to 50%, a milestone in their bond. She stepped closer, her hand brushing his arm, the touch a quiet anchor against the storm within. "I believe you," she whispered, her voice a thread of hope that warmed him more than he'd admit.
The streets of Eldrin buzzed with panic, NPCs whispering prayers to gods who no longer answered, players crowding the leaderboard crystal: "1. Beelzebub (Lv. 29), 2. Kael (Lv. 26), 3. Mira (Lv. 24), 4. Lia (Lv. 23), 5–10 TBD." Tales of Beelzebub's SS-rank clear spread like wildfire, but the crimson eclipse cast a pall over the city, its light reflecting off ancient murals on the walls—murals depicting a devourer breaking chains, a recurring symbol of the Abyssborn's freedom that Beelzebub couldn't ignore. The murals seemed to shift in the bloodlit glow, as if alive, whispering of a past where the gods trembled before a primordial chaos.
A vision flickered in his mind, unbidden—a parallel timeline from the perspective of an ancient Mage Guild scholar, seen through the eyes of a woman named Sereth, who had witnessed the Abyssborn's sealing. She stood in a tower, her hands trembling as she inscribed a tome, her voice a whisper as she spoke to her apprentice. "The gods bind it, but its chaos cannot be contained," she said, her quill scratching against parchment. "A devourer will rise… and the Realms will burn." The vision faded, leaving Beelzebub staggering, his breath ragged. The voices screamed—Chaos… blood… who am I?—the Abyssborn's will brushing against his own, a whisper of power that both tempted and terrified. The tome Sereth had written—it was the same one the Mage Guild now held, its words a prophecy that named him the Devourer.
The Mage Guild's summons came with urgency, their trust at 93% but laced with desperation. Beelzebub and Ryn entered the guildhall, the air thick with the scent of ancient parchment and the faint glow of enchanted tomes. Elaraen, the senior scholar, awaited them, her hands trembling as she opened the glowing tome. "The crimson eclipse—it's a gateway," she said, her voice a whisper. "The Abyssborn's influence grows. It's summoning its heralds… and you, Beelzebub, are its target." Her eyes met his, a mix of fear and hope. "You must face it—or it will consume you."
Beelzebub's smirk was cold, but a philosophical question gnawed at him, unvoiced: Am I the Devourer of chaos, or its vessel? "I don't bow to anything," he said, his tone a blade. The guild's trust ticked up to 94%, their desperation outweighing their fear.
A rift opened in Eldrin's square, the crimson eclipse's light pouring through—a gateway to the Bloodlit Expanse, an SS-rank dungeon born of the Abyssborn's will. Beelzebub's HUD pinged: "Clear the SS-Rank Dungeon: Bloodlit Expanse. Slay the Bloodlit Herald. Reward: 1100 EXP, 440 Copper, Achievement." The rift pulsed with a heartbeat, its edges lined with runes that bled crimson, their script a lament for the gods' hubris in sealing the Abyssborn. Beelzebub grinned, aura surging—parchment fluttering as he turned to Ryn. "Another SS-rank, Blade. Ready?"
She nodded, her trust steady at 50%. "With you, always."
The Bloodlit Expanse was a hellscape of crimson and shadow, its ground slick with blood, the air thick with the scent of iron and decay. The crimson eclipse hung overhead, its light casting jagged shadows that writhed like living things. Shadows surged: Bloodlit Shades, Level 70, spectral warriors with blades of congealed blood, sixty strong, their forms radiating a darkness tinged with crimson. Beelzebub's aura erupted—ground cracking as he swung the Eclipse Scythe, Strength at 3729 (gear-boosted) cleaving the first Shade's core. Blood damage flared, 35% bonus igniting—crimson spraying as Crimson Wave (Mastery to 2/10) slashed through another, bloodlight tearing through shadow.
They retaliated—blades slashing in a storm of crimson, their movements a blur of lethal precision. He weaved, Speed at 3068 (gear-adjusted) dodging a flurry, then Phantom Step (10/10) flickered him mid-strike—Eclipse Scythe arcing, Crimson Tide (Mastery to 8/10) carving eight more, bloodlight clashing with crimson. A blade grazed his side—HP dipping 28%, Paladin's Crest ticking it back. Storm Call (10/10) erupted—lightning chaining through eighteen, void sizzling, screams echoing. Horned Frenzy flared, Speed spiking to 4602—Eclipse Scythe whirled, Whisper of the Void (Mastery to 3/10) unleashing a shadow wave, Abyssal Resonance amplifying the darkness. The last charged—Void Grasp (10/10) pinned it, Strength snapping its core. Sixty fell, the expanse trembling.
"Ding! 60 Bloodlit Shades defeated. Absorbed: Strength +300, Speed +240, Defense +180, Mana +360, Luck +60, Charisma +60."
The Bloodlit Herald rose from the expanse's heart—a Level 75 colossus of blood and shadow, its massive greatsword dripping with crimson essence, eyes glowing like twin eclipses. "The Abyssborn's will… you will serve," it intoned, voice a storm of blood and void. Beelzebub grinned, aura surging—ground splintering—as he charged, Eclipse Scythe raised.
The Herald swung—greatsword arcing in a wave of crimson, reality fraying at its edge. He leaped, Speed at 3308 weaving through, then countered with Radiant Strike (10/10)—holy light slashing its arm, void hissing. It retaliated—crimson wave rippling, slamming him into a wall—HP dropping 50%. He laughed, aura pulsing, Mana Surge spiking Mana to 6516. Crimson Wave (Mastery to 3/10) roared—bloodlight clashing with crimson, Bloodlight Surge amplifying the damage.
The greatsword spun—Dark Aegis (10/10) rose, splintering under the blow—HP dipping 40%. Beelzebub darted, Shadow Bind (10/10) locking its arm—greatsword faltered. He lunged, Crimson Tide slashing its side—bloodlight cutting deep, a bleed igniting. The Herald roared—crimson storm erupting, throwing him back—HP falling 45%. He rolled, Speed weaving through debris, then Horned Frenzy flared—Speed at 4962—Eclipse Scythe a blur, Whisper of the Void unleashing a shadow wave. Crimson Rage ignited as HP dropped below 50%, damage surging.
It thrust—crimson piercing stone. Void Grasp countered, tendrils snapping its wrist—greatsword clattered. Beelzebub leaped, Wraith Slash (Mastery to 10/10—maxed) carving its neck—mana flared, void damage searing. The Herald roared—Storm Call crashed lightning down, ground shattering. He gripped the Eclipse Scythe, Strength at 4029 driving it through its core—crimson exploded, HP dropping 50%. The Herald collapsed, blood pooling, its final whisper echoing: "The Abyssborn… claims."
"Ding! Bloodlit Herald defeated. Absorbed: Strength +500, Speed +400, Defense +300, Mana +600, Luck +20, Charisma +20, Bloodline: Bloodlit Sovereign (Crimson Resistance +10%), Talent: Bloodstorm Pulse (Boost crimson-based skills), Bloodstorm Strike (Skill). Loot: Bloodlit Crown (SS-tier, Accessory, +80 Mana, +25% Crimson Damage), Copper x2200."
Skills: Bloodstorm Strike (Unleash crimson-charged strike, Mastery: 1/10)
"Ding! Quest Complete. Reward: 1100 EXP, 440 Copper, Achievement: Bloodlit Conqueror – First to clear the Bloodlit Expanse. Reward: 800 EXP, Title: Bloodlit Sovereign (+5% Defense)."
"Ding! Level Up! Reached Level 30. EXP: 15895/5500."
The voices screamed—Blood… crimson… void… who?—Herald's bloodstorm, Wraith's shadow, Fate's light. His skull split—Bloodlit Sovereign's heat, Bloodstorm Pulse's rhythm threading into him. He staggered, aura flaring—ground crumbling. "I'm Beelzebub," he growled, but Gluttony's strain pulsed harder—identity fraying further. His aura shifted, now a storm of void and crimson, a visual cue of his evolving magic.
Ryn stepped closer, her hand on his chest, her touch a quiet anchor. "You're… becoming something else," she said, her voice soft, laced with awe and concern. "But I'm with you… no matter what."
He turned, Charisma weaving a flirty edge into his tone, but his eyes held a flicker of gratitude. "Good, Blade. I'll need you." Her trust ticked up to 52%, the moment of vulnerability deepening their bond.