The crimson eclipse over Eldrin pulsed like a beating heart, its blood-red light casting long, jagged shadows across the city's cobblestone streets. The air was heavy with the scent of iron and decay, a lingering echo of the Bloodlit Expanse, and the ground trembled with the Abyssborn's heartbeat—a rhythm that seemed to resonate in Beelzebub's chest, a call he couldn't ignore. At Level 30, with 15895 EXP, Beelzebub's stats were a monument to his ascent—Strength at 4529, Speed at 3678, Defense at 2711, Mana at 5304, Luck at 355, Charisma at 355. His aura, a twenty-meter storm of cold dominance amplified by his Devourer profession, shimmered with void-like tendrils laced with crimson, a visual testament to the Bloodlit Sovereign bloodline and Bloodstorm Pulse 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 claim: "The Abyssborn… claims."
The voices in his mind—Herald's bloodstorm, 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 a storm now, its will pressing against his own, tempting him with power while threatening to consume him. A philosophical question gnawed at him, unvoiced: Am I the Devourer of chaos, or its vessel?
Ryn walked beside him, her cloak stained with the blood and ash of the Bloodlit Expanse, her dagger sheathed but her posture tense. Her trust had risen to 52% after their shared moment in the expanse, and her eyes, though shadowed by her cursed past, held a quiet determination as she glanced at the crimson sky. "The eclipse… it's growing," she said, her voice soft but heavy with unease. "The Abyssborn—it's not just claiming. It's planning."
Beelzebub turned, Charisma weaving a flirty edge into his sharp tone, but his gaze softened with a rare vulnerability. "It can plan all it wants, Blade. I'll break its game. Stay with me—you'll see me win." Her lips curved into a faint smile, her trust ticking up to 54%, the bond between them deepening with each shared trial. She stepped closer, her hand resting on his arm, the touch a quiet anchor against the storm within. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispered, her voice a thread of resolve that warmed him more than he'd admit.
The streets of Eldrin were chaotic, NPCs fleeing in panic, players crowding the leaderboard crystal: "1. Beelzebub (Lv. 30), 2. Kael (Lv. 27), 3. Mira (Lv. 25), 4. Lia (Lv. 24), 5–10 TBD." Whispers of Beelzebub's SS-rank clears and the crimson eclipse spread like wildfire, but the ancient murals on the walls—depicting a devourer breaking chains—seemed to glow in the bloodlit light, as if alive. The symbol of shattered chains, a recurring motif of the Abyssborn's freedom, whispered of a past where the gods trembled before a primordial chaos. Beelzebub's gaze lingered on the murals, a flicker of recognition in his eyes—the same chains he'd seen in his visions, the same devourer the Mage Guild's tomes named him.
A vision flickered in his mind, unbidden—a parallel timeline from the perspective of the Goddess of Fate, seen through her golden eyes as she stood in a celestial hall, her loom of starlight trembling. "The Devourer rises," she whispered to the Goddess of Life, her voice heavy with dread. "He breaks the chains we forged… and the Abyssborn stirs." The Goddess of Life, her golden hair shimmering like sunlight, placed a hand on her shoulder, her voice soft but resolute. "We cannot stop him… but we can guide him." The vision faded, leaving Beelzebub staggering, his breath ragged. The voices screamed—Fate… light… chaos… who am I?—the Abyssborn's will brushing against his own, a whisper of power that both tempted and terrified. The goddesses' words echoed in his mind, a prophecy that named him the Devourer, but also hinted at a choice—stop him, or guide him.
The Mage Guild's summons came with desperation, their trust at 94% but laced with fear. 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 summons," she said, her voice a whisper. "The Abyssborn has sent another herald… one stronger than the last. It seeks to test you, Beelzebub. To claim you." Her eyes met his, a mix of fear and hope. "You must face it—or it will consume the Realms."
Beelzebub's smirk was cold, but the philosophical question lingered, unvoiced: Am I the Devourer of fate, or its pawn? "I don't bow to tests," he said, his tone a blade. The guild's trust ticked up to 95%, their desperation outweighing their fear.
A rift opened in Eldrin's northern wastes, the crimson eclipse's light pouring through—a gateway to the Abyssal Crucible, an SS-rank dungeon born of the Abyssborn's will. Beelzebub's HUD pinged: "Clear the SS-Rank Dungeon: Abyssal Crucible. Slay the Abyssal Herald. Reward: 1200 EXP, 480 Copper, Achievement." The rift pulsed with a heartbeat, its edges lined with runes that bled crimson and shadow, 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 54%. "With you, always."
The Abyssal Crucible was a hellscape of shadow and blood, its ground a mosaic of obsidian and crimson, the air thick with the scent of iron and void. The crimson eclipse hung overhead, its light casting jagged shadows that writhed like living things. Shadows surged: Abyssal Sentinels, Level 75, spectral warriors with blades of shadow and blood, seventy strong, their forms radiating a darkness tinged with crimson. Beelzebub's aura erupted—ground cracking as he swung the Eclipse Scythe, Strength at 4629 (gear-boosted) cleaving the first Sentinel's core. Blood damage flared, 35% bonus igniting—crimson spraying as Crimson Wave (Mastery to 4/10) slashed through another, bloodlight tearing through shadow.
They retaliated—blades slashing in a storm of shadow and crimson, their movements a blur of lethal precision. He weaved, Speed at 3708 (gear-adjusted) dodging a flurry, then Phantom Step (10/10) flickered him mid-strike—Eclipse Scythe arcing, Crimson Tide (Mastery to 9/10) carving ten more, bloodlight clashing with crimson. A blade grazed his side—HP dipping 30%, Paladin's Crest ticking it back. Storm Call (10/10) erupted—lightning chaining through twenty, void sizzling, screams echoing. Horned Frenzy flared, Speed spiking to 5562—Eclipse Scythe whirled, Whisper of the Void (Mastery to 4/10) unleashing a shadow wave, Abyssal Resonance amplifying the darkness. The last charged—Void Grasp (10/10) pinned it, Strength snapping its core. Seventy fell, the crucible trembling.
"Ding! 70 Abyssal Sentinels defeated. Absorbed: Strength +350, Speed +280, Defense +210, Mana +420, Luck +70, Charisma +70."
The Abyssal Herald rose from the crucible's heart—a Level 80 colossus of shadow and blood, its massive dual scythes glowing with crimson and void, eyes blazing like twin eclipses. "The Abyssborn's will… you will kneel," it intoned, voice a storm of blood and void. Beelzebub grinned, aura surging—ground splintering—as he charged, Eclipse Scythe raised.
The Herald swung—dual scythes arcing in a wave of crimson and shadow, reality fraying at its edge. He leaped, Speed at 3988 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 55%. He laughed, aura pulsing, Mana Surge spiking Mana to 7974. Crimson Wave (Mastery to 5/10) roared—bloodlight clashing with crimson, Bloodlight Surge amplifying the damage.
The scythes spun—Dark Aegis (10/10) rose, splintering under the blow—HP dipping 45%. Beelzebub darted, Shadow Bind (10/10) locking its arm—scythe 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 50%. He rolled, Speed weaving through debris, then Horned Frenzy flared—Speed at 5982—Eclipse Scythe a blur, Bloodstorm Strike (Mastery to 2/10) unleashing a crimson-charged strike, Bloodstorm Pulse amplifying the damage. Crimson Rage ignited as HP dropped below 50%, damage surging.
It thrust—crimson piercing stone. Void Grasp countered, tendrils snapping its wrist—scythe clattered. Beelzebub leaped, Wraith Slash (10/10) 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 4979 driving it through its core—crimson and shadow exploded, HP dropping 55%. The Herald collapsed, blood and shadow pooling, its final whisper echoing: "The Abyssborn… waits."
"Ding! Abyssal Herald defeated. Absorbed: Strength +600, Speed +480, Defense +360, Mana +720, Luck +25, Charisma +25, Bloodline: Abyssal Sovereign (Void-Crimson Resistance +10%), Talent: Abyssal Bloodstorm (Boost void-crimson skills), Abyssal Strike (Skill). Loot: Abyssal Gauntlets (SS-tier, Gauntlets, +120 Strength, +30% Void Damage), Copper x2400."
Skills: Abyssal Strike (Unleash void-crimson strike, Mastery: 1/10)
"Ding! Quest Complete. Reward: 1200 EXP, 480 Copper, Achievement: Crucible Conqueror – First to clear the Abyssal Crucible. Reward: 900 EXP, Title: Abyssal Sovereign (+5% Speed)."
"Ding! Level Up! Reached Level 31. EXP: 18395/5750."
The voices screamed—Blood… shadow… void… who?—Herald's abyssal storm, Wraith's shadow, Fate's light. His skull split—Abyssal Sovereign's chill, Abyssal Bloodstorm's pulse 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 its herald," she said, her voice soft, laced with awe and fear. "But you're still you… right?"
He turned, Charisma weaving a flirty edge into his tone, but his eyes held a flicker of gratitude. "For now, Blade. For now." Her trust ticked up to 56%, the moment of vulnerability deepening their bond.