Ascension of the Abyss*

Darkness wrapped around Alex, stretching endlessly in all directions. He didn't fall. He didn't float. He simply existed, suspended in a void that was neither warm nor cold. Time held no meaning. He was nowhere and everywhere at once.

And then—a shift.

A dim, pulsing glow flickered in the distance, barely piercing through the abyss. Slowly, the darkness rippled, and shapes began to emerge. A vast, endless field stretched before him, its grass swaying despite the absence of wind. In the center, a single figure stood, its form blurred and indistinct, as if reality itself refused to define it.

Yet Alex saw its movements clearly. It held a spear, and it was practicing.

His breath hitched as he stepped forward, though there was no sensation of movement. There was no weight to his body, no resistance, as if he were untethered, free from the constraints of the physical world. The figure moved with an unnatural grace, every strike flowing seamlessly into the next. It wasn't just raw technique—it was refinement, mastery, precision beyond anything Alex had ever seen. The spear wasn't merely a weapon in its hands. It was an extension of the body, of the very Essence pulsing through it.

For the first time, Alex saw it—the Essence itself. It flowed like a living current, weaving through the figure's limbs and into the spear, strengthening each strike, enhancing speed, precision, and power. But it wasn't just reinforcing the body; it was cycling—flowing in perfect harmony through defined pathways. It was deliberate, measured—as though the body and weapon had become one.

This wasn't just fighting.

This was mastery.

And then, he realized—the technique wasn't unfamiliar. He recognized the flow, the method of circulating Essence through the body. It was the Eternal Path of the Abyss—the Essence Control Codex the whisper had given him. But this wasn't theory. This was execution.

Alex clenched his fists, an unfamiliar excitement stirring in his chest. His own spear wasn't in his hands, yet he could feel its weight as if it should be there. If he could see it, he could learn it. Slowly, he raised his arms, gripping an invisible weapon, planting his feet in a stance that mirrored the blurred figure.

At first, his movements were rough—his footwork uncoordinated, his grip awkward. He misjudged distances, his strikes lacked balance, and his energy felt sluggish. But he kept going. Step, thrust, shift, pivot. Again. And again. The repetition built upon itself, his body adjusting, his mind absorbing every detail of the figure's technique. With each attempt, something changed. His arms no longer fought against the movements. His strikes found their mark more easily. The weapon felt less foreign. The motions no longer felt forced but began to settle into him, as though he had always known them but was only now remembering.

Then—a spark.

A faint shimmer flickered at his fingertips.

Essence. It responded to his movements.

It was subtle, barely noticeable, but it was there. His breath caught, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. The figure continued its flawless sequence, and so Alex followed. There was no telling how much time passed. The Abyss had no sun, no moon—only the endless horizon stretching in every direction. His muscles should have burned, but here, he only felt momentum. His spear felt lighter, his footwork sharpened, his connection to the weapon deepened.

Then—an explosion.

Not around him.

Inside him.

A shattering, as though something locked deep within his body had suddenly broken free. The Abyss vanished in a burst of white light, and when the world returned, he wasn't just watching anymore.

He was in a trance. And his body was moving on its own.

The spear in his hands—the real one—felt different. Lighter. More natural. His arms moved, striking in perfect tandem with the rhythm of the Codex. His Essence, once sluggish and uncertain, now flowed through his limbs, circulating with control. No longer just mimicry. Refinement. The spear wasn't just an extension of his body anymore. It was a part of him.

Then—a shift.

Deep inside his core, something snapped into place. It was like a locked door had suddenly swung open, a dam breaking as something rushed into the empty space. His Energy Center wasn't just absorbing Essence anymore—it was gathering it. A sphere of concentrated Essence condensed within him, stabilizing, becoming something tangible for the first time.

The first true sign of an awakened warrior.

The realization struck him like thunder.

He had reached Rank 1.

The thought sent a shiver down his spine, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of what it meant. It was overwhelming, exhilarating, and terrifying all at once. Because he hadn't done it consciously. His body had moved on its own, following the Essence pathways of the blurry figure.

But that was impossible.

Every warrior had a distinct Essence flow. Circulation was unique to the individual, shaped by their own body's affinities. Yet somehow, the pathway the blurry figure used had fit Alex perfectly. A perfect match.

Why?

His mind spun with questions, but before he could dwell on them—the Abyss shifted again.

The figure stopped its practice.

For the first time—

It turned toward him.

Alex's breath caught as the blur that veiled its features wavered, distorting like ripples in a still pond. For the briefest moment—just a flicker—he saw.

A face.

Not a stranger's.

Familiar.

Recognition struck him like a dagger to the skull.

A face buried deep within his subconscious. A face he shouldn't have known, yet did.

Pain erupted behind his eyes, a searing wave of fragmented images crashing into his mind. Chains. Bound in endless rows, stretching into the abyss. A throne. Carved from obsidian, towering in solemn silence. A battlefield. Drenched in blood, shrouded in shadows.

A storm of memories that weren't his.

His breath caught, his vision spiraled—

And then, nothing.

Alex gasped as his body jerked violently, snapping back into consciousness. His limbs felt like lead, his breathing ragged. The candle beside his bed had burned halfway down, wax dripping onto the wooden table.

He stared at his hands.

They were shaking.

But stronger.

Then, he felt it—a new presence inside him. He closed his eyes, focusing inward, and there it was.

A sphere of Essence.

Tangible.

Stable.

Thrumming with raw potential.

This wasn't a dream. This wasn't an illusion. He had actually broken through.

A shuddering breath left his lips, his heart pounding.

He had become a Rank 1 warrior.

He exhaled in relief, but his moment of triumph was short-lived as a rancid stench filled the room. His nose wrinkled.

It was him.

His entire body was covered in filth—a thick, oily substance reeking of metallic impurity. He grimaced. This was the impurity expulsion process, the body cleansing itself of built-up toxins upon breakthrough. He'd heard of it before, but experiencing it firsthand was something else entirely.

With a groan, he staggered to his feet, muscles sore but undeniably stronger.

Whatever had happened in the Abyss had changed him.

And somehow, he knew—this was only the beginning.