The preparations for entering the Endless Abyss were not particularly complex—mainly a selection of sleeping and psychedelic potions. These low-level potions were effective against lesser demons. Since Punk was a neutral entity, and his spells carried more neutral "concepts," he planned to minimize spell usage in the Abyss. The less magic he cast, the less likely he was to attract demons sensitive to magical fluctuations.
He packed five or six bottles of sleeping potion—a highly volatile hypnotic concoction that could make most creatures collapse into a deep, near-unwakeable slumber with just a whiff. Alongside that, he had about ten bottles of paralysis potion and five or six bottles of suffocation powder. These weren't as effective against demons as pure positive energy, but Punk had no intention of using positive energy spells in the Abyss. Not only was it too risky, but he also planned to capture some demons alive.
Finally, he checked his robe. It provided negligible protection, and once he returned from this venture, he planned to craft a proper official-level robe—at the very least, something that wouldn't leave him shivering from exposure.
Before stepping through the portal, he layered himself with a Protection from Evil spell. Ideally, he should also cast Protection from Chaos for added security. This conceptual warding spell sometimes produced unexpected effects, and its defensive properties could be invaluable against chaotic entities. However, when Punk attempted to cast Protection from Chaos on himself during a test, he found that the spell immediately turned against him.
At first, he was stunned. He had always considered himself lawless—perhaps even selfish—but still somewhat within the bounds of a lawful alignment. Yet, the moment the spell activated, it attacked him as if he were a chaotic entity. If not for his ever-present mage armor, he might have been wounded by his own magic.
After a brief moment of contemplation, Punk dismissed the matter.
Chaos had its own benefits.
It simply meant that pointless rules had no hold on his soul.
With that thought, he turned his focus back to his preparations. Since his defenses were slightly lacking, he would have to exercise greater caution.
Without hesitation, Punk filled his robe's pockets with potions, then retrieved a small, tainted gemstone—one saturated with resentment and malice. He walked to the center of the hall, where a precisely drawn magic array pulsed with negative energy.
Standing at the edge of the formation, he held the gem aloft and began chanting. His voice fragmented into eerie, discordant syllables. As he spoke, the sealed hatred and resentment within the gemstone bled out in wisps of dark energy, gathering at the array's center, which flickered with black and crimson light.
Fifteen seconds later, the gemstone in his hand crumbled into dust, scattering in the air. At the same time, a tiny point of light formed at the heart of the array, quickly expanding. A foul stench of decay and blood filled the White Tower. The ground beneath the magic circle became stained with spreading pools of blood, and violent, chaotic energy warped the surrounding space, leaving scorched marks on the stone floor.
The portal to the Abyss had opened.
The process of opening an Abyssal portal was not particularly difficult. Due to the Abyss's inherently chaotic nature, any portal leading to it required no planar verification. In fact, the Abyss actively weakened its own dimensional barriers to accommodate those attempting to enter.
It welcomed all visitors—regardless of their purpose.
Technically, wizards were permitted to open portals near cities, but the dimensional walls of the Faerûnian plane prevented prolonged stability. Additionally, a portal could only accommodate creatures of the same strength as its caster and had strict limits on volume and passage time. Even so, opening such a gateway was an extreme risk. To the common people, demons were nothing but mindless, bloodthirsty maniacs. Even a single one could wreak havoc.
But Punk did not concern himself with such insignificant details.
He took one last glance at the time. His internal system reminded him that, with his current strength, even a portal cast with half of his magic reserves would last no more than three hours. If he failed to return before then...
Well, the sheer rigidity of Faerûn's dimensional barriers was enough to make even legendary mages despair.
With a flick of his wrist, he attempted to dispel the lingering stench of blood from the air. He patted his robe's pockets one final time to ensure he had everything he needed.
Then, without hesitation, he stepped through the portal.
Ordinarily, a wizard would send a servant or summoned creature through first to check for ambushes. But that precaution was unnecessary when entering the Abyss. If there had been demons lurking nearby, they would have already charged through in a frenzy. Since nothing had emerged from the portal immediately, that meant the landing zone was clear.
In truth, Punk would have preferred if some demons had rushed out on their own. It would have saved him the trouble of hunting them down. But it seemed he would have to do the work himself.
"Looks like I'll have to handle it personally," he muttered, feeling the weightlessness of teleportation take hold.
The Abyssal Plane — Layer One: The Infinite Plain of Portals.
The very first layer of the Abyss, the Plain of Infinite Portals, was a barren wasteland devoid of life. No birds, no plants—only dust stretching as far as the eye could see. The entire plane was scorched under the relentless heat of a blood-red sun.
The landscape consisted of three distinct features: massive fissures splitting the ground, enormous corpse-mounds formed from the remains of slain demons, and the foul, meandering flow of the Styx—a river of corruption and death.
These fissures were entrances to deeper layers of the Abyss. Some led to known regions, while others were one-way passages to unknown horrors. To fall into an unfamiliar abyssal layer was a fate worse than death.
Though scholars had identified at least 666 known layers of the Abyss, it was widely believed that countless more remained undiscovered—each more terrifying than the last.
And now, in this ancient, blood-drenched land, beneath the searing heat of the crimson sun, a lone mage had stepped into the unknown.