Standing on the Abyssal Plain, Punk scanned his surroundings, ensuring no lurking demons were preparing a sudden ambush. With a flick of his wrist, he cast a minor spell, dispersing the suffocating, blood-soaked dust around him.
A faint dizziness crept into his mind, and an unfamiliar surge of aggression simmered beneath the surface. As a formal mage, such sensations were rare, leaving only one plausible explanation—the Abyss had begun its erosion. This insidious corruption, subtle yet relentless, could warp the mind of any creature, reshaping their very essence before they realized it. At Punk's current level, lingering in this place for more than three months would be enough to strip him of reason entirely.
"I need to get out of here quickly."
Frowning, Punk made a firm decision—regardless of the outcome of this trip, even if he gained nothing, he would return within two hours.
The Plains of the Abyss were densely populated with demons, and sure enough, after barely ten minutes, Punk spotted a Fromo soaring toward him, bloodshot eyes gleaming with hostility.
Fromos were among the lower-ranked demons of the Abyss—thin, spindly creatures covered in jagged spikes, their twisted limbs and ragged wings giving them a grotesque appearance. Their oversized, irregular teeth jutted out from gaping maws, and their gaunt bodies barely held together by sinewy flesh. Though they were considered small demons in the Abyss, that was only relative—standing at eight feet tall and weighing over four hundred pounds, a Fromo dwarfed most humanoid species.
Despite their imposing stature, these creatures were barely at the apprentice level in strength. Their attacks were crude, relying on aerial dives, claw slashes, and savage bites infused with weak Abyssal energy. Against a formal mage like Punk, their attacks were laughable, incapable of even breaking through his most basic deflection spells.
Under normal circumstances, a sentient being faced with an overwhelming opponent would consider retreat. But a Fromo knew no such logic. With no strategy, no self-preservation, it hurled itself toward Punk in blind aggression, driven by nothing but instinctual bloodlust.
Punk sighed at the demon's idiocy. Without so much as flinching, he tossed a vial of paralysis potion directly into its path. Adjusting the trajectory with a subtle spell, the glass container struck true, shattering against the creature's grotesque face.
The result was immediate.
The once-frenzied Fromo dropped like a stone, crashing onto the bloodstained earth in a convulsing heap. The paralysis potion, though classified as apprentice-level, had been refined by a formal mage—it was far beyond anything this low-tier demon could resist. Completely immobilized, the creature twitched violently, straining every muscle in futile defiance. Its grotesque, spasming form still attempted to assume a threatening posture, as if to intimidate an opponent it could no longer reach.
Expressionless, Punk conjured an iron cage of condensed magical energy, lifted the incapacitated demon with his Mage Hand, and unceremoniously tossed it inside. Though not a high-level spell, the cage was more than sufficient to hold a paralyzed Fromo.
The hunt continued.
Over the course of an hour, Punk managed to capture four Fromos, five Timids, and two Cunning Demons. None of them had been able to resist—their unconscious or paralyzed bodies now lay stacked in the magically reinforced cage. However, Punk was well aware that once the effects of his potions wore off, the captives would immediately turn on each other. For demons, there was no concept of cooperation—only the instinct to kill whatever was closest.
With his cage nearly full and time to spare, Punk decided to cut his mission short. Though he had initially planned for another hour, a faint sense of unease prickled at his thoughts. Whether it was genuine danger or merely the creeping influence of Abyssal corruption, he saw no reason to take unnecessary risks.
"Enough. There's no point in lingering here any longer."
Turning toward the portal, Punk walked steadily forward, his boots leaving crisp imprints in the dust. But as he neared the swirling gateway, his steps faltered.
Something was wrong.
A subtle discordance in the portal's appearance made his instincts scream in warning. The flickering energy didn't feel quite right, and the dust around it… had it really resettled so quickly after he had cleared the path earlier?
Without hesitation, Punk took a rapid step back, casting True Sight upon himself in a flash of violet light.
The moment his enhanced vision pierced the illusion, the "portal" in front of him abruptly lunged forward.
A distorted, fanged maw split open where the shimmering gateway had once been, the false radiance warping into a sickly crimson glow. A wave of putrid stench erupted from the gaping abyss of jagged teeth, and the air trembled with a guttural, ear-splitting roar.
"Shit!"
Punk barely had time to curse before the ambush was fully revealed. The true portal lay some distance away—the one before him had been nothing more than the gaping mouth of a demon lying in wait.
And not just any demon.
Punk's sharp eyes instantly recognized the creature before him—a Mirrorkin Fiend.
Towering at fifteen feet, with violet predatory eyes and dark, armored skin lined with jagged spines, the Mirrorkin was a monstrous presence even among demons. Its thick carapace granted formidable defense, while its four clawed arms radiated Abyssal energy potent enough to carve through enchanted steel. Unlike mindless berserkers, this breed of demon specialized in deception, using illusions to lure prey before launching a devastating assault.
"What a troublesome opponent."
Cursing his own carelessness, Punk wasted no time. He immediately activated Advanced Haste, his body becoming a blur as he accelerated beyond the speed of sound. Simultaneously, he recalled every scrap of knowledge on the Mirrorkin Fiend.
These demons thrived on trickery rather than brute strength, preferring to bewilder their foes before striking with Chaos Hammer and Unholy Rend, two of their most lethal attacks. If their deception failed, they would resort to sheer, unrelenting violence.
Punk had no intention of allowing that to happen.
Dodging with inhuman precision, he twisted away from the demon's lunging bite and rolled across the bloodstained ground, widening the distance between them.
As he came to his feet, violet runes burned within his eyes, magic coiling at his fingertips like a coiled serpent ready to strike.
The battle had begun.