Deep within the Abyss, across its endless, layered expanse, lay a stratum long abandoned by time. Once revered, once central—now reduced to a forgotten remnant.
The Eternal Layer.
Amid its relentless cold and unending snow stood a gleaming white castle, its structure steeped in age, its presence heavy with silent history. Within its many halls and chambers, one room stood apart.
Unlike the others, it was steeped in darkness.
At its centre, a deep well yawned, its interior swallowing all light. From within, darkness did not merely exist—it seeped outward, thick and fluid, like a living shadow.
Before this, sat a young man.
His appearance did not belong here.
Seated upon an ornate chair, his posture straight, composed—almost noble—he carried an air that clashed sharply with the room itself. His long white hair flowed like silk, his skin pale and flawless, giving him the fragile perfection of a porcelain figure.
Yet his golden eyes remained fixed on the well.
Unblinking. Silent.
Minutes passed in that stillness before a faint smile curved his lips.
"At last…" he murmured, voice low, steady.
"I'll break through to the Second Level."
He dragged his chair forward, inch by inch, until it stood at the very edge of the well. Close enough that the darkness seemed ready to swallow him whole.
Without hesitation, he reached into his spatial bracelet.
One by one, he brought out objects that carried an unmistakable sense of unease:
A large flask filled with blood.
A blue eye, empty of any pupil.
A spiralling horn, twisted and unnatural.
He uncorked the flask and drank.
The blood did not spill. Not a single drop. It flowed as if guided—drawn into his mouth with unnatural obedience, leaving his clothes untouched.
The moment he finished, he spoke.
His voice changed—lower, steadier, carrying a strange rhythm.
"In the name of Lucius Karl Silver…
I call upon the Ancient Existence.
The Great Rebel.
The Profound Abyss.
Bear witness… and guide me through my ascension."
With deliberate care, he dropped the eye and the horn into the well.
Then—
Nothing.
A full minute passed.
Silence stretched thin.
Lucius frowned, a flicker of unease crossing his face.
"Did I fail…?"
The moment the words left him—
It came.
A crushing pressure filled the room.
The air thickened instantly, turning heavy—dense, like murky, tainted water pressing in from all sides.
The frustration on his face vanished.
Replaced by anticipation.
A sharp, eager smile.
"Th—thank you… Great Existence…"
His voice trembled—not with fear, but excitement.
He steadied himself, eyes wide, counting.
Seconds passed.
Then his body began to change.
His pale skin flushed red—violently so. Beneath it, veins bulged and twisted, writhing like living serpents. The sight alone was enough to unsettle anyone who looked upon it.
Lucius raised his hand.
A green flame burst forth.
It made no sound.
It carried no weight.
It drifted forward, connecting his palm to the darkness within the well, as if forming a bridge between the two.
And then—
The darkness began to shrink.
Rapidly.
The liquid shadow receded, drawn away at an unnatural speed.
Lucius was refining it.
Forcing that demonic energy into the core within his body—directly, violently.
The strain showed.
Blood began to seep from his eyes, tracing slow lines down his face.
Still—he did not stop.
The green flames intensified.
The veins along his forehead pulsed violently, on the verge of bursting—
And then one did.
It ruptured.
Yet no blood was spilt outward.
Instead, beneath the torn flesh, the flow of life could be seen—rushing, compressed, barely contained.
Time dragged.
Each second heavier than the last.
Soon, there was no part of his body untouched. Wounds spread across him, small and large alike. His breathing grew uneven.
Doubt crept in.
Is it failing…?
Where did I go wrong…?
I followed everything… exactly as required…
Why won't the core break…?
Is the Second Level truly this unforgiving…?
His jaw tightened.
I won't fail.
I won't endure their mockery again.
With sheer will, he forced himself forward—fighting against the creeping darkness at the edge of his vision, resisting the pull of unconsciousness.
The situation turned bleak.
Hopeless.
And then—
It broke.
The core, swollen with excess energy, finally shattered.
Power surged through him—wild, overwhelming—before settling, merging into his very blood.
His wounds began to close.
Quickly. Unnaturally.
He had succeeded.
Yet there was no celebration.
Suppressing any trace of relief, Lucius forced himself to move. His body trembled, his mind blurred, but he pushed forward, dragging himself toward the exit.
Losing consciousness here… was not an option.
Each step felt like an eternity.
His body begged him to stop.
Yet—
That smile remained.
Faint. Disturbing.
As if he found something in the pain worth savouring.
He crossed the doorway.
And collapsed.
His body gave out completely, consciousness slipping away as the strain finally claimed him.
Moments later, servants rushed in.
Panic spread quickly as they carried him away.
Two days passed.
Lucius remained unconscious.
In the Eternal Layer, such a span meant nothing.
On the third day, he awoke.
Energy filled his body once more, his mind clear, his mood lifted by the success of his breakthrough.
He began his day with cold water, letting it run over him, steadying himself.
Afterwards, he stood before his wardrobe.
Clothes of fine quality filled it—varied, elegant.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then chose.
Black formal wear. A long coat.
Simple. Refined.
He made his way toward the dining hall.
By the time he arrived, the family had already gathered.
He was the last to enter.
His footsteps echoed across the vast space, cutting through the silence like a knife.
Every gaze turned toward him.
He did not react.
He was used to it.
Spotting an empty seat, he walked over and sat beside a large man with a thick beard.
Silence reclaimed the room.
Heavy. Pressing.
Today was not ordinary.
It was the family assembly.
Held once every two weeks.