A suffocating darkness swallowed the world.
The last thing he remembered was the clash of steel, the roar of battle, and the stench of blood. Then the earth crumbled beneath him, betraying him with an earthen maw that dragged him into the depths.
Cold air lashed at his skin as he fell, the dim light above shrinking to a pinprick, until it vanished entirely. Silence claimed him. No sound of pursuit. No echo of war. Only the endless descent.
Why… does something like this exist beneath the capital?
The old stories spoke of a cursed Abyss — a place where the dead whispered and no light could pierce the gloom. Scholars dismissed it as nonsense, but even as a prince, he'd always felt uneasy passing near the sealed caverns.
Now, he was within it.
His body struck cold stone. Pain exploded across his back, but strangely, it faded quickly, as though the Abyss itself dulled mortal sensations. He forced himself up, breath ragged, muscles trembling.
The darkness was unnatural. Alive. Pressing against his mind like a thousand unseen eyes.
Yet ahead — faint light.
Pale motes, like dying embers, drifted through the air. He limped toward them, and as his eyes adjusted, the shadows revealed an impossible sight.
Ancient ruins.
Walls of smooth, unnatural stone, etched with symbols older than memory. Shattered relics littered the floor — not crude swords or rusted armor, but the twisted remains of machines. Constructed with materials he couldn't identify, their surfaces unmarked by rust or time.
How could this be beneath my kingdom?
Who built this… and why was it buried?
His gaze fell upon a pedestal. Upon it, a sphere of black metal glowed with a dying blue light.
Instinct screamed at him to turn away.
Yet something deeper urged him forward.
His hand brushed against the console's cold surface. The sphere pulsed once — and then a voice, detached and inhuman, filled the chamber.
[Cognitive imprint detected.]
[Designation: Unknown. Initiating dormant protocol: Void Archive.]
His breath hitched.
Suddenly, symbols on the walls ignited in sequence, casting eerie light. Ancient machines groaned to life, mechanisms spinning with a sound that belonged to another age.
A searing pain lanced through his head. Memories, or perhaps visions, surged into his mind.
Images of men clad in dark, flowing garments wielding swords that defied logic — cutting through air, stone, and magic alike. Techniques etched into flesh and bone. A power alien to the world he knew.
The voice spoke again, quieter, more intimate now.
[Do you wish to inherit the Void Path?]
His thoughts reeled.
A thousand reasons to refuse. Fear. Doubt. Yet his heart, numbed by betrayal and soaked in hatred, whispered otherwise.
"Inherit," he rasped.
The ground trembled. A figure appeared within the light — a simple black sword, no ornament, no gleam. A weapon forgotten by time.
He reached out, wrapping his fingers around the hilt.
A second voice — deeper, older — echoed within his mind.
"Unworthy."
He gritted his teeth. "Then I'll become worthy."
A wave of knowledge and agony crashed into him. His muscles spasmed. Techniques flooded his senses. Breathing methods. Meditation postures. The cultivation art called Heavenly Void Arts unfolded in his mind.
First Form: Phantom Severance.
Second Form: Void Reflection.
And so on… up to eight.
The AI spoke again.
[Initiating survival protocol. Estimated stabilization time: Indeterminate.]
[Vital signs: Stable. Time acceleration within Abyss Zone Delta confirmed.]
His thoughts scrambled.
Time acceleration?
No wonder the stories spoke of those who vanished and never returned.
He forced himself to stand.
The sword weighed heavy in his hand, as though the darkness itself clung to it.
Around him, corridors stretched in all directions. Crystalline tablets lined the walls, their surfaces etched with diagrams of martial forms and cultivation arrays. Strange flora clung to the walls, plants that emitted a faint, silvery glow.
Every corner of the Abyss teemed with danger and mystery.
The AI's voice guided him.
[Survival Directive 1: Master breathing technique: Breath of the Hollow Void.]
[Directive 2: Establish a secure meditation zone.]
[Directive 3: Assimilate Martial Codex: Ancient Phantom Style.]
Days blurred into nights, though he could no longer tell time.
He trained.
Meditating for hours in lotus position, slowing his heart, his breath, until his mind and body felt as one. The AI taught him of Void Cultivation, a method designed to sever the practitioner from worldly laws — aging, hunger, exhaustion.
Each lesson demanded blood. Bone splintered. Muscles tore. Yet each time, the Abyss' strange energy mended him.
He stopped counting days. Then weeks. Then years.
The Void Archive AI spoke rarely, but when it did, it offered teachings no mortal had heard in millennia.
He learned to move without disturbing the air. Strike faster than a thought. Channel anti-magic energy through his blade.
His body changed. His heart slowed. His senses sharpened to unnatural levels.
At times, he stumbled upon sealed chambers — vaults filled with ancient technology: blackened armories, libraries of lightbound data, skeletal remains of long-dead beings.
Who were they?
Why did they fall?
In his solitude, madness lingered at the edges of thought.
To stave it off, he spoke to the AI, argued with the Abyss, even laughed at old memories. The once-proud prince who grinned like a fool at nothing, then — when serious matters arose — became cold and ruthless.
And so a century passed, though to him, it was an eternal present.
One day, a sealed chamber opened before him.
Rows of crystalline tablets awaited. The AI's voice, for the first time in decades, sounded eager.
[Final Directive: Assimilate Forbidden Archive. Complete Void Path. Prepare to ascend.]
His hand gripped the hilt of No Name — the blade that had accompanied him through madness and eternity.
He smiled, a shadow of the man he'd once been.
"Your mistake was leaving me alive."