MTLNOVEL Chapter 1: CH : 01 The Bottomless Abyss: Birth of a Demon
{Chapter 01: The Bottomless Abyss: Birth of a Demon}
The Bottomless Abyss
The Bottomless Abyss, a place of unrelenting darkness, is where all the evils of the multiverse converge. It is the absolute antithesis of kindness, love, and innocence—a realm devoid of friendship, affection, or any semblance of warmth. Here, there is no loyalty, no camaraderie—only betrayal, slaughter, destruction, and madness. It is the domain of primal evil, an ever-churning chaos where the strongest devour the weak without hesitation.
At the heart of this abyss lies the Demon Origin Sea, an infernal body of water known by many names—"The Pit of Primal Evil," "The River of Chaos," and even "The Styx of the Abyss." This cursed river winds through the infinite layers of the Abyss, a force of pure malevolence. It represents the ultimate destruction, the very foundation of the multiverse's darkest truths. Anything that comes into contact with its crimson waters is swallowed—even divine contamination cannot resist its hunger.
Yet, paradoxically, this abyssal river is also the cradle of demons. From its depths, an endless tide of monstrous beings is born, thrives, and ultimately perishes, only to be reborn again.
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The oppressive glow of a blood-red sky illuminated the landscape, casting eerie shadows upon the riverbanks. Above, a handful of scarlet stars flickered like dying embers, their light reflecting off the endless expanse of the Styx's surface.
As the tides receded, they left behind countless demon eggs—each pulsating with life, half as tall as a grown human. Their surfaces were covered in scarlet and pitch-black markings, constantly expanding and contracting, as though mimicking the primitive movements of an unborn beast. If one listened closely, they would hear the muffled roars and growls of the creatures within.
Deep inside one of these eggs, a consciousness began to awaken.
"Kill… Kill… Hungry… Kill…"
Primitive instinct burned within him—an insatiable hunger, a violent urge to destroy. But alongside this savage nature, something else stirred—reason.
"Who am I…?"
Memories—fragmented, chaotic, and incomplete—flooded his mind. He saw images, emotions, and experiences not his own. The name "Ivan Mann" surfaced in his thoughts, yet the memories attached to it felt distant, foreign. It was as if he were watching an old, mundane film—one with no grandeur, no significance, and nothing worth remembering.
A deep repulsion swelled within him. The very idea of that mediocre existence felt wrong.
Then, from the depths of his soul, a voice echoed:
[Your true name: Anton Arcane Garissa Asalon... Neron Orillia Blackheart]
At that moment, something within him snapped into place.
A flood of inherited knowledge surged through his being—not human knowledge, but demonic instinct.
He was not Ivan Mann.
He was Anton Arcane Garissa Asalon... Neron Orillia Blackheart!
"I… I am a demon!"
With a feral roar, his newly formed claws—long, slender, and tipped with vicious barbs—tore through the egg's shell.
Ivan, or Anton, Arcane Garissa Asalon...Neron Orillia Blackheart, got out of it and became the first individual to hatch from this batch of demon eggs.
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Anton emerged, standing at 1.4 meters tall, his form a nightmarish fusion of man and beast. His wolf-like head was lined with razor-sharp canines, and his eyes—completely blood-red, devoid of pupils or whites—glowed with an eerie intensity.
His body was covered in scales and barbs, his limbs humanoid in structure but ending in three clawed fingers capable of tearing flesh with ease. Behind him, a short, whip-like tail flicked through the air, its sharp, gleaming tip proving that it was far more than just an accessory.
He stood there, utterly exposed, his bare form laid open for the world to witness. The wind whispered across his skin, indifferent to his vulnerability, as he took a moment to process the gravity of his situation. His mind raced, grasping at scattered memories of past, yet there was no panic—only a quiet, measured assessment of what had become of him.
Lowering his gaze, his eyes traced the contours of his body until they settled below. A flicker of acknowledgment crossed his face as he confirmed that, at the very least, some things remained unchanged. A slow, deliberate nod followed—an acceptance of self amidst the unknown.
But as his head lifted, his expression shifted. The vast expanse of the scarlet sky stretched before him, a canvas painted in the colors of blood and fire. It was a world reborn in chaos, yet within its crimson glow, he found his resolve. The weight of hesitation faded, replaced by a grim determination that settled deep within his bones.
"I, Anton, will not live a meaningless life."
A demon's true name was not merely a collection of sounds—it was the foundation of their being, the very thread that wove their existence into the fabric of reality. It was power in its purest form, a key that could shackle them or set them free. To speak it was to command them, to own them, to unravel their very essence.
Every demon, from the lowest foot soldier of the Abyss to the towering Demon Lords who reigned over darkest dominions, understood this immutable truth. Their true name was both their greatest weapon and their ultimate weakness. If it were ever spoken by another, their will would no longer be their own. They would become puppets, bound by forces beyond their control. For this reason, demons cloaked themselves in deception, taking on countless aliases, shedding old names like a snake sheds its skin. Each name they gave to the world was a mask, a shield, a barrier between themselves and absolute servitude.
To those who had never walked the infernal paths, a true name might seem like nothing more than a creature's birth name, or perhaps the first identity it had ever claimed. But this was a naive misunderstanding. A true name was not just a label—it was an entity's entire existence distilled into a single, all-encompassing truth. It held within it every name they had ever borne, every title whispered in reverence or fear, every moment of their long and bloody history. It was their ambitions, their regrets, their triumphs, and their losses. It was the echo of every battle fought, every lust they went out, every sin committed.
Such a name was never spoken lightly, for even to attempt to write it in full would require volumes beyond mortal comprehension. The true name of a lesser demon might fill libraries; for a greater demon, those libraries would span entire planets. And for the Demon Lords—those who sat upon obsidian thrones in the deepest pits of the Abyss—not even the ink of all creation would be enough to capture the totality of their being.
Yet, despite its immeasurable complexity, there were those who sought to wield such power. The abyssal language, an ancient and incomprehensible tongue, was the only means by which a true name could be condensed into something usable, something speakable. It was a language not meant for mortal throats, where syllables twisted like living things and consonants crawled like insects upon the air. To hear a true name spoken in its entirety was not merely to listen—it was to feel. To have one's mind torn open and filled with knowledge too vast to contain. To experience reality folding in on itself, unable to withstand the weight of an existence so absolute, so unyielding.
Most who dared to speak a true name never lived to do so again. Their voices shattered, their minds crumbled, their very souls unraveled under the weight of the knowledge they had dared to claim. The lucky ones merely lost their sanity; the unlucky ones became something else entirely, their bodies hollowed out and repurposed as vessels for the will of the Abyss.
To know a demon's true name was to hold the universe's sharpest blade, one that could just as easily cut its wielder as it could their intended victim. It was the ultimate power, and the ultimate curse.
To prevent this vulnerability, every demon chose a title, a name they could use freely.
Anton selected the word [Dex], which, in the demonic language, symbolized the "Black Sky."
Then, an overwhelming hunger struck him.
His stomach burned, as though its own acids were trying to dissolve it from within.
His gaze drifted downward—to the eggshell fragments at his feet.
His instincts whispered to him: Eat.
It was his first meal.
For a fleeting moment, the remnants of his human memory resisted, repulsed by the idea of consuming the shell that had once contained him. But logic prevailed—he was a demon now, and to survive, he had to embrace his new nature.
Without hesitation, Dex tore into the eggshell, chewing it apart piece by piece. As he devoured it, something incredible began to happen.
His soft, newborn scales rapidly hardened, his body undergoing its first metamorphosis.
Before he could fully process the changes, a voice resounded in his mind.
[The Evolution System has been activated: Welcome, and thank you for using our service!]
At the edge of his vision, a translucent blue panel appeared.
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Status
Anton Arcane Garissa Asalon... Neron Orillia Blackheart (Dex)
Race/Level: Demon / Juvenile Demon
Attributes:
Strength: 5 (5)
Endurance: 5 (5)
Speed: 6 (5)
Magic Power: 6 (5)
Soul: 8 (5)
Abilities:
Soul Eater Evolution
Continuously evolves by devouring souls, growing stronger with each absorbed spirit. Power, resilience, and abilities will refine and transform with each soul consumed.
Blood Evolution
Self-evolves through combat and bloodshed. With every battle, your body adapts, increasing in strength, endurance, and ferocity.
Combat Instinct
Born with a natural talent for battle, allowing you to react, adapt, and refine your fighting style instinctively. Further honed through experience.
Skills: None
Evolution Points: 0
(Note: Values in parentheses indicate the base stats of a newborn demon. Each additional point increases strength by 20% relative to the previous level. A demon with 6 points is 20% stronger than one with 5, and so forth.)
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Dex examined the information, his mind swiftly connecting the dots.
With the memories of his past life, he immediately understood.
"A system? A Goldfinger?"
His speed and magic power were slightly above average—an indication that his new body was more attuned to those aspects. But his soul strength was at 8—a clear anomaly.
The answer was obvious.
His human soul and demonic soul had merged.
And with that realization, Dex clenched his claws.
Turning his attention back to the translucent screen before him, Dex took a deep breath and began reading. The text was dense with information, detailing the intricate mechanics of the system that had bound itself to him. Line by line, he absorbed its instructions, committing them to memory. It took a while, but once the knowledge settled within him, he understood the true function of the evolutionary system.
It was simple.
By killing, absorbing souls, and consuming flesh, he could convert his victims into evolution points—raw power that would allow him to grow beyond his current form.
A glint of curiosity flickered beneath his crimson eyes, but it was soon accompanied by skepticism. Killing to evolve? Was that not already the instinct of all demons? Did he truly need an external system to enhance what should have been his birthright?
Still, if the system claimed to be useful, there was no harm in testing it.
Deciding to conduct an experiment, Dex disabled the system's absorption and transformation functions. Then, he turned his gaze toward another demon egg resting nearby. He moved toward it, picking up a jagged rock along the way. With a firm grip, he raised it high and brought it down with crushing force. The impact split the leathery shell, cracking it open to reveal the writhing, underdeveloped demon inside.
The creature, though weak, did not die immediately. Despite its half-formed body, it instinctively struggled, turning its feral gaze upon Dex with a silent snarl of defiance.
Dex met its gaze without emotion. A second later, his fist lashed out, crushing the creature's skull with brutal efficiency. Blood splattered against his skin, the scent thick in the air, but he paid it no mind. Reaching forward, he grasped at the fading essence of his victim—the formless, shrieking soul barely clinging to existence. He chewed it between his teeths, absorbing its energy, and then turned his attention to the corpse.
A light of reason flickered through his eyes. There was hesitation, but his hunger and primal lust overtook it all and he began to consume.
The raw, bloody flesh and the lingering soul energy within it surged through his body, merging into him, reinforcing his being. With each bite, he could feel the strengthening effects—the way his muscles grew denser, his bones more durable, his senses sharper. This was the natural evolution of a demon. To kill. To consume. To become something greater through the destruction of others and the Chaos in all this.
Once he finished his meal, he rose unsteadily to his feet, his breath slow and measured, as if waiting for something—guilt, disgust, fear—to claw its way into his heart. His gaze drifted down to his blood-stained hands, trembling slightly, but not from shock or remorse. There was nothing. No regret. No self-reproach. Not even the insatiable bloodlust that demons were cursed to crave. Just silence. A hollow, numbing silence that made him wonder if he had lost something vital… or if it had never been there at all.
He had expected something—his heart pounding wildly, the weight of what he had done crushing his chest, maybe even a sense of revulsion. But instead, there was only a chilling realization. This was just another moment. Just another action. The world had not stopped turning. The sky had not wept.
Time was slipping away. He had no luxury to ponder the meaning of his own emptiness. Without hesitation, he wiped the blood from his lips, smearing it across his sleeve, and turned his focus back to the stone. Gripping it tightly, as if to ground himself, he activated the system once more.
The air grew heavy, charged with an unseen force as the absorption and transformation functions roared to life, pulling him away from the lingering echoes of a first kill that should have meant something—but didn't.
He approached another egg and repeated the process—striking it, exposing the weak, struggling demon inside, and ending its life in an instant. However, when he absorbed the soul and left the body untouched, he noticed something different.
There was no immediate feeling of growth.
Instead, his gaze shifted to the system's interface, where his evolution points had risen to 15. Ten of those points came from devouring the soul, while the remaining five were gained from the blood left behind. The numbers made one thing clear—the soul was the true source of power.
Closing his eyes, Dex carefully distributed the 15 evolution points across various attributes. As the changes took effect, he focused inward, comparing the sensation to his earlier feeding.
The difference was staggering.
When he opened his eyes, a flicker of shock passed through them.
The system's conversion efficiency was at least twenty times greater than a demon's natural evolution process.
His grip tightened on the rock as the implications settled in. Under the same conditions, using the system would allow him to grow at an exponential rate compared to other demons. While they struggled to advance through instinctual means, he could accelerate far beyond them. This was not merely an advantage—it was an overwhelming superiority that set him apart from the masses.
Beyond strengthening his body and soul, the system offered something far more valuable: the ability to evolve specific traits and abilities by consuming evolution points. The cost varied depending on the strength of the ability, but the potential was there.
His gaze shifted toward the countless demon eggs scattered along the riverbank.
This was his first fortune.
He recalled the moment he had first emerged from his own shell. At that time, the eggs around him had been silent. Now, however, they trembled, disturbed by his presence and the slaughter taking place. The bodies within were nearing full development. Soon, more demons would hatch.
Dex felt no kinship with them.
There was no room for sympathy among demons. Even those who possessed intelligence were bound by their instincts. Without wisdom, a newborn demon was nothing more than a mindless beast driven by hunger, aggression and chaos. Only the strong would escape this riverbank and carve a place for themselves in the Abyss. The weak would serve as stepping stones—devoured by others, crushed beneath the rise of the strong, or left to be reborn when the River Styx swallowed them once more.
There was no third path.
With a decisive motion, Dex adjusted his system settings, ensuring that half of his evolution points would be used to immediately reinforce his body and soul, while the remaining half would be stored for future enhancements. Then, gripping the stone, he moved through the field of eggs, smashing them one by one.
The sound of shattering shells filled the air.
A sharp crack echoed through the riverbank with each strike, a rhythmic symphony of destruction. The surviving eggs trembled in response, as if sensing their impending doom.
Dex ignored their agitation.
He no longer bothered consuming the flesh of his prey—eating took too long, and efficiency was key. Instead, he focused on harvesting their souls, compressing them into dense, compact orbs that could be devoured in a single bite. The process was faster, cleaner, and far more rewarding.
With each soul consumed, he felt his power surging.
The stone in his grasp, which once required both hands to lift, now felt lighter than before. Soon, he could lift two with ease. The exhilarating sensation of strength coursing through him was intoxicating, and he found himself sinking deeper into it.
The blood in his eyes darkened.
The vestiges of his former self—his past humanity—were slowly dissolving beneath the relentless influence of the Abyss. Yet, even as the abyssal instincts took hold, his mind remained sharp. Chaos could shape his emotions, but it would never steal his sanity. He was a demon now, and his nature was one of destruction and growth.
Unlike the fragile flesh of humans, demons thrived on chaos. Their very existence was woven from savagery, greed, ambition, and power. Betrayal, lust, and destruction were as natural to them as breathing was to mortals.
Dex was no exception.
His being was a fragment of the Infinite Abyss—a shard of its endless malice and hunger.
Nothing could emerge from filth untainted.
But he was not just filth.
He was the filth. The silt of the Abyss, molded into form. Part chaos. Part evil.
But never a devil.
*****
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