Nightmare of the Abyss

The masked man waited for a few seconds before speaking again. His presence thickened, a weight pressing down on them.

"Well," he finally said, "this fractured world has two dominant factions… and a third that refuses to be named among them."

He raised a gloved hand slightly, fingers curling.

"First, we have The Watchers. They make the laws and keep what little peace exists in this place."

Bruno noticed the way he said peace, as if the word had lost all meaning here.

"They oversee the city, enforce order, and ensure that the balance is never broken. Without them, this entire place would collapse into chaos. They regulate who gets access to resources—food, water, and most importantly, Abyssal artifacts. Even newcomers are put under observation before they are allowed to stay."

A pause. Then the masked man continued, "Then, we have The Scavengers. They manage the weapons, the trade, the economy. If The Watchers are the law, the Scavengers are the ones who actually keep this city running."

Bruno frowned. "So they're… merchants?"

The masked man chuckled, shaking his head. "If merchants were willing to slit your throat over a bad deal, then yes. They control the supply chain—everything from weapons and armor to food and Abyssal relics. Even the Watchers have to rely on them to maintain stability."

"So they operate outside the law?" Raine asked.

"There is an understanding," the masked man admitted. "Neither side is foolish enough to break the balance."

Silas leaned forward, arms crossed. "You said two groups. So what about the third?"

The masked man's tone darkened.

"They are called The Exiles," he said simply. "People who refuse to be part of the system. They live beyond the city, in the outskirts where no laws exist."

Silas scoffed. "And you let them?"

The masked man shrugged. "We respect their decision. But without protection, they become prey for the strong. The Watchers won't protect them. The Scavengers won't trade with them. And the Abyss itself… does not tolerate weakness."

Bruno exhaled, his mind processing everything. A city where survival was dictated by these two groups, with those who refused left to fend for themselves.

Then came the real question.

"You're giving us a choice, aren't you?" Bruno asked.

The masked man tilted his head. "That's correct. You can remain in the city, working between these two factions, or you can choose exile—a life of chaos and death."

Bruno's jaw tightened. "And if we refuse to stay at all?"

The masked man let out a small laugh, though there was no humor in it.

"You mean staying in this dimension?" His voice was almost mocking. "That is your choice. You can return to the Abyss, fight until your last breath, and die like countless others. Or you can stay here—where you will still fight, but at least you will have shelter, resources, and a chance to change something."

Bruno clenched his fists. It was a choice no one could refuse.

A moment of silence stretched between them before Raine finally spoke, her voice quiet but firm.

"Then why us?"

The masked man turned to her.

"Do you offer this choice to everyone?" she pressed.

His answer was immediate.

"Not everyone," he admitted. "Only those who are useful."

His gaze swept over them, unreadable.

"You wield Abyssal relics and fight like true warriors. You survived what others could not. That alone makes you valuable." He stepped closer, his aura pressing down like an invisible weight. "We need people like you if we are ever to break free from this place."

Silas raised an eyebrow. "You keep saying we."

The masked man ignored the question.

Instead, he continued, "You will be given a period of observation. Learn the rules. Watch how this world moves. Then, you will give your final verdict."

He paused, then added, "And if you decide to register here, you must contribute."

Bruno narrowed his eyes. "How?"

The answer was simple.

"You will take on quests—missions to retrieve Abyssal relics, Abyssal crystals, and shards. They are the lifeblood of this place."

Varen, who had been silent until now, finally spoke.

"And the prisoners?" he asked, his voice calm but sharp. "The ones locked away… they looked like they had lost their minds."

For a moment, the masked man was silent. Then he sighed.

"That… is because of something we recently discovered," he said, his tone unusually serious. "Many people cannot bear the aura of Abyssal crystals. It breaks them."

Bruno felt a cold sensation creep down his spine.

Silas frowned. "They go insane?"

The masked man nodded. "And they must be controlled and even healers can't fix them."

Bruno and Silas exchanged a glance. That term—healers—was new.

The masked man let out a slow breath.

"Yes," he finally said. "Many people here have developed… unnatural abilities. As if the world itself is forcing us to adapt."

He then turned his head slightly, eyes locking onto Silas.

"For example… you."

Silas narrowed his eyes.

"You, white-haired warrior—who fights with shadows without the help of relics."

Bruno tensed slightly. The masked man had noticed.

"But," the man continued, "such power always comes at a cost."

His voice dropped lower.

"They either lose their age, their lifespan, or…" His tone darkened. "Their sanity."

Silence.

Bruno clenched his fists. The weight of the truth settled over them.

This was not just a prison.

This was a game of survival.