Chapter 1: Awakening in the Abyss

  The air was thick with a metallic scent, cloying and suffocating. Blood-red clouds hung overhead, swirling and churning as if the heavens themselves had cracked open. Jagged, shattered buildings loomed in the distance, their broken forms standing as silent witnesses to a forgotten time.

  The ground beneath him was cold, uneven stone, worn and cracked. He lay sprawled on the ground, his chest heaving, as if he had been thrown into this strange, hostile world. His mind felt fragmented—memories slipping away like grains of sand through his fingers.

  Who am I? The thought echoed in his mind, but it was vague—distant. His identity, his life before this moment, was a blur. The only thing that felt real was the heavy, gnawing emptiness in his chest, the strange sense of being… out of place.

  A low, guttural growl snapped him from his thoughts. His eyes darted to the source of the sound.

  A hulking, grotesque figure emerged from the shadows. It was humanoid in shape, but its skin was pale and stretched tight over its skeletal frame, rotting and decaying. Eyes, once human, now hollow and void of life, glowed with an eerie, unnatural light. Its mouth opened in a horrific grin, revealing sharp, jagged teeth that dripped with viscous black saliva.

  "Abyssborn…" The word slipped from his lips, though he didn’t know how he knew it.

  He instinctively pushed himself to his feet, the motion clumsy and slow, his legs wobbling beneath him. This was no ordinary place.

  The creature took a step forward, its limbs jerking unnaturally, its grin widening as it inched closer, its decayed breath heavy in the air. It raised a mangled arm, aiming for his throat.

  But something stirred within him. A strange power. It radiated from deep inside, prickling at the back of his mind, almost as if it were calling to him. His hand shot out without thought, and in that instant, the world around him seemed to freeze.

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  A strange symbol appeared on his palm, glowing with a dim, sickly green light. The air hummed with an unnatural energy, and before he could fully comprehend what was happening, the ground beneath the Abyssborn shifted. The earth cracked open beneath it, and from the depths, skeletal hands emerged, gripping the beast’s limbs.

  The Abyssborn snarled, struggling against the undead hands that held it in place. But it was no use. The skeletal hands tightened their grip, and the creature howled in agony as it was pulled into the earth, vanishing from sight.

  “What the hell…?” The man gasped, staring at his hand in disbelief. He felt the strange symbol on his palm fade, leaving a lingering warmth in its place. His heart pounded, and for a moment, he simply stood there, overwhelmed by the sudden surge of power he had just wielded.

  Then, a voice—soft, almost like a whisper—rang in his mind. It wasn’t his own voice. It was something deeper, more ancient.

  [SYSTEM INITIALIZING...]

  [WELCOME, AURELIUS VORN.]

  [YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN.]

  The words hung in the air like a strange riddle, but the voice had a comforting presence. Chosen for what? He didn’t know. But there was no time to dwell on the question. The world around him was already shifting, and the Abyssborn wasn’t the only danger here.

  He could sense it—a strange weight in the air, as if the very fabric of reality had been torn and left to fester.

  Then, another voice, this time distant, but clear.

  “Survive. Learn. Conquer.” The voice urged, cold and commanding. “You are the Necromancer. Your journey begins now.”

  The system, the voice, the power that surged through him—it all made sense in that moment. He wasn’t here by accident. He had been brought to this place, this world of death and decay, for a reason. And that reason?

  To command death itself.

  He swallowed hard, forcing himself to steady his breath. His body felt weak, like it was still adjusting to this new reality. But there was something more—a deep hunger for power, a thirst for something he couldn’t yet understand.

  "Necromancer..." He whispered the word, testing it. The idea of commanding the dead, of harnessing power over the very essence of life and death, felt alien but… right.

  Another sound broke through the silence—the low, eerie rumble of something approaching.

  The ground shook beneath his feet, and before he could react, another figure appeared before him. This one was different—a towering, humanoid figure clad in dark armor, its eyes glowing with a malevolent energy.

  A figure made of darkness.

  It raised a hand, pointing directly at him, and in an instant, a blast of shadow energy shot toward him. The attack was so sudden, so fast, he barely had time to react. But then—instinctively—his hand shot forward once more, and this time, the symbol on his palm flared to life.

  The undead warriors beneath the earth responded immediately, emerging from the ground with terrifying speed. They formed an impenetrable shield, blocking the shadow attack. The blast hit them, but the warriors absorbed the impact, shattering into dust but regenerating instantly. The attack had no effect.

  The shadowy figure paused, taken aback by the unexpected resistance. It growled, stepping forward.

  “Interesting. You are no ordinary traveler. But you will be my prey, just like the rest.”

  A cruel laugh echoed in the air, but Aurelius didn’t flinch. Instead, a dark grin spread across his face.

  “I don’t think so.”

  With a simple gesture, he raised his hand again. And this time, the earth split wide open, and an army of undead soldiers surged forth, their hollow eyes glowing with an unnatural light.

  The battle had only just begun.

  And in this new world, he was the ruler of death.