The Abyss was no longer the same.
Once an endless void of writhing shadows and chaos, it now pulsed with singular rhythm—beating to the will of one man. The throne beneath Kael was no mere seat of power; it was a fulcrum of dominion, carved from the bones of forgotten realities, bound by the essence of every ruler who had ever dared to touch its core.
And now, it belonged to him.
The shadows no longer clawed at his mind. They bowed.
His mother stood at his side, draped in silken darkness, her crimson eyes gleaming with something more than pride. There was satisfaction, yes—but also awe. Reverence. As if she was only now seeing the full measure of the son she had birthed… or created.
Kael inhaled deeply, adjusting to the torrent of energy now coursing through him. This was no spell. No enchantment. It was dominion—raw, divine, complete. The very nature of the Abyss recognized him. No longer as an invader, but as its rightful king.
And power, he knew, always demanded a price.
He turned to his mother. "What now?"
Her smile was slow, curved like a blade. "You tell me, my king."
At her words, the shadows parted like a curtain drawn by ancient hands. Beyond them stretched a city of obsidian spires and burning sky—a metropolis not seen, but remembered by the soul. Towers of black flame reached into a sky that knew no stars, and creatures of the Abyss stood frozen in reverence.
A city not just of darkness—but of history. Of judgment.
Kael narrowed his eyes. "The Abyss has a kingdom?"
Her voice was amused silk. "Of course. It always has. But it has never had a king."
Understanding settled like a blade across his throat. Taking the throne was not the end. It was the challenge. The first true step.
"They won't accept me."
"No," she said, gaze glittering. "But that's what makes it interesting."
Kael did not hesitate.
From his throne, he gave the command: Bring them to me.
The shadows obeyed.
They moved with divine speed, tearing through the fabric of the realm—and the Lords came.
One by one, they emerged from the void. Some coalesced from smoke and fire, others walked forward through cracks in reality. They were not simply beings—they were legends, forces of nature given form.
They had ruled the Abyss in their own time. Each had wielded power that shattered worlds. But none had ever sat upon the throne.
Now, they stood before it.
* Eryndor, the Shadow Serpent, his massive form wreathed in black flame, coiled endlessly in silence, eyes like burning moons fixed on Kael.
* Lady Nyx, the Mistress of Forgotten Souls, her body a drifting silhouette of shadow and sorrow, speaking in the voices of a thousand dead.
* Malakar, the Voidborn, forged of obsidian and inferno, radiating fury ancient as the void itself.
* And many others—unnamed, veiled, watching.
But none knelt. Not yet.
Kael leaned forward, resting one arm on the throne's armrest. His golden eyes blazed in the gloom.
"I assume you all have something to say."
Eryndor's voice was a tectonic hiss. "The Abyss does not bow to strangers."
Lady Nyx's tones echoed like a forgotten lullaby. "You wear the throne, but that does not mean it is yours."
Malakar stepped forward, the floor cracking beneath him. "No one has ever taken the throne by force. Only by right. You do not have it."
Kael rose.
The moment he did, the Abyss trembled.
Not in protest. In recognition.
The Lords felt it—deep in the marrow of their souls. A presence not forged by ambition or hunger—but by inevitability.
"You misunderstand," Kael said, his voice low and commanding. "I am not here to prove myself."
He stepped forward, shadows recoiling from his stride.
"I did not come to the Abyss to ask for approval."
He raised one hand—and the shadows moved.
The realm itself bent.
Spire and storm, flame and wind—all paused in reverence to his will. The skies dimmed. The breath of the Abyss became still.
"You think the throne is mine because I claimed it?" His voice grew quiet—more dangerous for its calm. "No. The throne was mine before I touched it. It was waiting."
His golden eyes met each of theirs.
"And so were you."
Then he spoke the words that would become legend.
"Kneel."
A moment of silence. And then—
The Abyss obeyed.
One by one, the Lords fell to their knees.
Malakar resisted, teeth clenched, flame bursting from his body. But the pressure was too great. With a final, furious snarl, he bent.
Nyx lowered her gaze. "You… are not like the others."
Eryndor spoke last. "No. He is not."
Kael did not gloat. Did not smile.
He simply stood—as King.
From the throne, his mother watched. Her expression unreadable. But in her eyes flickered something deep and dark and victorious. As if a prophecy long buried had finally bloomed.
Kael turned from the kneeling Lords to the distant edge of the realm, where the sky cracked with golden light.
Beyond the Abyss… the gods watched.
And soon—they would kneel too.
To be continued...