Shadow of the Abyss

[Congratulations on completing the First Trial]

Altair ignored the system message, continuing through the burning city, his seething rage swallowing the first city of Babels Tower. The amassing cries raged on as shrill cries of men and women pleading for their lives hummed across the embers of their hellscape. Shadow Demons raged, claiming life without mercy, much less a kindling of hesitation.

The Shadow Demons, with their dark and ominous presence, were basking in the glory of their conquest, their wretched bodies engulfed in the smoldering flames of destruction. The stench of death and decay hung heavy in the air as the demons reveled in the sight of fallen warriors whose blood pooled around them.

The echoes of their triumphant howls seemed to pierce the very fabric of the heavens, daring the gods to challenge their power.

"For the God Emperor!" Shouted one of the Shadow Demons, claiming the skull of a delicate female as his own.

The Shadows rallied his cries across the city of Trein, baptized by the mortal flesh of man and flames.

As he stood amidst the rubble of the once-thriving city of Trein, Altair exuded an aura of cool, calculated cruelty. His piercing gaze, as sharp as the icy touch of gold, swept over the devastation around him, taking in every detail of the carnage with a mixture of fascination and contempt. A profane presence filled his being, lending an otherworldly quality to his already imposing figure.

At his elbow, Syris and Zagreus stood like ethereal guardians, their black robes fluttering in the cold, unforgiving wind that swept through the ruined city.

"Stop this…" A weak, shrill voice pleaded. Emerging from the dust of azure light modes, the sight of a small child, a boy, reflected across Altair's infernal eyes.

He sneered, the contempt nearly bleeding from his stature.

"You've taken everything… What else do you want?" The Child lifted his azure eyes to meet the Princes, bowing them as beads of pearly tears trickled down his cheeks.

"Beg me on your knees."

The boy looked up, stunned. Refusing to believe what he'd just heard. He, a god, was to be made to bow before a mortal? "What did you say?" he asked, a knot forming in the back of his throat.

Altair did not further acknowledge the God, sauntering past him as though he was air. Whether the floor Master bowed or not was of no consequence. The Shadow Proclamation ensured no God could harm a mortal, not without risking death themselves. Such a rule led to the death of many gods, as some gods would work out deals with mortals. Loyalty for the death of the God they'd anger.

Ultar was sure Altair had a few Gods on his side. And while he was not without allies. The mere sight of his shadow demons and authority over the Cambions echoed the Infernal Gods of the Nine Hells.

"No! Wait!" he shouted, cradling to his knees. He pressed his head against the ash and cried. "Forgive me! Please! I was wrong to accept the words of—"

Cracking his head over the cobblestone, Altair sneered and stomped his head forth into the earth; the elation pressing against his chest was nearly as enjoyable as matters of the flesh. He stomped and stomped and stomped until Ultar's entire head was buried.

"Do you want to live?"

The shame within Ultars chest had never been palpable as he cried, much like a boy and not a God that had lived for hundreds of cycles.

"I asked you a fucking question, do not make me repeat myself, New God." Altair snapped, ruthlessly burying Ultars head so far into the dirt that his shoulders touched the ashy cobblestone.

The deity's mournful voice echoed through the ash, so feeble and pitiful that it attempted to tug at some semblance of mercy within Altair. The Prince couldn't help but sneer in disgust at the pitiable display. The deity's words were barely audible, but the desperation in his voice was clear. "I want to live," he whispered, his tone laced with a sense of urgency and fear.

"Tasha," Altair called aloud for all to hear, including the Gods all watching, quite sure the woman could hear his decree even if she were in the Hells. "Prepare me a slave contract for this pathetic excuse for a god. I'm sure either Astaroth or Gremory would love a Floor Master as their bitch."

Altair knew he could not control such goldly Fallen. But he was sure everyone was aware of his dealing with at least Asteroth. Grimory was merely icing on the cake for their minds to wander back and forth, trying to figure out his relationship. After all, a Lilim was now on his side.

A magical projection immediately appeared, revealing her naughty grin in the darkness. Tasha didn't speak but rather a mysterious voice from the darkness of the projection that froze the flames and embers across the realm, stilling the clouds and winds, the seas, and flowing magma.

As if time appeared to have stopped, an effeminate voice echoed, racing across the first floor of Babel's Tower, " I shall accept his Soul upon your behalf."

In a single instance, Ultar Humiliated himself in two different ways beneath the eyes of the gods as he voided his bowels.

Altair took a step back. Commonly amongst the gods or higher beings that had mastered control of mana, they didn't necessarily require to piss or shit. Most of the time, food eaten by some like Altair or Syris would be fully digested, leaving no form of waste to exist within such a highly evolved body. The Stronger their bodies became, the less sustenance they required to sustain life.

It had been the same with gods. Ultar himself, however, had taken a liking to meals meant for Gods, like Celestrial meat and vegetables, creating waste within him due to his lack of control over his divinity as a new God.

"And now I'm angry and disgusted," he muttered, shifting his attention back to Tasha or, rather, the Fallen she was with. "Then, I'll thank you, Gremory."

A delightfully sinful chuckle resounded through the flow of time as the projection window began to close, "The pleasure is all mine, Altair Blackwood. After all we are in business together." The system window closed, leaving only silence and the continuation of time.

"One of my Sword Maids will find you," Altair said to Ultar, shattering open space with his fist as a Rift emerged. "See that you ready."
Your journey continues at empire

***

Arms folded over his eyes, Altair seethed a breath of fiery air laced with Mana as he laided on his bed. He was tired, furious, and worried. Each time he opened his eyes, he saw nothing but red, leaving him to hold up in his room for the past two days.

He hadn't eaten, nor could he get work done, burdened by the emotion of rage.

"Syris…" Altair called out. He could hear her soft breathing beside him. Deep in meditation.

"Hmm?" Syris peeped her eyes open. "Sane enough to talk, are we?"

"How Do I experience the feeling of peace?"

"Through serenity," Syris calmly explained. "Feelings are stories, images of the past. Emotions are Primal, untouched by the past. At least that's what Father told me. To seek peace, you must have serenity."

For the first time in two days, Altair opened his eyes and gazed upon the pale blue eyes of the Goddess upon his bed. He was surprised, or rather in awe that such wisdom echoed from Syris of all people.

She was always so violent.

"What type of drugs do you take? Can I have some? When did you become so wise?"

Syris' lips twitched. "I don't like it. But my father is a God of Wisdom. I do know a bit of stuff. So? What calms your heart?"

"I guess talking to you. Stupid, eh? Two days, and I've not said a word to you or anyone."

"Then shall I tell you?" Syris said, a little proud that she didn't need to use her body as a means to please others. She liked that. "Darkness. Two days of bandaging your eyes, and you've calmed enough to talk to me."

Altair shook his head, crawling over to Syris as he rested his head against her supple thighs."I haven't calmed down. The anger is still there. It's just fighting against joy or, as you say, serenity."

Syris hummed, running her fingers through his ashen hair like a comb. Curiously, she observed the way his eyes closed and his lips rose. Even his breathing seemed to relax as her fingers wove rage out from his chest.

'So even something as simple as this can give him peace, huh?' Syris smiled, continuing her movement until all the stress was quelled from his bones. 'Men are so strange… I wonder…'

"Are you hungry?"

Altair blankly nodded.

It was Nia who brought in a tray of creamy Broccoli cheddar soup, managing a warm smile as Syris continued on.

"No domains. Keep your eyes closed, ok?" Syris said, gesturing to Nia, who nodded.

Nia, like an elegant cat, veered onto the bed, folding her legs as she laid the hot bowl onto her lap, and began feeding Altair, careful not to make a sound lest she disturb his supple peace.

The soup was warm, sliding down his tongue and throat and warming his belly. By the time he was done, his consciousness was fluttering through reality and dreams.

"It's not over yet, my sweet Emperor. Your Massage is next."