The sky of The Abyss Glosum always glowed with a crimson hue, thicker and darker than the stench of stale blood. There, chaos was a heartbeat that never ceased; a chaotic symphony of swirling grime, savage laughter, and shrieks that pierced the heavy air.
Amidst this lawlessness, a single pair of footsteps parted the debris, plunging the surroundings into a sudden, suffocating silence. The man's black cloak dragged through the dust, kicking it up gently like a dark, intimidating aura that unnerved anyone who crossed his path. His figure was tall and well-built, wrapped in tattered cloth that concealed his identity from head to toe. His face was entirely swallowed by shadows, far too obscure to recognize even with a passing glance.
He brought his steps to a halt right in front of a heavily lopsided scene: two executioners cornering a survivor who had completely depleted his strength.
"Hand over your Ether! Or you will truly die here!" one of the executioners demanded, his raspy voice dripping with intimidation.
The survivor glanced around desperately; not a single soul dared to step closer. Yet, at the absolute zenith of his despair, he saw the tall, dark figure stop directly before them. For a split second, the air seemed to freeze, compressed by a weight heavier than any armor they had ever worn.
"Move. You are blocking my path," a voice resonated, heavier than the pull of gravity itself.
Cold sweat instantly drenched the survivor's body. His eyes widened in sheer disbelief; it was as though he could see the silhouette of the Grim Reaper standing calmly right behind this mysterious figure.
"Who do you think you are?! How dare you interfere in our business!" one executioner roared, tightening his grip on his massive axe—a weapon that had just nearly cleaved the survivor's life in half.
"Hey, look! He's terrified!" the other executioner, a bald-headed brute, barked as a mocking laugh exploded from his chest. On the other side, the survivor began to back away slowly, his body trembling violently; his eyes remained locked onto the cloaked figure, as if he recognized the very embodiment of doomsday standing right in front of him.
Then, everything transpired within a single pulse. Faster than the blink of an eye, shorter than a single breath.
BOOM!
The two executioners were sent flying, their bodies hurtling through the air at a velocity capable of tearing down a concrete building. There were no screams, only the sickening thud of blunt force crushing whatever they collided with in the distance.
Before the dust could even settle, the figure was already walking past the frozen survivor. He paused for a brief moment, yet he still did not turn around.
"Where is Glosum's Maw?" he asked flatly, his cold voice slicing through the silence he had just created.
The survivor collapsed to the ground, his breath catching from the dust and the raw terror that had just detonated before his eyes. The two executioners, who moments ago were as strong as giants, were now nothing more than heaps of twisted flesh and mangled armor plates further down the road.
"Glo-Glosum's Maw..." the survivor stammered, his voice shaking uncontrollably. He pointed toward a cluster of darker structures, where a decayed wooden sign swung limply under the toxic wind. "Over there... at the end of that corridor of death. But please... do not go. That bar is an execution ground for people like you. You will never return with your soul intact."
The cloaked figure offered no reaction. He showed no sympathy, let alone fear. He simply strode forward, leaving the survivor still clutching his knees upon the cracked concrete.
***
Those heavy footsteps finally halted right in front of the iron door of Glosum's Maw, which groaned with a raspy screech. Inside, Black "The Ghost Shadow" had just risen from his table, his fingers tightly gripping the hilt of his black dagger, which remained starved for blood.
Black's crimson eyes behind the Lyra visor locked onto the darkness beneath the newcomer's hood. The silence inside the bar instantly escalated to a painful level—a tension so taut it could fracture the glassware around them. The thugs and fugitives held their breath; they felt squeezed between two magnetic poles that were ready to detonate the entire room.
"This scent..." Black hissed, his voice as coarse as sandpaper grating against rusted metal. "You are no part of this Abyss filth. You carry a pungent stench of the 'upper world.' How is that possible? Why have you sought out this dumpster?" He stood up, his lean frame tensing into a lethal combat stance.
The cloaked man raised his head slowly. The flickering neon light, blinking lazily overhead, cast a faint reflection upon a jagged scar slicing across his face—a mark far more feared than death itself.
CLICK! SRET! DRAK!
Instantly, Glosum's Maw erupted into a symphony of cocking firearms and unsheathing blades. There was no more room for pleasantries. Every single person in the establishment drew their weapons, aiming barrels and blade tips toward a single point: the cloaked figure who had just brought damnation to their doorstep.
The muscular, mysterious man merely looked at them one by one. His gaze swept across the room, as though the gun barrels and blade points directed at him were nothing more than children's toys.
"If you all desire to die by my hand that badly... come forward," he spoke without a shred of hesitation. His voice was low, yet it possessed a resonance that shook their resolve right down to the marrow of their bones.
The superficial courage that had filled the bar just moments ago instantly evaporated. True enough, some of them began to exchange pale, frantic glances. They recognized that scar all too well—a permanent scar from a past that could never be erased. They knew his words were no empty bluff; this man was the angel of death clad in a tattered cloak.
"Don't let him get to you!" Black shouted, attempting to shatter the paralyzing silence. "He's completely alone! He can't possibly hold all of us back!"
Black forced a smirk behind his mask, even though the fingers gripping his black dagger trembled faintly—a physical reflex his body could not conceal from his own survival instincts.
The cloaked man chuckled softly, a sound that resembled the low growl of a wolf. "Black... you truly are as slippery as an eel. Always clever at exploiting the situation. But listen to this very carefully... the only one I want today is you."
"Shut your mouth, you Demon!" one of the Abyss dwellers shrieked, his voice shrill with intense hatred. "You are the one who got us exiled from PETERUMMAN! You are the reason we are rotting in this garbage dump!"
In an instant, the bar exploded into chaos once more. Old grudges ignited, driving them to completely lose their sanity. One after another, they began to bellow, thrusting their weapons closer, masking their underlying terror with blind, roaring rage.
Tonight, Glosum's Maw was no longer just a drinking den; it had transformed into an execution arena where blood would be the only currency accepted.
Black lunged forward, his movement triggering a savage mob rush from nearly everyone inside the bar. A bloodthirsty slash of his dagger aimed like lightning toward the mysterious man's midsection. However, the figure simply shifted by a hair's breadth; Black's strike sliced through empty air, leaving only a hollow wussh sound behind.
Follow-up attacks came in relentless waves. Sword blades and iron maces converged from all directions. Realizing his position was becoming compromised, the mysterious figure leaped backward out of Glosum's Maw's doorway, plunging out into the pitch-black night of the Abyss.
***
Outside, an even more brutal welcome awaited him. A hail of gunfire from various long-range calibers flooded his position with sheer vengeance. The muzzle flashes illuminated the squalid alleyway in brief, blinding bursts.
The filthy dust of the Abyss swirled violently, creating a dense smokescreen that completely obscured their vision. The rapid-fire gunfire abruptly ceased, leaving a sharp ringing in their ears. They all stared at one another through the fog of dust, searching for any remains of life that might be left.
Black vaulted out ahead of everyone, his eyes scanning the darkness intensely to ensure that his enemy had been blown to pieces. Yet, amidst that eerie quiet, an ambush struck faster than light.
A clenched fist slammed into Black's chest with an impact far more devastating than the previous explosions of gunfire.
BRAKK!
Black's body was hurled backward into the bar, smashing tables and wooden chairs into unshaped splinters. He skidded across the concrete floor until he crashed violently against the back wall, leaving a trail of dust and blood in his wake.
Everyone inside screamed frantically and retaliated blindly toward the origin of the attack. However, the man was already gone—vanishing like a shadow swallowed by the night.
***
Silence descended once more, but this time, it felt entirely different. The gravity around Glosum's Maw suddenly felt exponentially heavier. Oxygen seemed to vanish, replaced by an incredibly suffocating aura of death. They stood frozen like statues, fully aware that any microscopic movement they made now would only trigger a cataclysm faster than the blink of an eye.
The pungent stench of gunpowder still hung heavily in the air, choking Black's lungs, which now felt completely shattered. The mysterious man's strike hadn't been a mere punch; it was a brutal, crushing blow that left a searing, burning heat inside his chest cavity.
Suppressing a groan, Black crawled rapidly deeper into the shadows, using the upturned wooden tables as temporary barricades. His trembling fingers moved tactically toward his utility belt. He pulled out several units of Magnet-Time Bombs—small, disc-shaped devices casting a cold, crimson glow.
Click! Click!
With practiced, lethal precision, he slapped the bombs onto the legs of the tables and the corners of the bar's structural pillars. He set the digital timer on his wrist, synchronizing those final seconds of doom to a single frequency.
Not stopping there, Black reached into his secondary pouch, gripping two smoke grenades and a high-intensity Flashbang. He knew that fighting this "demon" with raw muscle was nothing short of suicide. The only way out was to transform Glosum's Maw into a blind labyrinth of smoke and blinding light.
Amidst the suffocating quiet, the rhythmic ticking of the timer on his watch sounded like a death knell beginning its final countdown. Black took a deep, agonizing breath, preparing to detonate a miniature apocalypse inside the bar.