2.

Lucian strode through the shadowy halls of the Abyssal Palace, each step heavier than the last as he struggled to adjust to the overwhelming strength of his new form. The palace itself was unlike anything he had ever imagined—vast, cavernous, and filled with a haunting beauty that seemed carved out of darkness itself. The walls were a smooth, obsidian black, streaked with glowing purple veins of energy that pulsed like a heartbeat. It felt alive, almost as if the very building was sentient and watching his every move.

Servants scurried out of his way as he passed, their eyes downcast in fear. They were strange creatures, humanoid but twisted by the abyssal energies that permeated this realm. Some had glowing eyes, others had limbs that shimmered with dark energy, and all of them were utterly silent, save for the occasional rustle of their robes or the clink of armor from the Abyssal guards.

Lucian's mind raced. This wasn't just a change in scenery—it was an entirely new world, one filled with dangers he couldn't even comprehend yet. The body he inhabited, the title he now carried, wasn't just a symbol of power; it was a target painted on his back. Every being in this place seemed to revere him, but he could feel the tension in the air. They feared him, yes, but fear could quickly turn to betrayal or worse.

The voice of the Abyssal Lord echoed in his mind once again, as if it had sensed his unease. You will need to assert dominance soon. The Abyssal Domain is not a place where hesitation is tolerated. The moment they sense weakness, they will turn on you.

Lucian clenched his jaw. He didn't have time to process everything yet, but one thing was clear—he couldn't afford to appear weak. Not now, not ever.

His footsteps brought him to the grand council chamber, an immense room with a towering ceiling that seemed to disappear into a swirling mass of shadows. A large, circular table of polished obsidian sat at the center, surrounded by high-backed thrones, each one carved with intricate symbols and ancient runes. Above them, dark banners fluttered, depicting the insignia of the Abyssal Domain—a black, swirling vortex with crimson edges, representing the consuming nature of the Abyss itself.

Several figures were already seated at the table, awaiting his arrival. Each of them exuded power, and the tension in the room was palpable. Lucian recognized a few from the scattered memories in his mind—fragments left by the previous Abyssal Lord. These were his most trusted advisors, though "trust" seemed like a fragile concept here.

The first to speak was an imposing figure clad in dark plate armor, his eyes glowing a fierce red. His voice was deep, commanding. "Lord Abyssal, it has been too long. Your absence has caused unrest among the realms. Our enemies sense weakness."

This was Tharok, the Abyssal Warlord, a fearsome general who had led the armies of the Abyssal Domain to countless victories. His loyalty was unquestioned, but his loyalty was to the position, not the man. Lucian knew that if Tharok suspected any weakness in him, he would not hesitate to challenge his authority.

"I am aware of the unrest, Warlord," Lucian replied, his voice cold and confident, despite the turmoil swirling inside him. "That's why I have summoned this council. I want to know the full extent of the situation."

To his right, another figure spoke, this one draped in dark robes, his face obscured by a deep hood. He was Mal'Gorath, the Abyssal Sorcerer, a master of dark magic and the one responsible for maintaining the domain's mystical defenses. His voice was a sinister whisper that sent chills down Lucian's spine.

"The realms grow bolder, my Lord," Mal'Gorath said. "Since your… rebirth, several of the neighboring realms have begun to amass their forces. They sense instability and will strike if they believe you are not the Abyssal Lord you once were."

Lucian's eyes narrowed. So, they already suspected something was different. Of course, they did. No doubt rumors had spread that the Abyssal Lord was not the same terrifying force as before. He had to act quickly to crush those doubts.

"And what of our defenses?" Lucian asked, his gaze shifting toward Mal'Gorath.

"The Abyss itself remains loyal, as always," the sorcerer replied. "The realm bends to your will, Lord Abyssal, but the magical barriers that protect us from invasion are weakening. The energy required to maintain them has been strained in your absence."

Before Lucian could respond, another figure leaned forward, her sharp eyes scanning him with suspicion. This was Seraphis, the Abyssal Spymaster, a figure wrapped in shadows, her voice barely more than a whisper. She was known for being both invaluable and dangerous—she knew everything that happened in the realm, and her information could either save or destroy a ruler.

"My Lord," Seraphis began, her tone cold and calculating, "there are whispers. Some of our spies in the neighboring realms have reported that alliances are being forged. The Fire and Shadow Realms, long at odds, may be preparing a joint attack. If they unite against us, the Abyss will be hard-pressed to defend itself."

Lucian felt a surge of panic, though he hid it well. The Fire Realm and Shadow Realm were two of the most powerful factions in the infinite realms. If they were uniting, it could spell disaster. He was still struggling to understand his own powers, let alone lead an entire domain into war.

You have the power to crush them all, the Abyssal Lord's voice whispered in his mind. Do not fear. They will learn to fear you again.

But Lucian wasn't so sure. The fear was there, gnawing at the back of his mind. He didn't know how to wield the Abyssal Lord's power yet, and he was beginning to realize just how precarious his position truly was. He was walking a tightrope, and one misstep could send him tumbling into oblivion.

Still, he couldn't afford to hesitate. Not in front of his war council. They needed to see him as the Abyssal Lord they feared and followed.

"What do you suggest?" Lucian asked, his gaze moving from one advisor to the next.

Tharok was the first to speak, his voice a low growl. "We strike first. Crush the Shadow Realm before they can organize. Show them the Abyssal Lord is still a force to be reckoned with."

Mal'Gorath nodded, his eyes glowing faintly beneath his hood. "A display of power would certainly remind the realms of your strength, my Lord. They have forgotten what it means to face the Abyss."

Lucian glanced at Seraphis, who remained silent for a moment before speaking. "A show of strength could work, but we must be careful. An outright assault on the Shadow Realm could push the Fire Realm to join them immediately. We should strike, but with subtlety. Send a message. Remind them of the darkness that waits."

Lucian took a breath, considering his options. He needed to act, but he couldn't rush into war blindly. Every move he made now would set the tone for the future of the Abyssal Domain—and his own survival.