Abyssal Gate

The air around Shree Yan grew thicker as he approached the Abyssal Gate, a vast, ancient door etched into the very fabric of reality. The gate was said to lead to the deepest part of the universe, a place where the boundaries between time, space, and existence itself were blurred beyond comprehension. It was the final destination for those who sought the ultimate knowledge, the path to immortality and beyond. Yet, it was also a place where even the most powerful souls were devoured by the void, lost to eternity.

Shree Yan stood before the Gate, his red eyes scanning the intricate carvings that adorned its surface—symbols of forgotten civilizations and cryptic runes that had been etched in time. His heart remained unchanged, its cold detachment unwavering. He was not here to seek redemption, nor was he searching for meaning. This was a quest for power. Power that would transcend the very fabric of the world.

But even as he studied the Gate, a flicker of doubt passed through his mind. The Abyssal Gate was not merely a threshold—it was a test. Only those who had truly forsaken all human emotion, all ties to the world, and had transcended every limitation could cross it. Those who approached it with even a shred of humanity or weakness would be consumed by it.

He could feel its pull, its seductive whispering calling him to step forward, promising the world he sought. But there was something else, a nagging sensation that hinted at an unseen cost. Shree Yan knew that the Gate didn't merely grant immortality—it extracted a price, one that could never be paid back.

With a deep breath, Shree Yan's fingers brushed the cool stone surface of the Gate. The carvings flared to life beneath his touch, their glow bathing him in a dim, unsettling light. The air shifted, and for a moment, he saw flashes—visions of the past, of memories he had long buried. He saw Shidhara, her face full of longing, and Kiran, his betrayal still fresh in his mind. He saw the desolate faces of his victims and the souls he had discarded along the way. These were not just visions—they were the echoes of his very essence, taunting him for what he had become.

But none of it mattered.

Shree Yan steeled himself, pushing away the fleeting emotions that tried to surface. He had come too far. There was no turning back. He would not be swayed by the illusion of regret, the weakness of sentimentality. He was beyond that.

A voice, ancient and disembodied, reverberated through his mind. "You seek to transcend time and death, but what of the price? What of your very soul?"

Shree Yan's lips curled into a cold smile. "I have no need for a soul. I am beyond the concept of life and death. I will claim what is mine."

The Gate creaked, its massive form slowly shifting. The void beyond it seemed to beckon, a swirling darkness filled with echoes of forgotten worlds. But there was no fear in Shree Yan's heart—only an unrelenting hunger.

He stepped forward, crossing the threshold.

The moment he did, time itself seemed to fracture. The world around him twisted and blurred, as if the very laws of reality were being rewritten. The Abyssal Gate was not a door—it was a passage through the very fabric of existence, a journey that led into the core of the universe.

For what seemed like an eternity, Shree Yan was lost in the void. But then, the darkness parted, and he found himself standing on the edge of an infinite abyss. A vast, empty chasm stretched out before him, with no beginning and no end. It was a place where the very concept of time had no meaning, where the past, present, and future were all intertwined into one endless loop.

At the center of the abyss was a figure, cloaked in shadows, its face obscured by a hood. The figure's presence exuded a sense of power so immense that it seemed to warp the very space around it.

"You have crossed the threshold," the figure's voice echoed, deep and resonant, carrying an eerie weight.

Shree Yan's red eyes glinted with determination. "I seek immortality. I seek the end of time itself."

The figure let out a soft, almost melancholic laugh. "Immortality is but a fleeting dream. Time is but a cycle. What you seek will consume you, as it has consumed many before you."

"Then I will break the cycle." Shree Yan's voice was cold, unwavering. "I will become the master of time itself. Nothing will stand in my way."

The figure slowly raised its hand, and the abyss began to shift. The space around Shree Yan contorted, pulling at him, threatening to unravel his very being. He could feel the weight of the universe pressing in on him, the vastness of eternity closing in.

But Shree Yan remained unmoved.

"What price must be paid?" he asked, his voice cutting through the overwhelming pressure.

"The price is always the same," the figure intoned. "You will lose yourself. Your humanity, your very essence, will fade away. You will become a part of the void, a mere fragment of a broken reality."

Shree Yan stood tall, unflinching. "I have already lost everything."

In that moment, the figure stepped forward, its hooded face still hidden in shadow. The entire abyss seemed to bend around it, and Shree Yan could feel the weight of its gaze, penetrating into the depths of his soul.

"Then prepare yourself," the figure said, its voice like a whisper that carried the weight of ages. "For there is no turning back from this path. The end you seek will only lead to more darkness."

As the figure reached out, Shree Yan felt the pull of the void—a force that threatened to consume him whole. But within him burned the unyielding fire of his ambition, the relentless drive that had carried him to this point.

He embraced the darkness, welcoming the void that would define him.

For in this moment, he was no longer a man. He was a force, a being beyond time and space.

The Abyssal Gate had opened. And the journey had only just begun.