Chapter Eleven: Return To The Abyss

Oliver stood in front of the giant gates once again.

It hadn't been difficult to find his way back.

The stench of death was like a beacon, guiding him to the dark corridors of the cave.

He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly to steady himself.

His body still remembered the pain—the shadow spike through his chest, the scorching dark flame that had incinerated him.

But this time…

This time was different.

With a sharp push, Oliver stepped inside.

The hall looked the same as before, towering and ominous, the grand throne still sitting at the far end of the room. The only difference?

The statues were gone.

Oliver smirked. "Guess I did a good job smashing those."

He took a few slow steps forward.

"I know you're there," he called out, voice laced with mocking amusement.

"No need to hide like some cowardly corpse. I know you thought you got rid of me, but I'm not that easy to kill."

For a moment, the hall was silent.

Then—

WHOOSH!

A pillar of dark flame erupted in front of the throne.

From within it, the Lich emerged, its skeletal frame draped in a tattered black robe, the golden scepter still in its bony grasp.

But there was something different this time.

The Lich hesitated.

Its empty eye sockets flickered with an unnatural glow as it regarded Oliver with something akin to disbelief.

Then—it spoke.

"Now I understand… why the scent of death clings so stubbornly to you."

The voice was cold, regal, yet filled with something deeper—intrigue.

If Oliver had been anyone else, he might have been shocked to hear the undead speak.

But he wasn't anyone else.

He was Oliver Lancaster.

And he didn't give a damn.

Rolling his shoulders, he cracked his neck before pulling out his dagger.

"Yeah, yeah, creepy monologue, ominous declarations—I don't care."

His grin sharpened.

"Enough with the chit-chat. Let's fight."

Then—he charged.

The battle began with a flash of movement.

Oliver charged forward, his crimson eyes locked onto the Lich, watching for any movement, any sign of an attack.

The Lich responded immediately, raising its golden scepter as a magic circle flared to life in front of it.

A blast of dark fire roared toward Oliver.

But this time—it was different.

He sidestepped effortlessly, the flames barely grazing past him.

Another spell followed, a barrage of shadow lances piercing the air, but Oliver weaved through them, his movements more refined, more precise than before.

The difference was clear.

After leveling up, his body felt lighter, and faster. It was easier to see the flow of battle and to anticipate the attacks before they landed.

A grin spread across Oliver's face as he closed the distance, ducking under another dark flame burst before springing off the ground, his dagger slashed across the Lich's ribcage in a single fluid motion.

Clang!

A hit.

The Lich staggered backward slightly from the force of the blow, and Oliver quickly leaped back, putting distance between them again.

As a dark spear erupted from where he once stood.

His eyes gleamed with a dangerous light as he wiped a speck of dust from his cheek.

"This time won't be like last time."

The battle raged on.

Oliver danced through the storm of spells, twisting, leaping, and dodging as his dagger carved through the air, striking the Lich over and over.

For the first time, it seemed like he was winning.

He hadn't even needed to use his new skill yet.

But then—

Something changed.

The moment stretched.

The air grew heavy.

A massive magic circle engulfed the entire floor of the hall, slowing down his movements.

Oliver's instincts screamed at him, but before he could react—

CRACK!

A bolt of dark lightning struck him, sending him hurtling across the hall.

He barely had time to recover before—

CRACK!

Another strike.

CRACK!

And another.

CRACK!

And another.

The Lich unleashed a relentless barrage, hammering Oliver's body with unforgiving force.

The strikes weren't meant to kill—they were meant to incapacitate.

To break him.

To find out why he had returned.

Oliver hit the ground, his body twitching, his nerves fried from the continuous voltage. The hall spun.

His skin was scorched, his clothes tattered.

And across his battered body, jagged Lichtenberg figures—lightning scars—etched themselves into his flesh, crackling with residual energy.

The only thing untouched was his eyes.

Those burning crimson eyes.

They locked onto the Lich with pure, unfiltered hatred.

And then—

BOOM!

A pulse of energy erupted from within him.

Abyssal Dominion had activated.

Just in time.

The magic circle beneath him vanished, and in that instant, Oliver moved.

The moment the next lightning bolt struck—he was gone.

The Lich's empty sockets flickered in surprise as Oliver reappeared, his speed now monstrous, ricocheting off the walls of the hall, striking from every angle.

BAM! A dagger to the ribs. BAM! A kick to the sternum. BAM! A slash across the skull.

Oliver's onslaught was relentless.

The Lich was taking damage. It had never expected this. If this continued—it would lose.

It knew it.

With a flick of its skeletal fingers, the Lich summoned a barrier, encasing itself in a shield of pure dark energy.

But it wasn't just defending.

It began to chant.

A language older than time echoed through the hall. The air crackled as arcane lightning surged around it, raw power spiraling into a final devastating spell.

Oliver could feel it—this spell was different.

But he didn't care.

He didn't stop.

He bombarded the barrier, his attacks growing fiercer, stronger. Each strike more devastating than the last.

Cracks formed.

The barrier began to give way.

The Lich continued its chant.

Oliver refused to let it finish.

Lightning exploded outward—the spell was almost complete.

But Oliver—

Oliver blitzed forward, breaking the sound barrier.

And in a single, unstoppable motion—

He struck.

The barrier shattered.

And a deafening silence filled the hall.

Then—

THUD.

The Lich's skull fell off its neck and it collapsed behind Oliver.

But Oliver stood motionless, his back facing the Lich, his dagger still outstretched.

The final strike had been delivered, the battle won—but his body had nothing left to give.

His legs trembled, his arms felt like lead, and his vision blurred at the edges.

He had exhausted everything. Every ounce of energy, every last reserve.

Yet, despite the overwhelming fatigue, he didn't care.

The Lich was dead.

He had won.

And as if the world itself acknowledged his victory, a system message flickered before his eyes:

+50 meta essence

[Hidden Trial Completed]

The performance will be rated with the Main Trial.

A smirk tugged at Oliver's lips.

That was good enough.

The darkness creeping into his vision finally claimed him, his body succumbing to exhaustion.

As the last of his strength faded—

He returned to the Abyss.

He had died once more.

End Of Chapter Eleven.