Chapter 5: The Hollow One

Pain. A dull, throbbing ache pulsed through Adrian's body, an unrelenting reminder of his battle. His breath was ragged, each inhale scraping against his throat like a blade. The taste of iron coated his tongue—blood, his own.

The abyss was silent now. Not gone. Just watching. Waiting.

He lay on the cold ground, his fingers twitching as he attempted to move. His muscles screamed in protest, exhaustion weighing him down like chains. Every inch of his body bore the evidence of his struggle—cuts, bruises, the deep ache of overused muscles. But despite it all, a strange sense of exhilaration coursed through him.

He had done it. He had cut through the abyss.

The moment replayed in his mind—the flash of his blade, the resistance of the abyssal creature's form, the way his instincts had guided him through the motion. He had wielded his sword with purpose, not just as a weapon but as an extension of himself.

Yet, something was wrong.

The air around him felt heavier. The abyss had always been suffocating, but this was different. It was as if the space itself was pressing down on him, coiling around him like an unseen predator.

His heartbeat quickened.

A new test? A punishment? Or… a reward?

Adrian gritted his teeth and forced himself upright. His limbs trembled, his vision blurred for a moment before sharpening again. He had no time to waste. He had to understand what was happening.

He looked at his blade—his Eclipse Blade. The dark steel gleamed with an eerie light, as if it had absorbed something from the abyss. Its surface shimmered subtly, like ripples across a dark ocean.

Had the blade changed? Or had he?

His grip tightened around the hilt. No, this wasn't just about the sword. He had stepped into something deeper. The abyss had acknowledged him. And now, it was testing him in a way he hadn't anticipated.

He took a slow breath and steadied his stance. He needed to move forward.

The Weight of Progress

Each step forward felt different now. The abyss was no longer the silent, oppressive void it had once been. It felt aware, alive in ways he hadn't noticed before.

The ground beneath him pulsed faintly, as if something vast and unseen stirred beneath the surface. The air crackled with a strange energy, brushing against his skin like unseen tendrils.

Adrian ignored the unease. He had no choice but to push forward.

But soon, he realized the true cost of his battle.

A sharp pain lanced through his side. His legs wobbled. His wounds—though not deep—were taking their toll. Fatigue gnawed at his bones, each step feeling heavier than the last. His movements had lost their fluidity, the exhaustion creeping into his very core.

His grip on his sword loosened slightly before he forced himself to tighten it again. He couldn't afford to falter. Not here. Not now.

Yet, his body screamed for rest.

And then, the whispers began.

Faint at first, like the rustling of distant leaves. Then clearer. Echoes.

"Not enough."

"Too weak."

"Is this all you can do?"

Adrian froze. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

The voices… they weren't his own. They weren't memories.

They were the abyss.

He exhaled sharply, gripping his blade as he scanned his surroundings. Shadows stretched unnaturally, twisting and writhing at the edges of his vision. The darkness seemed deeper, heavier, as if it had gained substance.

Then, something moved.

A figure, barely distinguishable from the shadows, stepped forward.

It was him.

No—not him.

The figure had his form, his stance, his sword. But its eyes were empty voids, its presence devoid of warmth. A perfect imitation, yet completely hollow.

The abyss was mocking him. Testing him.

A challenge.

Adrian's breath steadied. His exhaustion didn't matter. His pain didn't matter.

If the abyss wanted to test him, he would carve through its illusions.

His grip on the Eclipse Blade tightened.

His reflection moved.

And the battle began.

Facing Himself

The first clash was like striking against a mirror. Adrian's blade met the shadow's with a force that sent vibrations through his arm. The impact was jarring, forcing him back a step.

The shadow moved exactly as he did.

Every step. Every shift. Every angle. It mirrored him perfectly.

Adrian's mind raced. He couldn't win by simple skill—this wasn't an enemy he could outmatch in technique alone. It was himself.

Then I need to change.

He adjusted his stance—but the shadow adjusted as well.

He feinted, shifting his weight for a deceptive strike—but the shadow feinted too.

Frustration flickered through him. If he couldn't outfight it, and he couldn't outthink it—what could he do?

Then, an idea struck him.

Instinct.

He had been fighting with calculated, precise movements, trusting his training. But instinct—the raw, unpredictable drive that had led him to land his first real cut—was something even the abyss couldn't copy perfectly.

Adrian closed his eyes for half a second.

The shadow lunged.

He moved—without thought.

His body reacted, twisting in an unexpected motion. His sword cut through the air at an unnatural angle. The shadow had no time to mirror him.

A clean cut.

The illusion shattered.

A Deeper Understanding

Silence followed. The abyss receded slightly, the oppressive weight lifting just enough for Adrian to breathe. He remained standing, chest rising and falling with exhaustion, yet his mind felt sharper.

The test had ended.

And he had passed.

His gaze fell to his blade once more. The Eclipse Blade was changing. He could feel it. The cut he had landed against his shadow—that was different from before.

Not just strength. Not just skill.

Understanding.

The abyss was not merely an enemy. It was a forge. And he was the blade being sharpened.

But for what purpose?

He exhaled slowly, his grip relaxing. Questions could wait.

For now, he had survived.

The oppressive weight lifted. The abyss receded.

But then… something else shifted.

A presence.

Deeper. Hungrier.

Adrian's body tensed. His instincts screamed. His grip on the Eclipse Blade tightened.

He wasn't alone.

A low, guttural sound rumbled through the void. Not a whisper. Not an illusion.

Something real. Something waiting. Watching.

And then—it moved.