Bound by the Abyss

Darkness clung to Lyria like a second skin. It curled around her wrists, slithered over her shoulders, whispered against the nape of her neck with phantom touches that felt almost… intimate. The cavern pulsed with something ancient, something alive, and she swore she could hear it breathing, murmuring secrets she wasn't meant to understand.

The air was thick with damp stone, with the metallic tang of blood still fresh on her fingertips.

She should have been dead.

Her entire squad had been swallowed whole, ripped from existence by the abyss that had opened beneath their feet. And yet, she remained—untouched, unharmed. Alive.

Because of him.

The creature—the monster—the nightmare they had been sent to kill stood before her, unharmed, unbound, and utterly unbothered.

Lyria had never seen anything like him before. The illusion of a man barely veiled the horror that lurked beneath. His fingers, claw-tipped and deadly, twitched at his sides. His long silver hair shifted like it had a mind of its own, and his eyes—black voids laced with molten gold—were fixed on her with something deeper than mere hunger.

Possession.

She should have run. Should have drawn her knife, should have fought, screamed, something.

But instead, her lips parted, and she whispered, "What are you?"

A slow, deliberate smile curved his lips.

"You already know," he murmured, voice like velvet and ruin.

The abyss pulsed behind him, breathing, twisting, waiting. The darkness stretched out to him like an obedient pet, shifting at his silent command.

Lyria's fingers curled around the hilt of the dagger strapped to her thigh, her heartbeat a war drum in her chest. But she knew the truth already. If he wanted her dead, he would have killed her the moment she fell into his domain.

So why hadn't he?

"You called me your bride," she said, her voice steady despite the chill creeping into her bones. The words felt foreign, absurd, even as they left her lips.

The monster chuckled. A low, dark sound, rich with amusement. Predatory.

"I did," he admitted.

Her pulse skipped. "You mistake me for someone else."

"No, Lyria." He took a step forward, and the space between them vanished like it had never existed. His presence wrapped around her like chains, inescapable, inevitable. "I never mistake what belongs to me."

Her breath hitched.

Not from fear. Not anymore.

Because he was right, wasn't he?

The abyss had chosen her.

And it had given her to him.

A Bargain in Blood

Lyria wrenched her gaze away, her mind racing for an escape, a plan—anything.

She had two choices.

Fight him and die.

Or play along and figure out what he wanted.

"If you claim me," she said carefully, "then what do you want from me?"

The monster's smile didn't falter, but something dark flickered beneath it. He raised his hand, and the abyss trembled, its shadows curling and shifting like living things.

"Everything," he said.

Her stomach twisted. "Then you'll be disappointed."

"No, my bride." He reached for her, and before she could pull away, his fingers brushed her wrist.

Pain—searing, blistering, absolute—ripped through her.

Lyria gasped, jerking back, but it was too late. The damage was already done.

Shadows coiled around her arm, twisting, burning, sinking into her skin like ink poured into flesh. Symbols—ancient, unreadable—etched themselves into her skin, black veins pulsing beneath the surface like a brand.

A mark.

A claim.

Lyria's breath came in ragged gasps, her body trembling as something vast and endless stirred in her chest. The abyss curled through her veins, filling her, breaking her, remaking her.

She staggered, barely keeping her balance.

Stronger.

Colder.

Changed.

The monster—her captor, her curse—tilted his head, watching her with a satisfaction that set her teeth on edge.

"What did you do to me?" she hissed, voice hoarse.

His golden eyes burned.

"Bound you to me. To the abyss. To what you were always meant to be."

The words settled inside her like a truth she had always known.

Lyria Vance—the girl who had once been cast aside, thrown into battle as a sacrifice—no longer existed.

She was something more now.

Something worse.

And she wasn't sure she could ever break free.

The Hunters Approaching

Time moved differently in the abyss. It stretched, twisted, unraveled.

When Lyria finally stumbled out of the cavern, her body felt foreign. Her senses sharper, her mind clearer, her power coiling beneath her skin like a living thing.

The world outside was silent.

Too silent.

Then—a sound.

The distant crunch of boots on dead earth.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

The Hunters.

The organization had sent reinforcements. Not to save her.

To kill whatever came out of the abyss.

And now, that was her.

Lyria turned slowly. Her fingers itched for a weapon, but she already knew—they wouldn't see her as one of them anymore.

They would see the mark.

See the creature standing at her side.

And they would kill her for it.

"They're coming," she whispered.

Beside her, the monster—her monster—smiled.

"Let them."

The abyss thrummed in response, dark tendrils curling at her feet.

Lyria wasn't sure if they would survive this.

Or worse—

She wasn't sure if she wanted to.

Because the abyss had already claimed her.

And soon, the world would know it too.

The First Kill

The first arrow came fast.

Lyria barely registered the movement before a streak of silver cut through the air—

And stopped inches from her face.

She blinked.

The arrow floated in place, suspended mid-air by something unseen.

No—not unseen.

Her monster stood beside her, his fingers outstretched, golden eyes burning.

He flicked his wrist.

The arrow snapped in half.

And then all hell broke loose.

The Hunters surged forward, blades gleaming, war cries tearing through the silence.

Lyria's instincts screamed at her to run, to fight—

But then the abyss moved.

And so did she.

It wasn't a choice.

It was instinct.

Shadows burst from her fingertips, twisting, writhing, colliding with the first soldier who reached her. He didn't even have time to scream. The darkness swallowed him whole, devouring flesh, bone, existence.

Lyria stumbled back, panting, heart racing.

She had killed before. But this—this was different.

This had been effortless.

Like breathing.

A hand brushed her shoulder.

"Good," her monster murmured, his voice soaked in satisfaction.

Lyria's stomach twisted. She turned—and met his golden gaze.

Something dark curled in his expression. Pride. Possession.

And then, softly, like a whisper only for her—

"You're finally becoming mine."

Lyria's pulse pounded.

The Hunters were dying, falling one by one, consumed by the abyss.

And she—

She hadn't moved to stop it.

Because she didn't want to.

The abyss had taken her.

And she was starting to think she didn't want to be saved.