'Til Death Do Us Devour

The battlefield reeked of blood, a metallic tang that clung to the air like an omen. The ground beneath Lyria's boots was slick with something too dark to be just mud. The screams had long faded, replaced by the eerie silence of the dead—only the whisper of the abyss remained, curling through the ruins, stirring the shadows that slithered in her wake.

And beside her stood him.

His monstrous form loomed, dark as the void, breathing like a beast that knew nothing of fear. The edges of his body blurred where flesh met something more unnatural—something ancient. Clawed fingers twitched at his sides, and when he turned his head, those abyssal eyes locked onto hers, unreadable yet unwavering.

The world saw him as a nightmare. A being of pure destruction.

To Lyria, he was the only thing that had ever truly stood by her side.

Yet now, he was also the thing she feared losing the most.

Now: The Storm Before the Fall

The sound of footsteps shattered the silence. Not human. Not entirely.

Lyria tensed as figures emerged from the fog, their bodies twisted in ways that no longer resembled anything mortal. Spines jutted from their backs, their mouths split too wide, too hungry. They were the ones who had been taken by the abyss but had not been strong enough to resist its madness.

"You recognize them." His voice was quiet, a low murmur that slithered through her bones.

She did.

These were the soldiers who had gone missing before her. The ones devoured by the darkness. Now, they were something else entirely.

"What do you want me to do?" His voice was patient, but the undertone was clear: He would tear through them if she so much as nodded.

Lyria clenched her fists. She should have been horrified. Disgusted. Instead, she felt nothing but the slow, creeping understanding of what this meant.

They had never stood a chance.

Not against him. Not against the abyss.

But if these creatures were proof of what lay ahead—what awaited those who were not strong enough to wield the darkness—then what did that mean for her?

Her grip tightened on the blade at her side, though she knew it was useless.

"You already know what needs to be done," he murmured, stepping closer, his presence consuming everything else. "The abyss does not forgive the weak."

Lyria exhaled. "Then let's finish this."

The Fall of the Last Wall

The battle was a blur. Not of struggle—but of carnage.

Lyria had thought she had seen his true form before, had glimpsed the full force of his monstrous power.

She had been wrong.

He tore through the creatures like they were nothing, limbs ripped from torsos, flesh dissolving into the abyss like whispers of a forgotten existence. The air thickened with the weight of his destruction, shadows clinging to his every movement like sentient things.

And through it all, he never once looked away from her.

When the last of them crumbled, their bodies turning to blackened mist, Lyria found herself standing in the aftermath of something irreversible.

There was no turning back now.

"You knew this would happen," she said, her voice steady despite the chaos still settling around them.

He tilted his head. "I did."

She swallowed. "And you didn't tell me."

"You wouldn't have listened." A pause. Then, softer, "You belong to the abyss now, Lyria. You always have."

A shiver ran down her spine. Not of fear. Not entirely.

She had known, hadn't she? From the moment she had returned from that first mission, from the moment she had stood in the ruins of her past life, untouched by death, unbroken by the thing that should have destroyed her.

The abyss had claimed her long before he ever had.

And now, it was time to end this.

The Beginning of the End

The city stood ahead, its ruins barely holding together, its people waiting for salvation that would never come.

Lyria turned her gaze to the horizon, to the place where it all began—the capital, where the world's last survivors still clung to their crumbling humanity. Where the ones who had sent her to die still lived, still ruled.

She felt him step closer, the heat of his presence curling against her skin, his voice a whisper against the shell of her ear.

"They will never accept you now."

She closed her eyes. "I don't need them to."

"You know what comes next."

She did.

The abyss had not just given her a monster. It had made her one.

And now, she would finish what it started.

As the first tremor shook the earth, as the last walls of the old world began to crumble, Lyria took a breath and whispered the words that sealed her fate.

"Let it burn."

And the abyss obeyed.

The sky split open, shadows bleeding into the heavens like ink spilled across the stars. The ground trembled beneath Lyria's feet, cracks spider-webbing across the ruins, swallowing what little remained of humanity's last stand. Screams filled the air—some of the terror, some of the prayer, all of them meaningless.

Because there was no mercy left.

The abyss roared in answer to her command, surging like a tidal wave, its dark tendrils curling around the broken city walls. They twisted, coiled, and reached like hands hungry for a final embrace. And when they descended, there was no salvation.

Only ruin.

Lyria watched as the old world shattered, her heart unyielding, her breath steady. She should have felt something—remorse, grief, doubt.

But all she felt was him.

He was beside her, as he had always been, his golden eyes drinking her in like she was the only thing in existence. Shadows licked at his skin, his monstrous form shifting in and out of the abyss like it was merely an extension of himself.

He reached for her, slow, deliberate, his clawed fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her close. The city burned behind them, the sky screaming, the earth crumbling, but he only had eyes for her.

And she only had eyes for him.

"You've finally accepted it," he murmured, his voice laced with something dark, something possessive. "What you are. What you've always been."

Lyria's fingers curled into the fabric of his cloak, her pulse a steady, unshaken rhythm.

"I was never meant to be their hero," she whispered. "I was meant to be yours."

A slow, satisfied smile curled at his lips. He traced a single clawed finger down her cheek, tilting her chin up, his touch both reverent and claiming.

"My queen," he breathed, before sealing his lips over hers.

The kiss was fire and ruin, a claim that could never be undone. It was not gentle, not soft. It was destruction and devotion, the abyss itself binding them in a way that could never be severed.

And as the last remnants of the city collapsed into the darkness, as the screams faded into silence, Lyria knew there was no more hesitation, no more pretending.

She had not just embraced the abyss.

She had become it.

And with the monster who had once been her enemy, now her king, she would rebuild the world in its image.

Or let it drown in shadows forever.