Chapter 22: The Abyss Stares Back

Kuragami no longer dreamed.

Dreams were for the living, for those who still clung to light, to hope. He had neither.

The abyss had swallowed him whole, and in its stomach, there was only suffering.

He walked on nothing, breathed in nothing, became nothing. The darkness here was deeper than mere shadows—it was absolute, devouring even the concept of existence. His own thoughts flickered, warped, reshaped by the will of something far greater than him.

It watched him.

It had always been watching.

The whispers grew louder, speaking in a language that burrowed into his skull like parasites. They spoke not in words, but in truths.

You do not exist.

His skin cracked, black veins crawling up his arms. His body twitched, muscles seizing, bones bending in ways they should not. His form was no longer stable—he was unraveling, breaking apart piece by piece, yet he did not die.

Death was mercy.

And the abyss had none.

A figure emerged from the darkness. Not his sister this time. Not his past.

Himself.

It stood there, an exact copy—except its eyes were empty voids, its mouth stretched into something wrong. When it spoke, the words scraped against his mind like jagged glass.

"Why do you fight?"

Kuragami clenched his fists, feeling his claws dig into his palms. "Because I must."

"Must?" The copy tilted its head, unnatural, broken. "Must implies purpose. You have none."

The abyss laughed.

Kuragami stepped forward, but his body lagged—like reality itself was struggling to hold him together. He ignored it.

"I will survive."

"Survive?" The copy took a step forward, and suddenly it was right in front of him. Its voice was no longer sound, but an infection crawling through his mind. "You already lost. You have nothing. No mother. No sister. No gods or demons to control you. You are alone."

Kuragami's breathing was ragged, his vision fractured. His hands twitched. The abyss pulsed.

No.

He wasn't alone. He still had himself.

He swung his claws at the copy—

And his own flesh tore open.

Pain unlike anything he had ever known ripped through him. It was not physical. It was existential. His body did not bleed—it cracked, like glass shattering in slow motion. He looked down at his arms.

They were not his arms anymore.

The copy smiled, stepping back, watching him unravel.

"This is your truth."

He fell to his knees. The darkness crawled up his spine, slithering into his skull.

He saw everything.

His own birth—no, not Kuragami's, but Johnny's. A boy born into misery, his fate sealed before he even had a chance to fight it. His sister, laughing in the sunlight—before it was stolen from her forever. Himself, lying in a pool of blood, staring at the lifeless sky as the warmth drained from his body.

And then—

The abyss.

It had always been here. Waiting. Calling.

Kuragami screamed.

The darkness swallowed it whole.

—

When he opened his eyes, he was somewhere else.

A realm where the sky was a twisted mass of black and crimson, where the air pulsed like a living thing. The ground beneath him was not stone or earth, but flesh, shifting and breathing.

This was no ordinary trial.

It was a graveyard of gods and demons.

And he was not alone.

Hundreds of figures stood in the distance, their bodies twisted, warped—some barely human, others unrecognizable. Some had been warriors. Some had been gods. Some had been like him, seeking power.

All of them had been consumed.

They stared at him with empty eyes, their voices merging into a single, deafening whisper.

"JOIN US."

The darkness surged.

This was not a test.

It was the end.