THE ABYSS STIRS

Chapter 149: The Abyss Stirs

The air was thick with malice.

They had arrived too late.

Before them, the second Abyss Gate pillar loomed—a massive, pulsing construct of writhing black energy, twisting reality itself. The sky above was cracked with crimson fissures, and the ground pulsed with abyssal corruption.

But it was the figures surrounding the gate that made their blood run cold.

Lesser demons swarmed like locusts. Greater demons—hulking and monstrous—stood in disciplined formation. At the center, ten Demon Dukes, each radiating a power that could flatten a battlefield.

Yet, even they were overshadowed by what stood beyond them.

Three Archdemons.

Their presence alone was suffocating.

The first Archdemon stood just over six feet, his build lean but unmistakably powerful. His blackened armor bore blood-red engravings that pulsed like veins. Curved horns swept back from his forehead, framing a face of cruel amusement. A massive sword of abyssal fire rested lazily against his shoulder.

The second was slightly shorter, but no less terrifying. His ashen skin was covered in abyssal runes that seemed to shift like living ink. His wings, vast and tattered, gave him an eerie, almost regal presence. His gaze was cold and calculating, as if watching something beneath him struggle for life.

The third was the most monstrous—a fusion of abyssal flesh and living metal. Jagged chains wove through his body like sinew, his head encased in a cruel helm that left only the glowing inferno of his eyes visible. Unlike the others, his aura radiated pure, seething hatred.

Even Raithon, ever prideful, felt the weight of their presence.

"That's… too many," Saria muttered, gripping her twin daggers.

Even Vasaria, usually so smug, remained silent, her fingers tightening around her rapier.

Thalric and Saria exchanged tense glances, their usual cocky demeanor gone.

Even Ilyra, who rarely showed hesitation, had a cold sweat on her brow.

The first Archdemon tilted his head, his lips curling in amusement. "Ah. The little mortals finally arrive. Pity you're too late."

The second Archdemon scoffed, crossing his arms. "Look at them. They're practically shaking. Should we put them out of their misery?"

The third let out a deep, inhuman growl, his chains rattling. "Kill them. Their existence offends me."

Kael took a step forward despite the pain, his golden eyes burning. "What's your true goal? Why open the Abyss Gates?"

The first Archdemon chuckled. "Oh? This one speaks?"

Then his smile widened, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth.

"We seek only one thing, little hero. The return of our king. The true ruler of all demons. The Abyssal Lord."

Silence.

Even Raithon's usual arrogant sneer was gone.

The Abyssal Lord.

A name that should not be spoken.

Kael had read the legends. A being so powerful that even the gods feared him. The one who once ruled all demonkind—until he was sealed away in a prison beyond reality.

If these Archdemons were merely his subordinates—then what would happen if he returned?

Vasaria's voice cut through the silence. "You're insane."

The second Archdemon let out a mock sigh, shaking his head. "Oh, I do love when mortals pretend they understand things beyond their comprehension."

The third Archdemon tightened his chains, eyes burning with fury. "Enough talking. They disgust me. Let me kill them."

The first held up a hand, stopping him. "No. Let them go."

Everyone stiffened.

"What?" Thalric spat, his fists clenched.

The Archdemon smiled darkly. "I want to see their fear. I want them to run, tails tucked between their legs, knowing they were powerless. Let them deliver the message to their leaders. Let them understand true despair."

Raithon's hands trembled with rage. He was a High Elf prince—and now these demons were mocking them?

"Pathetic abyssal filth," he snarled. "You think we'll just turn and run?"

The first Archdemon chuckled. "You already are, Elf. You just haven't admitted it yet."

Raithon took a step forward, his sword crackling with mana.

Kael grabbed his shoulder. "Raithon. Not now."

The High Elf stiffened. For the first time in his life, he hesitated.

Because Kael was right.

They couldn't win this.

Not against three Archdemons.

Not against ten Demon Dukes.

Not against an entire abyssal army.

Raithon hated it.

He wanted to fight. To prove them wrong.

But even he knew the difference between pride and suicide.

His teeth ground together. He turned, spitting on the ground. "Rot in the abyss, filth."

The first Archdemon smirked. "See? You do know how to listen."

Kael's fists tightened. Every muscle in his body screamed for him to attack. To do something.

But if they fought here—they would die.

So instead, he turned.

The others followed.

Even Vasaria—though she gave the demons one last glare before disappearing into the shadows.

Even Saria and Thalric—though their hands never left their weapons.

Even Raithon—though his hatred burned hotter than ever.

Even Ilyra—though she cast one last glance over her shoulder, memorizing every detail of the enemy.

And then they fled.

The laughter of the Archdemons echoed behind them.

Cold. Mocking.

The war had just begun.