[Act III: From the Abyss]

Blackie arrived at the magi-rail station while dawn mist still clung to the air. Today was the day magic academies welcomed new students across the land.

No word had come since Destiny. No acceptance letter, no academy badge, not even a proper report.

Yet a sliver of hope remained. Someone submerged in despair too long will clutch at the faintest glimmer of light.

She found a bench tucked in the angle between a light box and a trash bin. It offered a clear view of every opening train door, while a peeling advertisement banner conveniently shielded half her form.

As the mist thinned, the first magi-train's bronze gears gnashed through the haze. Brass gates slid open with a hiss, the roll-call officer's copper whistle piercing the air—

"Student ID A-12!"

"Here!"

A girl in a beret answered brightly, her ponytail brushing past Blackie's eye. Seeing the radiant smile, Blackie instinctively shrank deeper into shadow. A moment later, catching herself, she managed a strained smile.

[This habit needs changing too.]

Time passed, marked only by the rhythmic shudder of rails as train after train carried students away. Blackie stared at her shoes, at the half-crushed sycamore leaf trapped in the platform tile grout.

She waited alone. Through the clamor, the bustle, from dawn till dusk. Only when the crowds had fully dispersed did she emerge from her hiding spot, finally settling properly on the bench, curling in on herself as if trying to fold into the fading twilight.

The final magi-train puffed steam into the distance. Blackie leaned back on the faded wrought-iron bench, watching academy badges flash past her peripheral vision—sealing-wax red, starlight silver, arcane blue. Vibrant students fluttered away like a swarm of phantom butterflies.

She'd always wanted an academy badge of her own. As a child, she'd pinned makeshift ones to her chest—flowers and scribbles. She'd never thrown those away.

"Guess that officer was just messing with me," she scoffed softly to the empty air. A long sigh escaped her. She stood, brushed the dust from her jeans, and turned to leave.

She walked away from the platform, heading home, a quiet ache in her chest. Dusk lay like wet paint, stretching her shadow long and thin, fragile against the encroaching night.

Head down, steps slightly unsteady, she moved like a wounded owl seeking only the cramped warmth of her rented room.

The familiar alley seemed unchanged, yet utterly different. A frown touched her brow, emotions swirling inside her—an unsolved riddle, a half-forgotten dream. Instinctively, she turned a corner. A curtain of pure darkness suddenly unfurled overhead, swallowing the world around her.

[An absolute, soundless void.]

When her eyes opened again, the scene had shifted. She stood in a deep, ancient wood. Towering trees whispered forgotten secrets, their branches interlaced overhead. The air hung heavy with damp, mysterious stillness, as if she'd stepped through time into another realm.

"Wh... what happened?" Her voice echoed faintly in the woods, unanswered. Her pulse quickened. She'd been on the familiar street just moments ago—how was she here?

A sound pierced the silence then—light, rhythmic footsteps. Like snow falling on stone, or moonlight shattering on night wind. Gentle, yet profoundly unsettling.

She froze, her heart skipping a beat, instinctively stepping back half a pace, gaze sharp as it scanned the gloom.

The woods were deathly quiet except for those echoing steps. She held her breath, trying to track the sound, but it only grew louder, nearer—an invisible shadow closing in.

"In this shadow, you see nothing… and escape is impossible."

A low, resonant male voice drifted through the trees. Like wind through dead leaves, or an echo from the depths of an old dream. It held an undeniable allure.

The approaching figure was draped in a cloak blacker than the surrounding night, its edges swirling like dark mist.

Half his face was hidden behind an intricate owl mask. The visible half revealed a young man—pale skin, sharp cheekbones, long silver hair drifting like threads of solidified moonlight, gleaming coldly in the dimness.

"Blackie of Crowsight, yes?"

His voice was a velvet murmur on the night air. Blackie's breath hitched; she retreated another half-step.

"Who… who are you?"

Her voice was faint, a candle flame trembling in a draft.

"That matters not."

A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. He raised a hand. A blade of pure darkness coalesced in the air before him—a scythe of oblivion radiating suffocating cold.

"The stage now… belongs to you."

The black blade shot forward like a striking serpent, aimed directly at her throat!

Pure instinct took over. Blackie threw herself into a roll, her body arcing through the shadows. But the blade's trailing edge pursued like death's sigh, tearing through the air.

It struck a locust tree beside her. The trunk shattered with a deafening crack. Branches and leaves exploded outward, splinters raining down like dark snow.

Blackie's breath came in ragged gasps. The drumming of her heart, the howl of the wind, the shriek of sonic booms – all merged into a suffocating symphony.

The man's attacks flowed relentlessly, his movements shadow-light, each strike a lethal dance, elegant and deadly.

"Who are you?!"

Her voice trembled.

"Ask who I am? But you don't even know yourself, do you?"

A knowing curve touched his lips, as if he'd already mapped the contours of her soul.

Sweat beaded on Blackie's forehead, tracing icy paths down her temples to her rigid shoulders. Frost seemed to form where it fell.

No time to breathe. Only dodge, roll, evade—a cruel game played with death itself.

Her body screamed. Muscles felt like shredded cloth, every nerve stretched to snapping. Yet she ran, dodged, reacted. Her legs trembled, her heart threatened to burst from her chest.

Another obsidian blade ripped through the air, aimed at her face. She twisted aside—too slow. It grazed her cheek, severing a lock of hair.

Blackie's pupils contracted violently. At death's door, memory flooded back. Childhood loneliness. The weight of misunderstood stares. Every scar left by people and events etched deep within.

Always me... stuck with this rotten luck... Her voice was a low rasp, gritty as swallowed glass, heavy with exhaustion and fury.

Her vision blurred, emotions roaring like a storm. And in that instant, a wellspring of darkness, thick as ink, surged from her core. It enveloped her in a mist-like shroud of shadow. The black blade speeding towards her struck the shroud—and shattered. Disintegrated. Vanished.

A dark nimbus pulsed around Blackie. Her hair tie snapped in the struggle, releasing a cascade of raven-black hair that drifted like smoke in the night. Her steps slowed, her face emptied of expression, as if her consciousness had sunk into the abyss within her, becoming one with it.

"Always..." Her voice was hollow now, yet resonant with an unsettling authority. It wasn't hers. It echoed from another realm.

"Not just mana... it devours consciousness too?" A spark of surprise and keen interest flashed in the man's eyes. "Fascinating... Such a rarity." A slow, intrigued smile spread across his visible features.

Blackie moved through the night like a wraith. Her actions were no longer her own, guided by something deeper, darker. She threw a punch. Her fist trailed distorted black light—not solid, yet radiating bone-chilling pressure. Tiny fractures split the air where it passed.

The man didn't dodge. He raised his hand, palm forward. A sphere of pure darkness coalesced there, twisting, seething with countless tiny shadows writhing within. It swelled as it surged towards her.

The black sphere collided with the intangible shockwave in mid-air. A deafening crack split the night, as if the sky itself were tearing open. Light exploded, shredding the darkness with its violence.

Blackie's eyes remained fathomless pits, like open gateways to the abyss. Her soul seemed fused with an unknown force. She surged forward suddenly—no fear, no struggle, no hesitation.

Each movement seemed to tear at the fabric of the night. The dark nimbus writhed around her like a living thing—an extension of her rage, an emanation of her soul.

The man slammed both palms onto the ground. A deep, sickening tremor surged from the earth. Where his hands touched, the soil churned like living flesh, collapsing downward into a swirling, inky vortex.

It seemed connected to the underworld, thick as tar, radiating soul-numbing cold. From its depths, twisted things silently emerged.

They had no distinct features, their forms flickering between solid and void—like grotesquely stretched silhouettes.

They moved without sound, only a faint hiss of displaced air, inhuman and terrifying. Like sharks scenting blood, they accelerated instantly, becoming streaks of darkness tearing through the moonlight, aimed straight at Blackie!

The frigid aura hit first, threatening to freeze her marrow. The two leading phantoms extended withered claws wreathed in shadow, fingertips mere inches from her throat and chest! At the critical moment—

Blackie moved. Not back, not to block. Unexpectedly—she turned! Her body snapped around with electric speed, hips twisting. Her right leg lashed out with an air-rending shriek, driving her heel deep into the trunk of an ancient tree behind her!

THOOM!

The tree shuddered violently, leaves cascading down like rain. Harnessing the massive recoil, Blackie launched herself into the air—a perfect double jump! She hung suspended for a split second, black clothes whipping around her, a deadly silhouette against the moon.

[Moonlight traced the taut lines of her legs.]

First Kick! Her left foot snapped down like a whip, landing with brutal precision on the neck of the first phantom directly below. No scream—only the sickening CRACK! of something breaking. The shadow's head jerked at an impossible angle, its entire form dissolving into wispy black smoke.

Second Kick! Her right foot followed without pause, harnessing the force of her fall and a powerful twist of her core.

It arced through the air in a vicious semi-circle, the heel crashing like a hammer onto the neck of the second phantom in the exact same spot! Another sharp SNAP! The second shadow dissolved into nothingness.

Blackie landed lightly, feet sinking into soft earth without stirring dust. But the assault wasn't over! A third phantom, seizing the moment she touched down, lunged at her side, withered claws stabbing towards her ribs!

Blackie's eyes were still pools of ink. The darkness inside seemed to have swallowed her soul, leaving only a shell driven by feral instinct.

As her feet met the ground, she pivoted sharply on one toe. Her entire body spun like a top pulled by an invisible cord! Her right leg, fueled by immense centrifugal force, became a scything blade of darkness, sweeping horizontally!

WHOOSH! The kick tore through the air!

The brutal spinning kick connected squarely with the third phantom's midsection. No gore, but its torso seemed ripped apart by unseen force.

Upper and lower halves twisted grotesquely upon impact, shuddering violently like burning paper before dissolving into formless black mist.

[The displaced air whipped fallen leaves into frantic spirals.]

Blackie completed her spin, jacket still flapping. But the hellish vortex, a wellspring of malice and patience, disgorged two more phantoms!

They lunged from the gloom, flanking her with deadly coordination. Their sharp, skeletal fingers glinted with malevolent light, aimed unerringly at the base of her skull and the center of her back—a perfect, undefendable kill strike!

The icy touch of death pierced her spine. The freezing, soul-chilling dread and the faint whistle of claws from behind were her clearest death knell.

Blackie wrenched her balance against the momentum of her spin. Her left foot planted firmly, body naturally pitching forward from inertia.

Just as the forward motion peaked—her core muscles exploded with torque! Pivoting hard on her left heel, her body spun back like a top! Dirt and leaves flew.

As she spun back, her still-suspended right leg snapped out with the motion, lashing backwards in a vicious arc aimed squarely behind her!

THUD! A sound like a hammer hitting rotten wood!

The two ambushing phantoms, barely three feet away, took the full force of the savage backwards kick square across their "legs." Their lower limbs shattered like fragile glass on impact, crumbling into nothingness.

The tremendous force hurled them backwards. Their forms contorted wildly in mid-air, dissolving with silent screams into thick plumes of black smoke that melted into the surrounding night.

The man's lips curved upwards, anticipation glinting in his visible eye. He murmured, his voice like a whisper from a distant dream:

"Not bad at all... Come then... Let us see whose shadow you truly are."

Blackie didn't respond. Her steps halted five paces from the man. In the next instant, she reappeared like a phantom behind him.

Her left hand shot out, fingers curled like claws, tips gleaming with black light, aimed at the back of his neck.

The man reacted almost instantly, twisting aside with the lightness of a falling leaf. But Blackie was faster—her right leg snapped out in a vicious sweep, the air screaming as it tore towards his midsection.

The man crossed his forearms, blocking the blow head-on. The impact still slammed him back half a step, a trickle of blood escaping the corner of his mouth.

"Heh... Truly surprising," he rasped, wiping the blood, a thread of excitement in his voice. "To be pressed back by pure physical force?"

Before the words fully faded, Blackie was upon him again. Her right fist, wreathed in pitch-black energy, punched forward like a tear in the night sky, unleashing a torrent of silence and violence. The air warped and shrieked as the blow passed through it.

But the man's form, caught in the dappled moonlight and tree shadows, suddenly became unstable. He dissolved like ink dropped in water, his edges blurring, melting into countless minuscule, writhing particles of pure darkness! Instead of dissipating, these particles, seeming almost alive, surged downwards, pouring into the earth at his feet.

Glurggle…

The deep black vortex where he'd stood erupted with violent life. It boiled, expanded, voraciously devouring everything around it—dirt, stones, moonlight, even the air itself seemed sucked downwards.

Its growth was terrifyingly swift. In an instant, the patch of ground beneath Blackie's feet and the earth for yards around was swallowed by the tar-like, lightless abyss!

Countless arms, woven from condensed shadow, slithered silently from the viscous dark depths. Twisted, unnaturally rigid, they emerged like rotten roots surfacing from a swamp, radiating bone-chilling dampness as they swiftly coiled and climbed.

The first layer of arms seized her ankles like monstrous black pythons! Cold, slick, with a suction-cup grip that penetrated her canvas shoes, freezing her to the marrow! Then the second layer clamped onto her knees and thighs!

Third layer, fourth layer… Arms like vines from hell piled on, layer upon layer, madly coiling and tightening! They constricted her waist, pinned her arms to her sides. Thick, barbed shadow-limbs, like executioner's nooses, coiled around her throat!

Immense pressure crushed her from all sides, threatening to snap her bones! The piercing cold gnawed at her core and will, making every breath a struggle. Trapped like a fly in a monstrous, writhing cage of shadowy limbs, she hung suspended over the abyss.

[As she fought desperately, trying to gather her strength to break free from the grotesque bindings]

A mass of purest darkness rapidly coalesced and took shape behind her! The man's form solidified, rising soundlessly as if from an infernal inkwell, his outline sharper, his presence more oppressive than before, standing steadily upon the seething pillar of shadow arms.

He looked down, gazing upon Blackie, bound and suspended like a sacrifice over the abyss. His icy fingers, almost appreciative, brushed lightly across her temple where sweat beaded from pain and suffocation, leaving a trail of numbing cold.

"You are indeed... intriguing, little one." His voice was low and smooth, laced with predatory amusement, though the smile on his lips held no warmth. "A pity... it's still not enough."

As the final word fell, the hand hovering above Blackie's head moved. Fingers curled with elegant, casual menace. A blade formed purely of "un-light" materialized silently in the air, directly above her.

It hung there, poised like the sword of Damocles over the scales of fate, its point aimed unerringly at the center of her forehead. A pure, annihilating aura radiated from it, causing the shadowy arms binding her to tremble in fear and constrict even tighter.

The man seemed to savor this absolute control. He tilted his head slightly, as if admiring a nearly finished masterpiece.

The black blade began to descend. Not with a slash, but with the slow, heavy inevitability of final judgment, pressing down silently, inch by inexorable inch, towards Blackie's brow.

The air hissed under the weight of this absolute darkness. The shadow of death, cold and inescapable, enveloped her. Time stretched thin as eternity.

[A silent dead silence]

[Silent dead silence]

[Dead silence]

...