Hubertus had barely made it out of the chamber when the weight of everything that had transpired crashed down on him. The Shard, or the "figurine" as he had thought of it until recently, pulsed faintly in his pouch. He could feel it, almost like a heartbeat, its energy radiating a subtle vibration through his side as if it had truly latched onto him. The buzz wasn't just a physical one—there was something deeper, something that made Hubertus' thoughts hazy and unfocused.
The dark halls of Carl's spire stretched endlessly as he moved, the flickering light from the hanging runes giving off a strange, dizzying glow. Hubertus pressed his back against a stone pillar, taking a moment to catch his breath. The events of the meeting with those high-ranking demons replayed over and over in his mind—the cold way Carl had betrayed him without even a hint of remorse, the way the other demons looked at him like a pawn in their games. He clenched his jaw, anger simmering just beneath the surface. He had been played, used to pick up something he hadn’t fully understood. And now that same something was inside him, clawing at his insides.
Suddenly, everything went dark. The soft glow from the hanging runes disappeared. Hubertus blinked, his heart pounding as panic set in. Was this another trick? A consequence of the Shard? Before he could react further, the world shifted around him. It was as if he was no longer in Carl’s spire—the air was different, heavier, filled with the acrid scent of smoke and sulfur.
Hubertus stood in an unfamiliar landscape—a vast, scorched battlefield. The sky was dark, tinged with swirls of red, and in the distance, mountains of jagged obsidian loomed like the broken teeth of some ancient beast. Fires burned everywhere, casting flickering shadows over the scene, illuminating twisted shapes—demons, locked in combat, their roars echoing across the battlefield.
Hubertus could see them—massive figures, their horns glinting in the dim light, their claws tearing at one another with savage brutality. The air was thick with the stench of blood and ash. It was a scene of utter chaos, a vision of war unlike anything he had ever seen before. He staggered backward, his eyes widening as he tried to make sense of it all. Where was he? What was this?
“Witness,” a voice echoed in his mind, low and resonant, almost a growl. It was ancient, filled with a weight that seemed to press down on Hubertus, rooting him to the spot.
He watched as a massive demon—easily twice the size of any other on the battlefield—emerged from the flames, its skin a deep crimson, etched with glowing runes. In its hand, it held a weapon that looked like a jagged shard, much like the figurine he had just retrieved. Hubertus’ heart pounded as he realized that this—this was the Shard’s origin. It was a relic of war, a weapon wielded by something far beyond his understanding.
The scene shifted again, the world spinning around Hubertus until he found himself standing in a grand, dark chamber. Demons of every shape and size surrounded a towering throne carved from obsidian, their heads bowed in reverence. On the throne sat a figure cloaked in shadows, its face obscured, but the presence was undeniable—it was the Overlord of the Abyss, the being who ruled over everything Hubertus had come to know as his new reality.
The Shard—the artifact—glowed brightly in the Overlord’s hand, its light illuminating the chamber. Hubertus could feel the raw power emanating from it—a power that connected to the Abyss itself, a force that could reshape reality if wielded properly. The figure on the throne lifted the Shard, its voice echoing through the chamber, words that Hubertus couldn’t understand but that seemed to reverberate within him.
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“Prove yourself, vessel.” The voice was clearer this time, unmistakably directed at Hubertus.
The world shifted yet again, and Hubertus found himself in Carl’s spire, the familiar dark walls and glowing sigils snapping back into focus. He gasped, his knees giving way as he fell against the cold stone floor. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, his heart pounding painfully in his ears. He looked around, half-expecting the other demons to have seen what he had seen—but the hallway was empty.
Hubertus clutched at his side, feeling the Shard’s presence in the pouch—its vibrations stronger now, more insistent. He could feel it—or rather, he could feel the weight of what it meant. It wasn’t just an object of power. It was a call, a challenge, a command from the Abyss itself to prove his worth. He pressed his back against the wall, closing his eyes as the visions flashed through his mind once more—the battlefield, the throne, the Overlord.
“Damn it,” he muttered, his voice trembling. “Why me? I didn’t ask for this.” He had only wanted to do what Carl asked, to stay under the radar, to survive. This—being chosen by the Shard, being pulled into something ancient and powerful—this wasn’t part of the plan.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway. Hubertus opened his eyes, his body tensing as he looked up. Carl was approaching, his expression unreadable, his gaze locking onto Hubertus’ face. The older demon stopped a few paces away, his eyes flicking down to the pouch at Hubertus’ side, the faint glow of the Shard visible even through the worn leather.
“You saw something, didn’t you?” Carl asked, his voice quiet, almost gentle—a stark contrast to the way he had spoken in the chamber earlier.
Hubertus swallowed, nodding slowly. He pushed himself to his feet, using the wall for support, his eyes narrowing as he studied Carl’s face. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you?” Hubertus’ voice was sharp, anger lacing his words. “You set me up. You knew the Shard would latch onto me.”
Carl didn’t deny it. Instead, he sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly. “You’re right. I knew.” He took a step closer, his gaze softening. “But I also knew that you’re stronger than you think. The Shard doesn’t choose lightly. It’s not just a weapon—it’s a connection to the Abyss, to its history, its power. If it chose you, it means you have the potential to wield that power.”
Hubertus clenched his fists, his jaw tight. “I didn’t ask for this,” he repeated, his voice shaking. “I’m not some hero. I just want to survive.”
Carl studied him for a long moment before nodding slowly. “I know,” he said quietly. “But sometimes, the Abyss doesn’t give us a choice. Sometimes, it calls on us to be more than we ever intended.” He gestured to the pouch, his eyes never leaving Hubertus’ face. “The Shard chose you. It’s a burden, yes. But it’s also an opportunity. You can either let it consume you, or you can rise to meet it.”
Hubertus looked down at the pouch, the faint glow of the Shard casting a crimson light against the dark fabric. He could still feel the echoes of the visions—the battlefield, the Overlord, the power that seemed to call to him. It terrified him, the thought of what it meant, the responsibility it carried. But beneath the fear, there was something else—a flicker of determination, a spark of defiance.
He looked back at Carl, his eyes narrowing. “And what if I fail?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Carl's expression softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Then you’ll join the countless others who’ve tried and failed. But if you succeed—if you prove yourself worthy—then you’ll be more powerful than you can imagine. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find your place here in the Abyss.”
Hubertus took a deep breath, the weight of the Shard pressing against his side, the challenge laid out before him. He didn’t want this—but maybe Carl was right. Maybe he could be more than just another fledgling demon scraping by.
“Fine,” he said, his voice steadying. “What do I have to do?”
Carl's smile widened, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. “First, you need to understand the Shard. Let it show you what it holds. And then, well… we’ll see if you’re ready for what comes next.”
Hubertus nodded, his gaze drifting back down to the glowing pouch at his side. The Shard had chosen him. Now, it was time to find out why.