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The Abyssal Wastes stretched endlessly, a desolate realm where the sun dared not shine. Black sand dunes shifted under the weight of a howling wind, and towering obelisks jutted from the ground like jagged teeth. These ancient monoliths pulsed faintly with void energy, their rhythm an unending reminder that this place was neither natural nor kind. The air was heavy, charged with an unseen force that clawed at the resolve of any who dared venture here. For most, the Wastes were a place of certain death—a realm to be feared and avoided.
But Kenrith was not like most.
A shadow moved against the darkness, cloaked and hooded, blending seamlessly with the desolation. His silhouette exuded an otherworldly presence, both intimidating and enigmatic. He wore a mask of smooth white, devoid of features, as if to deny the world any glimpse of the man beneath. The only hint of his purpose lay in the massive sword strapped to his back. It was a weapon like no other, seven feet long, with runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. The sword, Void’s Kiss, seemed alive, humming with latent power. When he walked, the blade swayed with his steps, the air around it shimmering as though reality itself recoiled in its presence.
Kenrith, or rather, the figure he had become, was known only as The Shadowy Slayer. Tales of his deeds were whispered in hushed tones across the Sanctuary, the guild of hunters who defended the world from void threats. Some called him a myth, a phantom who appeared in the dead of night to eradicate cursed entities. Others swore they had seen him, though no one could describe his face or voice. Only two people in the Sanctuary knew the truth: Cain and Dante. They alone had stood beside him before he vanished into the shadows, adopting this new persona. Even they, however, could no longer claim to fully know the man he had become.
He walked alone through the Wastes, his footsteps silent despite the shifting sands. The void energy in the air tugged at his cloak, as though recognizing a kindred spirit. But Kenrith did not waver. He had walked these paths before, countless times over decades. This was his mission, his burden, his penance.
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The first sign of life—or what passed for life here—came in the form of a faint chittering sound. Kenrith stopped, his hand drifting instinctively to the hilt of Void’s Kiss. The sound grew louder, skittering and uneven, like claws dragging against stone. From the shadows of a nearby dune emerged a creature that defied natural description. Its body was twisted and angular, resembling a grotesque amalgamation of bone and sinew. Void energy leaked from cracks in its form, its eyes glowing with malevolence.
Kenrith tilted his head, studying the creature with a detached curiosity. “Voidspawn,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible beneath the mask.
The creature lunged, its speed unnatural and its movements erratic. Kenrith moved faster. In a single fluid motion, he unsheathed Void’s Kiss, the blade glowing brighter as it met the air. He sidestepped the creature’s attack and swung the sword in an arc so precise it seemed to split the air itself. The creature froze mid-lunge, its body suspended in place for a heartbeat before disintegrating into a mist of void energy.
Kenrith lowered his sword, its hum fading to a whisper. The sands around him absorbed the remains of the voidspawn, leaving no trace of its existence. It was not the first he had encountered, nor would it be the last. He pressed onward, his senses heightened, aware that the Wastes seldom allowed intruders to leave unscathed.
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As the hours turned to days, the landscape began to shift subtly. The dunes gave way to a cracked, barren plain, dotted with fissures that oozed an iridescent, viscous substance. The void energy here was thicker, pressing against Kenrith’s mind like an unwelcome intruder. He felt its whispers now, faint but persistent, brushing against the edges of his consciousness. They were not words but impressions—fragments of despair, loss, and anguish.
He reached a plateau overlooking a vast expanse of the Wastes. From this vantage point, he saw the remnants of a temple buried beneath the sands. Its architecture was alien, angular and jagged, and it pulsed with the same faint glow as the obelisks. Kenrith felt a pull toward it, an unspoken command urging him forward. He descended the plateau cautiously, his hand never straying far from Void’s Kiss.
The temple’s entrance was partially collapsed, its massive stone doors weathered by time and void energy. Kenrith stepped inside, his presence casting a long shadow against the walls. The interior was dark, lit only by the faint glow of inscriptions carved into the stone. They depicted scenes of suffering and torment: figures bound in chains, their faces twisted in agony, surrounded by a swirling abyss. At the center of these carvings was a figure that loomed larger than the rest—a being with no discernible features, wreathed in shadow and despair.
Kenrith traced a gloved hand over the carvings, his mind piecing together the fragments of a story long forgotten. “Suffering,” he whispered, the name feeling heavy on his tongue. The air in the temple grew colder, the void energy more oppressive. He could feel it now, a presence watching him, waiting.
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A low rumble shook the temple, dislodging fragments of stone from the ceiling. Kenrith stepped back, his grip tightening on Void’s Kiss. From the darkness emerged a swarm of smaller void creatures, their forms twisting and shifting as though they were struggling to maintain a physical shape. They surrounded him, their movements erratic and frenzied.
Kenrith wasted no time. He raised Void’s Kiss, the blade glowing with an intense, otherworldly light. “Void Breaker Barrage,” he intoned, his voice cutting through the chaos. The sword came alive in his hands, moving faster than the eye could follow as it unleashed a flurry of strikes. Each swing of the blade released a shockwave of void energy, obliterating the creatures in bursts of light and sound. Within moments, the temple was silent once more, the remains of the creatures dissolving into the ether.
But Kenrith was not alone.
From the shadows at the far end of the temple, a figure began to take shape. It was indistinct at first, a mere distortion in the air, but it grew clearer with each passing second. It was tall, impossibly so, its form wreathed in darkness that seemed to devour the light around it. Its face—or what should have been its face—was a void, an emptiness that seemed to draw in all who looked upon it. The air grew heavier, the oppressive weight of despair nearly unbearable.
Kenrith stood his ground, his mask hiding any trace of fear or doubt. He knew without question what he was facing. The whispers, the carvings, the growing void energy—it all led to this. The entity before him was Suffering, an ancient void being thought to be nothing more than a myth.
The figure did not speak, but its presence was overwhelming. It radiated anguish and torment, emotions so raw and unfiltered that even Kenrith felt their pull. He gripped Void’s Kiss tightly, the sword’s glow intensifying as if it, too, recognized the magnitude of the threat.
“This is it, then,” Kenrith said, his voice steady. “Let’s see if you live up to the stories.”
The entity began to move, its form shifting and undulating like a living shadow. Kenrith raised Void’s Kiss, the blade trembling with anticipation. The battle was about to begin, and for the first time in decades, The Shadowy Slayer felt the thrill of uncertainty.