Prince of The Abyss

Stone steps spiraled downward beneath his boots.

Each step was cut narrow, forcing careful footing; he didn’t want to fall, after all, if he did, he would be found. The air changed as he descended, growing thicker, warmer, and touched by a faint metallic scent that clung to the back of the throat.

Something was definitely wrong down there, something was happening, since why did he smell blood...

The sounds from above faded with every turn of the staircase until only the echo of his own movement remained.

At the bottom, the stairway opened into a wide chamber.

The first thing he saw was glass.

Rows of towering cylindrical tubes filled the room from wall to wall, stretching upward almost to the ceiling. They stood in tight formation, so numerous that there were only narrow paths winding between them. Pale light pulsed from within each cylinder, casting a dim green glow across the stone floor.

Inside every tube floated a body.

Human.

...

’What the heck?’

Aether said, freezing in place.

Suspended upright in thick green fluid that shifted lazily around them. The substance was dense, opaque enough to blur detail, yet clear enough to reveal faces, limbs, torsos drifting weightlessly. Small streams of bubbles rose from somewhere near the base of each container, climbing slowly toward the surface before vanishing.

Some of the figures were still.

Others twitched faintly, fingers curling, heads tilting just slightly as if reacting to something unseen. Eyes were closed on most of them. A few were half-open, unfocused, staring at nothing through the glass.

Were these the original bodies? If so, then what was this green substance they were in? It had to be able to make the original live through its copied body, but how? What was it made out of?

Thin lines of light ran along the outside of each tube, connecting to panels set into the floor and walls. Symbols flickered across narrow displays at the base of every cylinder, numbers shifting, pulsing in quiet rhythm.

There were dozens.

No.

Hundreds.

That was how many clones the Crimson Ledger had created.

Really, he wasn’t angry at the faction; it was in their nature, they did everything they could for profit, and after all, if the people wanted this, they did nothing wrong, well, morally and stuff, since they were still going against the rules.

What angered him was the people.

They didn’t have the guts to come and fight for their life, and yet they still fight through some clones, killing people who actually were there. Most were probably here for money, having nothing else to do, yet they still took the easy route, while people like the boy had to risk their lives.

He was also a member of the Crimson Ledger, but he had probably declined the program.

A true, honorable fighter.

Not like any of these that fools who thought that there was an easy way.

He really could just kill all of them now, but he won’t. After all, he needed the evidence.

The room was packed so densely that the far wall was barely visible beyond the forest of glass and green suspension.

The liquid inside each tube moved with slow, viscous currents, brushing against skin and hair. Clothing had been removed from many of the bodies, leaving them bare except for faint markings along their arms or chests, as if something had been etched or branded there before immersion.

’This is weird... what are these marks even supposed to mean? Are they supposed to help with this whole cloning stuff? And did they have to be naked?’

The glow from the fluid painted everything in muted emerald light.

It reflected in the glass, refracting again and again, so that wherever he looked, he saw distorted duplicates of the same image: a human form suspended in artificial stillness.

No voices.

No footsteps besides his own.

Only the soft, rhythmic hum of whatever mechanism kept the tubes active. A steady vibration beneath the floor. A faint gurgling sound as the green substance circulated through unseen channels.

Really... he could just unplug the mechanism, and it was all done, they would all wake up, or die, who knew what would happen, this is the Crimson Ledger, he wouldn’t be surprised that the people inside the tubes would die if the mechanism ever went out.

He could get a lot of shards from this... really, he could. Even if most were probably Reader Fragments, he could get some shards easily.

Condensation gathered along the outer surface of several cylinders, droplets sliding downward in slow trails before dripping onto the stone below.

The chamber felt endless.

Alive, but unmoving.

Every path between the tubes led deeper into the grid, disappearing behind rows of glass silhouettes.

And in every direction he turned, more human shapes floated in silence, suspended in green.

A sea, a sea of humans. All living through the body of a clone.

...

”Pathetic.”

...

...

...

The next day, it was time for him to pick another fight, yet he wasn’t sure which one he should do.

Should he challenge a Branded? His first fight with one had been a lot tougher than with a Shattered, but it definitely made him improve more, since it wasn’t just a one-time fight.

Plus, most of these ranks were Reader Echo’s, so what was the harm?

He also wanted to challenge someone from the Crimson Ledger, but he didn’t think that was a good idea, since those guys were still on bad terms with him, and could call him to their base again and try to kill him. Even more now since he wasn’t killing a Shattered, but one of their Branded, people with potential.

So he was definitely going to have to fight someone from another faction. But he was also a little scared that it would anger them, too.

But that wasn’t important, after all. If he continued like this, he could reach the Named rank and leave if he wanted, but in that time, he needed to master his style; it was his priority, it didn’t matter how many factions he angered.

Something like this is bound to happen to an Unranked, since they don’t have a faction; the other factions can attack them without the fear of starting a war with another house. Of course, they have to do it without anyone knowing, but still, it wasn’t something unheard of.

After all, one had already tried to kill him.

Yet as he was picking someone to challenge, someone walked up to him.

He wasn’t surprised. With his recent fights, he had built up a name; people knew who he was. After all, he was the first Unranked in a while to survive this much, since most were picked up by the high-ranked and killed.

But they couldn’t kill him, because after a fighter fights, there is a period of grace they can’t be challenged in, but they can still challenge others, so really, when waiting for a fight, as he had said, no one could challenge him.

And the thing is that no one can do anything about it, except the cafeteria, which is the only way to kill him. But to someone like the Crimson Ledger, it wouldn’t profit them anything if they killed him outside the arena.

But that doesn’t mean they won’t do it if he challenges them too much.

The man who approached him looked to be in his late twenties, close to thirty. Yet at the same time, looked to be happy to meet him.

”What an honor to meet the one and only, Eden. I’ll have to tell my friends about this.”

Aether rolled his eyes, not really fond of the way the man was acting.

”So what did you want? Why did you come to me?”

The man’s smile suddenly froze, turning into a more wicked one. He had expected this to happen, no fighter comes up to you because they are your fan, or because they want an autograph, but rather...

”I want to fight you.”

There it was. The answer.

They wanted a fight.

Aether looked over his shoulder at the Abyss.

...’ A Reader Beast.’

So a higher rank than him... meaning he was stronger than him. Of course, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be able to beat him; it was just one rank between them. It wasn’t the end of the world. If he wanted, he could kill him with Voidpiercer.

After all, when it came to Readers, rank and class weren’t the only things that mattered; in a fight between two people close in rank, other things decided who won.

That being their affinity, and the one in front of him didn’t have one. Their ability and skills, and of course, relics.

He didn’t have any of those.

And he doubted he could even wield the blade that well.

So he wasn’t against the fight, after all; if he did it, it could improve his skill with his style.

”What faction are you from?”

”The Crimson Ledger.” The man said proudly.

...

’Makes sense.’

After all, he had seen his face somewhere.

”I’ll fight you... But I will fight the real you.

Not a clone.”