[Location: Abyss Layer 2 – The Imp Settlent (Ruins)]
[Ti: 5 Minutes After the Battle]
The bone lock shattered with a sharp CRACK, and the cage door swung open.
Damien stood there, the chains retracting into his sleeves with a chanical whir.
He looked at the huddled mass of Drifters, ragged Elves, emaciated Humans, and a few shivering Beastkin.
They were covered in filth, their eyes hollowed out by weeks, perhaps months, of terror.
Only the Demon God high above knew what kind of torture they had experienced before this.
To them, Damien wasn’t a savior rather he was just a bigger predator.
He had slaughtered a Tier 6 Imp Lord in seconds. Who was to say he wouldn’t do the sa to them?
"I asked a question," Damien said, his voice tallic and cold
"Who knows the way to Layer 3?"
The Drifters flinched. A young elf girl buried her face in her knees. A beastkin man shook his head rapidly, too terrified to speak.
Damien sighed. ’Broken. All of them. Their sanity has been eroded.’
Looking at them like this, he wondered if he should use a sanity potion on them
However considering he was still at the beginning of his journey, using it here might be a waste
Thinking of this, just as he was about to turn away and search the Imps’ huts for a map instead, a voice scratched through the silence.
"Young man wait..."
It was a rasp, like dry leaves rubbing together.
From the back of the cage, a figure stood up. He was a human male, old and withered.
His skin was grey from lack of sunlight, and his robes were nothing but rags.
He looked like a corpse that had forgotten to lie down.
But his eyes...
Damien’s eyes zood in.
The old man’s eyes were a piercing, intelligent blue. .
The old man stepped over the cowering Drifters, leaning on a piece of bone as a cane.
He looked at the Pantheon Sword at Damien’s hip, then at the Abyss Iron Chains on his arms.
"Quite the arsenal you have there" the old man wheezed, coughing slightly.
"To be honest I was quite surprised seeing soone save othered here in the abyss, however looking at you now I understand"
He looked Damien in the eye, ignoring the terrifying mask.
"You’re a Mage. A high-ranking one from the Surface. Probably 7th Order, judging by the way you suppressed your aura to toy with that monster."
Hearing this, Damien raised an eyebrow behind his mask.
"Isabelle," Damien signaled.
Isabelle stepped forward, handing the old man a flask of water.
He drank greedily, wiping his mouth with a trembling hand.
"You speak clearly," Damien noted. "Most people down here lose their minds like the others, however you don’t seem to be insane"
"Who are you?"
The old man straightened his back. For a split second, the aura of a noble hung around his tattered fra.
"I am Elian Vance," he said, his voice gaining a shred of dignity.
"Forrly of the Imperial Magic Tower. 6th Order Arch-Mage of the Fla School."
Isabelle blinked. "The Imperial Tower? That’s..."
"That was a hundred years ago," Elian finished with a bitter smile.
He looked around the fungal jungle.
"A century ago, I hit a bottleneck. I was stuck at the peak of the 6th Order. I was desperate. Arrogant. I thought that if I descended into the Abyss, the pressure of death would force my evolution."
He chuckled, a dry, rattling sound.
"I was a fool. I ca down here seeking power. I found only... this."
Damien studied him. A 6th Order Mage from a century ago. This man was a living fossil.
A contemporary of the previous generation.
"You survived in the second layer for a hundred years?" Damien asked skeptically.
"Even a 6th Order would run out of mana."
"Layer 2?" Elian laughed.
"Boy, I didn’t spend a century here. I was rely captured by these Imps three months ago while trying to crawl back up."
Elian pointed a crooked finger downward into the earth.
"I went deep. I passed the Fungal Labyrinth. I crossed the Great Lake of Layer 3. I survived the caverns of Layer 4."
He leaned in, his eyes haunted.
"I made it all the way to Layer 5."
Damien froze. Layer 5.
According to the records he had collected before leaving the bone hall, no Drifter had returned from below Layer 4 in recorded history.
"What is down there?" Damien asked, his tone shifting from dismissive to serious.
"Civilization," Elian whispered, looking around as if the shadows were listening.
"Layers 1 through 3... these are the Wildlands. Beasts. Monsters. Chaos. But Layer 4 and below? That is the Noble Realm."
Elian shivered.
"There are cities down there, Mage. Cities made of black obsidian and red jade. There are laws. There are hierarchies."
He touched his chest, where a jagged, ugly scar pulsed faintly beneath his rags.
"I made a mistake. I thought I was strong. I offended a High Demon, a Viscount of the 5th Layer. I didn’t even see him move."
Elian’s face twisted in agony.
"He didn’t kill . He said death was too easy. He reached into my chest and shattered my Mana Core."
Damien felt a chill. For a mage, a shattered core was a fate worse than death.
It ant you could never gather mana again. You were cut off from the world, crippled, left to wither.
"I fell from the 6th Order to... nothing," Elian whispered.
"I have been crawling back up for decades, eating moss, hiding in the mud like a rat, trying to see the sun one last ti before I die. But these Imps... they caught ."
"Oh as for how I solved the problem of mana, just like other drifters, I accepted the transformation of the abyss and beca part abyss demon"
"However it looks like you survived in your own way without being transford"
He looked at Damien.
"I have nothing to give you. My magic is gone. My body is broken."
Damien looked at the old, broken man.
He saw a tragic figure. A warning of what arrogance could lead to in the Abyss.
But even within that, he saw sothing else.
He saw a map. He saw a guidebook.
He saw a man who had walked the path he needed to take.
"You have nothing?" Damien scoffed.
He reached into his Void Gem. He pulled out a loaf of fresh bread, a piece of dried at, and, most importantly a vial glowing with calming grey liquid.
[Item: High-Grade Sanity Potion]
Elian’s eyes widened. He stared at the potion like a starving man staring at a feast.
"Sanity..." Elian whimpered, his hands reaching out involuntarily.
Damien pulled the vial back slightly.
"I don’t need your magic, Elian. I have enough of my own."
Damien crouched down so he was eye-level with the forr Arch-Mage.
"I need your mory. I need to know every path, every monster, and every rule of the Layers below."
He pressed the potion and the food into Elian’s trembling hands.
"I will protect you. I will feed you. I will even help you see the sun again."
Damien’s mask reflected the old man’s face.
"In exchange... you beco my Guide. You must tell everything."
Elian clutched the potion. He looked at Damien. For the first ti in decades, the spark in his eyes wasn’t just survival.
It was hope. And perhaps, a sliver of desire for revenge.
"The sun..." Elian whispered, popping the cork and downing the potion in one gulp.
The grey light washed over him. His trembling stopped. His posture straightened.
The madness that had been clawing at his mind for years receded, leaving behind the sharp, analytical mind of an Arch-Mage.
Elian wiped his mouth. He looked at Damien with clarity.
"Very well, kid," Elian said, his voice steady.
"If you wish to walk into Hell... I will show you the door."
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