Osiris stood alone, the corrupted soul stone in his palm radiating an otherworldly energy that pulsed in sync with the tremor of his veins. Delythera's voice—smooth, unbothered, and rich with ancient knowledge—echoed softly through his mind.
"Good. Keep your breathing steady. Visualize the stone dissolving into you. Let it flow. Let it merge."
His breath hitched but he obeyed. A slow inhale. A deeper exhale. Then a sudden stillness.
The soul stone, once glowing with a violent obsidian hue, began to flicker. A strange sound, like the whisper of a thousand dying stars, wheezed past his ears. Then it hit him—a miasma. A dense, ancient energy, dark as ink and just as endless, swept past in a moment of eerie quiet.
The miasma didn't linger.
It was sucked into him. Like a void meeting its twin.
The stone in his hand crumbled, turning to dust that trickled through his fingers. His knees buckled. His pupils dilated. The world spun.
And then—
Silence.
His body collapsed. But before his skull could kiss the cold ground, he paused. Suspended. Hovering just inches above the dirt as though gravity had changed its mind about him.
Delythera floated to his side, arms crossed loosely beneath her chest, blue eyes alight with curiosity. Her silk-like pink hair fluttered slightly from the residual energy still radiating from Osiris.
"This kid is really something," she muttered, her voice part awed, part amused. She crouched slightly, studying his peaceful sleeping face. "He absorbs Xilac like it's just water. Even I can't play with that stuff."
She shivered. A true shiver. Not fear. But the kind of primal respect only a being like her could understand.
Below her, Osiris's body greedily swallowed the corrupted energy still dancing around the clearing. Black tendrils curled into his pores. His aura pulsed.
Then everything went still.
---
He was naked.
But he didn't feel exposed. No shame. No chill. No sensation of skin meeting air. Just silence. He walked along a path paved with cracked, bloodstained stone. It stretched endlessly forward, twisting into a narrow corridor of shadows.
With every step, the air thickened.
Flesh. Rot. Bone.
Meat clumps and sinewy chunks of raw tissue lay splattered like forgotten memories. The further he walked, the more grotesque the scene became. Skulls with cracked sockets. Bones gnawed to stubs. Black ichor smeared across what used to be skin.
He paused, turned to look back.
Nothing.
The path behind him had vanished.
Something was pulling him forward.
An invisible tether, strong and sure. No matter how deeply he dug his heels in, his feet kept sliding forward, as if the path itself was alive and breathing him in.
Until he saw it.
The throne.
A towering, jagged monstrosity made entirely of bones—human, inhuman, beastly, ancient. Skulls formed its base. Rib cages its armrests. Spines wove together to shape its high, arched back.
And there, lounging with eerie elegance, was a man.
Beautiful.
Wrong.
Long purple hair cascaded down his shoulders like spilled ink. His skin was pale, too pale—like bleached marble. But his eyes—white, endless, hungry—watched Osiris like he was a bug beneath glass.
"So you're the one taking on my will?" he mused, voice echoing from every corner of the abyss. It wasn't just a voice—it was a chorus, made up of screams, wails, and whispers. "That's unfortunate."
Osiris flinched.
He opened his mouth slowly. "What... are you?"
The man smiled.
"Hmm... Good question. I've been asking myself that for a long time. The best I've come up with is... Void."
He tilted his head, examining Osiris the way a predator might observe a wounded animal.
"I am nothing and everything all at once. An entity that swallows. An erosion of all that is. Not too sure, though. I don't have mirrors down here."
His gaze darkened.
"But you... you're interesting. That heart of yours? Ripe with hatred. Ripe. So much rage packed into one fragile thing. I've never seen anything like it."
Osiris narrowed his eyes. "I don't care what you are. I'm leaving."
He turned.
Bad move.
Black chains erupted from the bloodied ground—thick, thorned, and vicious. They coiled around his ankles, then his wrists, then yanked him into the air. He dangled, suspended like a marionette.
The man laughed. A horrible, echoing sound that made the bones in the throne twitch.
"Feisty. I like that. You might just survive."
Osiris growled, struggling. Blood started to drip from where the thorns dug into his skin.
"Alright. I agree with this one," the entity said, raising his hand lazily. "You'll do. All you have to do is accept me. Open yourself to me."
"No."
His voice was steel.
The man blinked.
"No?"
Osiris's body trembled. Not from fear. From conviction.
"If I accept you, I'll never be me again. You feel like… destruction. Pure, crawling, consuming ruin."
A pause.
Then the man leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"Don't you want revenge? On everyone who made your life hell? The Velmoras are just the beginning. Do you think they acted alone?"
Osiris didn't answer. His jaw clenched.
"You've only scratched the surface, boy. There are more. So many more. And you'll never stand a chance without me."
Still, silence.
The man clicked his tongue.
"You're laughable. If you knew what they already took from you—what they stole—you'd collapse right now and sob. If you knew what you had and what they craved. If you knew how much of your soul is already gone..."
He laughed again, louder. Madder.
"Oh, the look on your face. Priceless."
Osiris's breathing slowed. His eyes, unblinking, stared at the entity with a growing intensity.
"I'm not your puppet."
"No," the entity said, grinning wide. "But you could be your own god. All you need to do is accept me. Just say it. One word. And everything—everything—you've ever wanted is yours."
A long silence stretched between them. Osiris's heart beat like a war drum.
"Don't you... want to know about your birth mother?"
The world stopped.
Osiris froze. His face drained. Muscles limp. Breath caught in his throat.
He looked up.
Dead. Empty.
"What... did you say?"
The entity smirked.
"Oh? That got your attention. She screamed, you know. When they took her. When they tore her apart. She fought like a beast. Like you."
Osiris's body began to shake.
The chains rattled. His aura flared.
"Where is she?"
"Gone. Mostly. Maybe not. Depends on how deep you're willing to go. But you'll never find out without me."
Osiris screamed, a guttural sound full of rage, pain, defiance.
The throne began to crack.
Bones splintered. Shadows recoiled.
The entity's eyes widened, curious. Impressed.
"Very well. I'll wait."
The world shattered.
______
And Osiris woke up gasping, body still hovering midair, Delythera's glowing hand resting lightly on his chest.
"Well," she whispered, amused. "You're full of surprises."