Monarch of Darkness, Arsene

Staring at the scene of Ezra howling at the various men bowing their heads, the bellowing sound of tinnitus rang through my ears. My spine was damaged, and my legs looked deformed as they stood bent in odd directions, yet there was no pain; there was only indifference. I could still feel something, but it didn't feel like mine, but someone else's.

Pouring in the divinity coursing through me to help mend my injuries, I sat calmly in a pool of blood, staring at Ezra while pushing away the darkness threatening to fill my eyes. I wasn't going to faint again.

Everything seemed so clear now. There were no emotions; it felt like I was in the hollowing, but different. It was freeing.

"You there," Ezra called, eyeing me as though we were strangers. And we probably might. My appearance is perhaps different. I'm too injured to check, but that might be the only clue I can go on.

Then there's the name. It's so juvenile, so it's either Lilith, Mephisto, or Loki's doing. Those were probably the only ones who should have known of my location in the Abyss during my battle. Lilith wouldn't have gone this far. Since her pregnancy, she's been tamed, taking it slow.

All this doesn't seem like her, especially the name. With her being pregnant, she wouldn't make a joke like that. So it's between Loki and Mephisto. And from there, if we double down, I will choose Loki. A God of Mischief and somewhat of an ass, he would definitely do something like this. On the other hand, Mephisto seems too out of reach for me to guess about him. It had to have been done by Loki.

"I want him trained by week's end. If you've got to throw him in a hell loop, do it," Ezra snapped, taking her departure with a flourish of her robes.

I had no change in expression over her words but rather a curiosity. I could repair my soul if it's related to soul attacks.

Ignoring everything around me, I reached deep into myself, into the Ring of Bael, where Zax welcomed me with a bow, " My lord."

"I need confirmation. Who's doing this?"

"Loki, m'lord."

"Are you still in contact with any higher being, maybe the Mother of Demons?" I inquired, watching complexity flicker over his face like a streak of lightning.

"No, it's been oddly silent. Would you like for me to—"

"No," I answered. "Are there any recovery medicine in here?"

"My master is an advocate of lord Mephistopheles, who has been known to dabble in every circle. Alchemy is one of them." He said, lowering his head even more.

"Hand me a few; I assume you only have fourth Heaven material?"

"That is correct; retaining anything higher would conflict with the rules of the Bed of Chaos, but if you like, since we are in the Abyss, such restrictions should not exist. I could craft you a few fifth realms—"

"Not necessary; I think this was part of Mephsitos plot. Just hand me a few pills to keep me from dying." I responded, taking a seat upon the throne of bael that began filling me with a myriad of divinity.

Yet even with the amount of divinity I held, my body was barely repairing itself. Knowing it would be while even with the pills, I decided to focus entirely on mending my injuries, which could take a few hundred years.

Keeping my mind out on my actual body, all four parts of my soul began to work in overdrive. One focused on healing, the second was responsible for training Astral Force, the third would train in the Hive Mind Arte, and the last was focused on my body, ensuring nothing went wrong.

The nature of Astral force had seemed far different than anything I'd ever seen or imagined; it was so similar to soul force, yet even more resilient. While Soul Force had many advantages, there were too many limitations, as I only had a limited amount, while Astral forced seemed to grow alongside my cultivation.

The Path of Abyssal Night seemed to include not just growing my cultivation but my soul, which was slowly tarnishing my astral force.

Keeping a peaceful mind, as I was dragged like an injured horse by the hair, I looked on as the streaks of blood followed my limp body into what seemed like a dungeon that smelt of blood, shit, piss, and sex. It was disgusting, but as we kept going, I was forced down multiple flights of stairs that began to shatter more of my body and tossed into an odd-looking chamber door.

"I hope you go mad in here!" The Guardsman, whose name I didn't seem to see with my Hell Sight. Which usually allowed me to see names of those on my level or weaker.

Guess my soul is too heavily injured to use such an ability. But his face, height, smell, and aura have been memorized.

His footsteps are light, but there isn't much stability in his footsteps, he just had a breakthrough, or he just has a low battle prowess. If he stands guard, my chances of escape are about twenty-five percent based on injuries.

The way he carries himself leaves me to believe his cultivation isn't that high either, so it must be within the realm of a low god. Last I saw Ezra, her cultivation seemed at the peak of Low God, and the way how they stared at her made it look like she had broken through. If that's the case, I need to rethink ways to escape.

There is no proof of that, but it's a good theory I need to confirm with the darkness tonight. For some reason, everyone is laxer when night falls. Despite all reasons saying otherwise, it's a time when everyone crosses their legs to meditate.

"I hope you burn in the deepest pit of hell." The Guardsman spat, slamming shut the chamber door after tossing me in like a rag doll.

My brow scrunched as the sent of brimstone filled this dark chamber that held no light, but as time continued to slip away, a scarlet mist began to fill the room. Unease should have crept up my shattered spine, but as I lay defenseless, I could only close my eyes and wait.