The Abyss.

The sky above stretched unlike any other, an endless tapestry of chaos and decay. Crimson bled into black in an eternal swirl, merging and separating in a ceaseless, unnatural rhythm. There was no morning, no evening, no comforting cycle of day or night. The realm existed outside the flow of time, bound by neither sun nor moon. Instead, a single astral body hung high above the Abyss, immense and alien in its presence.

Half black, half red, it appeared as a grotesque amalgamation of sun and moon, both burning and rotting simultaneously. Its light flickered with corruption, illuminating the endless darkness below as though it existed beyond the normal order of celestial law itself, neither alive nor dead, neither whole nor broken.

Beneath that blighted sky, colossal trees rose upward in defiance of reason. Each stretched hundreds of meters tall, towering like black pillars seeking to pierce through the heavens and stab into the heart of the realm itself. They reached endlessly, as if yearning to touch the swirling celestial aberration above. Every trunk was pitch-black, the bark pulsing faintly with red veins that coursed with Chaos energy. It was as though the trees were conducting their own version of photosynthesis, absorbing the surrounding chaos energy instead of light, exhaling corruption instead of oxygen.

The entire Abyss was bathed in the twin hues of red and black, as though existence had forgotten every other color. There was no green, no blue, no hint of purity. The very soil beneath the trees shimmered with a sickly luster, black sand shifting like liquid under invisible pressure.

And there, beneath the shadow of those colossal trees, lay a single figure. A Demon. His body was sprawled across the blackened earth, motionless and battered. Two sharp horns protruded from his forehead, curved backward like blades. His wings, black, leathery, and immense, were spread unevenly across the ground, twitching faintly. Behind him, a long black tail coiled and uncoiled weakly, barely moving.

It was the Second Supreme Monarch.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. Black pupils flickered to life, reflecting the red glare of the sky above. Confusion clouded his gaze as he stared at the world around him. He sat there, breathing heavily, his vision adjusting to the corrupted landscape.

His head turned slowly, scanning his surroundings. "Where… am I?" he muttered, his voice hoarse. As he tried to release his senses, to feel, to understand, nothing happened.

He frowned. For the first time in countless centuries, his awareness failed him. Then he remembered. He was no longer a Supreme Monarch. His powers, his dominion, his connection to the vast network of existence, all of it had been stripped away. He could no longer extend his consciousness across planets, no longer bend space or crush stars with a fist. He was, in truth, powerless.

And then the memory of him surfaced.

The instant Anthony's name and face appeared in his mind, pain struck.

A wave of indescribable agony tore through his entire being. It was not physical, it was spiritual. The same Soul Link from before had reconnected without his consent. The Second Supreme Monarch screamed. His cry tore through the forest, echoing like thunder against the corrupted trees. He clutched at his head as the pain devoured him, and just as suddenly as it began, it ended, the link severed again, as the pain made him forget about Anthony.

He fell forward, panting heavily. Black blood trickled from his ears and nose, staining the ground beneath him. His body trembled violently as he forced himself upright. His mind, though clouded with pain, remained sharp, battle-hardened from centuries of experience.

"He linked it… to thought," he muttered between breaths. "Anytime I think of him, the Soul Link activates automatically." His tone carried bitter realization.

The frown on his face deepened. The idea of half his soul resting within Anthony's control twisted something inside him. It was unbearable. But he dared not dwell on it. Even the faintest thought of Anthony would rekindle the torment.

Yet, unknown to him, Anthony would be activating the soul link every once in a while to torment him until he went mad.

He looked around again. Above him, crimson shadows danced across the black trees. Strange creatures moved among the branches, birds with skeletal wings, their feathers dripping with tar-like corruption. Insects the size of daggers buzzed nearby, their wings shimmering with chaotic runes. Everything here was alive, yet profoundly wrong.

"Where is this place?" he wondered aloud. "Is this another Demon Monarch's world? A conquered realm?"

No answer came. The forest whispered in distorted tones, as if mocking him.

He exhaled slowly. "It doesn't matter," he muttered to himself. "The only thing that matters anywhere… is strength. And right now, I have none."

He clenched his fists. His body trembled, not from fear, but frustration. Once, his power had been vast enough to reshape worlds. Now, he was little more than an S-ranked Demon, stripped of everything. Anthony had taken it all, his abilities, his skills, his essence, even his name's worth in the cosmos.

The only remnants of his greatness were his raw physical power, his chaos-filled core, and the battle experience of countless eras.

'I will have to start from the beginning,' he thought grimly. He knew this path would be far more difficult than before.

If this were mana, he could have easily rebuilt his strength. His mastery over mana had once been unparalleled, a being of planetary rank, his control had bordered on divine precision. But chaos energy was something different entirely. It was wild, unstructured, unbound by any known law. It was unknown to him.

Even if he still possessed his former skills or abilities, they would be useless. They had been crafted around the flow of mana. Here, in this accursed realm, mana was nonexistent. Chaos energy ruled. And without understanding how to manipulate it, he was nothing.

'If only I still possessed my innate talent,' he thought bitterly. That gift, his natural affinity for energy control, had once made him unstoppable. Now, it was gone.

'No need to waste time brooding,' he told himself after a moment. His tone hardened; his will reasserted itself. Slowly, he dropped to the ground, the black sand shifting beneath him.

Even stripped of everything, he was still who he was, the Second Supreme Monarch. His mind was a weapon sharper than any blade. Calm, analytical, precise. Doubt had no place in him.

He crossed his legs, assuming a lotus position, and closed his eyes. The air was thick with chaos energy, he could feel it pressing against his skin, seeping into his body. Slowly, deliberately, he reached inward, attempting to draw it in.

Seconds passed.

Then, faintly, his right hand began to shimmer. Wisps of pitch-black energy coiled around his fingers like living smoke. His eyes opened, reflecting the dark flame that danced on his skin. He studied it in silence, the corners of his mouth twitching downward.

"Never in all my existence," he murmured, "did I imagine I would have to learn chaos energy manipulation… nor that I would become a Demon."

The thought stung, but he smiled faintly to himself. "No matter. Even if I am an S-rank Demon now, experience will guide me. I will rise again to the top again."

But the Abyss itself seemed to mock his conviction.

Unknown to the fallen Second Supreme Monarch, Anthony had long since severed his talent using the Authority of Severance, and worse, he had cursed his soul with a peculiar, cruel spell.

For every two major realm advancements, he would lose one.

A curse of futility.

And with his now crippled talent, each step of cultivation would demand a billionfold effort for half the result.

If only the once-mighty Second Supreme Monarch knew how meaningless his struggle would become. His destiny had already been rewritten.

He would train. He would bleed. He would climb.

But he would never rise.

He was doomed to forever labor without reward, to fight endlessly in pursuit of strength, only to lose it every time he reached it.

That was the punishment Anthony had chosen for him.

To Dream. To Strive. To Fail.

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