"Mother..." Damien whispered, the word barely audible over the grinding of Gorim's mechanical arm.

His heart hammered against his ribs. For sixteen years, he had missed the woman who gave him his first taste of warmth in this new world

To hear that she had walked here, breathed this toxic air, and survived gave him a surge of hope that tasted sweeter than any mana potion.

"What happened next!?" Damien asked, leaning forward, his mask reflecting the dim tavern lights.

"Did she say where she was going?"

Gorim poured himself a shot of the black sludge liquor and downed it.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his stone hand.

"She didn't speak much," Gorim grunted.

"She was angry. Furious. She tore through the city like a storm, demanding to know where he went."

"She was more demonic than most of the demons here if you ask me"

"He?" Damien asked, though he already suspected the answer.

"The Madman," Gorim clarified.

"A few days before she arrived, a man had come through. He had the same vibe as you, cold, void-like."

"But he was broken. He was ranting about a 'Hunger' eating his soul, on the verge of madness he cut the previous Warlord in half and rode to the lower floor while laughing."

Theron Voss, Damien realized. The Void mark!. He descended first because the Void was consuming him.

'He probably came here to stop himself from losing control and accidentally destroying the family!'

"She followed him," Gorim continued, looking at the ceiling as if recalling the memory.

"She said she was going to drag him back to the surface by his ear if she had to. And there was a third."

"A third?"

"An old man. Ancient. He moved like a shadow. He didn't ask questions. He just followed their trail."

"He muttered something about 'protecting the bloodline' and 'seeking a breakthrough in the depths.'"

The Ancestor.

They were all there. The entire Voss main lineage had descended into hell, one after another.

"So," Damien said, standing up. "They went down, Since the Corpse Collector blocks the way. I just need to kill him."

He turned to leave.

"Sit down, fool," Gorim barked.

Damien stopped.

"You think you can fight the Collector?" Gorim scoffed.

"I saw what you did at the gate. You used quite the good trick, I'll give you that."

"But your body? You're coughing up black blood, Zero. You're dying."

Gorim pointed a thick, stony finger at Damien's chest.

"The Corpse Collector is the head of the current floor. He grafts parts of monsters onto himself. "

"He has the skin of a Rock Drake and four arms stitched from Mantis Killers. He ignores pain. He resists magic. If you walk onto that bridge right now, he will peel you like a fruit."

Isabelle stepped forward, a low growl vibrating in her throat at the insult, but Damien raised a hand.

"He's right, Izzy," Damien admitted, looking at his trembling hands.

The [will art{ he had used at the gate had been effective, but it had drained him.

At this point in time his ability was no more than a party trick only useful against weak people"

"Even at that currently his nose was bleeding behind the mask. He wasn't ready for a boss fight yet.

"So, what do you suggest?" Damien asked, sitting back down.

"Survive," Gorim stated.

"In the Abyss, you need two things: Sanity Potions to keep your DNA from unraveling, and Abyss Stones to buy gear."

Gorim pointed out the window toward a large structure made of white bones.

"The Bone Hall," Gorim said.

"It's where Drifters take commissions. Hunting, gathering. Go there. Earn stones. Buy armor. Then fight the Ogre."

CRASH.

The tavern doors were kicked open, splintering the wood.

The chatter in the room died instantly. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.

Six figures walked in. They were massive, hulking brutes wearing armor stitched together from human and elf skin. They dragged rusted cleavers and spiked clubs behind them.

The Corpse Collector's Men.

The leader, a two-headed mutant, sniffed the air.

"I smell..." the left head hissed.

"Fresh meat..." the right head finished.

They scanned the room. Their eyes landed on Damien and Isabelle at the bar.

"The gate guards said a soft-skin walked in," the leader grinned, revealing yellow fangs.

"The Boss is building a new arm. He needs fresh bones. Yours look... sturdy."

The thugs fanned out, blocking the exit. The other patrons scrambled into the corners, eager to watch the bloodshed but terrified to be part of it.

Gorim sighed, reaching under the counter. He pulled out a massive, runic shotgun.

CLACK-CLACK.

"Not in my bar," Gorim warned.

"Take it outside, Two-Heads."

"Stay out of this, rock-eater," the mutant spat.

"Unless you want to be scrap metal."

Damien seeing this remained still, he didn't move from his stool.

He didn't even draw the Pantheon Sword. He simply picked up his glass of black liquor and swirled it.

He turned his head slightly to look at Isabelle.

She was trembling. Not from fear. Her horns were glowing brighter than the neon lamps.

Her red eyes were dilated, fixated on the exposed necks of the intruders.

The Abyss atmosphere was whispering to her, feeding her darker nature.

"Isabelle," Damien said calmly.

"Yes, Master?" Isabelle purred, her fingers dancing over the hilt of her daggers.

"I'm feeling a bit... hungry."

Isabelle grinned. It was a smile full of teeth, sharp and terrifying.

"Shall we dine, Master?"

ZOOM.

She moved.

Here. She used pure, demon-enhanced speed.

CRUNCH.

Before the first thug could lift his club, Isabelle was on top of him.

She slammed her hand onto his head shattering it on the spot.

[Gravity Magic: Crush].

The thug's head imploded into his chest. He dropped like a stone.

"Kill them!" the Two-Headed leader roared.

The remaining five thugs charged.

Damien remained seated. He took a sip of the vile liquor. He closed his eyes, expanding his [will] to sense the surroundings.

"Left, three o'clock," Damien said softly.

Isabelle ducked without looking.

A cleaver buried itself in the pillar where her head had been a second ago. She spun, her leg wreathed in purple flames.

WHAM.

She kicked the attacker in the ribs.

The Hellfire burned through his leather armor and cooked his organs instantly.

"Behind you. High," Damien commanded.

Isabelle didn't question it. She leaped straight up, grabbing the rafters.

A spiked mace swung harmlessly beneath her feet. She dropped down, driving her daggers into the attacker's shoulders.

This couldn't be called a fight, It was a slaughter.

Isabelle was the hurricane. Damien was the eye.

Within thirty seconds, five bodies lay broken on the floor. Only the Two-Headed Leader remained.

He stood there, shaking, holding a rusted axe.

He looked at the girl covered in black blood, then at the man sitting calmly at the bar.

"W-What are you?" the mutant stammered.

Damien set his glass down.

"We are the ones about to change this God-damnned abyss," Damien said.

He looked at the mutant.

"Kneel."

Focusing his will on him, Damien's Cold eyes seemed to enlarge countless times in his eyes

The mutant flinched, distracted for a split second.

That was all Isabelle needed.

SLASH.

She appeared behind him.

Both heads slid off his shoulders at the same time.

THUD.

The body fell.

Silence returned to "The Rust Bucket."

Gorim lowered his shotgun. He looked at the carnage, then at Damien.

"You..." Gorim muttered. "You fight good for a human"

Damien stood up. He walked over to the corpse of the leader and kicked it over.

He pointed to the pouch on the mutant's belt.

"Isabelle, loot the cores," Damien ordered.

"And take their weapons. We can sell the scrap."

"Yes, Master," Isabelle said, wiping blood from her cheek. She looked radiant, energized by the violence.

Damien turned to Gorim.

"You said the Bone Hall has commissions?" Damien asked.

"Aye," Gorim nodded, a newfound respect in his eyes.

"Good," Damien adjusted his coat. "We'll need money to buy those Sanity Potions. Because after we're done shopping..."

He looked North, towards the bridge.

"...we're going to pay the Corpse Collector a visit."

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