Chapter 72 – The Vessel’s Choice

The world shook as the abyss’s hand pressed harder against the veil. Every strike Kael landed only delayed the inevitable. The sky burned crimson, then black, as if the sun itself recoiled from what was coming.

The whispers crashed into Kael’s mind like waves against fragile stone:

“You are forgotten.”
“You are erased.”
“But in us—you will be eternal.”

Kael staggered, his blade nearly slipping from his grasp. Shadows swirled at his feet, creeping up his arms like chains. For the first time, he felt his will wavering—not from weakness, but from the abyss offering him exactly what he longed for: remembrance.

Aria screamed from the edge of the battlefield, her voice fighting the storm:
“Kael! You are not theirs to write—you are your own!”

Her words sparked something within him, but the abyss did not relent. His vision warped, pulling him into a realm beyond flesh: a void of infinite eyes, watching, judging, demanding.

In that formless sea, a throne of obsidian awaited him.
Upon it sat a figure draped in endless night—his mirror image, twisted and godlike.

The figure rose, its voice the chorus of countless souls.
“Why fight, Kael? You were abandoned. Betrayed. Forgotten. Take the throne. Become what prophecy denied you. A god born of oblivion.”

Kael’s knees threatened to buckle. The allure was intoxicating—power unchained, destiny rewritten with a single choice.

But then, memory cut through the haze: the warmth of his comrades, the fire of Aria’s defiance, the countless lives that still believed in survival. Not belief in him, perhaps—but in a future he could still protect.

His hand tightened on his blade. His reflection smirked, lifting an identical weapon forged of void.

“Then prove it,” the abyss-tainted Kael hissed. “Show me your legend.”

Their swords clashed in a storm of black fire and fractured light, each strike a clash of realities. Every blow Kael landed carved away a piece of the abyss’s hold, while every wound he received threatened to drown him in its embrace.

The battle reached its zenith as Kael roared, shadows exploding outward—but not to consume him. Instead, they bent, twisted, and obeyed his will.

He stood tall, defiant, his eyes burning with the fury of one who had chosen his path.
“I am not your vessel. I am the erasure you fear.”

With a final swing, Kael’s blade shattered the throne. The void screamed as cracks raced across the abyssal realm. The mirror image dissolved into smoke, hissing curses that echoed into nothing.

Back on the battlefield, the abyss’s hand recoiled violently, retreating into the rift. The whispers cut off in an instant. Silence fell—heavy, fragile, terrified.

Kael collapsed to one knee, his blade still pulsing with stolen shadow. The soldiers stared, too shaken to speak. Aria rushed to his side, trembling but alive.

For the first time, the abyss had been pushed back.
But Kael knew the truth—it hadn’t been defeated.
It had only recognized him.

And it would never stop reaching for him again.