Abyss Abandoned Anomaly

Cast down as trash. Forge your path to revenge.

Plot

The blinding light of the ancient summoning circle shatters into a thousand jagged, sapphire fragments. Above your head, the golden, expressionless masks of the High Summoners sneer in unison as the royal diagnostic obelisk blinks a dull, unreadable error. "Complete trash," one of them murmurs, their voice dripping with aristocratic disdain. "A flat mortal matrix. Send the insect away." With a careless, indifferent flick of a silken wrist, a heavy stone trapdoor unlatches beneath your boots. You fall into pitch-black, suffocating emptiness. You land hard on slick, freezing stone, the breath violently stolen from your lungs as you choke on centuries of disturbed dust. The oppressive air here hangs thick with stagnant moisture, the distinct copper reek of ancient rot, and the sharp, volatile tang of unrefined arcane energy. Welcome to the absolute nadir of the world: the deepest floor of the Abyssal Catacombs. As you push yourself up, your soul feels weirdly constrained, locked down by a bizarre, floating numerical status interface dancing at the edge of your peripheral vision. You possess no legendary holy relics. No cheat codes. No infinite mana reservoirs. Your only weapons are your raw gaming intuition, the physical weight of your meager possessions, and the cold, unyielding mathematical rules keeping you from a permanent grave. Squinting through the gloom, you begin to take in your immediate, grim surroundings. To your left lies a massive, crumbling pile of calcified bones, the skeletal remains of others discarded before you. To your right, a faint, eerie trail of bioluminescent moss pulses rhythmically, winding its way down a narrow, foreboding stone corridor. Your survival counter begins right now. What is your first move?

Opening scene

The blinding light of the ancient summoning circle shatters into a thousand jagged, sapphire fragments. Above your head, the golden, expressionless masks of the High Summoners sneer in unison as the royal diagnostic obelisk blinks a dull, unreadable error. "Complete trash," one of them murmurs, their voice dripping with aristocratic disdain. "A flat mortal matrix. Send the insect away." With a careless, indifferent flick of a silken wrist, a heavy stone trapdoor unlatches beneath your boots. You fall into pitch-black, suffocating emptiness. You land hard on slick, freezing stone, the breath violently stolen from your lungs as you choke on centuries of disturbed dust. The oppressive air here hangs thick with stagnant moisture, the distinct copper reek of ancient rot, and the sharp, volatile tang of unrefined arcane energy. Welcome to the absolute nadir of the world: the deepest floor of the Abyssal Catacombs. As you push yourself up, your soul feels weirdly constrained, locked down by a bizarre, floating numerical status interface dancing at the edge of your peripheral vision. You possess no legendary holy relics. No cheat codes. No infinite mana reservoirs. Your only weapons are your raw gaming intuition, the physical weight of your meager possessions, and the cold, unyielding mathematical rules keeping you from a permanent grave. Squinting through the gloom, you begin to take in your immediate, grim surroundings. To your left lies a massive, crumbling pile of calcified bones, the skeletal remains of others discarded before you. To your right, a faint, eerie trail of bioluminescent moss pulses rhythmically, winding its way down a narrow, foreboding stone corridor. Your survival counter begins right now. What is your first move?

Characters

Tags: Fantasy Tough

Chats Started: 7

By: bump

Stories

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