The plunge was a gut-wrenching descent into absolute darkness. Air rushed past Nirva's face, cold and biting, smelling of damp earth and something metallic. Dazkar’s arm was an iron band around her waist, holding her so tightly she could feel the hard planes of his chest against her back. The deafening roar of falling rock echoed as they plummeted, a chaotic symphony of destruction. She squeezed her eyes shut, instinct overriding thought, praying for impact to be less brutal than her imagination. Yet, the fall seemed endless. The sound of crashing stone faded, replaced by the whistling wind of their rapid descent. Her stomach lurched, a sickening sensation of weightlessness. Then, sudden, blistering heat flared below them. Nirva’s eyes snapped open. A hellish orange glow pulsed from the depths, illuminating a vast, cavernous maw. Streaks of molten rock snaked down its jagged sides, pooling into a churning, incandescent lake hundreds of feet below. A magma vent. They were falling directly into it. The heat intensified, scorching her skin through her thin maid's uniform. Dazkar shifted, twisting his body, his grip tightening impossibly. He aimed them away from the direct center of the inferno, but the trajectory was unavoidable. They were still going to hit the molten edge. A scalding blast of air engulfed them. She gasped, the air ripping from her lungs. Just as the heat became unbearable, a sharp, sudden jerk yanked her upwards. Dazkar had braced himself against a jutting rock formation with one foot, his other arm a steel beam holding her suspended. The momentum of their fall had nearly ripped her from his grasp, but his grip on her hair, agonizingly tight, had been the anchor. Her head snapped back, a scream tearing from her lips as a handful of her hair ripped free. He ignored it, his gaze locked on hers, primal and intense, his eyes reflecting the molten glow below. He hauled her upwards, away from the scalding furnace, away from the edge of oblivion. Her feet dangled, then found purchase on the rough stone beside him. Before she could steady herself, before she could even breathe, his mouth crashed down on hers. It wasn't gentle. It was a desperate, possessive claim, a raw, demanding kiss that stole her breath and branded her soul. His lips were chapped and fierce, tasting of dust and the metallic tang of his resolve. She felt the bruising force of his devotion, the terror of his ownership, and a strange, dizzying surrender. His teeth scraped her lip, a tiny gasp escaping her as he devoured it, marking her with the sting of his devotion. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were still blazing, reflecting the infernal light. “Mine,” he growled, the single word a vow, a threat, a promise. “You are mine. Never again will I let you fall.” He didn’t wait for her reply, instead surveying the treacherous landscape. They stood on a narrow, uneven ledge carved into the abyssal wall, the magma vent roaring just below. Above, the hole they'd fallen through was a distant pinprick of darkness, too far to climb. Below and around them, the cavern stretched into an impossible void, punctuated by primordial architecture swallowed by the rock, the remnants of an unrecorded empire. “Stay close,” Dazkar commanded, his voice low but firm. He moved with an effortless grace that belied his earlier chains, his body a coiled spring of lethal power. He navigated the treacherous path, his hand never leaving her back, guiding her over rubble and around gaping fissures. The air grew colder as they moved deeper, away from the magma's heat, becoming thick with the scent of stagnant water and something sickly sweet. Distant, guttural sounds echoed from the darkness, growing closer with each step. Then, a low scuttling sound, closer still. From the hollow recesses, grotesque forms began to emerge. They were twisted, insectile creatures with too many limbs and too many eyes, their bodies a murky gray, almost indistinguishable from the rock until they moved. Their forms shimmered with a sickly green bioluminescence, illuminating razor-sharp claws and dripping fangs. Chittering, bloated scavengers. They hissed, their segmented bodies clicking against the primordial stone, their compound eyes fixing on Nirva. A low growl rumbled from Dazkar’s chest. He moved without hesitation, a blur of motion. The first beast lunged, its maw gaping. Dazkar’s hand shot out, not with a weapon, but with pure, unadulterated Qadiri light-magic. A blinding white arc erupted from his palm, striking the creature with shattering force. It shrieked, exploding into a shower of toxic, green ichor. Dazkar immediately spun, pulling Nirva behind him, shielding her from the foul spray. Not a single drop touched her. He moved like a dancer of death, graceful and deadly, each strike precise and overwhelming. He didn't waste a single motion. The beasts fell one after another, their bodies dissolving into foul-smelling vapor or disintegrating into harmless gray soot before their venomous fluids could reach her. His focus was absolute, his protection unwavering. He was a whirlwind of controlled destruction, carving a path through the ruined hall with brutal efficiency, all for her. After what felt like an eternity, the last beast withered into nothingness. The unnatural quiet returned, broken only by the drip of unseen water and their own ragged breaths. Dazkar turned, his intense gaze sweeping over her, searching for any sign of harm. “Are you hurt?” he demanded, his voice rough. Nirva shook her head, still breathless from the onslaught. “No. You… you protected me.” He nodded, a possessive satisfaction in his eyes. “Always.” He led her deeper, through a crumbling archway carved with symbols she didn't recognize, into a vast chamber. It was unlike anything she'd seen in the Bastion, clearly far older, an archaic engine chamber. At its heart, a massive obsidian spire pulsed with crackling darkness, illuminating a grotesque scene. Chains, thick with parasitic runes, snaked from the monolith, binding a figure suspended in mid-air. It was Rishya. Her body was pale and emaciated, her head lolled to the side, eyes closed. Streams of glowing residue pulsed from her flesh into the stone, an unholy transfusion of her marrow and blood. Kholat was draining her, using her to power the Bastion’s defenses. A gasp tore from Nirva's lips. Rishya, her best friend, the woman who had tried to kill Dazkar, was now being slowly, agonizingly consumed. “Rishya!” Nirva cried, instinctively trying to rush forward. Dazkar’s arm shot out, blocking her path, his face grim. “A trap,” he murmured, his gaze sweeping the chamber. “This is Kholat’s final act. To ensure I cannot escape, he sacrifices the very power core that sustains his prison.” He was right. The spire was the heart of the Bastion's warding lattice, and Kholat was willing to destroy it, and Rishya with it, to prevent Dazkar from reaching the surface. But Rishya was still alive. Barely. “Dazkar, please,” Nirva pleaded, her voice trembling. She grabbed his scarred forearm, trembling. “You have to save her. She’s my friend. She’s suffering.” Dazkar's brow twitched. He looked at Rishya, his expression unreadable, then back to Nirva. A flicker of something complicated crossed his features—disgust, reluctance, but also a nascent, terrifying understanding of what she asked. He knew Rishya had orchestrated his downfall, had tried to weaponize him, to kill him. Yet, Nirva, the only thing that mattered to him, was asking him to save her. He walked slowly toward the black monument, his gaze fixed on Rishya's fading form. The crackling ether intensified as he approached, swirling around his boots like hungry vapor. He reached out, his hand closing around the pulsing, dark power source that was Rishya’s torment. “I will save her,” Dazkar rumbled, low and dangerous, violet-tinged gloom snapping around his knuckles. His gaze was fixed on Nirva, intense and unyielding. “But only if you swear to never leave my side, even when the world burns.”

The Abyssal Ascent