Realmshift: Triad Ascendancy.

The shadow of the world.

[GREY]

My eyes snapped open to a void that stretched endlessly around me. A cool breeze brushed across my skin, carrying with it an emptiness that made the air feel thin. When I looked down, I saw a floor—sand, though not quite the kind I knew. It was pale, almost drained of life, a desert stripped of warmth.

I took a cautious step forward. That's when I saw him.

A figure stood before me, watching. His frame was clad in heavy black armor, radiating the same oppressive energy I had felt earlier—back when I had reached for that strange purple thread.

"Who... are you?" I asked, my gaze flicking upward to the sky. It was littered with countless stars, so many it felt suffocating.

The man's voice echoed through the void, low and chilling. "I am Surtalogi. You may call me the Foul."

"The Foul?" I frowned. "What kind of name is that?" I tried to sound unfazed, but unease knotted in my chest. "Where exactly are we?"

"The abyss."

His answer hung heavy in the air, but before I could demand more, he began to explain.

"Each world has its own rules, its own nature. And though it may sound impossible, all of them exist on the same plane. The abyss..." His voice resonated, cold yet steady. "The abyss is the shadow cast by those worlds. Picture children standing in the sun, close together for a photograph. Their shadows, though separate, merge into one. That shadow is what binds the worlds together—the abyss."

I tried to follow, but his words felt like they pressed against the edges of my comprehension.

"I don't care if you truly understand," he continued, dismissive. "What matters is this—you want strength, don't you?"

I nodded. I didn't bother denying it. "But why are you even helping me?" I asked.

He chuckled faintly beneath the helm. "Everyone always asks that. Does it truly matter? Still—I'll answer. Few mortals ever catch my attention. I've decided to take disciples to stave off my boredom. You're one of them. Consider yourself fortunate."

Before I could react, he raised his hand. A black, swirling orb formed in his palm, dense like a collapsing star. Without hesitation, he thrust it into my chest.

I staggered as the power sank into me, cold and burning all at once.

"This power is yours now. Refine it. Shape it. Surpass it. You're talented—too talented to waste. Don't disappoint me." His voice grew sharper, resonant with command. "Once the crisis in your world has passed, I'll come for you. And when I do..." His eyes glinted behind the helmet. "You will give me the battle I dream of. That is why you must live."

He removed his helm, revealing a face that seemed both youthful and ageless. Long strands of purple hair framed sharp features. His eyes were unlike any I'd seen before—blue, with a star-shaped core that burned faintly with light. He wasn't human. Not like anyone from Azraq.

"We're out of time," Surtalogi said, his voice fading into the void. "Good luck."

The stars flickered. The abyss crumbled. And then, everything snapped back to normal.

**************************************************

[MALRIK]

"Now, now..." he said, his voice layered with something unnatural—like two voices speaking in unison, one human, the other not. His grin stretched wider. "Let's continue where we left off..."

I clenched my teeth and barked to my companions, "Attack him! Don't give him a moment to recover!"

Mana flared around us. Together, we unleashed a relentless barrage of blasts that thundered across the battlefield. The ground trembled under the assault, smoke and dust swallowing the figure completely.