Chapter 456: Hollow Vein XX
The pit convulsed like a living wound. Each rib of black stone shuddered, cracking at the edges as the thing dragged itself free. Its bulk dwarfed the beast Asher had been fighting. Chains spilled endlessly from its body, not dragging it down but spreading outward, anchoring into the abyss as though remaking it into its own cage and throne.
The broken beast howled, writhing as it was reeled closer, its countless mouths shrieking like prey. The figure caught it in one colossal hand, claws piercing its chest. The struggling mass convulsed, chains rattling, then went limp as the figure crushed it in silence. Black ichor poured like rain, soaking the falling abyss.
Asher steadied himself on a drifting rib, cloak whipping in the surge of pressure. His scythe bled light, but for the first time, the weight pressing against it felt heavier than before—like even the blade was straining to hold itself firm in the presence of what had risen.
The figure’s eyes—dozens, hundreds—fixed on him. They glowed with hunger, with memory, with something older than the chains themselves. Its voice tore through him, not with sound, but with resonance in his marrow:
"VESSEL OF BLOOD... CUTTER OF CHAINS... YOU ARE THE REASON I WAKE."
The abyss roared in agreement. The ribs groaned inward, the void pulling tighter, until it felt as though the entire pit existed for this confrontation alone.
Asher exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders, letting the bloodlight steady. His words cut clean, unshaken:
"Then I’ll make sure you don’t walk out."
The figure leaned forward, its dozens of hands spreading wide. Chains surged toward him like a tidal wave, barbed and endless. Each one carried more weight than the last—an attack not just on his body, but on his will. The first storm had been wild. This was deliberate, unified, guided by an intelligence that had waited centuries.
Asher dropped from the rib into the open dark. His cloak flared red, his scythe spun into guard. He launched forward into the storm.
The clash was immediate. Chains slammed down like falling mountains, but his blade was already in motion. He carved upward, bloodlight bursting in crescents that split the first volley apart. Another wave coiled, faster than thought, looping for his throat. He twisted midair, boot pressing to one chain’s surface, and cut through three more in the same motion. Sparks and ichor rained, filling the dark with flares.
The figure only leaned closer. More eyes opened across its body. More chains surged outward, turning the abyss into a forest of blades and bindings.
And through it all, Asher kept cutting.
Chains filled the abyss until there was no horizon, no sky—only a labyrinth of iron and hunger. Each link rattled like the scream of something long-dead, every strike carrying intent enough to crush a Sovereign world. Yet Asher did not falter.
His scythe spun in arcs of bloodlight, each swing cutting deeper than the last. He struck not just the metal but the will binding it, severing command from chain. Every severed length writhed like a serpent in death throes before being pulled back into the figure’s colossal mass.
But for every dozen he cut, a hundred more came. They lashed from all angles—hooks aiming for his flesh, coils for his limbs, barbs to strip him apart piece by piece.
One wrapped his wrist. Another tore for his throat. A third stabbed toward his spine.
Asher’s eyes narrowed. The blood in his veins thrummed, igniting. His cloak flared like a burning sea, and his voice echoed through the storm:
"Sanguine Supreme—Second Vein: Bloodlit Dominion!"
The abyss itself flushed red. Every droplet of blood, every shred of spilt ichor, every trace of life scattered in this pit answered him. They rose in rivers, surging around him in a living tide. The chains that touched it hissed, corroded, screamed as though something higher than metal rejected them.
With a single sweep, his scythe became the axis of a crimson storm. The coil on his wrist disintegrated, reduced to dripping rust. The hooks shattered like glass under pressure. The barb driving toward his back was intercepted midflight and bent in half before he cut it away.
The figure did not recoil. It only leaned closer, shoulders rising like mountains, and its hundreds of eyes narrowed. Dozens of mouths split open across its chest and arms, whispering and screaming in layered tones:
"EVERY CUT YOU MAKE BINDS YOU CLOSER."
And then the chains changed. No longer were they just weapons—they bent into sigils midair, forming seals that shone black against the bloodlit glow. They weren’t striking now; they were weaving. A cage within a cage, a prison whose walls folded inward with every strike he made.
Asher’s scythe met the first seal—and for the first time, his blade rebounded. Sparks erupted, not from metal, but from law. His arm jarred numb for an instant, though his stance held.
"Not just bindings..." he muttered. "You’re stitching the abyss itself."
The figure’s voice rolled like thunder breaking bone:
"YES. AND YOU... WILL BE THE FINAL LOCK."
The seals spiraled inward, compressing space, collapsing freedom. Chains no longer had to catch him—soon there would be nowhere left to move.
Asher’s grip tightened. His heart pounded like a drum of war. Bloodlight pulsed brighter, feeding from his veins until the abyss itself quivered. His gaze sharpened into a predator’s calm.
"If you’re remaking the pit into your cage..." He drew the scythe back, crimson aura flaring high. "...then I’ll carve open a new sky."
And he launched himself straight into the folding seals, scythe raised to split law itself.
The seals closed like jaws. Their edges weren’t stone or steel, but written law—each line of black flame inscribed with the weight of aeons. To brush against them was to feel the abyss itself deny movement, deny freedom, deny existence.
Asher’s scythe cleaved into the first.
The impact wasn’t a clash of matter but of truths. The seal shrieked, cracks rippling outward like lightning. The force slammed back through his arms, rattling bone, demanding submission. But his blood flared brighter, veins searing as Dominion wrapped him in a storm of crimson flame. With a second strike, he split it outright, shards of black law dissolving into ash.