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Shadow of the Abyss

The Old Gods are gone. Lost and Forgotten, their honor shattered and their kingdoms broken by treachery. The Peace of the Myriad Heavens has been severed. And from the ashes of war and chaos, the Twin Towers of Babel have been created as a beacon of hope. Can Altair, a child born of the Old Gods whose name has long since been forgotten, survive, or will he be cast into the Nine Hells? *** "So..." Arsene continued, enjoying his child's flush expression. "I've got a few things to teach you. What I'm about to give you is some peak wisdom. Think of it as my Ten Commandments: One, never trust a bitch with red hair. Trust me on this. Two, the pull-out game is not a real thing. She will get pregnant. Three—" "F-Father…" " —Never get yourself more than one wife. It sounds fun. It is fun. But it's truly a nightmare. You better be writing this stuff down. This is some grade-A wisdom right here. Four. "...Please stop talking…" The Prince pleaded. "Shhhhh. Just let this happen. Four…Bro's before hoes isn't a thing. The hoes come first. Remember, Booty is more important than Wa— " "STOP!!!!!"

Lord_Damocles · Fantasy
Not enough ratings
450 Chs

The Lure

Through the rustle of the bushes, Altair moved. He had snow on his hair, melting from the heat of his body, that trailed down his chin. His heart was hammering with each passing second as he approached the Hunt. 

Reina covered her nose. "What is that smell?" she grimaced, coming to a halt just within sight of the Hearth tree a few hundred meters away. "It smells worse than rotten meat." 

The Prince agreed wordlessly. He bent a knee, gesturing for Reina to shadow him. He pointed towards the shadow ahead, towards the beast gorging its fangs into its palm, pulling meat from the bone as though it were nothing. Its tail that, once held the head of the serpent, was now a blistering mass of puss, ready to pop at the slightest provocation. 

The Chimera gave a whimpered roar, his once serine eyes festering a deep plague of Madness. Its entire body appeared beaten, littered with scorched marks reaching the bone. The blood was black as ink and thick as glue.