Deep within the Abyss, the air shimmered with dark energy. A lone figure danced through a swarm of shadowy creatures, blade in hand—her movements swift, eyes narrowed with deadly focus. Each slash of her sword resonated with Abyssal power, cutting through the monsters as if the darkness itself answered her call.
Her arms and legs were no longer but used the Abyss powers to replace them as she trains to become more stronger her limbs are were that consequence of her hard training
She halted, breathing steady but sharp, her blade dripping with violet light.
A voice echoed through the gloom.
"Still not worthy of being called a Descender," the voice mocked—cold, regal, ancient.
"You're far too weak."
The speaker emerged from the swirling void—Surtalogi, her master. His form blazed with an unnatural flame, Abyssal fire crackling through his armor, and eyes glowing like molten stars.
He wielded a massive sword, a weapon so powerful it could tear open the false sky itself—rending the heavens apart and creating a rift wide enough to cast Skirk into the world as he did before.
"You still have more training to do," he said, as his Abyssal flames flared higher.
Skirk steadied herself, breath sharp, stance firm. Then—she lunged.
The clash that followed was thunderous, echoing through the hollow darkness of the Abyss. But in the end, only one stood tall.
With a final, merciless strike, Surtalogi severed her hand. She dropped to one knee, pain radiating through her body.
"Get stronger," he said coldly. "There are beings in this realm and beyond—that far surpass you. If you truly wish to face a Shade… you're still leagues away from that kind of power.".