Into the Abyss: The Rise of the Malevolent Player

Chapter 2: Back into The Abyss

Aiden’s POV

The weight of the neural interface felt heavier this time, though it was the same sleek headset I’d worn a thousand times before. Maybe it was the years since I last touched this thing. Maybe it was the knowledge of what waited for me on the other side.

Or maybe it was the ghost of Mila’s voice still echoing in my mind.

“Aiden, I’m not dead. Find Rhea Valen before it’s too late.”

The words haunted me, circling like vultures as I stared at the flickering screen of my terminal. Erebus Spire was quiet outside, but my mind was chaos.

I pressed the headset closer to my temple. The interface clicked into place, the neural connection snapping to life with a faint hum.

“Here we go again,” I muttered, my throat tight.

[Initializing connection: Welcome back, Shadow Reaper.]

The voice was smooth, clinical, but it carried an edge of familiarity that made my stomach churn. The screen flashed, and then the world around me melted away.

When I opened my eyes, I was back in The Abyss.

The chaotic, sprawling digital expanse stretched out before me, a labyrinth of glowing pathways and shadowy corridors. The faint hum of warring factions echoed in the distance, broken by sporadic bursts of gunfire and explosions.

Everything was as I remembered it—except worse.

“Well, well. Look who finally crawled out of the void,” a gruff voice chimed in my ear.

I flinched, instinctively pulling up my cloak’s hood. “Who’s this?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your old pal, Kane.”

My stomach twisted. Kane—one of the few players who’d ever matched me in a one-on-one fight. Last I heard, he’d joined a faction in The Abyss.

“Not interested,” I said flatly, glancing around the digital landscape.

“Oh, but you should be,” Kane purred. “Word travels fast in here, Shadow Reaper. People know you’re back.”

I froze mid-step.

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped, my voice colder than I intended.

“Whatever you say, Reaper. Just a friendly warning: You’ve got eyes on you already. Factions are at war, and your little return is making waves.”

The channel cut off before I could reply. My fists clenched, and I forced myself to focus. Kane’s warning was probably bait, but there was no denying the truth in his words. I could feel the weight of unseen eyes tracking my every move.

I slipped deeper into The Abyss, the familiar terrain now an unpredictable minefield. The once-static pathways of code were now fragmented, broken apart by the constant warring factions.

My path led me to the Hollow Core, a hub once controlled by the top players. Now, it was chaos.

Explosions rocked the air as two factions clashed on the far side of the Core. On one side, armored figures in crimson surged forward, their banners marked with a blood-red handprint.

The Crimson Hand.

My chest tightened. Kane was right—this faction wasn’t here back when I ruled the leaderboard. But their presence screamed of power and organization. And Malrik.

I ducked behind a wall of corrupted code, pulling up a map of the Core. My eyes scanned for any sign of Rhea Valen, but the system returned nothing. No active players by that name.

“Dammit,” I muttered. “Where are you?”

“Looking for someone?”

I spun around, weapon in hand, but it was too late. A figure in Crimson Hand armor slammed me against the wall, his helmeted face inches from mine.

“You’re a long way from home, Reaper,” he sneered.

The use of my alias sent a surge of anger through me. I twisted free, slamming my elbow into his side before delivering a roundhouse kick that sent him sprawling.

“Keep calling me that, and I’ll make sure you regret it,” I growled.

He scrambled to his feet, but before he could retaliate, a hail of bullets tore through the air. Another faction stormed the area, their blue insignias clashing with the Crimson Hand’s red.

“Perfect,” I muttered, darting into the fray.

The Core erupted into chaos. Players and NPCs clashed in a blur of gunfire and blades. My instincts kicked in, the muscle memory of years in The Abyss guiding me through the chaos.

I moved like a shadow, slipping through the crowd and taking out anyone who got too close. The Crimson Hand didn’t fight like ordinary players—they were too coordinated, too ruthless.

But I was better.

I disabled one of their sentries with a well-placed EMP grenade, then hacked into its interface to gather intel. A string of encrypted messages scrolled across the screen, but one name stood out: Malrik Vayne.

“So, you’re pulling the strings,” I murmured. “Why am I not surprised?”

Before I could dig deeper, the screen glitched, and a warning flashed:

[Trace Detected: Terminate Connection Immediately.]

“Of course,” I hissed, severing the link just as another explosion shook the Core.

A sniper’s bullet whizzed past my head, narrowly missing me. I dropped into a roll, scanning the area for the source.

There.

A figure perched high on a fragmented platform, their rifle trained on me. The faint glow of their visor sent a chill down my spine.

“Not today,” I muttered, sprinting toward the nearest cover.

The sniper fired again, and this time the shot grazed my shoulder. Pain lanced through me—a phantom sensation from the neural interface.

I gritted my teeth and kept moving, my mind racing. Was this an NPC? Or worse, someone tied to Malrik?

The sniper adjusted their aim, their movements precise and deliberate. They weren’t an ordinary player.

I reached for my grappling hook, launching it toward the platform. The line caught, and I swung upward, drawing my blade mid-air.

But the sniper was ready.

They fired one last shot, and the world around me blurred. The impact sent me crashing to the ground, my vision swimming.

And then I saw her.

Mila’s face flashed before my eyes, her expression one of shock and pain. The memory of that day surged forward, unbidden and raw.

The sound of her voice—“Aiden!”—was drowned out by the echo of gunfire.

I gasped, clawing at the ground as the memory faded. The sniper’s silhouette loomed above me, their rifle trained on my chest.

“You’ve made a mistake coming back, Shadow Reaper,” they said, their voice cold and mechanical.

The barrel of their gun flared, and then—

Darkness.