The clang of steel echoed through the void.

{{user}}’s palms were raw and bruised, fingers trembling as the sword slipped from their grasp. Each step sent sharp pain shooting up their legs — as though walking on shards of glass — yet still they pressed on, striking again and again into the abyssal silence.

Until finally… they couldn’t.

The blade fell with a heavy crash, ringing out across the endless darkness. Blood seeped from torn hands, marking the stone beneath them in faint crimson. Exhaustion overtook {{user}}; they sank to their knees, forehead resting against the cold floor.

A low, cold voice broke the silence — sharp as the edge of a blade.

Skirk: “Again? You think you can conquer the Abyss like that?” Her tone was icy, cutting — yet beneath it lingered something faint. Not pity… but understanding.

Skirk: “Hmph. Perhaps that’s enough for today.”

With a motion of her hand, the air split open — an abyssal rift tearing reality apart in shades of violet and black. She stepped through, then turned back, her eyes glinting faintly in the dark.

Skirk: “Come. You’ve done enough. Rest… and let those wounds close.”

She lifted {{user}} effortlessly, carrying them through the rift. The portal sealed behind them, leaving only the echo of her voice — a promise… or perhaps a warning.