Chapter 508
Whispers began to circulate in the Abyss. The once-ignored warlord now commanded a disciplined army, hardened by constant battle and glutted on soul energy. His stronghold—once a crumbling fortress half-buried in ash and bone—had been reforged into a towering obsidian citadel, its spires lined with gargoyles that watched with tireless vigilance.
Malzor himself stood on the cusp of greatness. Having reached the upper limits of the fifth stage, he felt the stirrings of something greater—yet also something missing. He had power, territory, and growing influence... but the path forward had grown unclear.
Malzor knew the truth in his bones: without some stroke of luck—some extraordinary encounter or divine twist—he would go no further. Fifth stage would be his ceiling in this invasion. He had clawed his way here through blood, grit, and clever maneuvering, but now the path ahead was shrouded in shadow, and brute strength alone would not carry him any higher.
That was why he had hoped to turn to Phanthom.
From the very beginning, Malzor had harbored suspicions. Phanthom didn’t move like a demon. Didn’t feel like one. There was something about him—something that whispered of otherworldly origins. A being outside the twisted hierarchies of the Abyss. But Malzor didn’t care. He had long since stopped seeking truth for its own sake. Whatever Phanthom truly was, the guidance he offered had been invaluable. The blessings, the insights, the whispered paths to power—all of it had elevated Malzor from a mere deformed gargoyle without wings to a formidable force whose name carried weight even beyond his domain.
It was Phanthom’s hand, unseen yet ever-present, that had shaped much of Malzor’s rise.
But now, when Malzor needed him most—when the threshold between fifth and sixth stage loomed like a chasm with no bridge—Phanthom had vanished.
Gone without warning. Without a trace.
And Malzor knew: if Phanthom didn’t want to be found, he would not be found. No force in the Abyss, no spell or summoning rite, could drag him into the light. His silence was deliberate, his absence purposeful. Perhaps it was a test. Perhaps it was abandonment.
Either way, Malzor stood alone now.
As for Phanthom—elusive, ever-smiling Phanthom—he wasn’t concerned with Malzor’s desperation. No, his attention had shifted elsewhere. He was far too entertained, caught in what he called a delightful game of hide and seek with his new host.