CHAPTER 459: HOLLOW VEIN XXIII

The abyss howled under the strain of their war. The ocean of chains raged like a living storm, regenerating faster than Asher could cut—but his will only grew fiercer. Each swing of his scythe wasn’t merely destruction; it was reclamation. Every chain he corroded, every weapon he broke, every shackle he shattered—their essence bled into his Dominion, feeding the crimson sea swelling beneath his feet.

The ground cracked open, and from it rose pillars of bloodlight—monolithic veins that pulsed with his rhythm. They speared upward, tearing through the iron flood, splitting its tides apart like mountains emerging from a storming sea. Rust rained down in waves. The chains that once filled the abyss now tangled and fell, heavy with corrosion, unable to reform fast enough to cage him again.

But the ocean refused to die quietly.

From its depths, shapes began to rise—figures sculpted from chains, not one but hundreds. Giants, knights, beasts, and serpents made of woven metal, each one a fragment of the original titan’s will. They towered around Asher, moving in eerie unity, blades and spears raised high. Their voices merged into a single, deafening chorus:

"YOU CANNOT DROWN THE ABYSS, BLOOD-REAPER!"

Their combined strike came as one—a thousand weapons falling like the collapse of a world.

Asher didn’t retreat. He planted his foot and swung his scythe in a full circle, a blazing halo of crimson light. The rotation birthed a maelstrom—his Dominion condensed into a vortex of raw bloodforce, dragging the first ranks of chain-giants into its pull. They were shredded instantly, their bodies collapsing into showers of rust that burned as they fell.

But more came.

Spears skewered through the storm. Hooks lashed from above, catching the edge of his cloak, tearing through his shoulder. The pain burned deep, metallic poison biting into his veins.

He roared—not in pain, but fury.

His blood erupted from the wound, not falling, but rising—coiling like serpents, taking shape as spectral arms that seized the chains impaling him and pulled. The constructs screamed as his blood consumed them from within, reducing their glowing cores to liquid rust.

He raised his scythe high once more. "You want to be everything?" His voice echoed like a curse across the abyss. "Then bear everything I am!"

The Dominion around him spiraled tighter, the crimson flood compressing into a sphere of burning light. Every vein across his body lit up, every pulse shaking the air like thunder. His cloak tore apart at the edges, flaring into streaks of red energy.

Then, he unleashed it.

The sphere detonated outward—an eruption of bloodlight that drowned the abyss in an instant. The ocean of chains screamed as its surface ignited. Chains melted, fusing, corroding, and imploding upon themselves. The wave of corrosion spread like wildfire, reaching the horizon, consuming every link, every construct, every shadow until the entire sea glowed red.

The abyss trembled as if it, too, was suffocating.

Asher stood in the center, scythe resting against his shoulder, his breath heavy but steady. His bloodlight dimmed to a simmering glow, the storm around him fading into silence.

But the silence was wrong.

From beneath the fading rust, something stirred. The chains that had melted didn’t vanish—they slithered together, forming something new. A spiral shape, vast and endless, coiling around the entire abyss. A single eye opened within it—black, bottomless, ancient.

And a whisper came, no longer many voices but one.

"You think blood ends all things... but blood feeds the abyss."

The spiral tightened, forming a world-sized maw of chains, a singularity of hunger.

And Asher smiled, eyes gleaming crimson. "Good," he whispered. "Then you’ll feed me back."

He raised his scythe one last time—

and the final clash began.

The abyss convulsed.

The spiral’s maw widened, its teeth made of fused blades, hooks, and razors all grinding together in a storm of shrieking metal. It didn’t move like a creature—it moved like inevitability, a consuming truth collapsing inward. Every fragment of the abyss bent toward it, drawn into the vortex of annihilation.

And at the center of that pull, Asher stood unmoved.

His cloak snapped backward from the sheer force of the suction, blood streaming from his skin like ribbons caught in a storm. Yet his eyes burned with unshaken will—two red stars defying a universe that wanted to eat itself.

The maw screamed, and the spiral fell inward.

The first wave came like an avalanche—chains twisting, spinning, forming drills of solid iron that tore through the void. Asher burst into motion, scythe cutting through the first barrage in one seamless swing. The chains shattered, but the fragments turned midair, reforming into new blades, spinning toward him from every direction.

He dove straight into the storm.

The scythe became a blur—a scarlet line weaving through the black gale. Every swing sent crescents of bloodlight shearing through the vortex, each arc bright enough to light the abyss for miles. Every drop of blood that fell became a miniature explosion, detonating on impact to corrode the next wave.

But the spiral adapted.

Every link it lost, it remade with double the force. Every cut only spread its hunger wider. The abyss wasn’t just attacking now—it was feeding on itself, collapsing inward to fuel the singularity’s growth.

Asher’s boots slammed against nothing—each step found purchase on the walls of the spiral itself as he charged upward, scythe dragging behind in a comet trail of crimson fire. His every heartbeat sent shockwaves through the air. His veins no longer glowed—they burned, liquid light pulsing through him like molten rivers.

He leapt straight toward the maw.

The spiral roared. Chains spun around him, hundreds layering to form a single colossal drill aimed for his chest.

Asher’s grin widened. "Then we end it here."

He thrust the scythe forward, the weapon igniting fully—no longer a blade, but a pillar of pure Dominion. His blood surged through it, fusing weapon and wielder into a single streak of light.

The two forces collided—Dominion against Devouring.

The impact was cataclysmic.

Space ruptured, the abyss itself tearing apart in concentric rings. Every echo of the clash was a thunderclap that shattered bones, pulverized chains, and unmade entire fields of darkness. The spiral shrieked, its maw contorting as the crimson flood speared through.

The sound that followed wasn’t a scream—it was the breaking of a world.