Awakening The Abyssal System

Buck, sitting on the ground, now pondered how he could survive in this unknown area of the abyss. He had no companions capable of helping him, nor basic knowledge of the place, like where to find water pockets or weak creatures he could hunt.

His first thought was to craft some kind of knife from broken stones that might be scattered around by erosion or earthquakes. He needed a way to defend himself or, at the very least, leave a mark on some creature—something that might one day be remembered, a scar etched into its hide. But the marble caves here appeared to have been formed by water erosion. Channels of water shaped the geography, leaving the walls smooth, devoid of loose stones. Worse yet, the few stones that had been broken by tremors seemed to have been crushed by the creatures that once roamed through, leaving only tiny fragments behind.

His stomach growled loudly, reminding him he hadn't eaten in a long time. This struck him as odd—he distinctly recalled eating something with the officers before the synchronization, a banquet held to wish him luck.

Of course, that was a false memory, a product of his subconscious trying to patch the gaps in his mind with warm, happy memories.

Sweet lies for bitter hearts—that's what he had learned in the past, living despised by everything and everyone. No matter how hardened the soul talking to you, blind kindness was like a pacemaker, forcing the heart to beat as it should. With a heart full of bitterness toward the world, Buck unconsciously lied to himself, crafting sweet memories so potent they'd make anyone diabetic. After all, he knew himself best—or at least he used to—and he knew his weaknesses.

He imagined how he would starve to death before even getting the chance to spit in the face of that vile creature if things continued as they were.

That's when a memory surfaced in his mind: perhaps the fungi of the abyss were at least similar to those that grew in the outskirts of the city.

Having lived on the streets and survived on his own, Buck had developed a decent knowledge of the local flora in the city. He had endured numerous food poisoning episodes and even encountered some toxins that would have been lethal to most. Through that, he'd devised his own techniques to determine if something was edible.

Finally, he glanced back at the large, glowing, yellow light at the tunnel's end, from where Sol had appeared. If it really was a river of magma, he might even find some rock-eating mollusks living there, and the thought teased his taste buds. He imagined cooking a stew of mushrooms and oysters.

Moving stealthily across the rough marble terrain, Buck crept closer, his heart pounding harder with each step, his throat tightening with fear. His breath grew ragged, and his sense of space grew distorted, causing him to stumble over his own feet with every step. At last, he reached the mouth of the small cave where he had been hiding.

The light pierced his eyes, blinding him for a moment, leaving him vulnerable to any cave creature that might have been lurking nearby. But instead of danger, something else warmly awaited him: a massive forest of strange, colossal stalagmites, thicker than ancient books made from concrete slabs, and as tall as the watchtowers that loomed over the cities, their lights sweeping the streets. These giant formations were covered with creatures like Sol—some golden, others red—that exuded a feeling of grandeur.

Yet what caught Buck's attention most was the source of the light that had piqued his curiosity. A bioluminescent liquid flowed through veins in the ground, glowing a brilliant emerald green. As it reflected off the tiny creatures, it created a golden hue, forming a breathtaking, otherworldly landscape.

In his mind, not even the most deranged author could have crafted such a pure yet complex beauty within this sedimentary rock biome. He was left speechless.

As he walked slowly, awestruck, Buck accidentally tripped over one of the small veins of liquid, falling to his knees into it. For the first time since synchronization, he gazed at his reflection, finally answering some lingering questions.

His face, though similar, looked different. His eyes no longer bore the pitch-black circles beneath them, his lips were more hydrated, free from cracks, and even his skin appeared healthier than ever.

However, there were differences beyond just this, beyond the obvious point that this version of him was far more attractive—like a high-class gigolo that even men would pay for his services. The young man reflected in the water was muscular, like a sculpture, and his hair was an ivory color, loose, long, and well-groomed. His eyes were as sharp as a razor's edge, slicing through the personalities of anyone he looked at, dissecting them into uniform pieces for study. In contrast, Buck's own eyes were wide and filled with terror, like those of a creature at the bottom of the food chain.

He touched his face as if unable to believe what he saw, wondering how he hadn't noticed the drastically different length of his hair before. It seemed his senses still hadn't fully returned. After all, he wasn't anything like the angelic figure staring back at him from the water's surface.

He realised something dangerous had happened when he tripped.

Oh, the liquid fell into my mouth.