Blood City had never truly lived up to its name.
Once a shining jewel of Sigil user domination,
the Guilds had ruled it through fear, through blood, through broken oaths.
The weak were harvested.
The strong were chained.
The Guild Masters grew fat on the suffering of those beneath them.
They thought they were unshakable.
Until Asura came.
The first sign was the silence.
No horns.
No alarms.
No shouts.
Only a quiet so deep it suffocated the soul.
Then the screams began.
Across the market squares, the slave pens, the fighting pits —
chains shattered.
Sigil users who had once bowed in fear rose with bloodlust in their eyes.
Sigils flared, corrupted and blackened,
as those who had been oppressed for years turned their stolen powers against their former masters.
And through it all,
a single name echoed.
Not from mouths.
From souls.
Asura.
At the city's heart, the Guild Masters gathered in panic.
These were not cowards.
They were warlords, tyrants, killers.
But nothing in their centuries of bloodshed had prepared them for this.
For an uprising not born from politics.
Not born from rebellion.
But from something deeper.
Something ancient.
Something inevitable.
Asura walked through the front gates alone.
No army at his back.
No banners.
No fanfare.
Only the crushing weight of his Worldbreaker Aura spilling into every crack of the broken city.
Guild enforcers charged him.
Hundreds of them.
Fireballs, shadow spears, lightning storms raining down upon him.
It didn't matter.
He moved through their ranks like a ghost,
a black tide washing away their meaningless resistance.
Every strike he unleashed shattered armor, bone, and hope alike.
The System chimed, barely able to keep up:
[Threat Level Escalation: Entire City Affected.]
[Abyss Dominion Expansion: 23% of Blood City Subjugated.]
[New Trait: Citybreaker Instinct Unlocked.]
A Guild Captain — an Abyssal Juggernaut with four fused Sigils — threw himself at Asura,
screaming defiance.
Asura caught his blade with two fingers.
And crushed it.
Along with the Captain's skull.
From the rooftops, enslaved Sigil users screamed their freedom.
From the underground pits, mutated beings clawed their way into the light.
Even the abyssal beasts lurking beneath Blood City felt it:
The true King had come.
And he demanded fealty.
Within hours, the Guild compounds burned.
Sigil towers collapsed into themselves.
Blood and black flame choked the skies.
By nightfall, Blood City was no longer a city of the Guilds.
It was a city of monsters.
A city of the Abyss.
A city of Asura.
In the Grand Plaza, standing atop the shattered Guildmaster Throne,
Asura surveyed his new dominion.
Behind him, thousands knelt —
Sigil users, abyssal creatures, broken slaves —
all bound together not by oaths.
By fear.
By awe.
By inevitability.
The System pulsed:
[Congratulations: First Abyssal Stronghold Secured.]
[New Title Unlocked: Sovereign of the Fallen.]
[Dominion Influence: Regional.]
Asura raised one hand.
The city trembled in response.
He had conquered Blood City without an army.
Without diplomacy.
Without compromise.
This was only the beginning.
The first of many.
He turned his gaze eastward,
toward the next city,
toward the next Guild.
Toward the world that had yet to kneel.
And with a voice that shook the bones of every living creature within the ruins,
he spoke a single command:
"Rise."
The Abyss answered.
And the world began to burn.