Far from any signs of civilization, where forests once thrived and snow fell in silence, the mountain peaks of what used to be Alaska stood desolate—scarred and long forgotten. The world here was quiet, yet heavy with the scent of ancient conflict.
Scattered across the icy slopes were the massive remains of colossal black figures. Their bodies, twisted and broken, lay half-buried in the snow like monuments to a forgotten war. Some were so large that they dwarfed even the mountains themselves, their forms casting long shadows even in death. The ground was stained with long-frozen ichor, dark and unnatural, trailing down the cliffs like veins of a corrupted world.
Through the biting wind and the still silence walked a lone figure. Clad in a heavy cloak, his face was hidden from even the faintest glimmers of light. His steps were slow but purposeful, as if he knew exactly where he was going—and had walked this path before.
Eventually, the figure reached a massive gate carved into the side of the mountain, ancient yet reinforced with modern technology. Voices murmured just beyond its threshold, distant but echoing with the tone of authority.
Without hesitation, the figure pushed open the gate.
What greeted him was a massive chamber lit by cold, artificial light. At its center stood a long, half-circle table, lined with twelve ornate chairs—eleven of which were occupied by individuals as unique and varied as the world's forgotten legends. Each exuded power, presence, and mystery.
One seat remained empty.
The murmur of conversation faltered as the hooded figure stepped in. He drew back his cloak to reveal glowing white hair and a face both youthful and ancient, like time itself couldn't decide what to make of him.
From the far end of the table, a woman wearing a blindfold turned her head in his direction.
"You're late again, Kason," she said, her voice calm yet commanding. She sat straight, her posture like that of a general waiting for the battle report.
"Take your seat. We're ready to begin."
Kason nodded wordlessly and moved to the final chair. Around him sat beings of myth and nightmare—some quiet and composed, others restless and sharp-tongued. One was already dozing in their seat, clearly uninterested in ceremony.
Suddenly, the doors opened again. A man entered carrying a stack of papers, the tension in his shoulders betraying the weight of the message he bore. He cleared his throat loudly, cutting through the scattered murmurs.
"The meeting of the Twelve Abyssal Lords will now commence."
The room stilled.
"For our first order of business—one of the research labs operated by Dr. Octavis has been destroyed." He glanced down at his report. "According to intelligence from the White Knight sector, the destruction wasn't random. It was orchestrated. Controlled."
The room was silent—until a voice at the far end finally spoke.
"One of my labs?" Dr. Octavis tilted his head, confused and skeptical. "That's hard to believe. Which one?"
"Lab 7398, sir."
Octavis sat up straighter. His expression hardened. "That's… not possible. Not unless…"
A dark-skinned woman, three seats down, leaned forward. "Is there something you'd like to share, Octavis?"
He hesitated, then dismissed the thought with a sigh. "It's nothing worth noting. Besides, no creature in that lab should've had the capacity to cause that much damage."
"Regardless," the blindfolded woman said, "we need to locate whoever was behind it—and eliminate them. Quickly. Before this spreads."
All in the room gave a grim nod.
Except for the one who was still sound asleep.
The man with the papers continued, "With that, we conclude the first topic of discussion. Now, moving on to the second topic."
The man took a breath before continuing.
"The topic of the second discussion—The Umbral Academy has discovered four students who possess the potential to reach Abyssal Lord rank. They are requesting that four of the Twelve be assigned to guide their development."
"Interesting," the blindfolded woman murmured, placing a hand thoughtfully beneath her chin.
"Four children… with power like ours."
The man nodded.
"I'll go," said the dark-skinned woman, raising her hand.
"I'll go as well," added the younger woman seated beside her. She appeared to be in her twenties—far younger than most present—but her aura made clear she belonged at the table.
"I suppose I'll go too," said the blindfolded woman, lifting her hand with a calm certainty.
The man glanced around the room.
"私も行きますよ."
(I'll go as well.)
A man with flowing purple hair raised his hand and gave a small nod.
"Very well," the man replied. "That concludes the second discussion. I will now begin the third."
---
Five hours later…
The meeting had finally ended. The Lords began to depart, scattering into the snowy expanse beyond the mountain gate.
As the messenger—papers still in hand—walked down the path, a massive pitch-black wolf emerged from the darkness ahead. Its red eyes glowed like burning coals.
He froze. Powerless. Paralyzed.
Then—THUNK!
A blood-red spike impaled the beast's skull, dropping it lifeless into the snow.
From behind, a familiar voice called out.
"Be careful out here. We don't want to have to replace another information runner next time."
It was the dark-skinned woman. Now, in the open moonlight, he could see her clearly.
She was striking—long curly blonde hair that shimmered unnaturally, deep crimson eyes, and skin with an almost radiant sheen.
People often asked if her hair was dyed, but she always claimed it was natural. The power she emanated, however, was far from ordinary. Standing near her was like being a grain of sand beside a mountain.
This had been his first time witnessing the Abyssal Lords in action—and between that and nearly dying, his nerves were worn thin.
She passed by him with a calm, composed air.
"If you want to stay alive," she said without looking back, "you might want to stick close to one of us."
Not wanting to risk anything more, he quickly followed her.
---
Later that night.
A full moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale glow over a mountain slope littered with the bodies of slain black monsters.
Atop a mound of corpses sat the blindfolded woman, meditating in silence.
Suddenly, her body jolted. She rose, turning to face a towering werewolf, easily the size of a tree.
"Arlo," she said, her voice firm, "we need to go."
The werewolf tilted his head. "Why? Did the moon speak to you again?"
She nodded, her blindfold turning toward the horizon.
"One of us may die… in the coming days."
Arlo paused, then gave a solemn nod.
"Very well. Then we're done here."
And in the blink of an eye, both figures vanished—gone with the wind, preparing for the days of blood and fate that loomed just ahead.