Chapter 245: State of the World!

For a few seconds after Albedo’s words left his mouth, none of them moved. Albedo looked down, spotting the ritual circle that was pulsing faintly at all of their feets, crimson lines twisting like exposed nerves.

The surrounding earth warped into something that felt less like soil and more like scar tissue. The air itself was wrong, it was simply too thick and too sticky. The mana in the environment was clinging to their lungs like damp smoke.

Lucian was the first to exhale.

“Good,” he said, rolling his shoulders once, tension bleeding from his stance now that Albedo was here, “Because I really didn’t want to do all of this by ourselves. Nice to have some extra help,”

Raphaeline let out a quiet huff of amusement, her wings shifting slightly behind her as she turned and began walking toward the deeper forest. “You always find trouble quickly, Albedo. You’ve barely returned to the Kingdom, and you’re already out hunting.”

Albedo fell into step beside her without hesitation, boots crunching over corrupted leaves. “I went out to relax,” he replied dryly. “The Abyss is the one being rude. Who knew some relaxation time would turn into Hunting the Abyss with you two. It’s like I can’t ever catch a break,”

Lucian snorted, following just behind them, “Figures. You go looking for monsters, and instead you find cultists trying to end the world again. I was planning on spending time with Miranda when she pulled me into this,”

“Your time would be better spent here, battling the Abyss than on little dates with your girlfriend,” Raphaeline said, and then she glanced sideways at Albedo, silver-gold eyes sharp with humor, “As for you, monster hunting already? Right after surviving all of the hecticness that was the Exchange with the Demon Academy?”

She smiled faintly, “You truly don’t understand the concept of rest.”

“I do,” Albedo said calmly. “I just rest differently than other people do, what can I say,”

That earned him a quiet laugh.

They moved deeper into the forest, away from the corrupted clearing, following a faint but steadily intensifying pull. The Abyssal presence thickened with every step, like descending into water that grew heavier the deeper one went.

The land reflected it.

Trees twisted unnaturally, bark blackened and veined with red. Fungal growths pulsed along fallen logs, exhaling faint wisps of corrupted mana. The forest was still alive—but only just.

“Ever since the incident at the Garden,” Raphaeline began, her tone shifting from light to serious, “the Abyss has become very… restless.”

Albedo’s eyes flicked to her, “Restless how?”

“There’s been far more probes and more anchors. Smaller cells acting independently instead of waiting for orders.” She paused, gaze sharpening. “They’re no longer testing if they can act openly.”

Lucian clenched his jaw. “They’re testing how much they can get away with.”

Albedo frowned slightly. “That’s a change.”

“Yes,” Raphaeline agreed. “Before the Garden, Abyssal Worshippers were cautious. They worked through proxies. Corruption spread slowly, subtly.”

She gestured ahead, where the forest darkened unnaturally. “Now? They’re accelerating.”

A shadow lunged from the undergrowth.

Albedo moved without breaking stride.

Havoc barked once.

The corrupted Fellwood Stalker, once a panther, now something wrong and twisted—lost its head mid-leap, body tumbling lifelessly into the brush.

Lucian raised an eyebrow, “You’re very calm for someone who got pulled into this last minute,”

“I’ve been here one too many times Lucian, there’s a reason I’m the strongest in the class,” Albedo said with a cocky smirk.

Raphaeline watched him for a moment longer than necessary, something thoughtful passing through her gaze.

“Your presence feels… denser,” she said finally.

Albedo shrugged, “Occupational hazard.”

They continued on.

More monsters emerged as they advanced, lesser Abyss-touched beasts warped by lingering corruption. None of them posed a real threat.

Lucian handled one cluster with crisp, efficient swordplay, radiant mana cutting through blackened flesh with surgical precision. Raphaeline barely moved at all; when she did, a gesture or glance was enough to collapse corrupted mana structures outright, Abyssal energy unraveling under her authority.

Albedo flowed between them like a ghost, pistols flashing, sometimes holstered entirely as he crushed enemies barehanded, testing how his new power reacted under sustained engagement.

Between kills, Raphaeline continued.

“The Garden was a message,” she said. “Not just to the Kingdoms, but to the Abyss itself.”

Lucian nodded grimly. “They lost something important there.”

“More than something,” Raphaeline corrected. “They lost certainty.”

Albedo’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Meaning?”

“They can no longer predict the flow of the world,” she said. “Too many variables have destabilized long-standing outcomes. Too many pieces have moved off their expected paths.”

Lucian glanced at Albedo meaningfully.

Albedo sighed. “You’re blaming me again, aren’t you.”

Raphaeline smiled faintly. “Not blaming.”

She met his gaze. “Acknowledging.”

They crested a low ridge, and the world dipped sharply.

Below them lay a wide basin where the forest had been utterly devoured. The ground was cracked and blackened, veins of crimson light pulsing beneath the surface. At the center, a massive, half-formed structure of writhing Abyssal matter rose like a tumor pushing up from the earth.

Not a gate.

Not yet.

An anchor.

Albedo stopped.

“…That’s bigger than the last one,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” Raphaeline replied. “And it’s drawing something through.”

As if on cue, the air screamed.

The anchor pulsed violently, and from the surrounding shadows, figures began to emerge, humanoid silhouettes wrapped in tattered robes, faces obscured by masks etched with Abyssal script.

Worshippers.

Lucian’s mana flared instinctively. “We’re not alone.”

“No,” Raphaeline agreed. “We never are anymore.”

Albedo rolled his neck once, Havoc and Ruin sliding back into his hands as his gaze hardened.

“Well,” he said calmly, voice carrying a dangerous edge, “guess this counts as stress testing.”

Raphaeline glanced at him, eyes gleaming faintly. “Try not to enjoy it too much.”

Lucian grinned grimly. “No promises.”

Below them, the Abyssal anchor flared brighter.

The cultists began chanting, and the world, it seemed, had no intention of letting any of them rest.

And Albedo, standing at the edge of corruption, power humming beneath his skin, felt a familiar, unwelcome thrill coil in his chest.

’So much for quiet.’

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