Sign In To The Body Of Chaos At The Start-Chapter 85: Interrogation!

Bastion Sanctum!

The room was dark, cold, and warded on every surface. There was thick lines of anti-Abyssal runes carved onto every single wall in the room, all interlocked with ethereal threads of Spirit Power binding formations.

The walls also had layered enchantments designed to annihilate any foreign mana signature that did not belong.

Ila Venshar lay in the center of it all, her body floating just an inch above the ground, suspended by spectral shackles that glowed with runes Damon had personally etched, ones even she couldn’t unravel with her spatial affinity.

There was also truth formations laced into these shackles, stopping her from lying to them, a speciality of Bren as he was the chief interrogator. No matter what, they’d get answers today.

At this moment, Ila’s eyes twitched beneath closed lids as she slowly came to.

Then, they snapped open. Ila didn’t flinch or cry, she didn’t scream or whine, she just stared forward at the three figures standing in front of her, staring at her intently.

Captain Bren Ardan. His coat still torn from battle, arms folded, jaw clenched tight.

Syllana, her crimson robes shimmered with ethereal patterns of power. Silver hair bound in a tight braid. Eyes sharp as daggers.

And Damon, who was sitting and just watching patiently, as if daring Ila to try and do something.

The silence stretched like a blade before Syllana finally stepped forward. Her voice, calm and cool, echoed across the room.

"You’ve been stabilized," she said. "The Abyssal corruption has been temporarily bound. Speak, and perhaps it will remain that way."

Ila’s lips curled slightly, "So that’s the plan now? Mercy?"

"No," Bren said darkly, "Justice."

Her smile faded.

Syllana gave her a long look, "I want to know when it started. Were you always one of them?"

Ila closed her eyes for a moment. Her voice came out strangely soft.

"No."

Bren’s fist clenched with frustration as he stared at her.

"Then explain," Syllana said, her tone allowing no room for lies.

"I was born in Bastion," Ila said, voice still quiet. "My parents were miners. Killed during the first incursion that reached the fifth district wall. I was sent to the outer shelters. Lived there. Fought. Bled. Like everyone else."

"Then why?" Bren asked.

"Because no one came," Ila said, eyes snapping open, voice suddenly bitter. "We sent distress calls for weeks. The outer shelters were overrun one by one. You," she glanced at Bren, "you were leading the command during those months, weren’t you?"

Bren’s expression didn’t change, but his silence spoke volumes.

"I watched children burned alive," Ila continued. "My brother was taken by a Rift Wyrm. My mother’s body was dragged across the stones and turned into a Gate Marker."

She spat on the floor.

"No one came. No one even tried."

"That still doesn’t explain how you joined the Abyss," Syllana said.

"They offered me something you never did," Ila said, her voice almost trembling now, but not from regret. From hate. "Control. They didn’t promise safety. They promised vengeance."

Damon finally stepped forward.

"You chose to become the same thing that destroyed your family."

She didn’t look away.

"I chose not to die screaming."

"You chose to make others die in your place," he said coldly, "Men and women who trusted you. Who followed your formations. Who believed your reports."

Ila laughed, hollow and cruel. "And look what good that did them. Bastion’s dying. The war is lost. You can’t even protect your own cliffs. I made my choice because I knew we wouldn’t win."

"You didn’t even try to fight for it," Bren snapped.

"I did," she growled, "Longer than you know. I resisted them. I rejected the offers. But the Abyss... doesn’t give up. They whisper when you sleep. They send dreams through the cracks in the wards. Until finally... I broke."

Her voice quieted.

"And when I finally let them in, it stopped hurting."

Syllana’s gaze turned steely, "You’re saying this as if we should feel pity for you."

"No," Ila said. "I don’t care what you feel. You want answers? I’ll give you one. The Abyss is evolving. Every death empowers them. Every gate collapse you prevent only delays the inevitable."

She looked at Damon now.

"You think you’re special? That power you used in the mine? They know. They felt it. He felt it. You’ve been marked."

Damon’s expression didn’t flicker, "Who is ’he’?"

Ila’s smile returned—but this time, it was wrong. Tilted. Almost reverent.

"You’ll meet him soon. He remembers you."

Syllana raised a brow, "You speak of the Abyss like a hive. One will."

"Because it is," Ila whispered, "At the center of the Abyss is a will, more ancient than any of you can comprehend... and he’s looking for something."

Bren stepped forward, hand near his hammer, "How do we stop it?"

"You can’t."

Syllana extended a hand, and the shackles flared brighter.

Ila screamed, just for a second, before her body dropped limp again, the corruption pulsing in her veins visibly receding under the pressure of the runes.

"She’ll live," Syllana said coldly, "Barely. We’ll keep her under containment and siphon every last trace of intel she has."

She looked to Damon. "She knew you. More than she should have."

"She saw me fight," Damon said slowly.

"No. This is deeper," Syllana said. "I’ve seen this before. Cults. Heralds. Those touched by the deeper parts of the Abyss. They call out to those they believe are chosen by the Void."

Damon’s mind flashed back to the whisper in the rift: He waits for you...

"I want access to her memories," he said.

Syllana nodded, "Once the mind-seal fades, we’ll allow it."

Bren finally let out a sigh. "So what now?"

Syllana looked to Damon.

"Now... we prepare. Because if what she said is true,"

"She’s not lying," Damon interrupted.

They both looked at him.

"That presence I felt during the collapse... it wasn’t a monster. It was watching. And it recognized me."

Syllana didn’t argue. Her expression simply shifted into something more calculating.

"Then you’re not just a soldier, Damon."

"You’re bait."

Damon’s eyes narrowed.

"If I am," he said quietly, "Then I’m the kind that bites back."

***

Later that day, Damon had finished up some extra training and decided to rest, wanting to be full power for the upcoming day. It was only one more day till he had to leave, so he had to make every second count.

He drifted in the quiet of semi-consciousness, half-dreaming, half-alert. Dreaming of back in his timeline, Artemis, Astralene, Feyola, Elanore and more, thinking about what each of them could be doing.

But then the dreams shifted. It was a sound, slithering in his ears, a hiss that was deep and ancient, coiling like a serpent.

[ You should rest longer, Damon. You bleed power... And we... are so very... hungry. ]

His heart lurched in his chest as the atmosphere warped around him. He was no longer in his bed. Not even in Bastion Sanctum.

He stood alone, in a world of the void.

The sky above was cracked like glass, and through those cracks, violet tendrils pulsed and coiled like arteries trying to burst into the mortal realm. The ground was ash and bone, whispering with each step he took.

There was no light, only layers of darkness—some shifting and whispering, some watching.

Damon summoned his will like a fortress rising behind his eyes. The blood in his veins ignited. [ Eyes of Oblivion ] flared wide, burning through illusion and influence as he planted his foot into the ash.

"You shouldn’t have come here," he growled.

From the cracked sky above, laughter rained.

[ Your power....You’ve killed enough of us already.....You’ll be joining our ranks very soon Damon.....we’ll make sure of it. ]

The shadows around him rippled. Dozens of shapes crawled into view.

They wore his face. Twisted versions of him. Eyes glowing Abyssal violet, wings corrupted and tattered, BloodReaper oozing with infection. They grinned with rows of fanged teeth, whispering his fears aloud.

"You’re not strong enough to protect her."

"You’ll end up like the rest, forgotten and devoured."

"You’re Lilith’s heir. Her madness is yours. You belong to us."

He clenched his jaw, dragging his scythe into his hand with sheer willpower.

[ World Ender ] surged over him, but even here, it felt... dampened.

This was not a fight of body. It was soul and mind.

And the Abyss was cheating.

"I don’t care what lies you whisper," Damon said, stepping forward, scythe leveled. "You think you can twist me? I was born in the dark. You want to get in my head, fine. But don’t expect to leave whole."

The twisted versions of him lunged forward, black tendrils of hatred and doubt swirling from their bodies, all converging toward his core.

But Damon didn’t step back.

He closed his eyes.

The real shadows. Not the Abyssal filth wearing his face. But the ones bound to his will. His shadows answered.

They poured from the cracks beneath his feet, endless and divine. Not corrupted, but absolute. Loyal. They didn’t hiss or whisper or bleed poison. They were silent. Obedient. Merciless.

Dozens of shadow soldiers emerged behind him, each carrying a fragment of his will. Some with blades. Some with bows. Others barehanded, cloaked in the raw energy of his darkness cultivation.

Together, they faced the illusions.

"Let’s see which shadows stand stronger," Damon snarled.

The clash was instant.

His shadow soldiers met the Abyssal copies in a whirlwind of violence. No sound, no screaming, just movement. Explosions of spiritual energy shattered the dreamscape, reshaping the battlefield with every exchange.

Damon dove into the heart of the swarm, BloodReaper flashing. One of the doppelgängers lunged for him, howling about Artemis. He answered it with a slash that severed it at the waist, then spun and cleaved through another’s skull.

[ You can kill the fakes, ] the Abyss whispered again. [ But the fear remains. We are eternal, Damon. You cannot unmake what is already part of you. The Abyss has placed it’s gaze on you, your fate is sealed. ]

"Wrong again."

He drove his foot into the ground.

[Domain Unleashed: Throne of Obsidian Shadows.]

A colossal throne of black crystal rose behind him. It glowed with dark aether, crowned in the mark of Lilith’s bloodline, three intertwining rings of oblivion magic and divine shadow authority.

From that throne, a dozen more shadow chains erupted.

They lashed the twisted Abyssal projections, dragging them screaming into the ground, sealing them beneath layers of soul-binding darkness.

"I don’t deny the darkness in me," Damon said, voice cold and calm. "I use it. Shape it. Command it."

He pointed to the dying illusion of himself—the last fake Damon, crawling, twitching, broken and choking on its own despair.

"You wear my skin. But you don’t understand me."

Then he said the words that shattered the dream.

"I am not your prey. I am your executioner."

And with one final strike, BloodReaper shattered the illusion, not just slicing through the fake, but tearing apart the fabric of the mental realm they had built around him.

The sky cracked again.

Then shattered.

Light poured in.

The Abyss recoiled with a shriek.

[ You... will fall. Not today. But soon. You are ours. You always were. ]

The source of this c𝐨ntent is fre𝒆w(e)bn(o)vel