Reborn in the Abyss: The Warrior's Vengeance

The skies wept over Jiang'an.

Rain poured in relentless sheets, drumming against broken earth soaked with the blood of thousands. The once-mighty city, a proud jewel of the Eastern Realm, now lay in ruins—its walls crumbled, its streets flooded with filth and ash. Black smoke rose in pillars, reaching for the heavens like the cries of the dying, and lightning carved angry scars across the sky, illuminating the devastation below.

Amidst the ruin stood Murong Chen, his armor battered and bloodstained, dented in places where the enemy's weapons had found purchase. Cuts lined his face and arms, his left pauldron hanging by a thread, yet he stood tall, like an unyielding mountain against the storm. His sword—Stormbreaker—was planted into the blood-muddied ground before him, its blade chipped, the sigil of the Murong clan barely visible beneath layers of grime and gore.

Around him lay the bodies of his brothers-in-arms, soldiers who had fought under his command for years. Many still clutched their weapons, lifeless fingers frozen in defiance. They had held the line as ordered—believing, to the very end, in the promise of reinforcements.

But there had been no reinforcements.

Only silence. And betrayal.

Murong Chen's breath came in ragged gasps, his limbs heavy, but his eyes—dark and sharp as obsidian—remained focused on the horizon. Something stirred beyond the smoke and fire. A formation of soldiers marched in disciplined rows toward him—not the enemy, but imperial troops. Gold-plated armor, banners of the Eastern Realm unfurled, their steps measured and sure.

Relief sparked in Chen's chest for a fleeting second—before it was drowned by dread.

These men were not here to save.

They were here to judge.

As they drew closer, Murong Chen straightened, ignoring the protests of his battered body. His voice rang out, hoarse but commanding.

"Where is the relief force?" he demanded. "Why have you come armed? This battlefield is won, though it cost us dearly. Where is Crown Prince Jiang Wei?"

From the ranks stepped a tall figure clad in unblemished white and gold robes, a circlet of jade on his brow—Crown Prince Jiang Wei himself. His face bore no trace of exhaustion or grief, untouched by war. His gaze swept across the carnage with detached disinterest, finally settling on Murong Chen with a small, measured smile.

"You've done well, General Murong," the prince said, his voice smooth, almost sympathetic. "Jiang'an has fallen, and with it, our enemies. A victory worthy of song."

Chen's brow furrowed. His grip on Stormbreaker tightened. "Then why the imperial guard? Why no reinforcements when we called for aid?"

Jiang Wei gestured languidly to the bodies strewn across the battlefield. "Because this victory was meant to be your last."

A cold wind swept through the desolation, sending shivers down Chen's spine that had nothing to do with the rain. The prince's words echoed in his ears, almost surreal.

"You sent us here to die," Chen said quietly, eyes narrowing.

The prince's smile widened. "Not exactly. We gave you a chance to prove your loyalty—to see if you would sacrifice everything, even your own life, for the empire."

"Sacrifice?" Chen spat, fury boiling beneath his weariness. "My men gave their lives on your orders. I stood against an army three times our number—because you commanded it!"

A soft laugh drew Chen's attention.

Lin Yue stepped from the shadows of the prince's retinue, her crimson robes clinging to her lithe form, unsoiled by the battlefield. Her long hair, once tied with ribbons Chen himself had gifted, now hung loose, adorned with gold. Her face, once full of warmth, was now carved from ice.

Chen's heart clenched at the sight of her. "Yue…"

"You always were a fool," she said softly, stepping closer. "The empire doesn't need heroes. It needs obedient dogs."

He stared at her, stunned. Memories of their shared moments—the promises whispered under moonlight, the letters exchanged during campaigns—shattered like glass.

"I fought for you… for us…" he whispered.

Lin Yue's eyes were cold jade. "There never was an 'us.' Only what I needed to survive."

Before Chen could react, a sharp pain exploded in his side.

He staggered. A blade protruded from beneath his ribs.

He turned, blood dripping from his lips.

Zhao Ren, his most trusted lieutenant, stood behind him, eyes averted, face pale. "Forgive me, General," he murmured.

The world tilted. Chen fell to one knee, Stormbreaker slipping from his grasp.

"Betrayed… by all of you…"

Crown Prince Jiang Wei knelt beside him, placing a gloved hand on Chen's shoulder. "This is the nature of power, Chen. You rose too high. Became too beloved. The Emperor saw you as a threat. As did I."

Chen's vision blurred, rage and sorrow battling within him.

"You'll be remembered… for this…"

"No," Jiang Wei whispered. "You'll be forgotten."

With a signal, soldiers seized Chen's arms, dragging his bloodied form across the muddy earth toward the Abyss of Fallen Heroes—a chasm cursed by ancient wars, where traitors and exiles were cast into darkness. Legends said the abyss consumed body and soul, erasing all trace of existence.

Lightning split the sky as they reached the edge. The abyss yawned open, its depths swirling with shadow and mist.

Lin Yue approached one last time. Her voice was hollow. "Goodbye, Murong Chen. The empire thanks you for your service."

Then, with no ceremony, they hurled him into the void.

The world became wind and darkness.

Murong Chen fell, broken in body—but not in will.

As the abyss swallowed him whole, a single vow echoed in his soul:

I will return. And I will burn everything you hold dear.