The Abyssal Tyrant: Overlords Awakening

Darkness.

It was not the kind of darkness that came from the absence of light, but the kind that seemed alive, a suffocating, consuming void that pressed against the edges of existence. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the faint, acrid scent of burning embers. Somewhere in the distance, the low rumble of thunder echoed, though no storm could exist in a place like this.

A throne loomed in the center of the abyss, its jagged edges cutting through the crimson light that bathed the scene. It was a monstrous thing, carved from obsidian and inlaid with veins of molten gold that pulsed like a heartbeat. The throne was not meant for a king, it was meant for a god.

And upon it sat a man.

Cloaked in shadows, his form was indistinct, but his eyes burned like dying stars, crimson and unyielding, piercing through the darkness. His presence was overwhelming, a force of nature that demanded submission. Around him, the air crackled with raw power, and the ground trembled as if the very earth feared him.

Figures knelt before the throne, their heads bowed in reverence. A warrior clad in black armor, his sword plunged into the ground before him. A lithe assassin, her daggers gleaming in the crimson light. A sorceress, her robes shimmering with arcane energy. Each one bore the mark of the Abyss, a swirling sigil etched into their skin, glowing faintly as they spoke in unison.

"We are yours, my lord."

Their voices were a chorus of devotion, a symphony of loyalty that echoed through the void. The man on the throne leaned forward, his crimson eyes narrowing as he surveyed his followers. His voice, when he spoke, was low and commanding, each word resonating with an otherworldly power.

"My reign is eternal."

But then, betrayal.

A blade flashed in the darkness, striking the throne. The obsidian cracked, the molten gold spilling like blood. The man's eyes widened in shock, his form flickering as the shadows that cloaked him began to unravel. The figures before him rose, their faces twisted with malice.

"Sleep, Tyrant," a voice whispered, cold and unforgiving, like the touch of death itself. "You will awaken when the world needs you again."

The throne shattered, and the abyss swallowed him whole.

Cain gasped awake, his heart pounding in his chest.

For a moment, he couldn't breathe, the remnants of the dream clinging to him like a second skin. His hands trembled as he gripped the edge of the wooden desk, the rough texture grounding him in reality. The air smelled of chalk and old parchment, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of blood that still lingered in his memory.

"What kind of weird anime dream was that?" he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples. "Too much late-night web novels…"

He blinked, his vision clearing as he took in his surroundings. He was in a large examination hall, the walls lined with towering bookshelves and intricate tapestries depicting legendary heroes and mythical beasts. Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the polished marble floor. Around him, dozens of other students sat at identical desks, their faces a mix of concentration and anxiety as they scribbled on parchment or muttered incantations under their breath.

Eldoria Academy.

The name alone was enough to send a shiver down his spine. It was one of the most prestigious institutions in the world, a place where the brightest minds in magic and martial arts came to hone their skills. Only the best of the best were accepted, and even then, only after passing a grueling entrance exam.

Cain glanced down at the parchment in front of him, his stomach sinking as he read the instructions.

(Trial #7: Defeat an Elite Instructor.)

"Defeat an Elite Instructor?" he whispered, his voice cracking. "Are they insane? I can't even do a proper push-up!"

He looked around, hoping to see someone else panicking, but the other students seemed oddly calm. A girl with fiery red hair was twirling a dagger between her fingers, her lips curved in a confident smirk. A boy with silver-rimmed glasses was muttering something about "optimal combat strategies." Even the kid who looked like he hadn't slept in a week was cracking his knuckles like he was ready to take on the world.

Cain groaned, slumping in his seat.

"Why did I even apply here?" he muttered. "I should've just stayed home and taken over the family bakery. At least there, the only thing I'd have to defeat is a stubborn batch of dough."

Before he could wallow in self-pity any longer, a loud bell rang, signaling the start of the trial. The students rose from their desks, filing out of the hall and into the training grounds. Cain followed reluctantly, his legs feeling like they were made of lead.

The training grounds were massive, a circular arena surrounded by towering stone walls. The ground was covered in fine sand, and the air was thick with the scent of sweat and ozone. At the center of the arena stood a man, tall, muscular, and radiating an aura of authority. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his piercing gaze swept over the students like a hawk sizing up its prey.

"I am Instructor Garron," he said, his voice booming across the arena. "Your task is simple: land a single hit on me. If you succeed, you pass. If you fail…" He smirked. "Well, let's just say you won't be walking out of here on your own."

The students exchanged nervous glances, but Cain's mind was elsewhere. He was too busy trying to remember if he'd packed any bandages in his bag.

"First up," Garron said, pointing at Cain. "You."

Cain froze.

"Me?" he squeaked.

"Yes, you," Garron said, his smirk widening. "Let's see what you've got."

Cain stumbled into the arena, his legs feeling like they were made of jelly. The other students watched from the sidelines, their expressions a mix of curiosity and pity. Even the girl with the dagger looked sympathetic.

Instructor Garron cracked his knuckles, his smirk never wavering. "Whenever you're ready," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Cain swallowed hard, his mind racing. He had no idea how to fight. The closest he'd ever come to combat was watching martial arts movies with his dad. But he couldn't just stand there and do nothing.

"Okay," he muttered under his breath. "Just… pretend you know what you're doing. Fake it till you make it, right?"

He took a deep breath and charged at Garron, his arms flailing wildly.

Garron raised an eyebrow, easily sidestepping Cain's clumsy attack. "Is this a joke?" he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

Cain stumbled, barely managing to keep his balance. He turned to face Garron, his heart pounding in his chest. "Uh… round two?"

Garron sighed, shaking his head. "This is pathetic."

He lunged at Cain, his fist aimed straight at the boy's chest.

But then, something strange happened.

Cain's body moved on its own, his instincts taking over. He sidestepped Garron's attack with a fluidity that defied logic, his movements precise and effortless. The audience gasped, their eyes widening in shock.

Garron's smirk faltered. "What the—?"

Before he could react, Cain's body moved again. His hand shot out, striking Garron's chest with a force that sent the instructor flying across the arena.

BOOM!

Garron hit the ground hard, the impact sending a cloud of sand into the air. The arena fell silent, the only sound the faint rustle of the wind.

Cain stared at his hand, his mouth hanging open. "What… just happened?"

In the crowd, a silver-haired girl watched Cain with wide eyes. Her name was Selene Nightshade, and she had been at Eldoria Academy for years, training under the best instructors the world had to offer. But what she had just seen… it defied everything she knew.

"That movement…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "That overwhelming instinct… Could it be…? My lord has returned?"

Her heart raced as she studied Cain, her mind racing with possibilities. She had heard the legends, of course stories of the Abyssal Tyrant, a being of unimaginable power who had once ruled over the abyss. But those were just stories… weren't they?

Meanwhile, Cain was scratching his head, completely oblivious to the stares he was getting.

"Man," he muttered, "I really need to stop improvising…"

As the other students began to murmur amongst themselves, Lyra stepped forward, her eyes never leaving Cain. She didn't know what the future held, but one thing was certain: her life was about to get a lot more interesting.