Abyssal Sovereign: Throne of the Null

Chapter 3: The Ghost at the Gate

"It will make the collection that much sweeter."

Tarn stepped deeper into the dark throat of the alley, his voice swallowed by the hum of an ambulance speeding across the street. He rested his shoulder against the damp brick wall, his eyes never leaving Stellan.

On the makeshift stage of the plaza, the performance reached its climax. A reporter with a slim tablet and a microphone bearing the Aurelian Vanguard logo pressed closer to the barrier tape.

"Commander Stellan, rumors say this anomaly held a mutated Boss. Is it true that the Rank-E casualty, Tarn, went rogue and triggered the collapse by defying your orders?"

Stellan paused, wiping the corner of his eye with a handkerchief. He let out a heavy, well-practiced sigh. "We are still investigating the exact sequence of events. That Tarn... was overly eager. Sometimes, those lacking raw talent try too hard to prove themselves. I repeatedly warned him to stay in the rear support formation, but..." He shook his head, letting the silence imply the rest. "Let us just say his carelessness cost him his life, and nearly cost my entire vanguard squad. But the guild will still provide standard baseline compensation to his family. It is the least we can do."

Murmurs of sympathy rippled through the crowd. A generous hero, their faces said. A saint wearing golden armor.

In the dark alley, Tarn felt a dry, cold laugh rise in his throat. Careless. Defiant. The bastard was not just covering his tracks; he was actively poisoning Tarn's name to ensure no insurance investigator would sniff around the gate logs. If it was ruled as an act of individual insubordination, the guild would not have to pay a single credit of the high-risk premium.

Tarn stared at his shadow. Beneath his boots, the darkness looked thicker, rippling like a pool of ink. He felt the silent, heavy presence of Null waiting just below the surface, a hound tugging at its leash.

Not yet, Tarn thought.

If he revealed himself now, he was just a Rank-E who had miraculously survived, accusing a celebrated Rank-B silver medalist of murder. The association would protect their assets. The system would bury the truth, and Stellan would make sure the next execution was handled in a private room where no dungeon could interfere.

He needed to grow. He needed to exploit this new black interface until his shadow could eclipse their gold.

Tarn turned away from the light, navigating the labyrinth of lower-district back alleys. His boots made no sound on the wet asphalt. The shattered ankle that should have kept him in a wheelchair for the next six months felt lighter and more responsive than ever.

He pulled out his cheap, cracked phone. The screen was broken from the goblin ambush, but the LCD panel still flickered to life.

No notifications from the guild. No missed calls. To the world, a solo Rank-E support freelancer was just a rounding error on a spreadsheet.

He opened the local Hunter Registry app. His profile picture stared back—pale, tired, wearing the exact same cheap chestplate that now lay in pieces inside the tomb.

[Hunter Name: Tarn] [Registered Rank: Rank-E (Support/Vanguard)] [Affiliated Guild: None (Freelance)]

Suddenly, the black interface of his unique system bled onto the phone screen, corrupting the app code. The blue text melted away, replaced by sharp, jagged violet runes that only he could see.

[Daily Quest Available: The Sovereign's Path] [Objective: Increase physical vessel capacity to withstand higher shadow loads.] [Tasks: Push-ups (0/100), Squats (0/100), Running (0/10 km).] [Time remaining: 04:12:33] [Failure Penalty: Immediate current level reduction and temporary paralysis.]

Tarn stared at the screen, his jaw tightening. A daily quest with a penalty that could rob him of the power he had just fought bloody for. This system was not charity; it was a grinding machine. If he slowed down, even for a day, the system would drag him back to the bottom.

"Ten kilometers," he muttered, slipping the phone back into his torn jacket.

He looked toward the northern edge of the city, where the industrial zone ended in barren, unmonitored wilderness at the Outer Rims—the perfect place to run without cameras or patrol guards asking questions.

Four hours later, rain began to pour heavily, turning the dirt roads of the Outer Rims into thick, sticky mud.

Tarn dropped to the ground, his palms sinking into the cold mud as he pushed his body up for the ninety-ninth time. His chest burned, his muscles screaming under the strain. The system had healed his injuries, but the raw exhaustion of pushing a human skeleton to its absolute limits was still very real.

Ninety-nine.

He pushed himself up for the last time, his arms shaking violently until his elbows locked.

One hundred.

He collapsed face down into the mud, rolling onto his back as the heavy rain washed the dirt from his face.

[Daily Quest: The Sovereign's Path completed.] [Reward unlocked: Status Recovery, Attribute Point +1, Random Loot Box (Rank-F).] [Would you like to allocate your attribute points?]

A wave of cold, refreshing energy suddenly washed over Tarn's limbs, instantly dissolving the lactic acid in his muscles and clearing the fog from his brain. He sat up, his breathing instantly returning to a calm, steady rhythm.

"Put it into Agility," he commanded. [Agility: 12 ➔ 13]

With the point allocated, Tarn turned his attention to the second reward. A small box icon wrapped in obsidian hovered in the center of his vision. He mentally tapped it.

The box dissolved into a splash of violet, revealing a heavy, dark iron key with intricate skull carvings on top.

[Item Acquired: Dungeon Key (Rank-E - Solo Instant Dungeon).] [Description: Grants entry permission to the isolated instance 'The Hollow Veins'. This dungeon exists outside the jurisdiction of the Hunter Association.] [Location: Abandoned Underground Station, Sector 9.]

Tarn stood up, shaking the rain off his hair. A solo instant dungeon. No raid leaders, no cameras, no shared loot, and most importantly—no witnesses.

Sector 9 was less than two miles away, an old industrial hub abandoned after the first gate outbreak ten years ago. It was a ghost town, perfect for a ghost.

An hour later, Tarn stood at the base of the collapsed concrete stairs leading down to the Sector 9 underground station. The air down here was thick with the smell of rust, damp mold, and something else—the sharp, electric ozone smell of an active rift.

At the base of the platform, the space between two rusted train tracks distorted, the air rippling like oil on water.

Tarn reached into his pocket and pulled out the dark iron key. As his fingers tightened around it, the distortion solidified into a pitch-black, glowing portal, its edges flashing with violet lightning.

He walked to the edge of the portal, the wind from the rift blowing his torn coat around his shins. He had no weapon, and his armor was destroyed, but as he stepped forward, his shadow stretched long against the concrete wall, the faint glowing purple eyes of Null shining within the darkness behind him.

Tarn stepped into the rift.

As his heel crossed the threshold, a heavy, echoing chime rang in his head, accompanied by lines of text that made his blood boil.

[You have entered Instant Dungeon: 'The Hollow Veins'.] [Notice: You cannot leave the dungeon until the Boss is defeated or a Teleportation Stone is found.] [Warning: Monsters within this instance have sensed foreign aura. They are hunting you.]

From a deeper alcove in the dark subway tunnel ahead, a chorus of dry scraping and clicking erupted. Dozens of glowing red eyes opened in the dark, moving toward the platform with terrifying speed.

Tarn did not back away. He reached into his shadow, his fingers wrapping around an invisible hilt.

"Null," Tarn whispered, his voice cutting through the clicking of the swarm. "Clear the tracks."