The void breach swallowed Riven whole, a festering maw of shadow and violet chaos that pulsed with a sick, erratic heartbeat, its walls slick with oozing tar and despair, a cavernous hell that crushed his soul with every shuddering, snarling breath he clawed from its rancid depths. Black sand churned beneath him, a jagged storm of glass and ash slashing his sprawled form, a ground that writhed and snapped like a beast in its death throes, a feral trap clawing at his flesh, ravenous to drag him into its rotting guts and bury him alive. The air was a thick, toxic shroud—rot, blood, and a sour, metallic sting that burned his throat raw, a choking sludge that coated his lungs with every guttural gasp, a stench that screamed of voidspawn gore and the abyss’s endless hunger, a testament to the slaughter he’d carved and the ruin he’d become.
Riven woke in the dark, his body a broken heap, the Archive Shard clutched in his left fist like a goddamn lifeline, its golden runes flickering with a feral, dying light, a wildfire guttering in the shadows, a searing heat that blistered his palm bloody, a beacon trembling with Lyra’s voice—“Riven… help…”—a faint, pleading cry that pierced the silence, a spark that dragged his shattered soul from the brink. His sword lay beside him, its edge notched and slick with black ichor, Shadow Strike smoldering faintly along its length like a dying ember, a crescent of void energy fading with his strength, a blade forged in the furnace of his rage and baptized in the blood of this shithole, a weapon that had roared her name now silent in the dust. His cloak pooled around him, a shredded rag soaked in sweat and gore, clinging to his back like flayed flesh, stained with the filth of every fight, every loss, every goddamn tear he’d bled for her, a weight that pinned him to this abyss as his body screamed in agony.
His life force flickered inside him, a feral ember clawing against the void’s suffocating grip, a flame dimmed by grief and shattered by exhaustion, a wild spark drowning in the Void’s cold, creeping threads stitching his torn shoulder, a dark pulse pounding through his veins like a war drum gone silent, barely keeping him alive as his body begged to die. His stamina was ash, a ghost crushed to nothing, every breath a snarl, his lungs a furnace of fire and blood, his chest heaving with raw, jagged will, a man broken on the last scraps of his soul, fueled by her voice—real, fragile, alive—alone. Black veins throbbed beneath his skin like a living tempest unleashed, pulsing wild and untamed, shadow surging through him in violent, unrelenting waves, a power that had steadied his hands now choking his heart, a tide of wrath that drowned him in the dark, a beast he’d fed until it consumed him.
The Veilborn Interface burned at the edge of his vision, its obsidian frame shuddering like a predator clawing free, crimson tendrils snaking thick and fast, a mirror to the corruption shredding his soul, a warning screaming through his skull—Corruption Overload: Identity Fracturing—a feral roar in his mind, a toll he’d paid in blood, bone, and fucking sanity to reach this point, a price he’d ram down the void’s throat, a man too shattered to care as long as her light still flickered somewhere in this chaos. Corruption flooded him, black veins pulsing thicker, a dark tide whispering—Take it, take it—a promise of power, a seduction he couldn’t fight, a beast clawing his mind, his body, his soul, a man teetering on the edge of oblivion.
The void warped around him, walls pulsing like a dying organ, a haze of violet and black twisting the air, a silence swallowing the hum, a stillness that gnawed at his senses, a trap tightening in the dark. His team was gone—no scarred warrior, no young Veilborn, no woman—just him, alone, a broken man in a broken world, Lyra’s voice the only thread holding him together. His crimson eyes flickered, tears streaking his blood-soaked face, a snarl ripping free—“Where are you?”—a plea that echoed unanswered, a warrior lost in the abyss, a man clawing for her light.
A shape loomed from the haze, a mirror of himself—voidborn Riven—tall, twisted, its flesh a mass of black veins and shadow, its crimson eyes blazing with malice, its mouth a jagged grin of teeth, a doppelg?nger born of the void’s hunger, a nightmare staring back at him. It held a sword, a dark twin of his own, Shadow Strike smoldering along its edge, a crescent of void energy pulsing with his own rage, a reflection that mocked his soul. Its voice rasped, a guttural echo—“Look at you—weak, broken, a failure…”—a taunt that stabbed his chest, a lie that clawed his mind, a torment that broke him wide open.
Riven’s snarl roared back—“Shut the fuck up!”—a man shattering under the weight, his sword trembling as he dragged it up, his body screaming, corruption surging wild, black veins throbbing like a heartbeat gone berserk. The voidborn Riven lunged, its blade slashing in a brutal arc, shadow tearing through the air, a strike aimed at his heart, a deathblow laughing at his pain. Riven rolled, sand slashing his side, blood trickling warm and coppery, a sting he spat at as he swung Shadow Strike, a crescent of void clashing with its twin, a shock that jolted his arms, a roar shaking his frame—“You’re not me!”—a warrior fighting his own darkness, a man breaking to prove himself.
The blades sparked, void energy erupting in a cascade of shadow, a duel mirroring his every move, a dance of death in the abyss. The voidborn Riven laughed, a hollow, guttural sound—“You let her die—Lyra’s gone, and you’re nothing…”—a taunt that sank claws into his soul, a lie that twisted her light into despair, a sound that shredded his hope. Riven’s chest burned, tears streaming, his snarl feral—“She’s alive—I’ll prove it!”—a man clawing through the pain, his sword slashing blind, a rush of rage and heartbreak, a fight to keep her real in his heart.
The void warped wilder, walls pulsing like a dying heart, a haze of violet and black twisting the sand, gravity flipping—sand rained upward, then crashed down, a storm battering his body, a world gone mad. The voidborn Riven warped, shadow tearing through space, landing behind him, its blade slashing his back, a searing pain exploding through him, blood soaking his cloak, a snarl ripping free—“Fuck you!”—a man breaking but unbowed, his body trembling, corruption surging thicker, black veins pulsing wild, a warrior teetering on collapse.
He spun, Shadow Strike slashing in a desperate arc, ichor spraying from the voidborn’s chest, a rush of experience fueling his breaking body, a spark of defiance in the chaos. It laughed, its wound sealing, shadow stitching it shut—“You can’t kill me—I’m you…”—a taunt that stabbed his mind, a truth he couldn’t face, a nightmare feeding on his guilt. Riven’s snarl roared—“I’m more than you!”—his sword slashing again, a man fighting his own darkness, tears streaking his blood-soaked face, a warrior clawing for redemption.
The breach pulsed, a tunnel stretching deeper, Lyra’s voice—“Riven… help…”—faint, pleading, a thread pulling him forward, a spark reigniting his fire. The voidborn Riven grinned, its blade flashing, a duel in the abyss, a trap tightening, a hell he’d conquer or die in, his crimson eyes blazing through tears, the shard’s light a spear in the dark, a warrior breaking to reach her, a man staring into the abyss as it stared back.
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The void breach convulsed around Riven like a rotting carcass hacked open and left to fester, its walls of shadow and violet chaos pulsing with a sick, faltering rhythm, a cavernous maw dripping with tar and despair, a living hell that crushed his soul with every snarling, desperate breath he tore from its rancid depths. Black sand churned beneath his boots, a jagged storm of glass and ash slashing his flesh raw, a ground that writhed and snapped like a beast in its final throes, a feral trap clawing at his legs, starving to drag him into its rotting guts and bury him alive. The air was a thick, toxic shroud—rot, blood, and a sour, metallic sting that burned his throat raw, a choking sludge that coated his lungs with every guttural roar, a stench that screamed of voidspawn gore and the abyss’s endless hunger, a testament to the slaughter he’d carved and the ruin he’d become.
Riven faced the voidborn Riven, his body a trembling wreck, the Archive Shard gripped in his left fist like a goddamn lifeline, its golden runes flickering with a feral, dying light, a wildfire guttering in the dark, a searing heat that blistered his palm bloody, a beacon trembling with Lyra’s voice—“Riven… help…”—a faint, pleading cry that pierced the chaos, a spark that dragged his shattered soul from the brink. His sword trembled in his right, its edge notched and slick with black ichor, Shadow Strike smoldering along its length like a dying ember, a crescent of void energy flaring with his rage, a blade forged in the furnace of his heart and baptized in the blood of this shithole, a weapon that roared her name with every savage swing, a vow to rip her from this hell now shaking in his grip. His cloak streamed behind him, a shredded rag soaked in sweat and gore, clinging to his back like flayed flesh, stained with the filth of every fight, every loss, every goddamn tear he’d bled for her, a weight that dragged him down as his body screamed in agony.
His life force flickered inside him, a feral ember clawing against the void’s suffocating grip, a flame dimmed by grief and shattered by exhaustion, a wild spark drowning in the Void’s cold, creeping threads stitching his torn back, a dark pulse pounding through his veins like a war drum gone silent, barely keeping him alive as his body begged to die. His stamina was ash, a ghost crushed to nothing, every move a snarl, his lungs a furnace of fire and blood, his chest heaving with raw, jagged will, a man broken on the last scraps of his soul, fueled by her voice—real, fragile, alive—alone. Black veins throbbed beneath his skin like a living tempest unleashed, pulsing wild and untamed, shadow surging through him in violent, unrelenting waves, a power that had steadied his hands now choking his heart, a tide of wrath that drowned him in the dark, a beast he’d fed until it consumed him.
The Veilborn Interface burned at the edge of his vision, its obsidian frame shuddering like a predator clawing free, crimson tendrils snaking thick and fast, a mirror to the corruption shredding his soul, a warning screaming through his skull—Corruption Overload: Identity Fracturing—a feral roar in his mind, a toll he’d paid in blood, bone, and fucking sanity to reach this point, a price he’d ram down the void’s throat, a man too shattered to care as long as her light still flickered somewhere in this chaos. Corruption flooded him, black veins pulsing thicker, a dark tide whispering—Take it, take it—a promise of power, a seduction he couldn’t fight, a beast clawing his mind, his body, his soul, a man teetering on the edge of oblivion.
The voidborn Riven loomed, a twisted mirror of his form—its flesh a mass of black veins and shadow, its crimson eyes blazing with malice, its jagged grin a maw of teeth, a doppelg?nger born of the void’s hunger, a nightmare staring back at him. It swung its dark twin sword, Shadow Strike smoldering along its edge, a crescent of void energy mirroring his own rage, a reflection that mocked his soul. Its voice rasped, a guttural echo—“You’re weak—you let her die…”—a taunt that stabbed his chest, a lie that clawed his mind, a torment that broke him wide open. Riven’s snarl roared back—“Shut the fuck up—she’s alive!”—a man shattering under the weight, his sword slashing in a brutal arc, Shadow Strike clashing with its twin, a shock that jolted his arms, a roar shaking his frame—“I’ll prove it!”—a warrior fighting his own darkness, tears streaking his blood-soaked face, a man breaking to prove himself.
The blades sparked, void energy erupting in a cascade of shadow, a duel mirroring his every move, a dance of death in the abyss. The voidborn Riven warped, shadow tearing through space, landing behind him, its blade slashing his side, a searing pain exploding through him, blood soaking his cloak, a snarl ripping free—“Fuck you!”—a man breaking but unbowed, his body trembling, corruption surging thicker, black veins pulsing wild, a warrior teetering on collapse. He spun, Shadow Strike slashing in a desperate arc, ichor spraying from the voidborn’s chest, a rush of experience fueling his breaking body, a spark of defiance in the chaos—“I’m not you!”—a man clawing through the pain, his sword slashing blind, a rush of rage and heartbreak, a fight to keep her real in his heart.
The void warped wilder, walls pulsing like a dying heart, a haze of violet and black twisting the sand, gravity flipping—sand rained upward, then crashed down, a storm battering his body, a world gone mad. The voidborn Riven laughed, its wound sealing, shadow stitching it shut—“You can’t kill me—I’m what you’ll become…”—a taunt that sank claws into his soul, a truth he couldn’t face, a nightmare feeding on his guilt. Riven’s chest burned, tears streaming, his snarl feral—“I’ll never be you!”—a man clawing through the despair, his sword slashing again, ichor raining, a warrior fighting his own fate, a vow to reach her burning in his veins.
It lunged, its blade flashing in a brutal arc, shadow tearing through the air, a strike aimed at his throat, a deathblow mocking his pain. Riven warped, shadow ripping through space, a flicker that shredded his last gasp, landing atop it, his sword plunging Shadow Strike into its chest, a surge of void erupting in a cascade of black ichor, a critical blow that buckled it, a scream shaking his soul—“Die, you fuck!”—corruption surging wild, black veins throbbing like a heartbeat gone berserk, a man breaking to kill his reflection, his arms buckling, blood and ichor mixing, a warrior teetering on the edge.
The voidborn Riven thrashed, its shriek rising to a fevered pitch, tendrils flailing in a desperate frenzy, a dying beast clawing at its killer—“You’re already ours…”—a final taunt, a hollow laugh echoing as it shattered, its form dissolving into shadow, a plume of darkness rising, a warning that iced his veins, a truth that lingered in his mind. Riven collapsed, his knees hitting the sand, the shard’s light dimming in his grip, his chest heaving, tears cutting through blood and ichor, a man shattered by the fight, corruption whispering power—Take it, take it—a temptation he spat at, Lyra’s voice cutting through—“Riven… help…”—faint, pleading, a spark that dragged him back.
The breach pulsed, a tunnel stretching deeper, Lyra’s voice a desperate thread, the void’s whispers fading, a trap tightening, a hell he’d conquer or die in. Riven’s crimson eyes blazed through tears, the shard’s light a spear in the dark, corruption surging, a warrior rising from ruin, a vow to reach her or die screaming her name. The voidborn’s laugh lingered—“You’re ours…”—a haunting echo, a shadow in his soul, a man staring into the abyss as it stared back, a fight to prove it wrong, a spark of defiance burning in his chest.
The sand shifted, a faint shimmer rippling through the grains, a sign of the void’s restless hunger, a threat stirring in the depths, a new battle brewing on the horizon. Riven staggered to his feet, his sword trembling, Shadow Strike reigniting along its edge, a man breaking but alive, a warrior clawing through the dark, Lyra’s voice a flame in his heart, a vow to reach her burning through the abyss, a fight against the mirror he’d shattered, a man bleeding for her light.
