Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Princess of the Abyss

It was close to 22:00 when Lily slipped behind the counter, tugging at the loose supermarket-logo shirt that always felt a size too big. Another night shift at the 7-Eleven—eight long hours of stale coffee smells, humming refrigerators, and the occasional drunk customer stumbling in.

Her colleague waved a lazy goodbye as the door chimed. The sound echoed a little too loud in the empty store, and then it was just her, the buzzing neon lights, and the steady tick of the clock above the lottery ticket display.

With a sigh, she leaned over the register, logged into the POS system, and saw her name blink back at her on the tiny monitor: Lily Carter. Somehow the formal way it displayed her name made it feel like she was clocking into more than just a shift, like the machine was acknowledging her existence in a way people rarely did.

She sat back down, pulled her smartphone from her pocket, and let the blue glow wash over her face.

At first, it was the usual routine: checking the university app for updates, scrolling to see if the professor had finally uploaded the last course grades, glancing at the cafeteria meal plan for next week. Mundane things.

Within minutes, she was already bored.

In Xantia, Lily wasn’t the quiet cashier in a too-big uniform with tired eyes. There, she was her avatar—Lilithia Nocturne—ruthless, stylish, and untouchable. A demoness princess wrapped in obsidian-black armor, crowned with red jagged horns, and feared by nearly everyone she crossed. One of the highest-level players in the world.

When she wasn’t working overnight shifts or dragging herself to lectures, she was online, living the life that felt more real than this fluorescent-lit store. Her social circle was digital; her victories, pixelated. The only people she talked to in the real world were colleagues at work and a handful of students she barely knew at university, and even then, only as much as politeness required.

Scrolling through the global rankings, her heart skipped. She blinked, stared, and then a grin spread across her face.

#666 – Lilithia Nocturne

“Yes!” Lily actually shouted out loud, pumping her fist before glancing around sheepishly at the empty aisles. “Finally!”

Ranked 666 out of over a million players. It wasn’t just good—it was legendary. She was climbing, one victory at a time, toward the unreachable summit of the Xantia elite.

Just last week, with the help of her guild, she had broken into the top 700. And now, here she was #666. The raid today had been brutal, a nine-hour marathon that left her eyes dry and her hands aching. But the sleepless day was worth it. Every second of it.

Lily leaned back in her chair, a grin tugging at her lips. “Totally worth it,” she murmured, almost giddy.

For a moment she could almost hear the cheers of her guild echoing in her ears, the thrill of victory still alive in her chest.

But then, staring at that number on the screen—six hundred sixty-six—it felt almost like it was staring back at her. A chill skated across her skin. She shook it off, laughing nervously at herself.

“Yeah, sure. Demon princess, rank six-six-six. Couldn’t be more on brand,” she muttered.

For a moment, she could almost forget the loneliness of the night shift. She could almost feel her avatar’s wings unfurl behind her, the cool weight of obsidian armor on her shoulders.

The door chime rang, jolting her back to reality.

Her first customer of the night trudged in. Lily yawned and leaned on the counter, watching as he headed straight toward the liquor aisle. The guy was rough-looking, shoulders hunched beneath a worn leather jacket, the kind of man her classmates might whisper about avoiding after dark.

Some of her friends had asked if she wasn’t scared, working alone through the night. But Lily had always brushed it off. Night shifts fit her rhythm. Besides, the streets were quieter, and it gave her the entire day for university, and for Xantia.

And why should she be afraid? She was safe behind the counter. If someone tried anything, she’d cooperate, hit the silent alarm, and wait sixty seconds. That’s all it took—the police station was just down the same street.

So, she just watched the man, arms crossed, as he lingered in front of the shelves, squinting like he was trying to remember what he even wanted.

The clock ticked on. The neon lights buzzed faintly. And Lily, still grinning at her rank, couldn’t shake the strange prickle crawling up the back of her neck.

After what felt like forever, the man finally decided on a bottle of vodka and shuffled toward the counter. Lily almost sighed.

Really? Take ten minutes to pick the same cheap stuff you guys always buy?

Then she heard someone call: “Princess.”

Her head snapped up. Had he just called her princess?

“Sorry?” she asked, blinking.

The man looked confused. “Huh?” He hadn’t said anything.

Lily forced a little laugh.

Too little sleep. Too much Xantia on the brain.

The man set the vodka down with a heavy clunk. She scanned it in—24 dollars. Easy. But before she could say the price, her ears rang.

“Princess… hear my call.”

The voice again. Louder. Clearer. And this time she realized it; it was inside her head.

She shook herself, focusing on the man. “Sorry, what did you—”

This time he spoke, voice low and sharp. “You get me right. Move slow. Open the register. Then you give me the cash inside. Don’t touch the silent alarm, or you die.”

Lily froze. When had he pulled out the gun? How had she missed it? It was right there now, aimed at her chest.

The world tilted. For a heartbeat, she wasn’t sure if she was in the store anymore.

“PRINCESS, HEAR MY CALL.”

The voice in her head thundered now, drowning out everything—the humming neon, the ticking clock, even the robber’s words.

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Her hand shook as she fumbled toward the drawer. A robbery. This was real. This was happening. And yet… why wasn’t she afraid?

It was almost like she was dreaming. Everything felt muffled, distant, as if she were underwater. Did someone drug me? The thought flickered by, absurd and fleeting.

The man was standing in front of her with a gun, she saw it now, sharp and undeniable, but she couldn’t remember seeing him draw it. It was like time had skipped.

And then: “YOUR HUMBLE SERVANT IS CALLING YOU. PLEASE, HEAR OUR VOICE. ACCEPT OUR OFFERINGS!”

The voice tore through her skull. Too loud, too sudden. Lily flinched, twitching as though struck.

A bang.

The sound snapped her back. And she saw panic, not in her own eyes, but in his. The man staggered, swearing, his face twisted in shock. “Shit, shit, shit—why’d you move for the alarm, you dumb bitch—shit!”

He was grabbing the cash with shaking hands, cursing as he turned and bolted for the door.

Lily blinked. Something felt wrong.

Her hands were wet.

She lifted them, trembling. Blood.

Her gaze dropped—her shirt, soaked through, dark red and spreading fast. Warm. Sticky.

“...Did he shoot me?” The words were barely a whisper.

Her mind spun. No… this has to be a dream. Just another all-nighter catching up with me. Yeah. A dream.

But no, dreams never let you know you were dreaming.

Her knees buckled.

The last thing she saw before the world collapsed into black was her own blood on the tiles, glistening under the neon lights.

And then everything went black.

…

…

Lily drifted back to her senses, like surfacing from the depths of a dream. She was lying on something cold and unyielding.

Pheew… it was a dream. I didn’t die. I wasn’t shot. Of course not. Relief fluttered through her chest. I just… fell asleep somewhere.

Then panic hit. Wait my shift! Damn it!

Her eyes snapped open as she jerked upright… and froze.

She wasn’t in the store. She wasn’t anywhere she recognized.

She sat in the middle of a faintly glowing circle etched into the floor, the lines shimmering red like embers. The light wavered strangely, almost like a barrier, hazing out everything beyond the ring. She couldn’t see much past it.

Her stomach twisted.

She stood, stumbling to her feet, and immediately knew something was wrong. She felt taller. Her balance shifted.

Her gaze dropped.

Gone was the oversized 7-Eleven shirt. Gone were her jeans and sneakers.

Instead—she wore that dress.

The one from her roleplay sessions in Xantia. Black, regal, embroidered with crimson thread and gilded accents, trailing to the floor like a queen’s gown. Her boots, too, the high obsidian leather she’d farmed an entire week to unlock for her avatar.

Her hands trembled as she touched her head.

Smooth, hard, and curling forward—Horns.

She had horns.

“What the fuck…”

Her hands, too, weren’t hers. Pale, slender, tipped with blackened nails. Hands she knew. Hands that belonged to Lilithia Nocturne.

Her avatar.

Her body.

She staggered back, heart pounding against her ribs.

This isn’t possible. It can’t be real. But—

Everything felt too sharp. Too heavy, and far too alive.

She was inside her character.

“What is happening? What the fuck is happening?” she whispered, voice breaking.

But instead of spiraling into panic, something deep inside her steadied. A strange, eerie calm washed over her nerves, like her body itself was telling her to accept it.

She forced herself to look around. The circle she had awoken in wasn’t just glowing, it was carved from blood. Dried in places, fresh in others, the lines pulsed faintly with power. Beyond the faintly luminous barrier, she couldn’t make out much. Shadows, movement, maybe figures, but nothing clear.

Trapped.

And yet… why was she her avatar?

Her mind scrambled for logic, for something familiar. If I’m Lilithia here… then maybe…

“Status,” she said aloud.

A faint chime answered.

A screen unfolded before her eyes, not in glowing pixels but as if etched directly into reality itself.

[Lilithia Nocturne]

Race: Demoness

Title: Princess of the Abyss, Doomslayer, [and more…]

Level: 999

Her breath caught. Exactly the same as in Xantia. Max level. The same absurd collection of titles she’d earned over years of grinding.

Her fingers shook as she swiped at the interface, trying other commands. Guild. Friends list. Messaging.

Nothing responded. The panels flickered and refused her input.

But spells, maybe spells would work.

She raised her hand, heart thundering, and whispered, “Lumox.”

The word resonated, vibrating in her chest.

At once, something pulled inside her, like a cord tugging at her very soul. She gasped as warmth surged down her arm, flooding into her palm.

Light gathered. And then, hovering above her hand, an orb of radiance bloomed. Not pixelated, not digital, but true light, blinding and perfect.

It hummed, alive, thrumming with energy.

“Oh my god…” Lily breathed, staring wide-eyed at the impossible spell floating in her grasp.

This wasn’t VR. This wasn’t a dream.

This was real.

Lumox was one of the most basic adventurer spells. In Xantia, the entire magic system was word-based, pros had to memorize hundreds of incantations and be fast enough to fire them off mid-combat. Sure, there was always the floating interface option, but that slowed you down, and the top players never relied on it.

So, Lumox wasn’t just a glowing ball. It was light made manifest, a spell that illuminated more than darkness. In the game it could expose hidden passages, reveal traps, even highlight weak points in walls.

And now, here, in her palm—it did the same.

She raised the orb, and the red circle around her flickered. For a heartbeat, golden cracks spidered across the barrier, like lightning crawling through glass.

Her breath caught. She recognized the glow immediately.

Breaking points.

Just like in Xantia.

If she willed it, if she pushed the orb into those golden fractures, she could shatter the circle, and break free.

Her pulse quickened, the light reflecting in her eyes.

I could get out of here…

☽⛧☾

Hushed whispers filled the cave. The air trembled with anticipation, the flicker of torchlight dancing across damp stone.

It was happening.

The ritual was finally happening.

Sevrin could scarcely believe it himself. He had driven himself ragged for this night. Along the way he’d gathered the like-minded, outcasts, zealots, the desperate, until they had a name: the Children of the Abyss. The book had given it to them, along with their creed: the tale of the mightiest demoness ever known and the rite to call her, the Princess of the Abyss. Together they carved the circle, bled their offerings, and spoke each syllable exactly as written. Step by step. No mistake permitted.

And now, after all of it—after years of obsession—the circle burned with life.

He had never thought it would come to this.

When he first stumbled upon the book in the forbidden library of the academy, he had only been searching for an edge. Just a new spell. Something small to get ahead of his classmates. But the tome had seemed to call to him the moment his eyes found its cracked, black leather binding, etched with a pentagram that felt older than the walls themselves.

Inside, he had discovered the unthinkable. Necromancy. Demonology. Magic so ancient and forbidden that even whispering of it was a crime.

At first it had been curiosity, a harmless game, he told himself. Learning what others were too timid to touch. Curiosity became practice; practice, competence; competence, leverage. And leverage, given time, curdled into hunger.

Then they caught him. He was expelled. The academy scraped his name from its rolls as if he’d never existed. Home was worse: his father’s eyes slid past him; his mother’s prayers grew sharp with fear. So, he left, taking with him the only thing that still answered—the book.

Now its promises were unfolding. The cavern air thrummed; blood-and-ash sigils pulsed like coals. Their offering had been swallowed, and the circle drank deep. In its heart, something gathered itself and rose.

Sevrin’s heartbeat climbed into his throat. For the first time, he couldn’t tell whether he was standing at the edge of triumph, or at the mouth of his damnation.

The wards shivered around the circle, a red sheen tightening like heated glass. They could never see inside once the summoning took hold—that blindness was a good omen, the book said. Sevrin stepped closer, lifted his voice, and let the cavern carry it:

“Princess, hear my call. Aid us in the darkness. Guide us to the Abyss.”

On the last syllable, the barrier cracked.

Hairline fractures flashed gold, spidering outward; then the whole shell shattered with a sound like ice breaking on a river. Ember-bright dust drifted down.

What stepped through was beyond every fevered margin of his imagination.

A demon—no, a demoness. Beautiful and terrible in equal measure. Skin like moonlit marble. Eyes the red of fresh-spilled wine. Black hair drawn into a high, severe tail. Horns, curved and crimson, framing a face cut for crowns. Regal black with threads of blood and gold clothed her, the fabric whispering against obsidian boots as she moved.

She was exactly as the book had promised. She was the Princess.

And she looked… furious.

When she spoke, her voice was velvet laid over a blade. “Are you the idiot who called me inside my head?”