As Valen walked through the rugged terrain, his path was lighten by a pale moon hanging in the sky. His destination was a small village, which was home to his only true friend, Orlen.
The village, bathed in a soft glow from its warm lanterns, seemed peaceful, but Valen mind was in turmoil... "Is that blood?" He said softly as he saw dry pig blood on the ground
Valen paused, his keen senses picking up the metallic scent of blood. It was faint, but unmistakable. As he scanned the area, he noticed more signs of a struggle. Broken branches, disturbed soil, and a faint smell of something burnt in the air.
Valen took his pace, his sword hanging by his side as he reached Orlen small forge. The soft light spilled out into the night, and the rhythmic sound of the hammer hitting iron could be heard within.
Valen pushed the door *tratgh* and stepped into the forge. Orlen, a dwarf with a wiry frame and a face lined with age, looked up from his work. He was surprised to see Valen, as he was usually nocturnal.
"Valen my child," Orlen said, his tone a mix of surprise and caution. "What brings you here so early in the night?"
"I need you to look at my sword," Valen replied, ignoring the dwarf question. He pulled the sword from its scabbard and placed it on the anvil in front of Orlen. His sword was chipped in multiple spots and had a dull, lifeless sheen.
Orlen grunted and picked up the sword. He examined the blade with a critical eye, running his fingers over the chips and nicks.
"This blade has seen a lot of action," Orlen said, his voice filled with concern. "The chips are deep, and the blade has lost its sharpness...who did you fight again?" He added
Valen was silent for a moment, the memories of the fight filling his mind. It had been a grueling battle, one that had pushed him to the limits of his strength.
"A demon," Valen finally said, his voice flat. "A young one, but powerful all the same."
Orlen let out a grunt of surprise as Valen revealed the truth. "A demon? You should have been more careful, young one," he said, his voice filled with concern. Taking a closer look at the blade, he carefully scraped away the tarnished metal with a file, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"I know," Valen said, his tone a mix of annoyance and resignation. "But there's something else I wanted to ask you about."
Orlen looked up from his work, his eyes meeting Valen's. "Oh? What's that?"
Valen paused, the words sticking in his throat. Leaning closer to Orlen, he lowered his voice almost to a whisper.
"Do demons have names? Can they speak?" Valen's face was a mask of confusion as he pondered the demon he had been fighting.
Orlen was clearly taken aback by Valen's question. "Demons...have names, yes," he said slowly, his eyes narrowing as he considered the implications of Valen's question. "And they are more than capable of speech. They are creatures of cunning and deceit. Why do you ask?"
Orlen was visibly surprised by Valen's question. "Demons do have names," he replied slowly, his gaze intense as he processed the significance of Valen's inquiry. "And they are indeed adept at speaking. They are beings of trickery and deception. Why do you inquire?"
Valen hesitated before responding. "The demon I was fighting...it felt different. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it seemed like it was mocking me. Like it was...enjoying our confrontation."
Valen words caused a shadow to fall over Orlen face. "Demons are notorious for their cruel tendencies," he remarked, his tone laced with concern. "However, it's possible you were facing an oni instead. They share similarities with demons, but they also have their own unique traits, such as belonging to clans and having families."
Valen frowned, his mind racing at the information. "Oni... I've never encountered one before. How can I tell the difference between a demon and an oni?"
Orlen sighed and set down his tools. "This might be difficult, but there are some differences. Oni are usually larger and stronger than demons, with more human-like features. They also have a strict hierarchy, where each oni belongs to a specific clan or family." Orlen picked up his tools again and resumed work on Valen's sword. "I once knew an Oni, his name was Rei or Ryu, I can't remember exactly, it was 50 years ago."
"An Oni named Ryu..." Valen murmured, his mind preoccupied. The thought of a creature that fit Orlen's description gave him pause.
"What was he like?" he asked, his eyes never leaving the sword as Orlen worked on it.
Orlen chuckled, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Ryu was quite the character. A powerful warrior, fierce in battle, yet gentle with those he cared for." Orlen glanced up at Valen. "Reminds me of someone, actually."
Valen grunted in response, his thoughts already drifting to the enigmatic demon he had fought.
Orlen was silent for a moment, his eyes studying Valen's face. "You know...not all demons and Oni are evil. Some are neutral, while others have even fought with humans against greater threats." Orlen gaze turned sharp. "And some, like Ryu, have even been friends with humans."
Valen laughed at Orlen words. "Demons and Oni are monsters," he said, his tone laced with a hint of defensiveness. "They may be able to mimic human emotions, but they are still cruel and heartless creatures."
Orlen chuckled, clearly unsurprised by Valen's outburst. "And how much experience have you had with demons and Oni, my child?" he asked, his voice filled with both concern and amusement.
Valen huffed, his irritation evident in the sharpness of his words. "Fine, I'll wait outside. I don't know enough about them. I'll be back in an hour." He turned and stalked out of the forge, the door slamming behind him with a loud thud.
Orlen sighed as he watched Valen leave. He knew that the young vampire was stubborn and closed minded, but he also knew the terrible trauma that had led the youth onto his dark path. He wished that there was something he could do to help Valen see that there was more to the world than the bitter rage and vengeance that consumed him.
Shaking his head, Orlen turned back to Valen sword and worked diligently, determined to repair the weapon and hopefully repair Valen along with it.
Valen stood outside the forge, his mind a swirling storm of thoughts. The night air, chilling around him, mirrored the coldness within his heart. The conversation with Orlen had stirred something within him, leaving him feeling uneasy and vulnerable.
When suddenly as he was standing... A scream tore through the night, echoing through the quiet streets of the village. Valen didn't wait.
His body reacted instinctively he lunged forward, grasping the hilt of his sword.
The night wind carried the scent of blood, stronger than before, more metallic, more… raw.
He ran through a few streets until he reached a clearing beyond the village, where the sound of tearing flesh emanated. There, in the faint glow of the moonlight, someone knelt over a lifeless body.
Not a human, not a demon… something in between.
The figure had long, dark hair, and half its face was covered in something resembling the crust of charred wood, pulsating with red streaks. One of its eyes glowed with a menacing red, the other a cool, human blue.
A sword rested at its waist, and a cloak billowed around it like a shadow. In its hands, it held the body of a dead pig, still warm, with blood dripping onto the grass.Valen reacted instantly he drew his sword and aimed it at the figure."Who are you?!" he snarled, his voice thick with tension.
The stranger raised his head, and a faint smile twisted his lips. When he spoke, his voice was strangely melodic, hypnotic, but Valen sensed something unnatural in it, as if the sounds were forming against the speaker's will.
"I didn't know it was your pig," he said slowly, drawing out the syllables.
"I didn't mean to cause trouble…"
Valen didn't lower his blade. A single word flashed in his mind. Cursed...
He had heard of them. Beings touched by the curse of the Demon God, teetering on the edge between human and monster. They could speak with a voice that deceived, lured, and misled. And they lost control.
"You're Tahashi, aren't you?" Valen asked sharply.
The man raised an eyebrow, and the shadow of a smile returned to his lips."I see my reputation precedes me."Valen stepped closer, poised to strike.
"I've heard of your curse. Of what you're capable of."
"Then you know you shouldn't trust me," Tahashi replied softly, and there was something…
different in his voice. Something that made Valen hesitate for a fraction of a second.Was it a trick? Manipulation? Or perhaps… a warning?
The chill of the night thickened. Something hung in the air. And Valen felt that this night was only just beginning.
Suddenly Tahashi lunged forward, his blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. He aimed for Valen's chest, seeking to end the fight in a single strike. But before his attack could land, Valen had already moved, launching his own counterattack.
Steel clashed against steel, the force of their blows sending shockwaves through the night. Sparks illuminated their faces as their swords met in a brutal, unrelenting exchange. Every strike was faster, sharper, more desperate than the last.
Valen gritted his teeth. This isn't working. No matter how many times he struck, Tahashi's wounds would simply vanish, knitting themselves back together in moments. Damn regeneration. It was like fighting an unstoppable tide, one that only grew stronger with every passing second.
His mind raced. He needed a plan a weakness. Something had to stop Tahashi from healing. But what?
And then he saw it.
His gaze locked onto Tahashi's eye. The cursed side of his face, darkened and pulsing with demonic energy, wasn't healing like the rest of his body. Was that the answer?
It's a risk… but it's my only shot.
But landing a hit there wouldn't be easy. Tahashi was fast, unpredictable he dodged attacks with ease, countering with brutal efficiency. I need a distraction.
Valen's lips curled into a smirk.
"Hey," he said, pointing toward the sky. "Look at the moon."
Tahashi frowned, his expression shifting from aggression to mild intrigue. "What?"
Valen nodded toward the glowing orb above them. "Just take a moment. It's beautiful, don't you think?"
Tahashi hesitated. Just for a second.
And that was all Valen needed.
"Fire Arrow!"
A blazing projectile shot forward, cutting through the cold night air before slamming into Tahashi's chest. Flames exploded on impact, scorching cloth and flesh. The scent of burning fabric filled the air.
But Tahashi didn't scream.
Instead, he let out a low, guttural growl as his wounds began to close, the fire fading as if it had never been there.
Tch. No time to waste.
Valen lunged. His sword gleamed under the moonlight as he swung with all his might.
Schhhk!
A clean cut. His blade sliced deep into Tahashi's neck.
For a moment, everything was still.
Then half of the wound closed instantly. The other half didn't heal at all. The black, cursed flesh remained untouched, cracked and pulsing with an eerie, unnatural energy.
Valen stepped back, tightening his grip on his sword.
"So that's how it works…"
Tahashi's eyes widened in surprise as the Fire Arrow struck his chest, flames erupting on impact. The scorching heat seared through his cloak, charring the flesh beneath. For a moment, pain lanced through his body sharp, real. But then, just as quickly as it came, the wound began to close, his cursed regeneration knitting the flesh back together.
Valen wasn't finished.
With a sharp exhale, he lunged forward, his sword flashing under the moonlight. He aimed for the neck. A single, precise strike...if he could sever the head, perhaps even Tahashi's regeneration wouldn't be able to keep up.
The blade struck true.
A clean, brutal cut.
Blood splattered against the ground, the force of the strike sending a shockwave through Tahashi's body. He staggered, his breath hitching his hands instinctively reaching for the wound.
Then, something unexpected happened.
Only half of the wound healed.
The cursed, blackened side of his body twisted with demonic energy
remained untouched. Flesh refused to mend. The gash continued to bleed, crimson dripping down his skin like a slow, relentless river.
Valen's breath came fast and uneven. He tightened his grip on his sword, eyes narrowing as realization dawned.
This was it. The first real damage he had managed to inflict.
Tahashi stared at Valen, his eyes wide with disbelief. The lingering burn of the Fire Arrow pulsed through his body....a sensation he had never experienced before. Pain. True, unyielding pain.
For the first time, he felt vulnerable.
Without hesitation, he leapt back, trying to put distance between himself and Valen. I need to get away. He had to escape before things got worse. But the moment he tried to move again, a sharp pain flared through his body. His legs faltered. His body refused to obey him.
Damn it… This wound is worse than I thought.
He gritted his teeth, willing himself to move only to find his path blocked.
A figure stood in front of him, unwavering. The glow of the forge behind him cast his stern features into sharp relief. Orlen.
"That's enough," Orlen said firmly, his gaze shifting between Valen and Tahashi. "This fight ends now."
Tahashi's breath came in ragged gasps. He clenched his jaw, torn between fear and defiance. He was outnumbered, wounded, and lingering any longer would only spell his downfall.
But his pride refused to let him back down so easily.
"You can't stop me," he growled through gritted teeth.
Then, with a sudden burst of movement, he turned on his heel and vanished into the night. A single, powerful leap sent him soaring over the rooftops, his dark silhouette blending into the shadows before either of them could react.
Valen's grip on his sword tightened as he watched him disappear. His blood still burned with the thrill of battle, his instincts screaming at him to give chase. He wanted to hunt Tahashi down. To finish what he had started.
But a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him in place.
"Don't even think about it," Orlen said, his grip heavy with authority. "We don't need any more trouble tonight."
Valen exhaled sharply, his frustration clear. His fingers twitched against his blade, but deep down, he knew Orlen was right.
At least, for now.
A few days later…
The forge was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the molten metal bubbling in the crucible and the occasional flicker of candlelight. Shadows danced along the walls, shifting like restless wraiths, as the scent of burning coal and hot steel filled the air. The rhythmic clang of hammer on metal echoed through the chamber, only interrupted by Orlen's frustrated growl.
For days, his anger had not subsided. His fury burned as hot as the embers in the forge. Ever since their battle with the cursed one, he had been livid at Valen for destroying his sword.
"You absolute fool!" Orlen roared, his voice reverberating off the stone walls. "Have you lost your damn mind, you idiot?! You grabbed a sword that was already shattered!"
Orlen exhaled sharply, running a hand through his soot-streaked hair before motioning toward the workbench. "Hand me that damn crystal," he muttered. Valen obeyed, lifting the gemstone a scarlet jewel, shimmering like the bloodied glow of a full moon. Orlen took it carefully, his fingers tracing its jagged edges before pressing it against the hilt of the reforged blade.
The sword lay upon the anvil, its surface gleaming like polished silver, yet beneath the light, the patterns of its steel seemed to shift, like the scales of a great serpent coiling in wait. The deep violet hue of the blade glistened with an eerie luster, as if something alive lurked beneath its surface, whispering secrets from the abyss.
"I'll embed it into the hilt," Orlen continued, his voice low. "It'll serve as a catalyst to shape the sword's aura." He paused, then added with a dark chuckle, "By the way, I heard that some goblin tribe has taken over your old estate near the Greatest Abyss. Maybe you should wipe them out instead of fighting a cursed one who's been keeping monsters at bay for years. Just because he ate a pig doesn't make him evil."
He smirked, his eyes glinting like embers in the dark. The forge crackled as Orlen pressed the crystal into the sword's hilt. A surge of crimson light erupted from the blade, filling the chamber with a brief, blinding glow. When the brilliance faded, the sword pulsed with new energy, its violet scales shifting like rippling water beneath the moon. The gem at its core throbbed, as if awakening from a deep slumber.
Valen's jaw tightened, his fingers twitching at his side. "That 'cursed one' had a hunger that wouldn't stop at pigs," he said, his voice edged with something cold. "You weren't there when he attacked me!"
Orlen scoffed. "You're too quick to pass judgment. If the abyss itself had not swallowed you whole, you'd see that not every monster is your enemy."
Valen reached for the weapon, but the moment his fingers brushed the hilt, a sensation like ice coursed through his veins. He gritted his teeth as whispers filled his mind—dark voices, speaking in tongues long forgotten. Visions of shadowed figures, crimson moons, and endless carnage flooded his thoughts.
Orlen watched him, unimpressed. "You feel it, don't you? That is no ordinary crystal it belonged to the 4 lords of the Demon God. I pried it from the corpse of a thing that had no name, only hunger." He crossed his arms, studying Valen's reaction. "A fitting core for your blade, wouldn't you say?"
Valen exhaled, forcing the visions back into the recesses of his mind. He tightened his grip on the sword. "What's the price?"
Orlen chuckled. "The price has already been paid, Valen. That blade is bound to you now...whether you wanted it or not"~"now you should just name it"
Orlen slowly said
Valen thought carefully before speaking. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, the air thick with something unseen, something ancient.
"Crimson" he finally murmured.
The sword reacted instantly. A pulse of energy rippled through the hilt, and before he could move, the blade drank.
A sharp, burning sensation shot through his palm as the steel drew his blood, thin crimson rivulets running along the grooves of the scaled blade. The gem in the hilt flared with an eerie glow, pulsing like a beating heart.
Valen gritted his teeth, but he did not pull away. He could feel it the sword awakening, binding itself to him.
The whispers in his mind grew louder, curling around his thoughts like smoke. They spoke of power, of hunger, of something greater lurking in the depths of the abyss.
And for the first time, Valen wondered if he had just made a deal with something far worse than any demon or curse...
Valen embarks on a journey to the border he left behind long ago, a place he once called home. There, he lived alone, haunted only by demons and strange occurrences from the greatest abyss, which tormented all who lingered near its edge.
Orlen shouted just as he departed, "Just be careful!" Valen, hearing nothing but the echo of those words, raised his hand in acknowledgment.
Several hours later, Valen entered the Whispering Forest.
The air was thick with the sound of distant, haunting cries, drifting through the gnarled branches. "Usizo!"—a voice cried in forgotten language, its tone ragged and desperate. Another, muffled and strained, echoed through the trees: "Adoh na! Adoh na!" in a language Valen couldn't place, long forgotten by most. The eerie chorus continued, cries in tongues long unused, each one more urgent than the last, as if calling from another time, from another world. The voices seemed to twist and distort in the forest's deep shadows, each plea a reminder of the forgotten souls trapped within.
The forest itself seemed to lean in close, its twisted trees reaching out with skeletal branches, casting long, grotesque shadows that shifted unnaturally. The ground was damp, the smell of decay and rot heavy in the air. Valen's boots sank slightly into the soft earth with each step, his every movement muffled by the thick carpet of fallen leaves. A sudden chill crept up his spine, as though the very forest was alive, watching him.
He paused as a strange glow flickered through the trees pale and cold, like the light of a dying star. His heart skipped a beat. The source was nowhere in sight, but it danced and flickered, casting an unsettling light on the forest floor. In the faint glow, Valen noticed symbols carved into the bark of nearby trees, worn with age yet unmistakable: strange, angular marks that seemed to pulse with a faint, eerie energy.
A shrill cry broke through the silence, a voice more desperate than the others: "Pomosha!" It echoed in a language older than any Valen knew. The ground beneath his feet trembled, as if something ancient, something forgotten, was waking.
The forest seemed to close in on him. Every shadow felt like a watching eye, and every rustle in the underbrush hinted at something moving just out of view. Valen's breath quickened, his instincts screaming that he was not alone. Yet, all around him, the forest remained still, as if holding its breath.
As Valen closed his eyes, the whispers of the forest seemed to grow louder, a cacophony of voices pressing in on him. Yet, when he opened them again, he found himself standing on solid ground, far removed from the eerie shadows and tortured cries of the Whispering Forest.
He was no longer surrounded by the twisting trees and oppressive atmosphere. Instead, he stood on the edge of a high cliff, overlooking the winding river below. The river's current flowed gently, its surface reflecting the fading light of the evening sky. The familiar scent of fresh water and damp earth filled his lungs. He felt the cool breeze on his skin, and the rhythmic sound of the water crashing against the rocks below brought him a strange sense of calm.
It was as though he had been transported in an instant, without any trace of magic, as if the forest had released its hold on him without a trace. The stillness of the scene before him felt almost too serene after the chaos he'd just left behind.
Valen took a deep breath, blinking in disbelief. His fingers brushed against the stone of the cliff, grounding him in the moment. He had been coming to this place for years, always fishing in solitude by the river, but tonight, something felt different. It was as if the forest had known he was leaving, as though it had relinquished its grip, allowing him to escape without warning.
The familiar sight of his old fishing spotweathered and worn over the years was a stark contrast to the foreboding depths of the forest. The evening's quiet embrace seemed to mock the horrors he'd just experienced. Still, as he gazed down at the river, he couldn't shake the feeling that something, or someone, had been watching him, even here.
He sighed, sitting down on a flat rock by the edge of the cliff. He was safe, for now. But the questions lingered, and the echoes of the forest seemed to follow him still, like a shadow that refused to fade...
Without hesitation, Valen leaped from the cliff's edge, his body slicing through the air with a precision that seemed unnatural. He hit the surface of the river below with barely a ripple, as if the water had swallowed him whole without protest. There was no splash, no disturbance in the stillness of the water, just the quiet embrace of the cold current. He swam through the darkening depths, his movements smooth and effortless, before his hand grasped the thick, damp grass at the riverbank. With one swift motion, he propelled himself from the water, standing tall, the river's coolness dripping from his clothes.
He was in no mood to pause. He walked forward without a glance back, his feet finding their way to the flower-strewn field. The flowers here were unlike any he'd seen before twisted, vibrant, and unsettling. They were red, but not the bright red of life; their petals were the deep crimson of a moon that never fully set, the color of blood spilled in darkness. These were the Flowers of Death, blooming in a field that seemed to stretch endlessly before him.
The air was thick with their scent, sharp and sickly sweet, but it was the singing that caught his attention. A haunting melody drifted through the air, the same whispers from the forest he had just left. The sound of distant voices soft, melodic, yet twisted with agony seemed to echo from the very ground itself. He didn't flinch as he stepped forward, his boots crunching softly against the red petals, feeling as though the earth itself sighed beneath his weight.
Each step he took through the ocean of flowers seemed to push him further into the unknown. The air around him grew heavier, as though the flowers themselves were watching, judging him. Yet, there was no hesitation in Valen's movements. He kept his gaze fixed ahead, pushing through the thick sea of deathly blooms.
And then, as though some invisible boundary had been crossed, he emerged from the field. The singing faded away, replaced by the familiar silence of the road that led to his mansion. The towering structure loomed in the distance, its silhouette stark against the twilight sky. The path was well~known to him long and winding, yet always leading home. But tonight, it seemed different, somehow....
The road to the old estate was long and silent, save for the whispering wind and the distant howls of unseen creatures. The sky overhead was a sickly gray, shrouded in thick clouds that refused to part, as if even the heavens turned their gaze from the forsaken land near the Greatest Abyss.
Valen rode in grim silence, his fingers curled around the hilt of Crimson, still strapped to his back. The weapon had not spoken since he left Orlen's forge, yet its presence lingered at the edge of his mind a gnawing sensation, like a voice just beyond hearing. The air around the blade felt colder, heavier, as though reality itself bent under its weight.
The old estate loomed in the distance, its once-grand spires now reduced to jagged ruins. Ivy strangled the broken stone, and the great iron gate lay twisted and half-buried in the earth. Smoke curled from the shattered windows, and the guttural snarls of goblins echoed through the hollow halls.
Valen dismounted, his boots crunching against the frostbitten grass. The goblins had taken more than his home they had defiled it, scrawling crude symbols in blood across the walls. His fingers twitched. The sword pulsed.
Stepping forward, he unsheathed Crimson.
The blade shimmered, its violet scales shifting like the skin of a living thing. The gem in the hilt throbbed, eager. A shadow crawled along the edges of Valen's vision, and the whispers returned, faint but insistent.
More...
Valen pushed the voices aside and advanced into the ruins.
The first goblin never saw him coming. A single, fluid strike and Crimson carved through its flesh like silk. The blade passed through skin and bone with terrifying ease, the cut so clean the goblin remained standing for a breathless moment before collapsing. But as the creature fell, the sword drank.
A cold shock shot through Valen's arm. The blade pulsed, its gem flashing with a deep crimson glow, and he felt it—the life leaving the goblin, flowing into the sword. The corpse shriveled, skin turning gray and taut over bone. Valen stumbled back, his breath ragged.
The whispers surged. More. More.
The goblins had heard the death cry of their kin. They poured from the ruins, chittering in their guttural tongue, rusted blades raised. Valen tightened his grip. He could feel the hunger in Crimson, pulsing through his veins like a second heartbeat.
A goblin lunged. Valen twisted his body, sidestepping the clumsy attack before driving Crimson upward, piercing through its ribcage. The creature gasped, its breath hitching, before the sword fed. Energy surged through Valen's arm, invigorating him, making his senses sharper. The goblin withered in his grasp, its eyes rolling back into its skull.
Another came from the side. Valen ducked low, sweeping his blade in a vicious arc. Crimson tore through tendon and flesh, severing the goblin's leg at the knee. It shrieked, falling to the dirt, but Valen did not hesitate. He brought the sword down, silencing it.
A third enemy charged from behind. Without thinking, Valen whirled around, Crimson moving faster than his mind. The goblin's head separated from its body in an instant, rolling across the ruined stone floor.
Blood sprayed across the battlefield, but Crimson did not let a single drop touch the ground.
It absorbed everything.
Valen's breathing grew erratic. His limbs burned, not with exhaustion, but with something else—something deep, something primal. His strikes became more savage, his movements less controlled. He felt stronger, faster, but the whispers twisted into something darker. The world blurred at the edges, shadows writhing around him.
A goblin lunged. Valen impaled it, but as he did, he felt something push back. For a split second, he was not holding the sword. The sword was holding him.
He gasped and wrenched himself free. The last goblin fled, screaming into the trees. The ruins fell silent, save for the drip of blood on stone. Valen stood amid the carnage, his chest heaving. He looked down at Crimson.
The blade pulsed, satisfied.
Valen was not.
He had won the battle. But for the first time, he questioned if he had truly fought it alone.
Val wandered through the ruins of his former estate, his footsteps echoing against the hollow remains of a life long lost. The air was thick with the scent of decay and forgotten memories, the moon casting fractured beams through the skeletal remains of the once-proud mansion. Unbeknownst to him, a shadow slithered in his wake...a cat, black as the abyss, its body shifting like living darkness. Its fur did not merely absorb the light but devoured it, rippling like ink spilled upon the night.
Twin golden eyes burned in its spectral face, gleaming like molten gold, unblinking, relentless. A long tail trailed behind it, flickering at the edges like a flame wrought from shadow, curling and twisting as if it had a will of its own. The creature moved without a sound, its presence a whisper of something ancient, something patient. It watched, waiting, as if it alone knew the fate that lurked beyond the veil of night.
"You have a nice sword," purred a voice, rich and smooth like silk spun in darkness.
Valen barely had time to react before the shifting shadow at his feet twisted, unraveling into something else something not quite human. Where once had been the black cat now stood a woman, draped in a flowing dress darker than midnight, its fabric shifting like liquid shadow. Her skin was pale, almost unnatural, like polished ivory or moonlit bone. But it was her eyes that held him frozen, golden blazing like twin suns in the abyss, brimming with something ancient and knowing.
At the sound of her voice, Valen jerked back, his hand instinctively closing around the hilt of his sword. Steel sang as he drew it, the blade catching the fractured moonlight.
"Who are you?!" he demanded, his voice sharp with caution.
The woman only smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips, as if his fear amused her.
"Who am I, you ask?" Her voice was a whisper and a roar, layered with echoes of things long dead. "I am the future and the past."
Even as she spoke, her form unraveled, dissolving into the surrounding darkness. The shadows behind Valen stirred, coiling like living smoke, and before he could react, she was there too close, too sudden.
"I am the thing your kind calls Death."
The words slithered through the cold air, sinking into his bones like an unshakable truth. The golden light of her eyes burned brighter, twin embers in the abyss, watching him with something between amusement and hunger.
Valen's grip on his sword tightened. His breath was steady, but his heart pounded against his ribs.
"Death?" He forced the word out, though it felt absurd on his tongue. "If that were true, I'd be dead already."
The woman Death smiled, slow and knowing.
"Perhaps."
Death's smile lingered, sharp as a dagger's edge. "But I didn't come here for you."
Her golden gaze flicked past him, tracing the ruins, the blood that still clung to the broken stone. "You killed those goblins, didn't you?" She tilted her head slightly, as if considering something unseen. "And those women… oh."
A slow realization dawned across her face, and for the first time, something akin to understanding perhaps even amusement touched her voice.
"I see."
Her laughter was soft, a sound like dry leaves stirring in the wind, as if she had just stumbled upon some private joke. She took a step closer, the air around her growing colder.
"Tell me, Valen…" Her voice curled around his name like silk and smoke. "Do you fear me?"
"Should I?" Valen asked, though his throat tightened as he swallowed, his mouth dry despite the damp night air.
Death's smile deepened, her golden eyes flickering like dying stars. "Of course you shouldn't," she purred.
She lifted a hand, and the shadows around her stirred, writhing like living things. "Fear is for those who still have something to lose." Her fingers traced the air, and for the briefest moment, Valen swore he saw faces in the darkness twisted, silent, watching.
"Do you?" she asked, her voice softer now, almost gentle. "Have something left to lose?"
The air between them was cold, heavy with unspoken truths. Valen's grip on his sword tightened.
"I have nothing left to lose," Valen answered, his voice steady, though his fingers curled tightly around the hilt of his sword. "Perhaps only this blade remains."
Death watched him for a moment, unreadable, then inclined her head ever so slightly. "Then you have no reason to fear me."
A silence stretched between them, thick as the night. Then, almost idly, she murmured, "I hope those women, slain by those goblins, will find peace… thanks to you."
Her words hung in the cold air, and though they carried no accusation, something in them felt heavier than steel. The golden glow of her eyes dimmed, as if she were gazing past him—beyond the ruins, beyond the world itself.
Valen swallowed hard. "And will they?"
Death's lips curled into something that was not quite a smile. "Perhaps."
"Did they have something to lose?" Death's voice was softer now, almost a whisper, yet it coiled around Valen like unseen chains.
A chill ran down his spine as she stepped closer. The air thickened, heavy with something he couldn't name. Sweat beaded at his brow despite the cold. Then, just beside his ear, a voice silk and shadow brushed against him like a phantom's touch.
"I hope not."
Before he could react, she was behind him, her presence like a fading dream. Valen's fingers tightened around his sword, but his grip felt hollow. His breath was slow, measured.
"I don't know," he admitted, the words feeling too small, too fragile.
A pause. Then, as if amused by his answer, she murmured, "Me either."
The darkness around her shifted, unraveling, folding into itself. Her form withered, collapsing into liquid shadow, and where once stood the woman, now a cat remained its golden eyes the last to fade before it slipped into the night. A trace of glimmering dust lingered in the air, swirling like dying embers, then vanished into nothingness.
And Valen was alone once more.
Val exhaled slowly, his fingers loosening from the hilt of his sword. The weight of the encounter still clung to him like a cold mist, but the presence of Death had faded, leaving only silence and the distant howl of the wind through the ruins.
He cast one last glance at the spot where she had vanished, at the lingering trace of shimmering dust now dissolving into the night. A shiver crawled up his spine.
"I should go back to Orlen," he whispered to himself, his voice barely louder than the wind. "Maybe he will know more about this."
Turning away from the ruins, he adjusted the sword at his hip and stepped into the darkness, his path uncertain but no longer alone in the knowledge that something, or someone, was watching....
Valen was walking through the same forest he had passed through on his way to his old mansion. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, the twisted branches above forming a skeletal canopy that let only slivers of moonlight pierce through. The echoes of his own footsteps followed him, blending with the distant howls of unseen beasts.
His mind lingered on the encounter he had just left behind the woman who was more shadow than flesh, who had whispered of death as if it were merely another passing wind. He gripped his sword tighter, its familiar weight the only thing keeping him grounded.
As he emerged from the trees and onto the open plains, the cold wind bit at his skin. He followed the familiar path along the cliffs, the ground beneath him uneven and jagged. He was making his way back to Orlen, though doubt gnawed at him would the old man truly have the answers he sought?
That was when he spotted them.
At first, they looked like a group of lost children, gathered near the base of the cliffs. But as he drew closer, something felt... off. Their posture, the way they carried themselves, the sharpness in their eyes, they weren't ordinary.
Valen stopped a few steps away, hand near his sword.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice firm but not yet threatening.
The tallest among them, a horned boy with wild blue hair and golden eyes, smirked as he rested his hand on the hilt of his own blade.
"We could ask you the same thing."
"I was doing what Orlen ordered me to do," Valen replied, his voice steady as he slowly approached the group. His eyes flicked over them, taking in every detail their worn but well-kept clothing, the weapons at their sides, the strange mix of features that marked them as something other than ordinary humans.
The horned boy tilted his head, his sharp golden eyes narrowing. "Orlen?" he echoed, exchanging glances with the others. "Never heard of him."
A small figure, cloaked in dark robes with glimmering yellow eyes, stepped forward. The flickering glow of an enchanted lantern dangled from their staff, casting eerie shadows. "You don't belong here, swordsman," the cat-like figure murmured. "This land isn't for outsiders."
Valen exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the encounter settle over him. "And yet, here I am," he said. "Same as you."
The tension in the air thickened, a silent understanding passing between them. Whoever these people were, they weren't mere wanderers. And if they didn't know Orlen, that meant Valen was further from his path than he thought.
"What is this place?" Valen asked, his voice firm but laced with unease.
The red-skinned one short but wiry, with curved horns and ember-like eyes grinned, revealing sharp teeth.
"It's a Death Den," he said, his voice carrying a strange mix of amusement and reverence. "We're here to repay what we took from her."
Valen's grip on his sword instinctively tightened. "Her?" he echoed, though he already suspected the answer.
The horned boy chuckled darkly. "Death doesn't give without a price. You should know that by now."
Valen's mind flashed back to his encounter in the ruins the golden-eyed woman, her whisper like a blade against his ear. The weight of her words still clung to him like a curse.
"And what exactly did you take?" he asked.
The group exchanged glances, their expressions shifting between curiosity and wariness. The cat-eyed one, still half-shrouded in shadow, finally spoke.
"The right to live."
"We, the Clan of the Blue Fangs, are here to give it back," the red-skinned one continued, his ember-like eyes locked onto Valen's. "I hope you won't try to stop us."
Valen studied them in silence. The way they stood, the way their words carried weight it was clear they weren't just reckless wanderers. Whatever debt they owed to Death, they were prepared to pay it.
"I have no reason to interfere," he finally said, his voice even. "But tell me what happens if you fail?"
The horned boy smirked, though there was no real amusement in it. "Then we don't leave this place."
A cold wind passed between them, carrying the distant howl of something inhuman from deep within the ruins.
The frog-like one, standing slightly behind the others, blinked his wide, reflective eyes in surprise. His webbed fingers twitched slightly as he studied Valen, as if expecting a different reaction.
"You're not going to stop us?" he croaked, his voice carrying both suspicion and disbelief.
Valen met his gaze, unfazed. "I have no reason to," he said simply. "If you owe Death a debt, it's yours to settle."
The group exchanged glances. The horned boy chuckled under his breath, while the red-skinned one smirked as if entertained by Valen's indifference. But the frog-man frowned, shifting uneasily.
"Most would call us mad," he murmured. "Or try to stop us out of fear."
Valen exhaled slowly. "I've met her."
Silence fell over the group. Even the cat eyed one, who had remained eerily calm, tilted his head in intrigue.
The frog-man gulped, his throat bobbing. "Then you should know... there's no guarantee she'll let us leave."
Valen nodded. "There never is."
Valen exhaled, his gaze steady as he looked at the frog-man. "But don't worry," he said, his voice calm, almost distant. "If you don't have anything to lose, she will leave you alone."
The group fell silent. The horned boy's smirk faltered for a moment, the red-skinned one narrowed his eyes, and the cat eyed figure simply observed, unreadable as ever.
The frog-man swallowed hard. "And if we do?"
Valen's expression didn't change. "Then you'll find out what price she truly asks for."
The wind howled through the Death Den, stirring the dust at their feet. For a moment, none of them spoke. They all understood, whether they admitted it or not Death never truly let go of those who owed her.
Valen adjusted the strap of his sword and took a step back. "I've got to go, guys. I wish you good luck and hope for your return." His voice carried a rare sincerity, though his expression remained unreadable.
He turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder. "By the way! if you make it out of this, visit a village named Restall. There's a good man there Orlen, as I mentioned before. He can repair your swords or forge new ones. And who knows..." Valen paused, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "He might even become a good friend of yours someday."
With that, he walked away, his figure soon fading into the mist and shadows, leaving the Blue Fangs standing in the heart of the Death Den, the weight of his words lingering in the air.
Valen walked through the forest for hours, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him like an unseen force. The twisted trees stretched endlessly before him, their skeletal branches clawing at the sky. It felt less like a journey and more like an endless descent an eternal road leading straight into the abyss.
He walked and walked, his steps growing heavier with each passing moment. The whispers of the wind became distorted, almost like voices calling from the dark. His vision blurred, his body weakening. He closed his eyes for just a moment… and then everything faded to black.
Three days passed.
Orlen found him collapsed on the forest floor, barely breathing, his body cold as if death had already claimed him. Without hesitation, the old blacksmith carried Valen back to the village of Restall, where he was tended to with care. But he did not wake.
For two weeks, Valen remained trapped in restless sleep, his body unmoving, his mind lost in dreams or nightmares.
When he finally opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Orlen, his face lined with concern. The old man leaned back with a sigh of relief. "You're finally awake."
Valen tried to sit up, but his limbs were sluggish, his body weak. He frowned. "How long...?"
"Two weeks," Orlen answered. Then his expression darkened. "While you slept, I found a death mark on your body"
Valen blinked. He searched his mind, tried to recall but there was nothing. Just emptiness.
"I don't remember anything," he murmured.
Valen's vision blurred again, darkness creeping in at the edges. His body felt impossibly heavy, his strength slipping away like sand through his fingers.
"Valen! Hold on a minute!" Orlen's voice rang out, firm but laced with concern.
Valen tried to respond, to push himself up, but his limbs refused to obey. The world around him swayed, Orlen's figure becoming a hazy silhouette against the dim candlelight.
Then, just like before.... everything went black.
Three days had passed since Valen first fell into his deep slumber. The days stretched into weeks two and a half, then nearly three. The rain began to fall, heavy and unrelenting, drumming against the roof of Orlen's home like an unbroken dirge. Thunder growled in the distance, splitting the sky with jagged veins of light.
Orlen sat beside Valen's bed, watching over him like a father over a dying son. He murmured softly to himself, fingers tightening around the old wooden chair. "Val, my child… wake up."
But the warrior did not stir.
Another five days passed, vanishing like breath on glass. The sun finally emerged after nearly a month of unending storms, its golden light piercing through the shutters, casting long shadows across the room.
The sword Valen's blade rested near his bedside. Its darkened steel shimmered in the morning glow. And then, in a voice Valen had never truly heard before, it spoke.
"Master… wake up."
Crimson, the cursed blade, called out to him. Until now, it had been nothing more than a whisper in his dreams a presence gnawing at the edges of his mind, urging him toward violence, toward slaughter. But now… it had a voice. Real. Cold. Commanding.
Valen's eyes snapped open.
His breath was shallow, his body sluggish from weeks of stillness, but his gaze darted immediately to the sword and then to the window, where sunlight streamed in like an omen.
Orlen was nowhere to be seen.
Minutes passed, each one slower than the last. Then, footsteps heavy, hurried. The door swung open, and there stood Orlen, a bowl of steaming soup in his hands. His weathered face paled, his eyes widening as if he had seen a ghost.
"Val… you're alive," Orlen whispered, disbelief thick in his voice. Then, as if shaking himself from a trance, he moved quickly to the bedside, pressing the bowl into Valen's hands. "Eat. You need it."
Valen hesitated only for a moment before obeying. The hunger clawed at him, a deep, primal need. He devoured the soup like a starving wolf, the warmth seeping through his body, awakening his senses.
Between ragged breaths, he finally asked, "How long?"
Orlen sighed. "Four weeks, Val. You need to rest now. Eat slowly."
But Valen had no patience for rest. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes burning with something more than hunger.
"I need to leave soon," he muttered. "That's why I came to you in the first place to have you repair my sword. I need to find the Champion of Eruyland."
Orlen stiffened at those words, his brow furrowing. "And what then, Val? Kill him?"
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Valen met the blacksmith's gaze without hesitation. "I have to."
Orlen shook his head slowly. "You do know that Champions are nearly immortal, don't you?"
"I know." Valen's fingers curled into fists, his voice unshaken. "But I have no choice. It was my contract… with the old hag, Rahul."
Orlen exhaled, rubbing his temples. The storm outside had passed, but inside this house, inside Valen's eyes, the storm still raged.
Orlen sighed deeply, his fingers tightening around the edges of his chair. "I understand that. I really do. But where will you find him?"
Valen didn't hesitate. "In the Abyss, of course."
Like a thunderstorm rising from the horizon, Orlen surged forward, grabbing Valen's wrist in a firm, almost desperate grip. His voice, though measured, crackled with restrained fury. "There are beings there that even I do not understand. And you still want to go?"
Valen's expression hardened. "Then what should I do? Give up?"
Orlen's grip tightened for a moment before he exhaled sharply. "No, of course not. You can't give up. But there are plenty of different contracts. And in my 127 years of life, I have never seen someone take on a contract to kill a Champion let alone someone like you."
Valen's eyes darkened. His voice was steady, but there was a quiet fury beneath it. "Rahul said he will tell me who killed my whole family."
Orlen's face twisted with concern. He released Valen's wrist, stepping back slightly. "And you believe him?"
Valen exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Of course not. But do I have any other options? We searched for thirty years and found nothing. Then Rahul appears...out of nowhere....claiming to know something. He even said I would know the truth instantly after meeting this Champion."
Orlen's jaw clenched, his gaze flickering with something between frustration and pity. "And that doesn't sound suspicious to you?"
Valen let out a bitter laugh, one that carried more pain than humor. "Of course it sounds off. Do you think I have any other choice? Do you think I can go on just slaying orcs and, on occasion, a dragon? No, I can't. So tell me, what do I do now? Give up? Stay here while the answers to my questions wait for me in the darkness?"
His breath was ragged now, his hands trembling as he gritted his teeth. "Why? Why did they have to die? Why does it still hurt to be alive, to keep going forward? Why do I have to suffer while they have already met the Creator?"
His voice cracked, and for the first time in years, Valen broke down.
Orlen stood still, watching the warrior who had always seemed unbreakable crumble before him. He had no answer to Valen's pain, only silence.
Finally, Orlen exhaled, his voice softer now. "Okay… I will help you with this."
He crossed his arms, his expression grave but resolute. "First, I'll ask my friend Luca to prepare some mana potions for you and some blood. Who knows how long you'll be out there? But remember this… I'll be waiting for you."
A single tear welled in Orlen's eye, but he turned away before Valen could see. His voice was steady when he spoke again. "Even though you're an annoying brat, I still see you as a friend."
Valen watched as Orlen walked toward the door, his shoulders stiff, his back straight.
"I hope you find your answers," he said, then stepped outside, leaving Valen with nothing but his thoughts… and his blade...
Valen sat on the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. The cold seeped into his body, but it was nothing new. Slowly, he rose and walked to the window, opening it with a quiet creak. The icy air rushed in, wrapping around him like a ghostly hand touching his chest. He drew in a deep breath not for the oxygen, but for the memory of the life he was leaving behind...
After a moment, he turned around and grasped his sword, his gaze settling on the blade with quiet pride. It was the only thing he would take with him the last remnant of his only friend, Orlen. Though his heart resisted leaving the village, he knew he had no choice. Only by walking this path would he uncover the truth behind his family's death.
He stepped through the door and saw Orlen talking with Luca.
"Hey, Valen, come here. Luca will explain what you need," Orlen called out.
The two stood near an alchemy table outside Luca's house, bathed in the golden light of the sun. The scent of herbs and simmering potions filled the warm air, mingling with the distant clang of a blacksmith's hammer. Dust swirled in the breeze as Luca turned to face him, a knowing look in his eyes.
"I heard you're going to the Abyss," Luca said, his voice calm but edged with curiosity. He paused for a moment before adding, "Is that true?"
His gaze was sharp, studying Valen as if searching for hesitation. The alchemy table between them was cluttered with vials, herbs, and strange glowing liquids, their faint fumes curling into the warm daylight. Orlen crossed his arms, waiting for Valen's response.
"Yes, I told Orlen everything. He understands me… I guess," Valen replied, his voice steady but distant.
A sudden gust of wind howled through the village, lifting whirlwinds of dry leaves into the air. Birds scattered from the rooftops in startled flight, while butterflies were tossed like fragile petals, carried away by the unseen force. The world itself seemed to shudder, as if sensing the weight of Valen's decision.
"Okay, listen, young one. You'll need some potions, especially mana ones the Abyss sucks mana like black magic," Luca said, his tone firm.
He paused for a moment before adding, "Orlen told me he'll give you mana crystals too, so you'll be safe… at least when it comes to mana."
Luca reached for a small leather pouch on the alchemy table, the faint glow of enchanted vials casting eerie reflections on his fingers. The air was thick with the scent of brewed herbs and arcane energy, as if the very earth whispered warnings about the path Valen was about to take.
Orlen stepped forward, his expression serious. "And remember," he said, "if you find a messenger, write a letter and tell him to bring it to this village. That way, we'll know you're still breathing."
His words carried both concern and a silent plea. The wind picked up again, rustling the parchment in his hand before he tucked it away. Luca remained quiet, observing Valen as if trying to memorize him just in case he never came back.
"I was there once… in the Abyss," Luca said, his voice lower now, almost distant. He paused for a moment, his gaze darkening. "It was years ago, but I still remember the Death Watchers."
The air between them grew heavier as he continued, "You better be careful watch what you say and what you do. They see more than just flesh and bone."
A shadow seemed to pass over Luca's face, as if he were recalling something he wished he could forget. Orlen shifted uneasily, but said nothing. The wind had died down, leaving only the quiet hum of distant life a stark contrast to the suffocating silence Luca spoke of.
Orlen handed Valen a sturdy backpack, the leather straps worn but reliable. "Here, take this," he said. "I've packed some extra things for you animal blood, some clothes, and…meatballs."
He gave a small, lopsided smile, trying to mask the concern in his eyes. "Figured you'd need something decent to eat"
The weight of the bag settled on Valen's shoulders, heavier than it should have been. Not because of its contents, but because of what it represented a final gesture of friendship before he stepped into the unknown.
Valen took a step back, his figure retreating into the sunlight, his presence fading like a shadow dissolving into the day. He raised a hand, letting the wind carry his silent farewell.
"Remember about the messenger!" Orlen called out, his voice firm but tinged with worry.
"I will!" Valen shouted back without turning, his words swept away by the breeze as he disappeared beyond the horizon.
Orlen exhaled slowly, watching Valen disappear into the distance. Then, without looking at Luca, he muttered, "You better tell Abby to pray for his safe return."
Luca didn't respond immediately. He simply stared at the spot where Valen had vanished, the weight of unspoken fears settling between them. Finally, he sighed and nodded. "She already does."
And so, Valen set off on his journey to the Greatest Abyss. He did not know when or if he would return. The path ahead was uncertain, shrouded in mystery and danger, but he had no choice.
A contract bound him, one given by Rahul himself. The Champion of Eruyland was waiting for his own death. Whether this journey would lead to answers or only more darkness, Valen would soon find out...
Soon Valen walked toward the Great Abyss, passing places that once held meaning for him. He stopped at the Hill of Emptiness where his parents' bones rested. The wind carried the hushed whispers of dry leaf's, and the sun cast its pale glow upon the runes carved into the stones, worn by time. This was where he always came to release the pain eating his heart.
"Mother… Father…" he whispered, stepping closer. "Soon, I will learn who killed my brothers and sisters."
He said while placing a hand on the graves.
With a quiet rasp, he unsheathed a dagger with a silver blade. Sun light flickered along its edge as he raised it over his palm. Drawing a breath, he uttered the ancient prayer of his clan
"Syt tej agord… mja ty nime prowd…"
The blade sliced through his flesh, and dark blood trickled onto the barren earth.
"Dear Mother, dear Father… I offer you my blood…"
Tap… tap… tap… tap...
Drops struck the stone, their sound swallowed by the silence. Valen closed his eyes. He waited.
But no answer came.
He opened his eyes, wiping the blood away. Tearing the hem of his cloak, he wrapped his wound and rose. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword as he lifted it toward the sky, as if waiting for a sign. But the wind remained silent, granting him no solace. At last, he sheathed his blade and turned away, stepping toward the cliff's edge.
The tunnel below called him into the darkness...
Descending from the cliff, he heard a voice a whisper carried by the wind, unfamiliar yet strangely recognizable.
Val halted and glanced over his shoulder. She was there. Again. A chill ran down his spine, just like the day he had visited his old home. Death. This time, she said nothing. She merely stood still before turning toward him and vanishing. Her golden eyes, once radiant, now seemed...empty, stripped of their former light, as if someone or something had stolen the last traces of warmth from them....
Val exhaled sharply and pressed forward. Only one destination mattered now The Greatest Abyss.... More precisely, the Northern Desert, where rumors spoke of a small town called Rekka. Perhaps it still stood. Or perhaps only ruins remained. In the Abyss, time flowed differently. What existed yesterday might already be nothing more than dust, scattered by the wind....
A minute passed. Maybe three or even four.
Val had reached his destination the tunnel before the Abyss. A sudden gust of wind howled through the desolate expanse, carrying with it an ominous weight, as if something unseen was approaching.
Wshhhhhh
He shielded his face as the wind lashed against him, grains of sand stinging his eyes, as though the very abyss itself asked him to turn back.
He stepped forward. There was no return now.
The moment he entered the tunnel, the darkness consumed him. It was vast, oppressive like standing at the heart of the Abyss itself. Time distorted here. Minutes stretched into eternity. A single step felt like an endless journey. Though he had barely walked thirty meters, it seemed as though he had crossed an immeasurable chasm. Another twenty meters, and he reached something unnatural an undulating wall of shifting purple and green light, rippling like liquid disturbed by an unseen force.
He paused....Ate a single meatball. Drank the mana potion Luca had gifted him. Then, without hesitation, he stepped through the shimmering veil.
Laughter greeted him. Whispers, broken and scattered.
"Turn back."
"We don't want you here."
The voices wove through the air, snickering between their warnings. Then light. At first distant, then rushing toward him with malevolent intent.
A lizard with a crystal on his back.
Val's grip tightened around his sword Crimson. He swung, but before the blade could strike, it absorbed the creature's mana as if siphoning life itself. The lizard shrieked and withered into nothing.
Stunned, Val stared at his weapon.
"Since when could you do that?" he muttered.
The sword didn't answer. But for the briefest moment, it pulsed with a faint green glow.
Val exhaled and narrowed his eyes.
"Orlen… is there something you didn't tell me about that crystal you forged into this blade?"
He whispered to himself as he pressed forward, sword still drawn, ready for whatever lurked beyond the light...
Valen walked toward the light, which slowly began to grow larger. It remained bright....brighter.....until.... he emerged from the tunnel.
He found himself in a clearing covered in swamps and crocodiles. Beyond that, he could see nothing. A thick fog hung over the land, and an immense cold ruled the air.
Val used his fire magic to warm himself, for only a moment.
"Fire," he said, and flames burst from his hand, warming his cold face...
Valen scanned the murky depths of the swamp, but aside from the wildlife he might later hunt, nothing stood out.
"I should find shelter and get some rest... even for a while," he whispered to himself, heading to the right.
There, he noticed an enormous tree almost alive, yet completely still. As he approached, something unusual caught his eye. A face. Its eyes, though closed, seemed to slumber rather than remain lifeless.
It was unlike anything Valen had ever seen. Intrigued, he gave the tree a cautious prod with his sword.
Slowly, the eyes opened. A deep, ancient voice rumbled through the mist.
"Who dares to wake the holy Eruk?"
"I didn't know you were alive… I'm sorry," Valen said, keeping his sword at the ready.
Eruk's voice thundered through the swamp.
"Where did you get that sword? Who forged it?!"
Valen glanced down at the blade.
"Oh, this one?" he asked.
Eruk let out an irritated growl.
"What other sword, you fool? Are you an idiot or what?"
"No, of course not!" Valen snapped. "This is Crimson. My companion. It was forged by Orlen, my friend."
"Orlen, you say? Where is he? Who is he? And how does he know how to forge a demonic blade?" Eruk bombarded him with questions.
Valen interrupted, his grip tightening on the sword.
"Demonic?" he asked.
"Yes, demonic. Especially that crystal," Eruk said, his voice heavy with meaning.
"I know nothing about that. You'd have to ask Orlen yourself," Valen replied. "But he's in his village....Restall."
Then, after a brief pause, he added, "I have a question of my own… What exactly are you?"
"I am the Great Tree of Wisdom from the Night Swamps. Here, we never see the light… and yet, I am here. I live. I thrive. Unlike my sisters, who dwell somewhere beneath the light," Eruk said.
Then, after a moment, he added, "I would like to see a little light....." Gazing at the sky
His gaze shifted to Valen's hand.
"You wield magic?" he asked. "Where do you come from? Where are you going? What is your name?"
"I am Valen. You can call me Val doesn't matter to me," he said, his voice steady. "My goal? I can't reveal that, unfortunately. I don't know what your intentions are. Besides, I'm only here for a short while."
Valen turned for a moment, his gaze shifting to the other trees in the distance. These ones were different normal, yet far larger. Without hesitation, he quickened his pace, moving toward them.
Behind him, Eruk's voice thundered.
"Do not leave! Stay for a while!"
But Valen ignored his calls. He pressed forward, finding a quiet place among the towering trees. There, exhaustion took hold, and he drifted into sleep two hours, perhaps maybe even three.
Who could say? Time flowed differently here, and without the sun, he had no way of knowing.
Valen was jolted awake by Eruk's voice—more like an off-key, wailing attempt at a song.
"You here, you here, heeereee," Eruk hummed, repeating the same off-tune melody over and over.
Valen's ears ached until he finally snapped.
"Shut that damn mouth, I beg you!" he yelled.
Eruk fell silent.
For a moment, the wind picked up, whispering through the trees as if something was approaching… but nothing came. Instead, Eruk resumed his wailing louder, and louder, and louder still.
Valen had enough. He drew his sword, channeling fire magic into the blade. With a swift slash, a stream of flames cut through the mist, striking the ground just beside Eruk's roots.
"Next time, it will be you," Valen warned before lying back down.
This time, Eruk stayed silent for good.
"Ughhh," Valen yawn as he slowly woke, the fog of sleep lifting after what felt like eight hours.
He rose to his feet, channeling fire magic into his palm to chase away the lingering chill. With a determined glance ahead, he moved deeper into the unknown....
Val had been walking for hours, his body numb to fatigue or hunger, but his throat dry with an unrelenting thirst. Though the swamp surrounded him, he knew the water here could be poison, a fatal temptation. The mist pressed in, suffocating, obscuring his vision to barely a five feet ahead. The chill in the air grew sharper as he pressed on. The Great Abyss loomed ever-changing, its Temperature shifting into cold, treacherous paths.
He walked, and walked, until at last, he found himself upon a road paved with flowers. A strange, haunting beauty, it was, covered in roses, tulips, and blooms he had never seen before. The fog curled around his ankles, swirling like restless spirits. Above, the sun was hidden behind some clouds, its pale light casting a ghostly glow upon the scene. Silence enveloped him except for the faintest whispers, soft as the fluffy pancakes. They seemed to come from all directions, as if the flowers themselves were speaking....
Val gripped his sword tightly, every sense alert. He could feel the weight of something waiting in the air, an unknown presence, as if the very land itself was alive and watching. Whatever awaited him here, he would be ready.
The earth trembled, faintly yet unmistakably. The mist lifted slightly, only to fall again, this time settling back to ankle height. A gust of wind swept through the land, the whispers fading into eerie silence. But then, a sound a growl, low and guttural rose from every direction, as if a beast of nightmares was drawing near. The noise died as quickly as it came, leaving only the stillness behind.
Val's senses screamed that something was amiss. His grip tightened around his sword as he pulled it free from its sheath. With deliberate calm, he planted his feet and stretched his hand to the earth, channeling his magic. A faint glow flickered beneath his fingers as he traced a protective circle in the ground, the ancient symbols of warding materializing in the dirt.
He turned slowly, eyes scanning the fog like abyss before him. All he saw were the flowers, their bright colors at odds with the growing sense of danger, and distant trees, their twisted branches looming like silent death. Whatever was protecting this place, it was watching him....
wind stopped for a moment, leaving the air silent. Then, as if summoned by the silence, a massive roar shattered the quiet, echoing off the distant trees. The sound seemed to ripple through the mist, designed to instill fear, to rattle even the most hardened of warriors. But Val stood still, his jaw clenched, his grip on the hilt of his sword unyielding. He did not flinch, not an inch.
The flame of his magic, flickering in the air, began to wane, growing dimmer with each passing second, its power slowly ebbing away. Yet Val's resolve only hardened. He had faced horrors far worse than this.
Without warning, a monstrous shape tore through the fog, its massive form cutting through the mist like a predator on the hunt. The creature barreled toward Valen with terrifying speed, its presence enough to freeze the very air around him.
It was a hulking nightmare born from the cursed heart of a forgotten world. Its grotesque frame an impossible amalgamation of muscle and stone seemed to defy the very laws of nature. Each muscle strained beneath its skin, pulsing with a barely contained, maddened fury. Towering, jagged horns curled from its skull, blackened and scorched as though blasted by infernal flames, their tips gleaming with an eerie, otherworldly glow. Spikes of obsidian bone protruded from its back, a jagged, molten crown that glimmered with veins of smoldering crimson, as though the beast had been birthed in the heart of a volcano, forged from hellish fire and rage.
Its fur, a matted and tangled mess of blood-red and soot-black, clung to its limbs like a curse, the crimson hue faintly glowing as though fueled by an inner fire that could never be extinguished. Beneath, its underbelly was pale and ravaged, marked by countless scars, each a testament to battles fought in a relentless, ceaseless war. A thick, serpentine tail lashed behind it, tipped with a venomous barb that gleamed with malice, curling with a predatory elegance that seemed to mock the creature's massive form.
The beast's face was a grotesque mask of primal terror, its cavernous maw brimming with razor-sharp fangs, dripping with a viscous, tar-like ichor. But it was the eyes that stole Valen's breath two orbs of icy blue, glowing with an ancient, malevolent intelligence. They burned with the fury of a thousand storms, cutting through the darkness, their unholy light promising death to any soul fool enough to meet them.
With each step, the earth beneath its clawed feet trembled, as if the very ground recoiled in fear of its approach. Scattered leaves, brittle and yellowed, crunched beneath its talons, the only sound in the suffocating silence that stretched before the inevitable clash. This was no mere creature of the wild. It was a harbinger of destruction, a dark sentinel from a realm where hope had long since died, replaced only by the echoes of despair. To face it was to court oblivion, for this beast was not born of the natural world it was a thing of the shadow depths, where even the gods feared to tread.
Valen shouted "fuuuuuvk!!!!!" and leapt back as the creature lunged at him. Yet it was far from over. He sprang to his feet with swift determination, even as the beast charged again like a bull drawn to a crimson lure. Sidestepping, Valen swung his sword at the creature's flank. A burst of violet blood erupted from the wound, splattering against the flowers and reducing them to a fine, melting powder. Where once blossoms, there now lay only a slick, black substance resembling solidified magma, though still oozing with a repulsive fluidity. The stench was overwhelming, but Valen remained undeterred.
Barely a moment later, the gash along the creature's side closed up and healed, as if time itself had stitched the wound anew. "I must be wary of that blood," Valen whispered under his breath, his eyes narrowed in grim resolve. The monster surged forward once more, though now its movements seemed sluggish and burdened.
Seizing the opportunity, Valen infused his sword with searing fire and launched a blazing slash toward the beast's head. The impact unleashed a tremendous explosion, engulfing Valen's vision in a choking cloud of dust and sparks. Instinctively, he assumed a defensive stance. Before he could recover, the creature slammed into him with a force that hurled him into a nearby copse of trees. His anguished cry echoed amid the cacophony of cracking and splintering branches crack-crunch....as nature itself shattered under the fury of the encounter.
Val staggered to his feet, aching yet alert, prepared for another onslaught that never came. Had the creature relented, or had it received what it wanted? Perhaps....so the thunderous roars had stopped. Seizing the moment, Val fled at breakneck speed, racing in the opposite direction until he burst into sunlit fields of golden grain. He ran relentlessly, his limbs driven by sheer will, until exhaustion finally claimed him. Collapsing onto the earth, his strength abandoned him, the surge of adrenaline fading into oblivion. He slipped into a deep, unbroken sleep hours, or perhaps days passed even Val could not be certain.
When he finally awoke, Val reached for a mana potion and downed it with a weary gulp. A meatball provided scant nourishment, though his thirst for water still tormented him. He found himself in the same clearing, bathed in a surreal golden light, where he could only plead for a merciful death. As dusk crept in, fireflies began to dance along his path, their glow as if lifted from the pages of a legend. The gentle murmur of birds and a soft wind, caressing his hair like liquid midnight, accompanied him as he approached a secluded destination in the northern reaches of the Great Abyss.
What awaited him there remained a mystery, hidden in the encroaching darkness and the silent whispers of the fading light....
The air was heavy with silence, a thick, suffocating stillness. In the distance, a lone tower loomed, its dark silhouette merging with the sky. Nothing surrounded it, only golden, withered plants swaying in the cold wind.
Val noticed it and stepped forward, his voice barely above a whisper.
"What is this?!"
The tower looked ancient, wrapped in creeping vines that pulsed with an eerie glow, as if infused with magic beyond comprehension. The stone itself seemed alive, breathing with arcane power. The door stood open, invites him inside.
...Inside, the air shimmered with unseen energy. Books floated in the dim light, suspended midair, their pages rustling as if whispering forgotten secrets. The scent of old parchment and something… unnatural filled his lungs.
Then, without warning....a sharp, sudden movement! A wizard's broom shot past him with a violent gust, twisting wildly before blasting through the open door into the night.
Shuuuuush...
Val crashed to the ground, heart hammering.
"Bloody hell! What was that?!"
He spun around, breath ragged, but nothing. The broom had vanished beyond the horizon, leaving only silence in its wake. Silence… and the unsettling feeling that something else was watching...
"Hey, traveler! What brings you to my humble tower?" the mysterious mage said, descending from the very top of the tower. His voice echoed with ancient power, as though it carried the weight of centuries.
The mage appeared to be an old man, his features sharp and worn with age, yet his eyes piercing and gleaming like shards of ice showed no sign of frailty. His long silver beard cascaded down to his waist, tangled in mysterious knots, as though the strands themselves carried hidden runes of forgotten power. His hair, equally silver, fell in wild, unkempt waves over his shoulders, seemingly touched by magic, never truly confined to one shape.
There was an unsettling aura about him, a presence that demanded attention. Though his frame was frail, almost skeletal, his very being seemed to radiate an immense, indescribable force. He wore a tattered black hat, the brim wide and ragged, a remnant of his once grand attire, now faded with time. Yet, the way he wore it seemed to say that it was his to keep, regardless of age or wear.
In his hand, he held a gnarled wooden staff, etched with symbols and runes that glowed faintly with a power far beyond mortal comprehension. It hummed with a soft, eerie energy, as though it were a living extension of the mage himself.
Val felt an overwhelming sense that this being was no mere human...he was something much older, much more ancient, and infinitely more powerful than anything he had ever encountered.
Val's hand instinctively went to his sword, fingers tightening on the hilt, but the mage raised a hand in a calming gesture.
"I have no intention of fighting," he said, his voice soft yet firm, as if the very air bent to his will.
Valen loosened his grip on his sword and let it fall back into its sheath. His eyes remained fixed on the mage as he spoke.
"What is this place?" he asked, his voice steady but laced with curiosity.
The mage arched a silver brow, studying Valen with an expression of mild surprise before answering.
"This is one of the Thirteen Towers of the World."
His words hung in the air like an unspoken riddle, charged with mystery and significance.
"This place... it's in the Abyss, isn't it?" Valen asked, his voice cautious, as if speaking the name aloud might awaken something lurking in the shadows.
The mage let out a quiet chuckle, his piercing eyes glinting with amusement.
"And where else would you expect to find a tower?" he replied, spreading his arms as if the answer was as obvious as the darkness surrounding them.
"Then what are you doing here?" Valen asked, narrowing his eyes at the mage.
The old man smirked, his silver beard shifting slightly as he tilted his head.
"Ah, a fair question," he murmured.
The mage's smirk widened as he adjusted his grip on his ancient staff.
"I'm seeking for magic items," he said, his voice calm yet filled with an unsettling curiosity.
Valen furrowed his brow. "You? A mage, searching for artifacts?"
The old man chuckled, the sound low and almost echoing through the dimly lit tower. "Even those who wield magic must seek more of it. Power is never truly complete, nor is knowledge..."
The mage's gaze bore into Valen as he raised three fingers.
"So answer me three questions, young one," he said, his voice carrying an ancient weight.
He lowered one finger. "How long do you plan to stay here?"
"Three days, perhaps… maybe five. Is that okay?" Valen asked, watching the mage carefully.
The old man slowly stroked his silver beard, eyes narrowing in thought.
"It's okay," he finally said, a sly smile forming on his lips. "But you're cooking."
"I can only cook coconut soup and pickled frog meat. Is that still okay?" Valen asked, raising an eyebrow.
The mage let out a deep chuckle, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
"That will do," he said. "As long as it doesn't kill me..."
"So where will I sleep?" Valen asked, crossing his arms as he waited for an answer.
The old mage let out a dry chuckle, tapping his staff against the stone floor.
"Outside, of course just like me," he said with a knowing smirk. "Otherwise, the books would suck you in."
Valen blinked. "Wait… what?"
The mage's smirk didn't fade as he nodded.
"Yes," he said matter-of-fact. "If you lose too much mana, the books will simply eat your flesh and bones."
Valen stiffened. "You're joking… right?"
The old man only chuckled, turning away. "Sleep inside if you dare, books are always hungry."
And so, Valen fell asleep outside, the cold stone beneath him and the vast sky above. The stars stretched out like distant, cold eyes, watching over him as he lay beneath their eternal gaze. The strange, old mage lingered inside, somewhere far in the shadows of the tower, his presence a haunting reminder of the mystery that enveloped this place.
Valen's thoughts drifted as the night deepened, his mind caught between curiosity and the lingering unease of the unknown. It was a night spent with an old, strange mage, but more than that, it was a night spent in a world where magic bled into the very fabric of existence....