The dark cave echoed with the hurried footsteps of two figures, their breaths heavy from exhaustion. Max and Aren pressed forward, their goal in sight—the teleportation circle that would take them back to headquarters.
"Aghhhhhhhh!" Aren's sudden scream reverberated through the cavern walls.
Max groaned. "Seriously? The guy who slaughtered six orcs and an orc chieftain is scared of a fucking mouse?"
Aren scowled. "C'mon, Max, you know I have musophobia."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever."
Annoyed, Aren punched the cave wall, leaving visible cracks that instantly healed due to an enchantment placed by the Creator. "Whose fucking idea was it to put the teleportation circle in this gods-forsaken place?"
Max sighed. "You know, a wise man once said, 'The day a mosquito lands on your balls is the day you learn that not all problems must be dealt with using force.'"
Aren stared at Max, who now seemed to radiate an illusory glow of wisdom. Shaking his head, he kept walking. After another thirty minutes, they arrived at the teleportation circle. Its bright blue glow illuminated the intricate patterns carved into the floor.
As they stepped onto the circle, nostalgia overtook them. They pictured their headquarters as it had once been—a floating fortress of grandeur. Towering walls adorned with paintings of legendary figures from the river of time, an obsidian chandelier suspended by a single black thread, and four magnificent thrones symbolizing the leaders of the association. Beyond the castle, a thriving settlement flourished. Children's laughter echoed through the fields, warriors honed their skills atop mighty drakes, and golden crops stretched across the mountainside, promising a future of abundance.
Then, the light of the teleportation circle engulfed them.
They arrived in hell.
The once-magnificent castle lay in ruins. The streets were littered with corpses, their lifeless forms discarded like trash. Fires raged unchecked, consuming homes, banners, and history itself. The grand thrones were shattered, the drakes once soaring through the skies now gasping in pools of their own blood. The towering mountain of grain was reduced to smoldering ash. The acrid scent of charred flesh filled the air, mingling with the metallic tang of spilled blood.
Max's breath hitched. "A-Aren… wh-what the fuck is happening?"
Aren turned to Max, his entire body trembling. "I-I don't know. M-Maybe this is an illusion created by the elders to test us."
Then, a shadow fell upon them.
Before Max could react, a massive rock, three times the size of a human head, struck Aren with merciless force. His skull shattered, a spray of crimson painting the ground as his body collapsed lifelessly.
Max's mind went blank.
Terror. Rage. Confusion. They churned within him as he slowly turned toward the source of the attack.
A figure hovered in the air, arms outstretched as if welcoming the destruction. Their form was human-like yet utterly wrong—a presence that twisted the very air around them. In one hand, they clutched a massive crystal, its glow pulsing with hues of violet, orange, and a deep, bleeding red. The flames licking at the ruins seemed to bend away from their form, as if even fire feared to touch them.
Then, in a voice devoid of cruelty or kindness—only absolute certainty—they spoke:
"Hmmm, Max Vermillion."
Max froze as the figure regarded him with an expression of complete indifference.
The air itself seemed to tighten around him, suffocating in its silence. The weight of their gaze was unbearable, as though he were standing beneath an unseen mountain, crushed beneath the sheer presence of this being. His heartbeat pounded in his ears.
"What, I wonder, is to be done with something so utterly... insignificant?" The figure mused, their gaze devoid of interest, as though Max were no more than an insect beneath their notice.
Max's body trembled, the weight of their words pressing down on him. A dull ringing filled his head. The carnage around him felt distant, as though his mind refused to process it.
The figure's eyes flickered toward the crystal in their grasp, its glow intensifying. The pulsing light within it seemed to shift, twisting like a living thing, whispering in a language Max could not understand. Then, they spoke again, their tone unwavering.
"Well, despair requires a witness, you see, and so, you Max Vermillion... shall be that witness ."
The air grew thick with silence, heavier than the smoke that filled the ruins. It was not mercy. It was not kindness. It was a verdict—cold, unquestionable, absolute. Max felt as if he had been judged and found utterly meaningless.
The figure turned slightly, their presence seeming to stretch across the destruction, as though it had existed long before this moment and would remain long after.
"Remember this moment… for you stand before Vaelith. "To know my name is to glimpse eternity," the figure murmured, their voice a whisper that echoed through the ruins. "And yet, knowing will change nothing for someone as pathetic as you."
The name itself seemed to shake the very fabric of reality, echoing through Max's bones. And then, without sound, without fanfare, they vanished. Leaving behind only fire, ruin, and despair.
Max collapsed to his knees, the weight of everything crashing upon him. The smell of blood, the heat of flames, the absence of Aren, all of it was real. His fingers dug into the dirt, his body shaking violently.
He had never felt so powerless. So utterly fucking meaningless.
Max screamed, a raw, broken sound torn from the depths of his soul. "AREN! NO! NO! NO! no no no no no no no no n-no n no!!!" He clawed at the ground, his fingers digging into the blood-soaked dirt as if he could somehow rewind time, undo the horror before him. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest tightening with an unbearable weight.
He stumbled to his feet, rage and grief warring within him. His legs felt weak, but still, he staggered toward Aren's lifeless body, reaching out as if touching him could bring him back. "This... this isn't real," he whispered, his voice cracking. "It can't be real..."
But the warmth was already fading from Aren's skin.
And despair, as Vaelith had willed, took root. But amidst the crushing weight of grief and ruin, something else flickered within Max, a fury so raw it burned brighter than the surrounding flames. His breaths were ragged, his body trembling from the overwhelming surge of emotions. His eyes, wild with grief and rage, glistened with unshed tears as he stared into the void where Vaelith had vanished.
His hands clenched into fists, the nails digging deep into his skin, drawing thin rivulets of blood. His knuckles were white, his entire body taut with barely contained fury. His mind screamed for vengeance, for something, anything, to lash out against. His voice, hoarse and broken, barely rose above the crackling fires, but it carried the weight of his shattered soul.
"I will kill you..." he whispered, a promise etched into the very fabric of his being. His voice grew stronger, trembling with conviction. "I swear on everything I have left, I will fucking kill you!"
Not yet.