The night dragged on, a cold, unending void. Kane walked through a desolate stretch of ruins, the shattered remnants of what was once a thriving city district. The buildings, nothing but crumbling stone and twisted metal, were in a state of complete shambles. This area was known to be a hunting ground for some of the most fearsome Nightmare creatures, a place so dangerous that most hunters avoided it entirely. This was precisely why he had come here. He wanted nothing more than to be alone, to sever all ties and simply exist without the burden of others.
The memory of Nephis's betrayal was a festering wound, far more painful than the one in his chest, which had already begun to heal. He had considered her an ally, someone he had fought alongside and saved countless times. Not out of blind trust, but because they were partners in a desperate struggle. And this was his reward. Betrayal, sharp and unforgiving.
More than the physical wound, a deeper, more insidious pain gnawed at him: the crushing weight of Cassie's prophecy and his chilling role within it. The vision had been clear: a man in a black crown, his face covered in blood, staring angrily at a star. He was the cause of the bloodshed, the one who would lead to the rivers of blood and the death of his friends. The prophecy suggested that he would do the exact same thing as Nephis—lead people to a bloody end for a so-called greater purpose. He wasn't a saint, far from it. He was a man with a darkness in his soul, a flaw that was constantly pushing him to the edge. But if there was one thing he despised, it was the arrogance of a false savior. A person who claimed their actions were for the good of others, but whose true purpose was to serve their own twisted ambitions, regardless of the devastating consequences.
He had believed Nephis was this person, this elite hypocrite. And now, he felt like he had become the very thing he despised in her, even if it was unintentional. The thought was a bitter poison. He had formed his own group, trained them, and offered them a chance at a different path. He had given them a choice, not a blind following. But he had still brought them here, to this cursed place, and the prophecy showed that he would be the reason for their deaths.
'Just why?' he thought, his rage cooling into a bitter confusion. 'Why did this happen? I wanted to give them a choice, not lead them to a bloody death.'
As he walked, his gaze scoured the surroundings, a deep-seated alertness overriding his emotional turmoil. The ruins were eerie. The black stones of the collapsed buildings were etched with intricate, alien designs that pointed in a different direction from the usual hunting grounds. The most disturbing thing, however, was the silence. The silence was a palpable thing, a disquieting anomaly in the treacherous heart of the city. He scoured the area, but found nothing. No footprints, no claw marks on the walls, not a single sound of a creature scurrying in the shadows. A place without monsters in the Dark City was a place that was fundamentally, terrifyingly wrong.
Kane had learned one thing about this damned city: if there was nothing, something was clearly wrong. He roamed through shattered alleys and collapsed buildings, his senses on high alert, his hand on the hilt of his sword. There were no signs of creatures, no scratches on the walls, no trails of blood. He felt a profound sense of unease. The last time he had entered an area that was too quiet, they had almost been killed by a sentient, man-eating tree.
Highly alerted to the anomaly, Kane immediately summoned his sword and began to methodically map out the area. He walked deeper into the ruins, reaching a dead end formed by a wall of perfectly smooth, obsidian-like stone.
'What is it with this place?' he wondered, a cold knot forming in his stomach. 'No monsters, no trails…'
Just as he was about to turn back, his eyes caught a glimmer of light on the wall. Etched into the obsidian, glowing with a faint, internal light, was a paragraph of a runic language. He had seen these runes before, ancient and forgotten, a language that spoke of a time before the Nightmare Spell. A strange compulsion seized him, and he found himself reading the words, his mind automatically translating the foreign glyphs.
Upon learning the truth of the origin, I chose to war with the black skies.
Yet to determine the worthy, I must first conclude with the three trials.
Only those of true grit may enter, and thus, gain the ability to defy the black skies.
Welcome, then, to the Ordeals of the Origin.
As soon as he finished reading the last word, the world around him dissolved. The ground beneath his feet vanished, and he was suddenly free-falling. He let out a choked cry as a sickening lurch seized his stomach. The air around him turned into a complete and utter void, a crushing darkness that swallowed all light and sound.
"What the fuck is going on?!" he screamed, his voice swallowed by the endless dark. There was no solid ground, no up or down, no spark of life. He was alone in a space that was both everything and nothing. He frantically moved his limbs, trying to find a purchase in the boundless abyss, but there was nothing to grasp, only the terrifying sensation of falling into an endless, suffocating blackness.
Suddenly, with a jarring thud, Kane was hit by the ground. The force of the impact jarred every bone in his body, and he landed hard, succumbing to a fresh wave of pain. He groaned, his senses reeling, and looked at his surroundings. He was covered in bones—human bones. A macabre carpet of forgotten remains stretched as far as his eyes could see.
'That explains things,' he thought grimly, the realization hitting him with the force of a physical blow. The absolute silence, the absence of creatures—this was a graveyard, a burial ground for those who had come before.
He stood up, brushing the dust and bone fragments from his shoulders. The entire room was covered with human bones, a chilling testament to the countless lives lost in this desolate place. The walls, unlike the ones he had seen outside, were made of smooth, black stone, devoid of any intricate patterns. A long, dark hallway stretched before him, a single, brilliant light shining at its end. It was like a long tunnel leading to a blindingly bright destination.
Kane slowly walked down the hallway, the crunch of bones under his feet the only sound in the suffocating silence. His mind, already a maelstrom of confusion and rage, was now filled with a new, terrifying certainty. This was a trap. A trial. He had read the words, and now he was a participant.
As he reached the end of the long tunnel, he stepped into the brilliant light. His eyes adjusted, and he found himself in a throne room. The physical space was a testament to immense historical weight and supreme authority. The hall was massive, with a high, domed ceiling adorned with ornate celestial and zodiac carvings, linking this earthly domain to a cosmic or divine order. Monumental, ribbed columns supported the vast ceiling, giving the space the solemn gravitas of an ancient temple.
The floor was a polished, dark wood, reflecting the ambient light and adding a sense of depth and mystique. The walls were made of polished gray stone, a cool, unyielding counterpoint to the warmth of the wood. Intricate gold filigree accented every surface, adding an overwhelming sense of opulence and immense wealth.
At the far end of the room, seated upon the magnificent throne, was a Skeletal Knight. He was a formidable figure, his armor completely rusted and thick with a crust of barnacles and sea algae, giving him the appearance of an ancient wreck hauled from the ocean floor. His body was not bone and sinew, but a churning, malevolent vortex of saltwater and black, oily darkness, held in a humanoid shape only by the cursed magic of his armor. This chaotic interior occasionally spilled out in wisps and eddies, a visual representation of his unholy nature.
As a bizarre and menacing centerpiece, he held a trident. Its prongs emitted a faint, eerie luminescence that cast a sickly green light on his barnacled armor and the swirling darkness within. The trident seemed less like a held weapon and more like an integral part of his being, perhaps the source of his power or his curse.
He had no head. The space where a skull should be was an empty, desolate void within the confines of his helmet. The only sign of his presence was a flickering, ghostly light that pulsed from within the darkness, serving as a haunting substitute for his eyes and an ever-present reminder of the knight's spectral, soulless state. The knight was staring directly at him, preparing to attack.
"Crap!" Kane uttered, his voice filled with a mix of despair and grim determination. He was ready for a fight, but this was a nightmare unlike any he had ever faced.