Marc fell into a deep, dreamless sleep when he was suddenly awakened by an eerie noise. A cold feeling crept into his stomach as he realized he was tied up. Confused and dazed, he tried to get his bearings. The room around him was dark, damp, and smelled of mold. The walls were made of cold concrete, and the light flickered dimly above him. He was trapped in an underground cult prison.
The memories of the last few hours were blurry. Sometime during the night, he had heard a whisper—a strange noise that tore him from his deep sleep. Then everything had gone black. Panic rose within him as he realized that not only was he trapped here, but that his freedom was also at stake.
With uncontrollable rage, Marc tugged at the restraints. After a few minutes, he managed to free himself. His hands were bloody, but that didn't matter. His mind raced, and the adrenaline rush drove him on. He crept out of the cell and through a narrow, dimly lit corridor. In the distance, he heard the whispers and murmurs of the cultists. He couldn't go unnoticed.
The corridor before him was dark, and the air was heavy with mold and damp. Strange symbols were carved into the walls, making him uneasy. He couldn't tell if they were signs or traces of violence and madness. Marc narrowed his eyes and continued walking, as the whispering grew louder in the depths of the facility.
He reached a door behind which he could hear the muffled voices of the cult. They were gathered in a semicircle, their faces covered by deep hoods, speaking in a foreign language. Marc could feel the hatred emanating from them. He crept up to the first one, grabbed him by the throat, and pulled him into the shadows. The faint choking sound was the last thing the cultist heard.
Marc continued silently, slaughtering everyone who stood in his way. His movements were precise and deadly, but disaster came faster than expected. A dull gong echoed through the gloomy corridors—the alarm had been triggered. The voices grew louder, and it wasn't long before the cultists converged on him in waves.
With each person who fell, Marc felt the rage growing within him. The corridors turned red, and the floor became slippery with blood. He was no warrior, no hero. He was a monster, unleashed in a labyrinth full of fanatical madmen.
But no matter how hard he fought, at some point Marc noticed that the attackers had paused. Their eyes were no longer fixed on him, but on a large symbol on the floor of the room he had stumbled into. It glowed a sinister red. The cultists suddenly fell to their knees and began to mutter in unison.
Marc watched, confused, as they bowed before the symbol. He stepped back, his chest heaving from the fight, his blood dripping from the blade he had taken from one of the cultists. A drop of his blood fell onto the pulsing symbol.
Suddenly, the ground shook. A loud roar filled the air, and from the symbol, a massive rift opened in space. Darkness rose, and the atmosphere became even more oppressive. A portal leading to another dimension opened. Beasts lurked on the other side, dragons and demons, ready to invade the world.
Marc stared at the portal, unable to comprehend what he saw. His heart raced as dragons with black scales and flaming eyes crawled through the gate. Countless demons followed them, grotesque and menacing. Marc stumbled back a few steps, the blood already drying on his blade, but the horror before him paralyzed him.
He tried to defend himself, but his legs gave way. What was that? What had he accidentally unleashed?
Finally, from the darkness of the rift, a massive figure rose. A dragon, but unlike anything Marc had ever seen. Its eyes glowed an unholy red, and a mocking grin was etched on its reptilian face. The power emanating from it was palpable, almost overwhelming.
"Moin, Marc," the creature finally said, its voice deep and thunderous, as if it had penetrated the very source of darkness itself.
Marc took another step back, unable to speak. Fear gnawed at him, like the demons crawling through the portal. The dragon approached, its enormous wings spreading behind it, darkening the room even further.
"Long time no see," the creature continued, while Marc felt overwhelmed by the creature's sheer malice. "I am the Dragon Emperor, malice incarnate. And you..." He paused briefly, letting his gaze glide over Marc, a sneer appearing on his lips. "A little plaything of Chaos. A joke that survived against all odds."
Marc narrowed his eyes, but the feeling of despair crept deep into his bones. "What do you want from me?" he finally asked, his voice shaky, but the dragon just laughed deeply.
"You're funny, Marc. Such a tiny part of this great game. I want to see how long you can last before you break. But..." The Dragon Emperor lowered his voice, and the air around them grew even colder. "You almost forgot you still have a job to do."
Marc frowned, his thoughts racing, but the dragon's voice continued to bore into his consciousness. "Remember the man who tried to kill you?" the Dragon Emperor said, inclining his head slightly. "He said your family was responsible. They wanted you dead. And you said they'd be next to die."
Marc felt the words resonate within him. The memories of his promise, his revenge. They had betrayed him, his own family. The dragon stepped even closer, his breath hot and poisonous. "Now, Marc... fulfill your purpose before the world ends."
Marc tried to say something, but the words caught in his throat. He felt the ground begin to shake beneath him as the Dragon Emperor retreated, his sneer echoing in the darkened corridors.
"You're the last to die," the dragon concluded, his eyes sparkling devilishly. "Have fun."
Then the Dragon Emperor let out a devilish laugh that shook the walls. Behind him, the dragons and demons poured through the rift, bringing destruction to the world.
The apocalypse had begun, and Marc... was its joker.