Chapter 2 – The Final Vow
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The soil was cold against his face. Blood poured freely from the gaping wound in his chest, soaking into the battlefield that had already drunk too much death. His breaths came ragged, each one a knife carving into his lungs.
The clash of war had ended. No cries of soldiers, no clash of steel—only the cruel laughter of those he once called comrades.
Above him stood Alice, her staff gleaming with crackling mana, her golden hair matted with blood. Beside her loomed the others:
Luthien, the elf archer, bowstring taut and ready.
Thror, the dwarf warrior, hammer resting lazily on his shoulder.
Mugnash, the hulking orc, grinning as he licked blood from his axe.
Cheka, the beastman rogue, claws dripping red.
They formed a circle around him. His allies. His friends. His betrayers.
Alice's smile was soft, sweet even, but venom hid beneath. "Look at you now, great hero. Even without the Demon King, you were only ever a pawn."
Altair's hand stretched feebly toward his sword, lying just inches away. His fingers trembled. No strength remained.
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"No… not like this… I cannot die here… not at their hands."
His vision blurred, but hatred sharpened his thoughts. Their faces burned into his soul.
Alice, the woman he loved, stabbing him with a smile.
Luthien, the elf who swore loyalty, loosing an arrow into his back.
Thror, the dwarf laughing as his hammer crushed him.
Mugnash, the orc once bound as brother-in-arms, now salivating for his death.
Cheka, the beastman friend, tearing into his flesh with glee.
"I trusted you… I gave you my life. And you answered with betrayal."
Blood choked his throat, but rage gave him voice. "Alice… why…?"
Alice crouched down, her tone almost tender. "Because, my dear, this world never needed a hero. It needed corpses to pave the path."
Luthien sneered. "You were nothing more than a stepping stone."
Thror's booming laugh shook the air. "The look on your face—it's priceless!"
Mugnash spat on him. Cheka's claws raked the earth impatiently, eager for the final blow.
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Altair tried to rise, but his body refused him. Blood gushed from his chest, painting the ground. His knees buckled, and he collapsed again.
"I… am not… finished…" His voice rasped like sand.
Alice tilted her head, feigning pity. "Oh, but you are. The world will remember you as the hero who fell against the Demon King's army. No one will ever know that you were slaughtered by us. Isn't that a beautiful ending?"
Their laughter stabbed deeper than their weapons. His heart pounded in fury, even as it slowed in weakness.
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Darkness crept at the edges of his sight. His body failed, but his spirit roared.
"If this is the end… then let my hatred be my legacy. Let my vengeance pierce through death itself. Even if I am cast into the lowest hell, even if I am reborn as filth, I will not stop. I will return. I will destroy you all."
Tears of blood traced his cheek. He forced his lungs to move one last time, his voice trembling but sharp as a blade.
"Alice… Luthien… Thror… Mugnash… Cheka… I will come back. And when I do… you will regret everything."
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The night sky swirled above, stars blurring into blackness. The sound of their laughter echoed, then grew distant, fading as though carried away.
His body grew light, as if torn from the earth. Cold seeped into his veins, dragging him into the abyss.
Yet in that abyss, a single ember burned. Green, searing, eternal.
It was hatred. It was vengeance. It was his oath.
And that ember would guide him into rebirth.
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