Growl
"Let's go."
"Are you really going to bring that, Laur?"
"Yes."
"Two men, in a dark alley, carrying... a monster. We'll get more than just looks," said Quinn.
"Don't worry. I won't bring him out until the right moment."
"Are we really doing this?" Quinn asked.
"I... No. We have no choice. This is the only way."
"Stop thinking, Quinn. We're running out of time. Move."
"Drink up! Everything's on me tonight!" Ciran's voice cut through the noise. The room erupted. It was his birthday. Noble-born, but he'd always preferred the company of commoners — their laughter, their honesty.
"Three cheers for Ciran!"
"You're the best, Ciran!"
The warmth of it all made him glow.
"Young Master, we should keep things under control. This place may be off the map, but things are still dangerous out there," said Kenn, close to his ear.
"Oh, relax, Kenn. Have a drink!" Ciran grinned. It had been a long time since a night felt this good.
Then two men stepped in, dressed in black robes.
"An ale please," said Laur. He glanced at Quinn.
"Fine, a beer," Quinn muttered.
"Welcome, friends! Everything's on the house — it's my birthday. I'm Ciran."
"Is that right?" Laur said, setting his ale down slowly. "Well then. Happy birthday, Ciran." He reached beneath his cloak. "I actually have a gift for you."
A sword cut through the air.
The sound it made cutting through his neck was — too clean, too quick for something so tragic. Ciran's expression didn't even change. His body stood for a half-second longer than it should have, like it hadn't gotten the news yet, before crumpling sideways into a table. The head hit the wooden floor and rolled, coming to a stop face-up near the hearth, Ciran's birthday smile still faintly carved into his features. A dark pool spread steadily from the stump of his neck, soaking between the floorboards, dripping below.
The room didn't react all at once. It happened in pieces — one woman's cup slipping from her fingers and shattering. A man stumbling back into his chair. Then someone screamed, and the whole place came apart.
"No — what did you do?!" Kenn's voice cracked raw. His eyes moved from the body to the head on the floor, then up to Laur. "How dare you — he never did anything—" His hands were shaking. "You're going to pay for this." A commoner with a sword stepped forward, teeth set, face white with fury. More followed — blades, bottles, tools — closing in from every corner. Everyone in that room had loved Ciran.
"Well?" Quinn said quietly. "What are you waiting for, Laur?"
"Threx ul'korr… vael."
"What tongue is that, you bastard—"
"Aaahh- n- no-"
A wet crunchy sound roared across everyone's ears.
It came out of nothing. Red glowing eyes. A frame roughly human-sized but wrong in every way that mattered — silky crimson skin, black-striped, arms too long, teeth like something that had never learned what teeth were supposed to look like. It stood on two legs like a man. That was where the resemblance ended.
"A- a monster — RUN!"
It crossed the room before the word finished leaving his mouth. The nearest man barely had time to raise his sword before a long arm drove straight through his chest — not a slash, not a cut, through — fingers coming out the other side wet and dark. The man looked down at it. Made a sound that wasn't quite a scream. The monster pulled its arm free with a sound like something tearing that no one in that room would ever forget, and the man folded.
It moved to the next.
It caught a woman by the skull with one hand, fingers wrapping around her head like a vice, and simply squeezed. The sound was brief, but filled with terror.
A group of men rushed it from the side — brave, desperate, or both. It swept them aside with one arm like they were made of straw, sent two crashing through a table and a third into the wall hard enough to leave a shape in the wood. Then it was on them before they hit the ground, teeth finding the throat of one, pulling, tearing, the gore of it spraying the floorboards red.
It ate while it killed. That was the worst part. It didn't stop to feed — it fed as it went, bits of people disappearing into it between attacks, like the killing and the eating were the same motion. Someone fainted from the sight of it and was eaten where they fell. The fumes of blood and split-open things filled the room.
A few tried to flee. The door didn't save them. Nothing did. It was simply too fast, too indifferent to the concept of escape.
The servant — Kenn — made it the furthest, pressing himself against the far wall, watching it come for him with wide, glassy eyes.
"Master will hear of this," he breathed. "You won't be safe for lo—"
Snap.
"Interesting last words," Quinn said flatly, watching.
By the end, the tavern floor was unrecognizable. Dark and wet, covered in what used to be people — leftover parts, overturned cups, Ciran's untouched birthday ale still sitting on the bar. The monster stood in the middle of it, chest rising and falling slowly, red eyes dim and calm.
A massacre. And yet, for the creature, just another meal.
"Let's go, Quinn."
"Threx verns… kra."
It was gone. They walked out into the cold air. Behind them, silence.
"So. Next?"
"Next is the town of-"
In Givera
"My hand — I still can't feel it." Leon stared at the ceiling. Kael had found him a room — small, but it had a bed and a washroom. I need to find work. Work. A concept that had never really touched his life before.
Something outside pulled him to the window.
A Ceremonial Entry. A knight, riding into Givera. The crowd below pressed together, faces tight with relief.
"Finally — now we'll be safe."
Leon found Kael at the edge of the crowd. "Hey. Question."
"Go on."
"Are knights really that powerful? The whole town just... lights up for one person."
Kael didn't hesitate. "That one knight could level this town in under an hour."
Leon went quiet.
"I heard you were looking for work," Kael said.
"Yeah. I need to do something."
"Then you're in luck. The knight needs someone to haul his gear on patrols and expeditions. I can put your name forward."
"Yes — please," Leon said, exhaling with relief. He ignored the quiet voice in the back of his head reminding him he could barely lift his own arms.
"S-sir knight—" huff huff "— how much further?"
"Hey — quiet. Don't bother Master while he's focused, donkey," Virelle snapped. The knight's apprentice had little patience for him.
"I just — I can't—" huff "— carry any more—"
"We're here."
The knight stopped. His gaze settled on the entrance ahead — vast, shadowed, still.
"The Cave of Obsidian."
Leon looked up. A faint purple glow breathed from somewhere deep inside.
It was strangely peaceful within. Purple light drifted from crystals that lined the floor and walls — some small and scattered, others gathered in large, heavy masses. Each one held its own shade within the violet spectrum. In places, the cave walls were smooth and faintly reflective, the crystal glow sliding across them like something living.
"...Was Ravexis here?" the knight said, half to himself.
Ravexis.
The name made Leon's injured hand throb — the memory of the stab sharp and sudden.
"Virelle. Check the crystals."
"Yes, Master." She moved deeper in, then paused. "They still glow — but their flow feels off. Like something drained them from the inside. Is that even possible?"
"It is," said the knight. "For Ravexis — yes."
Then, from somewhere in the dark, a voice, so scratchy it could make someone's spine shiver.
"Welcome to my cave... you f*cking bastards."