This story is entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.
Misery did not rush Ethan.
It waited.
Kael's body was never found.
What remained of him—steel fragments, blood-darkened earth—was collected by villagers with shaking hands. They didn't cry loudly. They didn't curse the monsters.
They looked at Ethan.
Not with blame.
With fear.
—
Rowan didn't return.
Days passed. Then weeks.
The mist where she vanished never thinned. Scouts went missing. Birds refused to fly over it. Even monsters avoided the area, as if something unfinished lingered there.
Ethan searched.
Alone.
He cut through corrupted zones until his hands split. He exhausted his second form chasing shadows that dissolved the moment he arrived. Every trail ended the same way—nothing.
No body.
No proof.
Hope tried to survive on that.
Ethan killed it himself.
—
The towns changed.
At first, they welcomed him as before. Food offered freely. Doors left open.
Then came whispers.
Wherever he goes, monsters follow.Maybe he's the reason the Root wakes.What if he's not the answer—but the key?
Fear always needed a shape.
Ethan gave them one.
—
One night, a village elder approached him with trembling hands.
"We're grateful," the man said. "But… perhaps it's best if you don't stay."
Ethan nodded.
He didn't argue.
He left before dawn.
—
Sleep abandoned him.
When he closed his eyes, he saw Kael stepping forward. Rowan smiling before the strike. Brannick's shield crashing into him from behind.
When he opened them, the world felt thinner—less real than the memories.
He stopped speaking.
Completely.
—
The Root responded.
Not directly.
Villages farther away began to fall. Not to overwhelming force—but to precision. Supplies poisoned. Defenses sabotaged. People turning on each other before monsters even arrived.
Someone was guiding it.
Someone who understood humans.
—
One evening, Ethan arrived too late.
A settlement reduced to ash. Survivors huddled together, eyes hollow.
A child looked up at him.
"Are you the hero?" she asked.
Ethan didn't answer.
The child stared at his sword.
Then began to cry.
—
That night, something new happened.
Ethan's reflection didn't move with him.
For a fraction of a second, the green flickered behind his eyes—uninvited.
Uncontrolled.
The second form wasn't waiting for permission anymore.
It wanted release.
—
Far away, beyond stone and calculation, the Root of All Evil pulsed.
Not in anger.
In recognition.
The weapon was breaking.
Or becoming something closer.
—
Ethan stood on a cliff overlooking a world that no longer trusted him.
He tightened his grip on the black sword.
Not out of rage.
Out of necessity.
If misery was all that remained—
Then he would learn to use it.
"Some people are not broken by suffering—they are reshaped until the world no longer recognizes them."
Chapter End