Chapter 1: The Awakening
Cold.
That was the first sensation.
But it wasn't an ordinary cold—it was the kind that made his entire existence tremble.
Then came the smell.
Blood. Rust. And the suffocating stench of burned spiritual energy.
When Esharath opened his eyes, the sky above him was bleak and oppressive. It was impossible to tell whether it was day or night. As his muddled thoughts slowly began to clear, he realized he was lying on the ground. Torn pieces of fabric clung to his body, and all around him were shattered corpses.
Some still retained a human form. Others had already begun to dissolve, breaking apart into drifting reishi.
The moment he understood what he was seeing, the cold gripping him intensified, freezing his blood.
Bodies.
Too many bodies.
This wasn't a dream.
For a fleeting moment, the part of his mind that came from a modern world tried to reject the sheer brutality before his eyes—but his ears refused to allow it. Screams echoed from every direction. The clash of metal. The sickening sound of bones breaking.
The people around him had gone mad.
They were fighting with everything they had, using whatever they could grasp, desperately clawing for survival.
Esharath didn't know where he was.
But he understood one thing clearly.
He had to survive.
No matter what, he had to escape this place.
Ignoring the sharp pain wracking his body, he forced himself upright. In the next instant, a savage scream rushed toward him.
Acting purely on instinct, he threw himself into a roll.
A spirit swung a rusted blade, striking the spot where Esharath had stood just a moment earlier. The ground split open under the force of the blow.
He didn't hesitate.
Esharath turned and ran.
His heart pounded violently, threatening to burst from his chest. Yet despite the shock, he didn't panic. His mind adapted unnervingly fast—far too fast for someone who should have been an ordinary modern human.
He weaved through piles of corpses and darted through the shadows of collapsed shacks, fleeing without looking back.
Then—
A metallic, chilling whistle cut through the air behind him.
The attack grazed his shoulder, searing it with pain, but he didn't stop. His lungs burned as if they were on fire, yet his legs kept moving.
He couldn't stop now.