The battlefield was chaos incarnate—steel clashing, war cries echoing, the stench of blood thick in the air. The boy, young yet already burdened with command, stood at the front lines, his blade dripping crimson. His soldiers had fought valiantly for four relentless days, pushing back the tide of monsters that had poured from the abyss. Victory had seemed within reach.
But then the heavens split.
Two forces unlike anything known tore open the skies, their arrival shaking the earth beneath the boy's feet. Their power was suffocating, alien, beyond mortal comprehension. No one had ever heard of beings like these.
The boy's instincts screamed. He raised his voice above the din, commanding his troops: "Retreat! Fall back!" He knew—they could not hope to stand against such entities.
Yet before his soldiers could withdraw, another attack ripped through the battlefield. A surge of energy, unseen and merciless, slaughtered them where they stood. The boy's eyes widened as comrades fell in droves, their screams swallowed by the storm.
"My friends… they're all gone. And for what?" His voice cracked, rage and despair twisting together.
Fury consumed him. His chest burned, his vision blurred, and he charged forward, cutting down the enemy with reckless abandon. Every strike was vengeance, every kill a desperate cry against the injustice unfolding before him.
Above, the two beings clashed. One's voice thundered across the battlefield:
"You have made a grave mistake bringing me here alone."
The other laughed, sharp and cruel. "I had no other choice."
The first entity raised its hand, and behind it a dark cloud figure materialized—vast, shifting, a nightmare given form. With a single motion, the entity launched its hand toward the battlefield below, the shadow descending like a curse.
The second figure only smiled, pale blue eyes reflecting the barren mountain behind them. Slowly, deliberately, those eyes turned back to the enemy before them.
"So that's how it is," the figure murmured, voice calm yet edged with menace.
...
The boy stood amidst carnage. Almost everyone—friend and foe alike—had been struck down by the devastating clash of powers. The battlefield was littered with broken bodies, the air thick with smoke and iron.
Then a force unlike any he had ever felt cut through him. The impact hurled him across the ground, his armor shattering as his ears rang with a piercing silence. He could hear nothing but the echo of his own heartbeat.
Trembling, battered, and afraid, he forced himself upright. His right hand could no longer grip his sword, so he leaned on it with his left, using the blade as a crutch to remain standing. Fear coursed through him, pain gnawed at his body, yet he knew—if he fell, everyone behind him would fall too.
He lifted his gaze to the skies. A dark figure was descending, heading straight for the barrier. Terror seized him. No… not the barrier. If the enemy broke through, civilization itself would be lost.
Summoning what strength remained, the boy ran. His chest burned, blood spilling from the gaping wound, but he pressed forward. With a desperate cry, he hurled his sword. The blade flew true, impaling the figure and halting its advance.
The shadow turned, its gaze falling upon him. The boy staggered, clutching his chest, and turned to run the opposite way—away from the barrier. He had to draw the enemy's attention, had to keep it from reaching the wall that protected humanity.
As he fled toward the mountains, a languid cry escaped his lips. "Why…? Why, when we were winning against those monsters, did these unknown figures turn on each other—dragging us all into their slaughter?"
He did not understand. His comrades had fought bravely, victory had seemed within reach. Yet now, the skies themselves had betrayed them, and the boy was left running, broken and bleeding, toward a fate he could not yet comprehend.
'I want to live' Those were his only thoughts.'
The forest was a labyrinth of towering trees and tangled undergrowth, there was his young figure desperately running through them.
Blood was trickling down the gaping hole through his chest, leaving a trail behind him. But the figure didn't seem to the feel the pain as he only ran and ran, every step a fight against the clawing branches and gnarled roots.
"Haah, haah"
His breath came in ragged gasps, each one burning his lungs as he pushed himself to run faster, farther.
Behind him, the shadows whispered and writhed, a dark presence that defied explanation, its malevolence palpable in the crisp night air.
'Who—or what—is chasing me?'
His heart pounded with a frantic rhythm, each beat a reminder of his desperation.
He glanced over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the shifting darkness that seemed to swallow the very light of the moon.
Panic surged through him, spurring him to tap into the only thing he knew could save him—his power.
With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a burst of light, a brilliant flare that cut through the gloom.
The trees lit up like phantoms, their shadows dancing in the sudden brightness. But the light seemed not to affect the presence, as it swiftly avoid it ,its whispers growing louder, more insistent.
He stumbled, nearly falling, but his determination kept him upright. He focused his mind, drawing on the wellspring of power within him.
His hands glowed with an ethereal energy, and he channeled it into a spell of protection.
A shimmering bow formed around him, a thin spiral of magic that formed into an arrow ,it consumed a lot of energy, but it might buy him some time.
But time was not on his side. The presence closed in, its cold breath brushing against the nape of his neck.
He could feel the weight of its malevolence, a darkness that threatened to consume him whole. His mind raced, searching for a way out, a plan, anything that could help him escape this nightmare.
With a burst of resolve, he gathered his strength and unleashed the arrow, with it came a powerful blast of magic.
The arrow seemed to have a blade at the tip, as it cut everything at a 100 meters radius. The ground trembled, the trees swayed, and the darkness recoiled for a moment.
Seizing the opportunity, he sprinted forward, the path ahead illuminated by the fading remnants of his spell.
Hope flickered within him, fragile but alive. He knew he couldn't stop, not now, not ever.
As long as he kept running, kept fighting, there was a chance—a chance to outrun the shadows, to reclaim his freedom, and to uncover the truth behind the mysterious force that pursued him.
But then, the ground beneath him gave way. He fell, tumbling into a hidden ravine, the world spinning around him. Pain exploded through his body as he hit the bottom, his vision blurring.
The darkness closed in, not just from the presence, but from the edges of his consciousness.
As his eyes fluttered shut, the last thing he saw was the shadowy figure standing at the edge of the ravine, watching him with cold, unfeeling eyes.
But that figure came in closer, it's shadow creating a veil over him.
Maybe it was illusions from the pain of his broken body. He felt a warm veil covering his body and a warm embrace enveloping him.
The whispers grew louder, a cacophony of voices that drowned out his thoughts. And then, there was nothing but silence.
...
"Gasp!"
The sensation was both chilling and surreal, like being pulled from the depths of an icy lake.
He opened his eyes, his vision blurred and unfocused. He was lying on the damp, cold ground of a cave, the rough texture of the stone pressing into his back.
His back soaked with a strong iron smell, dying his white hair crimson red.
The air was thick with the scent of earth and decay, a heavy reminder of something he couldn't quite grasp.
He reached up instinctively, fingers trembling as they brushed against a strange mark on his chest—a scar that seemed both old and new.
'Where am I?'
The question echoed in the chasms of his mind, met only by the deafening silence of the cave.
He glanced around, his pale eyes catching on small details—the remnants of a fire still smoldering nearby, the shadows dancing on the cave walls, and the faint outline of the cave's entrance as if beckoning him towards an uncertain reality.
The weight of the unknown pressed down on him, a heavy cloak shrouding any sense of self. He pushed himself up, feet touching the cold, uneven ground with a hesitant defiance.
As he moved, he felt an eerie sensation—almost as if he had done this before.
A small pool of water shimmered in the dim light, its surface reflecting the ghostly pallor of his face.
He approached it with a mixture of dread and curiosity, desperate for a glimpse of the face that might hold the answers he sought.
But the reflection offered no solace—only the hollow eyes of a stranger staring back at him, the eyes of someone who had lived and died and yet, somehow, returned.
'Crunch'