Chapter 3
"Jarren," Gazel whispered urgently.
"Wake up. Sothing is wrong... with... ..."
His vision blurred.
Darkness swallowed everything.
His body hit the floor with a dull thud.
Then the darkness lifted.
Gazel could see again.
He wished he could not.
He was no longer in the room.
He was standing in a city.
Or what was left of one.
The sky burned.
Massive streaks of fire tore through the heavens like falling stars, crashing down again and again. Each impact shook the ground. Each one erased sothing that had once existed.
Gazel’s heart slamd violently in his chest.
He ran.
A blazing mass smashed into the street behind him, throwing heat and debris everywhere. He barely escaped being crushed.
All around him, towering buildings collapsed. Temples crumbled. Stone and steel were reduced to dust.
If he had to describe it with one word, it would be simple.
The world was ending.
Reality itself looked like it was tearing apart.
He did not know why this was happening.
He did not care.
He just needed to get out.
"Jarren!" he shouted. "Karren! Mom! Dad! Trent!"
No answer.
He stopped.
"...Am I the only one here?"
His breath ca faster.
"If this is the end of the world, where is everyone?"
There were no screams. No running crowds. No desperate voices.
Nothing.
It was as if humanity itself had vanished.
The thought made his heart race even faster.
He moved again, faster now, panic driving his legs.
Then he saw it.
Sothing subtle.
Sothing wrong.
Thin streams of red liquid stained the ground. They flowed from collapsed buildings. From shattered walls. From places that should not bleed.
Blood.
Everywhere.
His expression turned grim.
Swallowing hard, Gazel followed the red trails.
They led him through ruined streets and broken alleys. Past crumbling structures and endless flas.
And no matter where he went, it was the sa.
More blood.
More fire.
And the deeper he walked into the city, the stronger the feeling beca.
That sothing was waiting for him.
He followed the blood trail, step by step, until he finally reached the source.
All breath left him. His heart plumted through a dozen stages of shock and horror.
What lay before him was beyond comprehension. Tens, no hundreds, no thousands..... maybe tens of thousands, maybe millions of bodies were piled atop one another.
Faces frozen in eternal agony, eyes wide, mouths open in silent screams. Limbs twisted unnaturally, torn, shredded, severed.
Blood poured from every wound, pooling into a massive, churning lake at the base of the monstrous pile.
Gazel’s chest tightened. He felt a presence.
Slowly. chanically. He lifted his head.
And froze.
Atop the mountain of corpses and blood, standing tall among the ash and ruin, was a figure.
Humanoid, almost human, yet grotesquely wrong.
Its skin was dark brown, almost black, thick and tough, stretching over massive, clawed hands built only for destruction.
White hair stread down from its head, streaked with black, whipping in the wind. Six horns curled sharply from its skull like twisted, living crowns.
And in its right hand... a head. Lifeless, yet dripping endlessly, as if the blood could never stop.
The sight alone could have driven a child insane. Gazel felt the edge of madness pressing in, but he forced himself to remain standing.
He swallowed the terror rising in his throat. Every ounce of his will focused into a single, trembling question.
"Who... what... are you?"
The figure did not move. Did not breathe. Held the head like a statue, impossibly still.
Then, it tilted its head.
Two pairs of molten red eyes locked onto Gazel. His blood froze in his veins. Every nerve in his body scread. His existence itself seed to quake under their gaze.
A voice, cold and hollow, echoed through the ruined city.
"DEATH. Death. Death."
It repeated the word, each syllable shaking the ground, vibrating through Gazel’s bones.
Then the voice changed. Calr, but absolute, undeniable.
"Death will consu all..."
The millions of bodies beneath the monstrous figure stirred. Their mouths opened.
Their eyes lifeless. And in the sa dark, unholy tone, they echoed:
"Death will consu all... death will consu all... death will consu all..."
The cacophony hit Gazel like a hamr.
His vision blurred. The world lted around him. He could no longer think. Could no longer breathe.
And then he collapsed.
Everything went black.
------------
Gazel woke up, chest heaving, drenched in sweat. His eyes were wide, his heart still rattling as if it wanted to break free.
He looked around the familiar room he shared with Jarren. Slowly, his heartbeat began to calm, but unease lingered.
The nightmare had flashed through his mind like fire, and a shiver ran through his body.
"What the hell did I just witness? What the hell was that creature?"
He had no answer. Nothing he had ever seen... on canvas, in stories, or in real life... compared.
His gaze drifted to the moon, shining cold and bright in the night sky.
If he had to guess, that thing... that nightmare... it had to be one of the dreadful rumors, the fairy tales humans whispered.
A demon... no, worse. That horror... it was above what even demons could do.
If such a thing existed, that had to be it. That had to be... the devil.
Hundreds of kiloters away, in a city far from Deodor, a figure ran through the forest.
A long black robe flowed behind him.
A wooden hilt and sharp blade were strapped to his back. His speed surpassed anything mundane, impossible for a human.
He leapt from branch to branch.
A purple beam tore through the air, aid at his head. He barely dodged, but it grazed his shoulder. Pain exploded through him like fire.
Another wave of agony followed. He counted at least fifty wounds across his body, each one screaming with fire and venom.
Blood soaked his clothes. His body trembled.
He did not fall. He could not.
Raising his head, he revealed two black eyes burning with determination.
"If I slow, I die. I will reach them... I must."
He stared into the distance. A few hundred kiloters remained. He had to warn them.... the Trystans. They needed to run. They needed to survive.
Focusing every ounce of strength left in him, he pushed forward. Pain and blood did not matter. Only the mission did.
Minutes later, where he had stood, two figures appeared.
One short, black-haired, rogue-like. The other tall, brown-haired.
The short one, Julu, bent down, dipped his hand in a puddle of blood left by the runner, and licked it with a low chuckle.
The taller groaned. "Those Shural... why must they be so slippery?"
"Relax," Julu said. "He’s weak. Wounded. He won’t make it to them."
Then his body began to change. Muscles bulged, limbs twisted, and two massive tusks erupted from his lower jaw.
His head thickened, harder than bone. He beca monstrous.
The other shifted too, but differently. Brown hair fell out completely. Purple thorns erupted from his skull. Hands turned into sharp, rapier-like blades. His eyes burned with hunger.
Julu’s voice hissed, insidious. "Why hurry when we can savor the kill? It’s been far too long since I tasted Shural at."
The other nodded, and together, they leapt into the night, chasing beneath the full moon.
TO BE CONTINUED....
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