Belial's wings faltered mid-flight, as though the air itself had thickened into stone. His momentum drained, and he plummeted backward, crashing onto the cold, unyielding balcony floor. The impact jarred his spine, forcing the breath from his lungs in a sharp gasp. Pain radiated through his back, but he pushed himself upright, groaning, only to freeze as his gaze caught something impossible far below.
No.
It couldn't be.
At the edge of the ravine, where jagged rocks met the abyss, stood a figure he had never expected to see again...a creature that should have been reduced to ash. The battle had ended with the sunrise cresting over the cliffs, its golden light searing the darkness. Belial had believed—needed to believe—that the light had devoured it. His own body had been broken then, plummeting toward the craggy base of the mountain, vision fading, bones splintering, blood pooling in his mouth. He hadn't seen it die. He hadn't needed to. The light should have been enough.
But had it escaped?
The creature stepped forward, bathed in the pale halo of moonlight filtering through the shattered stone arch above the ravine. Long shadows stretched across its form, twisting like living things. It moved with a slow, deliberate gait, unhurried, unconcerned. Its digitigrade legs, sleek and powerful, carried it with the grace of a panther, muscles rippling beneath hardened armor that gleamed with oily, fractured reflections. It towered at least five meters tall, its posture upright yet eerily relaxed, as if the concept of danger had never applied to it. As if it had never once been forced to flee.
Belial's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't move.
The creature's face split into a grin too wide, unnaturally so. Its mouth stretched across its head, revealing jagged, needle-like teeth that glistened in the dim light. No eyes. No pupils, no irises, no whites. Just smooth, hollow sockets carved into its skull, dark and bottomless, swallowing the moonlight. Short, sharp horns protruded from either side of its head, thick and twisted like gnarled tree roots, no longer than a hand's length but radiating menace.
Its ribcage expanded with each slow, deliberate breath, visible beneath the layered black plating of its torso. The armor rose and fell rhythmically, as if the creature were counting down to some inevitable event. The bones of its chest protruded unnaturally, shifting beneath the plating with faint cracks, like dry branches snapping underfoot. A long, whip-like tail trailed behind, gliding through the air in subtle, serpentine arcs, as if scenting the night for prey.
Belial's heart pounded, each beat a hammer against his ribs. His hands trembled, fingers twitching involuntarily. His vision narrowed, the edges blurring until all he could see was that thing below. The air grew thick, syrupy in his lungs, and the wind began to hiss—an ancient, incomprehensible whisper that carried warnings he couldn't decipher. His mind flooded with images he didn't want: that grinning mouth clamping down on his limbs, tearing through flesh and bone, devouring his heart while he still lived.
It wasn't real.
He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the vision away.
It wasn't real.
It was the haunted system—that cursed affliction burrowed deep within him, a parasite that fed on his fear, twisting his mind with delusions until he drowned in them. It was a sickness, not truth. He clutched his temples, biting back a scream that clawed at his throat. He was not prey. He would not be consumed.
Belial forced a ragged breath and opened his eyes.
The creature hadn't moved. It stood as still as the stone around it, a monument to terror.
Then it reached down. Long, clawed fingers wrapped around something small and dark on the ground.
The notebook.
Belial's stomach lurched. That book wasn't just paper and ink. It held memories, warnings, a shard of truth scrawled by someone who ventured many lands…
The creature lifted the notebook slowly, holding it close to its eyeless face. Its expression didn't change, but the hollow sockets twitched faintly, as if sensing something beyond sight. Its mouth stretched wider, drool glistening along its jagged teeth. It raised the book toward its gaping maw.
Fury surged through Belial, burning away the panic that had paralyzed him. He scrambled to his feet, his wings twitching with residual pain. His hand darted to his belt, fingers closing around a crystalline shard—a jagged fragment of etherite pulsing with violet light. Without hesitation, he hurled it through the darkness.
The shard screamed as it tore through the night, a high-pitched wail that echoed off the ravine walls. It struck the creature's wrist just as the notebook reached its mouth. A low, bone-chilling hiss ripped through the silence, and the book slipped from the creature's grasp, fluttering back to the earth.
The creature's head turned slowly, deliberately, toward the sky.
Toward him.
Belial stared into the hollows where eyes should have been. The air grew heavier, a pressure settling against his mind—not words, not thoughts, but a presence. Cold. Unyielding. It pressed against his shoulders, his chest, his soul, refusing to relent.
The creature's clawed hand twitched, reaching for the notebook again. But Belial stepped to the edge of the balcony, his gaze locked on the monster below. No more running. He had been haunted long enough.
This thing...this Blind Witness...should not exist. It was no beast, no man. It was something ancient, something that defied reason, a forgotten horror given flesh and bone. And now it was here, feeding on what he had lost, mocking his pain with its very existence.
Belial's fingers curled into fists, the ether burning beneath his skin like liquid fire. The weight of his promise to himself, to the fallen, to the world he'd sworn to protect—echoed in his chest. He would destroy it.
He had to.
The creature tilted its head slightly, its grin unchanging. It knew. It knew.
The wind sharpened, carrying the scent of dust and decay. The moonlight grew harsher, casting long, jagged shadows up the mountain. The notebook lay between them, half-open, its pages fluttering like a dying bird. The night held its breath.
Belial's wings twitched, the pain in his back a distant memory now. He reached for another shard, its glow illuminating his trembling hand. His mind raced, piecing together fragments of the past memories of the battle, the sunrise, the fall. The creature had been there, at the edge of the cliffs, bathed in shadow. He had fought it with everything he had, and yet, it had survived. How? The question gnawed at him, but there was no time to dwell on it. The Blind Witness was no ordinary foe. Its eyeless gaze seemed to pierce through him, stripping away his defenses, exposing the raw fear beneath.
He couldn't let it win.
he grabbed the crystallite shard, felt cold and small on his hand. He stepped closer to the balcony's edge, his eyes never leaving the creature. Its tail swayed lazily, the notebook lying forgotten for the moment. The pressure in Belial's mind intensified, a cold weight that threatened to crush his resolve. But he pushed back, drawing on the fire within him, the rage that had kept him alive through countless battles.
"You will not take this from me," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind.
The creature's head tilted further, as if it had heard him. Its grin widened, a grotesque parody of amusement. It took a single step forward, its clawed foot scraping against the stone. The sound sent a shiver down Belial's spine, but he held his ground.
Belial's wings flared, the pain in his back flaring with them. He didn't care. The etherite shard in his hand glowed brighter, its light casting eerie shadows across the balcony. He raised it, ready to strike again, but the creature moved first.
It lunged—not at him, but at the notebook. Its claws closed around it once more, lifting it toward its mouth. Belial didn't think. He hurled the shard with all his strength, aiming for the creature's head this time.
The shard struck true, embedding itself in the creature's shoulder. Another hiss tore through the night, louder this time, filled with rage. The notebook fell again, and the creature staggered back, its eyeless face turning toward Belial with a slow, deliberate motion.
The pressure in his mind surged, a tidal wave of cold dread. He stumbled, clutching his head, but refused to fall. He was no stranger to pain, to fear. He had faced death itself and walked away. This thing would not break him.
The creature straightened, its movements fluid despite the shard lodged in its shoulder. It took a step toward the base of the mountain, its tail lashing behind it. The notebook lay in the dirt, untouched for now. Belial's eyes flicked to it, then back to the creature. He couldn't let it reach the book again.
He spread his wings, ignoring the agony that shot through them, and leaped from the balcony. The wind roared in his ears as he descended, landing heavily on the rocky ground below. The impact jolted his already battered body, but he pushed himself upright, his gaze locked on the Blind Witness.
It stood motionless, its head tilted as if studying him. The moonlight glinted off its armor, highlighting the unnatural smoothness of its eyeless face. The pressure in Belial's mind grew heavier, but he gritted his teeth and stepped forward.
"You've haunted me long enough," he said, his voice steady despite the fear clawing at his insides. "This ends tonight."
The creature's grin widened, its teeth gleaming like daggers. It took a step forward, its claws flexing. The air grew colder, the wind sharper. The notebook lay between them, its pages fluttering in the moonlight. The night watched in silence.
Belial stepped back, preparing for war.
And in the deep quiet, he whispered to himself.
"You picked the wrong demon to haunt."