Pain, it's true, often clouds critical thought. But there are wounds so deep, blows so relentless, that they crack something beyond flesh they shatter perception itself. And in those open fractures, within what remains of us, a cold, silent light begins to bloom. It is not warmth, nor comfort. It is illumination that was always there, hidden beneath the weight of every beating endured, waiting for the right moment to surface.
It is not a gentle knowledge, nor a welcoming epiphany. It is wisdom carved from the entrails of despair, as sharp and merciless as the blade that forged it. Those who survive the forge of suffering do not emerge merely stronger they emerge changed. The eyes, once filled with illusion, begin to see the skeleton of the world, the strands of shadow that weave it together. They learn that compassion, however noble, is a luxury not everyone can afford and that the purest truths often taste like ashes and blood.
This understanding is no gift, but a curse disguised as power. While the wise debate what is right or wrong, we the ones marked by pain simply act. Because we have seen the hollow face of the abyss, and we understand that, in the end, it is hard choices — not prayers — that shape destiny.
As for me?
I was kneeling in the middle of a field of ruins. Everything around me had been destroyed by the impacts of the battle. Rocks, craters, deep gashes in the ground — every inch of that landscape bore witness to the fight. My sword was buried halfway into the earth; I leaned on it with my right arm, panting, each breath a spasm of pain.
My condition was miserable. A horrific scar crossed my face, running from my forehead, slicing through my right eye now blind and dead all the way down to my chin, bleeding without end. My left arm was twisted backward at a grotesque angle, completely broken. My right ear was gone — just a bleeding hole remained. Of the once magnificent armor, almost nothing was left: bare arms, a cracked chestplate. My eyes, once steady, were now hollow caverns, weighed down by dark rings that seemed to devour what was left of my humanity.
But before me, at last, the creature was dead. Split in half. Arms and legs torn away. Headless. No sign of regeneration, no twitching, no sinister pulse. Only silence. Silence, and the silver dust of the mist settling over the remains of that nightmare.
But for you to understand how this all came to be, we must go back a few days.
** Three days earlier
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"
The grotesque blade passed inches from my head, slicing the air and severing a lock of my hair. The impact shattered the rock behind me, scattering incandescent fragments across the valley. Instinctively, my feet twisted on the cracked ground; my body moved before my mind could follow. I gripped the hilt of my greatsword tight and with a lateral swing, I poured all the strength I had left into a horizontal strike.
The air exploded.
My blade bit into the creature's stone-like shell, and the sound that followed was an ear-splitting roar of rock being torn apart. The monster's torso separated from its legs, and it was thrown backward, dragging a trail of dust and silver mist. The arm that held its jagged sword broke off, spinning through the air before hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
The creature's body split in two, severing the waist from the legs.
But there was no relief.
The moment cracks began to glow across the mutilated body, I ran. Ran like a cornered animal, stumbling between boulders. My lungs burned, breath tearing my throat, every step making the blood pound inside my skull.
The sound of my footsteps merged with the faint crackling — the same sound that always came before the monster's rebirth.
I had already figured out the pattern.
That damned stalker made of stone and mist wouldn't die. Every time I destroyed it, the body dissolved into dust and reformed right after, faster, denser, angrier.
At first, I tried to fight it head-on.
Blade against blade. Strength against strength. And I lost. Every single time.
Each clash, every confrontation, after a single second, sent me flying dozens of meters away — as if something invisible amplified the impact and hurled me into the rocks.
But after countless falls, cracked bones, and blood coughed out, I began to understand its rhythm.
So I changed my strategy.
I stopped trying to fight it... and started trying to survive it.
Every step, every movement of my body became an act of dodging, redirecting — above all, avoiding direct contact for more than a second.
I let its blade tear through the space where I was, never where I would be.
Even so, each dodge was a battle against exhaustion and precision.
My body was aching, muscles trembling, skin torn, breathing uneven. And yet that gray desert of rock and mist continued to echo only the sounds of my agony, and the metallic dragging of the creature's sword as it came, inevitably, for another hunt.
I entered a narrow cave, my body trembling from exhaustion, heart pounding as if trying to burst out of my chest. The air inside was heavy, dense — it smelled of iron, dust, and silence. The walls pulsed with a faint glow from the silver mist seeping through the cracks, as if even the darkness itself breathed in that cursed valley.
With every step, I wondered if this search still made any sense. The "Phantom Moon technique"… what kind of hell was this? I'd been on this journey for more than six hours, climbing steep ridges, diving into caverns, scraping my fingers against sharp rocks, searching for any trace of something that wasn't just ashes, stone, and mist. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
There wasn't a single living soul in this place.
The cold ground felt like a divine invitation. I let myself collapse onto it, sword falling beside me, and closed my eyes with a long, heavy sigh, as if every muscle in my body had finally begged for a truce. The sound of my heartbeat filled the cave, a slow, muffled drum.
I knew I didn't have much time. Counting mentally, I probably had ten minutes before that abomination found me again. It was always the same cycle: battle, escape, regeneration, then battle again. A curse that couldn't be broken.
My eyelids began to grow heavy, and my body, caught between pain and relief, began to give in. The numbness of exhaustion wrapped me in a shallow, dangerous, but irresistible sleep.
Then came the sound.
A metallic drag, distant — but drawing closer.
That blade — that grotesque, toothed, living blade — scraping the rocky floor, spitting sparks in the dark.
The echo multiplied across the cave walls, scattering in a thousand directions.
There was no doubt.
It had found me again.
My body reacted before my mind could even register the danger.
Pure instinct.
I rolled out of the cave and hit the ground, feeling my muscles tear from within and my bones protest like rusted hinges. Fighting in a narrow tunnel would've been suicide, especially with a greatsword. I had learned that the hard way before, when tons of rock had collapsed over my head.
The cold wind struck my face the instant I left the darkness.
And then, the dry roar of steel.
"BOOOOOOOOM!"
The serrated blade brushed past my body and tore through the cave's entrance, slicing the stone as if it were molten butter. Shards flew in every direction, and the echo of the strike reverberated through the valley like thunder.
"Damn it… that bastard's even stronger now."
It was always the same. The creature would die, disintegrate into mist — and when it returned, it was enhanced. Faster. Denser. More brutal.
I planted my feet firmly, aligning my body.
My right hand gripped the greatsword's hilt, and a golden flash split the mist, the energy of my halo bursting outward in every direction, igniting the air around me into something incandescent.
The world slowed down.
Every particle of dust seemed frozen midair.
I dashed forward.
The ground cracked beneath my feet, and in the blink of an eye, I was already before the creature. Its arm rose, trying to crush me.
But my body moved on its own — a minimal dodge, a shift of mere centimeters.
The hilt of my sword struck upward, smashing into what would be its jaw. The impact twisted its head back, and for an instant, its massive body was lifted two meters into the air — just enough time.
With both hands gripping the hilt, I channeled every ounce of strength in my body and brought the blade down in fury.
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"
The impact split the earth, carving a crater beneath the creature. Sand and silver smoke swirled into spirals as the valley trembled.
Its body was buried beneath the debris, but, as always, there was no blood. No flesh. No end.
I let out a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of the sword vibrating through my hands.
"Phew…"
Another round in hell had begun.
** Two days earlier
The ground shattered beneath my feet, and the world flipped upside down.
The creature and I plunged off the cliff, into a black abyss that swallowed light and spat out wind. Its claws sank into my shoulder, tearing through flesh, while its rocky skin heated like molten lava.
"AGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!" I screamed, kicking it away mid-fall.
In the air, everything became a chaotic succession of flashes, the steel of my sword slicing through mist, its blade swinging for my neck, the air splitting in sharp, deadly lines. Each strike felt both slow and fast at once — as if time itself wavered between death and survival.
Its blade came diagonally, cutting through the space between us.
I dodged with my final burst of strength, spun my body, and in a moment of pure rage, drove my sword into its abdomen. Silver mist gushed out like blood, though by now it could only be described as liquid smoke. It was thick, dense, and I could swear I felt its viscosity against my skin.
It roared and slammed its head into me, the impact cracking my armor, crushing the air from my lungs, and hurling me downward with enough force to break stone.
The fall ended in a deafening crash. Luckily, it wasn't solid ground.
The lake's surface exploded in a burst of white light.
The sound of impact drowned out everything — even thought itself.
Pain shot through my back and ribs, but I didn't stop. The creature plunged into the water behind me, half its face torn away, its body covered in pulsating wounds that leaked silver vapor.
When it charged, I spun underwater, gripping the smooth side of its own serrated weapon. My legs wrapped around its neck, and with a twisting motion, I hurled it deeper into the lake. Holding onto its blade, I used the weight of the weapon to drive it down with every last ounce of strength I had.
The bottom of the lake was a wall of sharp, silver stones — as hard as iron.
With a guttural roar, I plunged the blade into its chest and forced it through until it pierced all the way.
The water bubbled. Its body convulsed, trapped, thrashing in fury — before a muffled thud echoed beneath the surface.
Its blood dissolved into the water, turning the lake into a cloud of silvery haze — transforming the once-clear depths into an opaque, milky void. Before I surfaced, I kicked the blade already impaled in its body with all the strength I had left.
The weapon pierced through the creature completely, and the jagged teeth of its blade lodged into the rocks at the bottom, pinning it in place.
The kick sent me ricocheting upward.
I burst from the lake like a castaway from hell.
Cold water streamed down my body, mingling with the blood pouring from hundreds of small wounds I had gathered through these endless trials. Every movement was slow, dragging, painful as if my very skeleton was about to give out. The sword, heavy as an anchor, was still firm in my grip the last remnant of my dignity.
At the bottom of the lake, the creature was trapped.
It was now almost twice its original size denser, darker, more grotesque.
"What the hell is this…" I muttered, collapsing to the ground, my voice cracking. "What curse is buried in this damned place…"
I had climbed every inch of that cursed mountain, torn through the silver mist with my bare hands, explored caves and peaks, combed every corner for any clue.
A magic scroll.
A legendary sword.
Symbols carved into stone.
Anything.
Every fantasy story I had ever read followed the same pattern, the hero entered a cave, faced a guardian, and, in the end, received the secret technique — a new skill that changed everything.
But here?
Here there was only ash. Stone. Mist.
And pain.
And now, without realizing it, I had returned to the very place where I began — the lake that had broken my fall.
The same place. The same metallic smell. The same cold mist.
"I'm walking in circles…" I whispered hoarsely, despair gnawing at my insides.
"I'm completely lost."
The creature at the bottom of the lake let out a low rumble — almost like grinding stone — as if mocking me even while trapped.
And there, kneeling at the shore, I finally understood it wasn't just my body that was broken.
It was also that childish belief that all of this had a simple meaning — that fighting alone would someday be rewarded.