Inno sprinted through the forest, eyes darting wildly, searching for cover.
"Is it just me, or are they more vicious than usual?" he muttered, picking up speed.
PENG!!
A rock hurtled toward him, striking his head with pinpoint accuracy. His skull snapped back from the sheer force of the impact, blood seeping from the wound.
"Ouch! Yeah, they are more vicious... and more accurate."
Gritting his teeth, he pressed a hand to his injury, ripping a strip of fabric from his clothes to stem the bleeding. But he didn't stop moving—he couldn't. In a scenario like this, even a split-second pause could lead to something far worse.
OOF!!
A wire snagged his foot, sending him crashing forward—toward a bed of metal spikes arranged in a deadly vertical and horizontal array.
Mid-descent, he twisted his body in a forceful 360-degree spin, barely avoiding them. He hit the ground hard.
Tweeweee!
Tweeweee!
His eyes widened. Arrows rained down.
He rolled across the dirt, tumbling and weaving to evade them—but one lodged itself deep in his shoulder.
AARGH!!
Ignoring the pain, Inno scrambled to his feet. Being on the ground left him dangerously exposed.
Squelch!!
Breath ragged, he tore the arrow free, gripping it firmly as he continued his escape. His senses sharpened, every fiber of his being on high alert.
Another strip of fabric pressed against his shoulder, slowing the bleeding.
He leapt over rocks, grasping tree branches with a firm grip. Swinging with practiced precision, he dodged the arrows and stones flying at him from different angles.
"This is strange… They seem more calculated," he thought. "I gave them my hunt yesterday. Even if it was just for a night, they should be a little less aggressive—less planned. Too bad they refused my hunt today—"
A fresh onslaught of rocks interrupted his reflection. He had no choice but to jump to the ground.
As his feet neared the earth, something felt off.
He veered left mid-descent, but his momentum wasn't enough.
THUD!!
Pain shot through him as he crashed into the ground. The impact sent tremors through his body—then, suddenly, the earth beneath him collapsed.
Before him lay a pit—filled with metal spikes.
His breath hitched.
They never chased him like this. It was usually haphazardly, without structure.
But now? This was different.
His mind raced, calculating his escape.
Taking a deep breath, he shifted his weight, kicking off the wall. He propelled himself to another surface and did the same, narrowly pulling himself out.
Hands and knees scraping the dirt, he kept moving—less frantically, but still dodging arrows from all directions.
"Now that I think about it… I haven't seen a single person or heard any shouting since this chase started." His breathing steadied. "It's almost as if I'm being chased by—"
PANG!!
THUD!!
A metallic force struck him from the side, sending him sprawling to the ground.
His vision blurred, spinning into hazy darkness.
He could barely make out a silhouette—a figure clad in black. Its form was indistinct, unnatural, its presence unreal.
"...a ghost."
He managed to whisper—before everything faded.
* * *
A man sat beneath the stars, staring into the vast sky.
Silent tears trickled down his cheeks, dampening his mustache and pointed beard.
"Father…" he whispered. "What am I supposed to do? Why am I so weak? Why am I such a failure—such a disappointment as a leader?" His voice cracked.
"I tried my best... I tried." His gaze was hollow, distant.
"It... it's all his fault.... Every single thing." His fists clenched.
"THE LOSS OF MY HEIR IS HIS FAULT. MY IMPOTENCE IS HIS FAULT. MY PAIN IS HIS FAULT!"
His scream rang out as his fist slammed against the chair beneath him.
"Now… She is... angered." His tone darkened.
"I tried to hold her back, to reason with her—to stop her." Sweat beaded on his brow.
"But she didn't listen. No matter what I said, she ignored me. I-I tried to maybe pacify her. I tried to make it better for her." His breath shuddered. "But it's too late now."
"She's already begun—and she will stop at nothing to finish."
- - -
A figure stood cloaked in darkness.
The silhouette's body bore curves—feminine in nature.
Shing!
Shing!
Shing!
Steel rasped against steel—blades grinding against each other in rhythmic anticipation.
The figure leaned forward, revealing her face—a wicked grin, manic, her lips curled with eerie delight.
Tears fell from her eyes, yet the smile never wavered.
She wasn't old. Nor was she young. Her hair was tied in a tight bun.
She sharpened her blades. Over and over.
Behind her, a voice stirred.
"Uh… Where am I?"
She froze.
Her smile remained, unwavering, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.
"You, my friend," she whispered, voice dripping with malice, "are in what I call…"
Death Palace.