The air was thick with the stench of sulfur and rot, the bog churning with the malice of millions of watching souls, envious, stirred from their sediment tombs. Níðhöggr reared back, its massive, scaled body cutting through the mire with serpentine grace, tongues whipping from its maw, slashing through the mist like ribbons of flesh. Aric stood, shoulders hunched, the blade of Paradise Lost glowing with dark, eldritch light.
There was no hesitation or strategy.
Aric lunged forward, his feet slamming into the bog with enough force to send ripples through the semi-aqueous muck. Paradise Lost spiraled in his grip, the blade howling as they both screamed through the thickened air. Níðhöggr met him head-on, its fangs glimmering with ichor and hate.
They crashed together, blade against fang as an eruption of force sent waves of putrid sludge splattering across the mire. Aric swung, wide and reckless, Paradise Lost singing with eldritch fury. The serpent's fang cracked, and then, split, as Aric's blade tore through the side of the beasts mouth. Torrents of black and gold blood sprayed across the bog, steaming as it hit the ground. The blade did not slice, it ripped through divine flesh as if surrounded by a forcefield of pure destructive power.
Níðhöggr writhed, tongues lashing with the force of a collapsing castle. Where before Aric had dodged or parried the beast, redirecting the incredible force with skill and precision, now he took the blows head on. Bones cracked, flesh bruised, but there was no pause in his pursuit. No flinch in his fury. Aric shot back, splashing into the bog slime some thirty feet below the surface, consumed completely by the maw. Blood pooled in his mouth, but his eyes remained locked on the beast, blackened and void-like, swirling with madness.
The bog clutched him greedily, beneath the slime, Aric, or what was left of him, did not think. It cut, suddenly splitting the bog water, slime, and mud, causing the terrain itself to retreat as a divine wave of golden power sent a rift down the length of the bog, and from it, Aric lunged again.
The serpent lunged, jaws unhinged, rows of jagged fangs flashing with black spit. Aric did not move to dodge; he merely swung his sword, smacking the serpent's face with the flat of his blade like a club. A shockwave rang out and hundreds of teeth shattered, splinters of bone scattering into the fog. Blood, black and shimmering with specks of gold, sprayed across Aric's body, seeping into his skin as the Serpent heaved through the air, landing hard on the ground.
And yet, where it sizzled and scorched upon the surface of the bog, when it landed upon him, it did not burn. It did not hurt.
It healed.
A flicker of light bloomed in his eyes. Consciousness, clarity, like waking from a sleep paralysis nightmare. A screen shimmered before him:
[Blood of Immortals Buff Applied:]
[Your mind, body, and soul are temporarily restored by the blood of an immortal being.]
He exhaled, the breath ragged but deliberate. He could think. He could feel. For the first time since summoning the blade, he felt like himself. Whole... and with this return to his senses, a torrent of bodily pain came with it.
"ARRGH!" Aric yelped, falling to a knee, a hand holding his shattered ribs.
He breathed hard, and blinked, suppressing the temptation of shock and slowing his heartbeat with intention and focus. Looking down at himself, he saw the truth for the first time with eyes that truly felt his own. "Gods and Demons..." He murmured, the black veins pulsing and twisting beneath his skin. "What's become of me?" Aric's right hand gripped the hilt of Paradise Lost, locked in place, refusing to release the blade despite his mental command.
Níðhöggr shrieked, its body writhing in a frenzy of pain and frustration. Aric snapped back, wasting no time. "Enough!" He barked.
"I understand your pain..." He continued, voice lowering before suddenly breaking out in a dash towards the furious serpent. Despite his wounds, Aric's steps were deliberate, measured. The serpent reared back, tongues lashing wildly, but Aric was already upon it. With a single, deliberate motion, he swung "Let me end it for you."
Paradise Lost howled, its light splitting reality as the blade cleaved through scale and sinew, severing the top half of Níðhöggr's head from the bottom. As the top of his head and jaw landed upon the bog with a hard, wet thud, there was no spray of blood. Aric watched it for a moment, as blood slowly began to seep, pools of gold coating the top of the bog like spilt oil atop water. A screen shimmered before his eyes:
[Immortal Slain:]
[Níðhöggr, The Serpent who Devours the Divine]
Then another:
[New Spell Acquired:]
[Devour Divine]
Aric staggered, breath heaving as black and gold veins began to creep back up his arms, pulsing with a sinister light. His mind rattled with the onset of madness, the familiar torment clawing its way back, paradoxical shapes and unfathomable colors shifting back into his vision like a nightmare overtaking a sleeping man.
"No... no, no, no" he murmured, desperately swiping through the translucent screens. "Not again!" he said practically pleading, he stopped when he reached the status menu. Debuffs flickered in crimson:
[STATUS:]
HP:67/268
STAM:114/114
MP:20/25
FP:0/0
[AFFECTS:]
[Injury: Broken Ribs]
[Effect:15% Total Stamina]
[Fractured Sanity]
[Effect:Your mind teeters on the edge of oblivion, threatening complete mental collapse unless cured.]
[Eldritch Overload]
[Effect:Your soul flirts with the void, its tether to existence unraveling with each moment unless cured.]
[Conviction Crisis]
[Effect:Faith has abandoned you. Damnation looms, you will be damned unless restored.]
His eyes flicked to the glowing green text beneath, and the countdown timer next to it:
[Blood of Immortals: 30 Seconds Remaining.]
[Effect:The blood of an immortal coats you, temporarily sating Paradise Lost and nullifying your shattered state.]
The seconds ticked on... 21. 20. 19.
Panic flared through him. "How do I stop this?" he roared into the air, but no one answered him. Instead, the system flickered, screens flashing before him. The debuffs scrolled into view, details streaming in lines of white light:
[Debuffs applied due to insufficient attribute stats can be removed by unequipping the weapon, Item, or Spell.]
"Unequip?" he murmured, looking down at the blade.
Again, he willed his hand to release the blade, but his grip only tightened. Black veins flared angrily beneath his skin, muscles seizing as if the very thought of release was an insult. Paradise Lost pulsed with malevolent energy, binding itself to his flesh like a lover that refused to be forsaken.
"How the hell do I do that?" he snarled, hands shaking.
15... 14... 13...
"Dammit!" he shouted, balling a fist. "Listen to me!" he shouted, punching his own hand in fury, but to no avail. Aric swore he could hear someone laughing... somewhere out there, maybe in his head? No time. He refocused.
9... 8... 7...
"Wait!" he exclaimed, his voice ragged with desperation. Screens flickered to life around him, summoned with the frantic swipe of his hand. He moved through them with instinctive, feverish precision, fingers skimming across translucent panels that shimmered and rippled beneath his touch.
His eyes locked onto the spell screen, pupils dilated as he poured over the only spell displayed, combing through every line of text in a desperate search for anything that might save his life!
[SPELLS]
[Bind Blade:]
Spell Class: D
Type: Enchanting
Cost: 5MP
Requirement: A Bladed Weapon
Required Attributes: Occult: 1, Mind: 10
Effect: Enchant a bladed weapon, binding it to your soul and allowing you to conjure and dismiss it freely.
[ACTIVATE]
3... 2...
"DISMISS!" he shouted, voice flush with desperate intention.
Paradise Lost shattered into spirals of mist, evaporating back into the mark upon his hand. In his loosening grip, the broken remnants of his bound sword were all that was left, before it too blinked out of existence in a colorful flash akin to the screens themselves. A confirmation screen popped up before him:
[Bound Blade Unsummoned.]
The dark veins receded and pain subsided as the debuffs flickered and vanished from his status screen. Aric sank to his knees, breath heaving, watching the mire settle around him.
A hesitant flicker of relief flared in his chest, brief, and ultimately fleeting, as the bog began to howl.
Spirits erupted from the muck, swirling like fragments of glass caught in a storm. They screamed, faces twisted in anguish and jealousy, wailing with voices long forgotten. The ground beneath him quaked as millions of spiritual spectators began to speak, their whispers rising to a fevered pitch:
"You had NO RIGHT!"
"WHY COULDN'T YOU HAVE SAVED US?"
"NO, IT'S NOT FAIR! YOU CAN'T LEAVE!!!"
Millions of blue ghosts erupted from the mire, wailing and flickering with pale light. Some crawled up from the depths, clawing their way from the bottom of the endless bog where they had been submerged for ages uncounted. Their cries, ancient and desperate, coalesced into a spectral tide that swarmed over the carcass of Níðhöggr, washing it in a shimmering haze of ethereal blue.
Tendrils of spirit energy snaked through its wounds, filling the gaping gashes with viscous ectoplasm that hissed and crackled as it bonded with dead flesh. Its severed head reattached with a sickening crunch, its open mouth hanging limp, tongues snaking out like vengeful wraiths, dripping with spectral bioluminescent black ooze.
"I-I-IT'S..." The voices croaked, merging into one from an earsplitting cacophony into a single hate-fueled harmony.
The serpent shuddered, Its eyes suddenly igniting in a ghostly blue fire. Gaunt, ethereal limbs sprouting from its sides, forming two massive, translucent arms of spiritual energy and undead sinew. The hands clawed at the earth, dragging its body up from its brief resting place with grotesque lurch.
A red bar appeared before Aric's eyes, dripping with crimson light and labeled by a foreboding title:
[Boss Fight:]
[Bog Sin Abomination, Resentment of the Damned: 150,000/150,000 HP]
"NOTFAIRRRRR!!!!!!!!" The serpent roared, broken mouth flapping uncannily.
Aric glanced down at his hand, the thought alone enough to summon the bound, broken sword into his grip. Its jagged edges shimmered with faint ethereal light, whispering of forgotten power. For a moment, the temptation to call forth Paradise Lost again surged through him, but the mere thought alone nearly dropped him to his knees.
His stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat as fractured memories of its terrible allure flashed behind his eyes. He shook his head, dispelling the oppressive thought, and fixed his gaze forward, shifting back and forth between the cracked blade in his hand and the undead monstrosity now lurching toward him.
"Shit."