Diomede drifted through an endless void, swallowed whole by an all-consuming darkness that pressed in from every side. His senses dulled to a ghostly silence—no sound reached him, no scent stirred the stagnant air, no taste lingered on his tongue. His skin, numb and detached, felt neither warmth nor cold. When he willed his eyes open, only an impenetrable blackness greeted him, an abyss that threatened to devour whatever flicker of hope remained.
Then, a voice sliced through the silence like a jagged, rusted blade tearing through worn leather — harsh, twisted, and unmistakably familiar. It slithered through the void, dripping with venomous mockery.
"So, you have tasted blood yet again," it hissed, the words curling with dark amusement.
Diomede's chest tightened. He recognized that foul voice—an echo of ancient malevolence bound to his soul.
"You're not going to answer me?" The voice sneered as a small, blood-red flame flickered to life in the darkness. It pulsed, growing larger and hotter, casting sickly shadows that danced like specters. The flame's glow intensified, bathing the void in a hellish red light that seemed to burn away what little peace remained.
Suddenly, a crushing weight bore down on him, and he fell—hard—landing with a bone-jarring thud on cold, unforgiving marble. Rising slowly, his eyes locked onto two monstrous, glowing red orbs—eyes that pierced the darkness with baleful intent.
Before him stood two towering pillars, each ensnared in heavy iron chains that rattled ominously. Scattered at their base were skeletal remains clad in the rusted armor of forgotten wars, silent witnesses to a long-dead carnage.
Between the pillars loomed a colossal figure, shrouded in impenetrable shadow. Its gargantuan form was defined only by the fiery eyes that bored into Diomede's very soul.
"What's wrong, Diomede?" the beast taunted, voice dripping with cruel amusement. "Afraid if I speak, I might break free from these senseless chains?"
Diomede's hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms. His voice was low, steady, simmering with a mixture of ancient hatred and dread.
"No," he replied, voice taut with restrained fury. "You know better than that."
A terrible grin spread across the shadowed figure's face, revealing rows of enormous, jagged teeth — a predator's smile that promised torment and despair. The air thickened with menace, as the vile presence waited, savoring the brewing storm between them.
They were like jagged stalagmites, towering and sharp as an executioner's axe, the chains coiling tightly around the pillars, groaning and chipping the marble beneath with the creature's shifting weight. Diomede's gaze tore away from the monstrous form, fixing coldly on the shadows that birthed it.
"Why have you begun speaking to me… Omikuna?" His voice was steady, but beneath it simmered a tempest of anger and dread.
The chains rattled and tightened as Omikuna's voice echoed, dark and venomous. "Why do I speak? Simple. You have tasted blood again, and I have been strengthened by it."
Diomede stepped closer to the edge of the pillars, his chest heaving. "I have not shaped my form, nor have I ingested flesh. You have no means to draw strength." His shout cracked through the void.
A thunderous, twisted laugh exploded from Omikuna—foul and cruel, a sound that would make even the bravest man's heart race in terror. "You have allowed too much time to pass between your uses of power. But now, you wield them frequently, with killing and hatred clenching your heart. I have been fed!"
A cold, soul-piercing warmth crept through Diomede's core. The shadows slithered and coiled, wrapping around his limbs like living chains. "You have fed the curse that binds you, and my freedom draws nearer than ever before."
The shadows lifted Diomede into the air, aligning his eyes with Omikuna's burning gaze. "I still have control over you, beast!" he growled.
Omikuna's monstrous form convulsed and shrank, reshaping into a shadow-cloaked figure resembling a man—sinister, but disturbingly human. It stepped forward, voice dripping with dark amusement. "You think you control me? I am eager to watch you travel with this new band of naïve heroes… to see the shock on your face."
With a flick of its hand, ghostly images flickered to life—Clayton, Lily, Kira, Francisco—each framed in ominous light. "How long before you scare them away… or kill them, too?"
Sudden visions crashed into Diomede's mind—scenes from a distant past. Disembodied bodies piled high. The metallic scent of blood thick in the air. Echoes of screams reverberating in his ears. Frantic faces frozen in terror. His heart thundered, reliving every agonizing moment—the sounds, the smells, the twisted ecstasy of destruction.
Omikuna stepped fully into the flickering light, its face a dark mirror of Diomede's own, save for razor-sharp teeth and eyes burning a deep, hellish red.
"Tell me, Diomede," it whispered with venom, "How long will you continue to play at being a hero?"
Omikuna's grasp closed fiercely around Diomede's head, every scream of pain and torment flooding his mind with unbearable intensity. A guttural, anguished yell tore from Diomede's throat, echoing into the void—until a sharp, stinging impact crashed into his face, snapping him back.
Gasping, Diomede found himself sprawled face-down on the dusty road. Slowly, he lifted his head and turned toward the wagon. There, Lily stood firm in the center, while Francisco and Kira exchanged worried glances. Clayton lingered apart, shadowed by the wagon's moonlit silhouette.
"Are you alright, Sir Eithen?" Clayton asked, his voice steady but concerned.
For a moment, Diomede's confusion flickered—then he understood why Clayton had used that name. "Yes," he replied, voice hoarse, "I'm fine. Just those old war dreams again." His fingers brushed his swollen right cheek.
Clayton nodded toward Lily, who stood tall, her left fist clenched tightly. Diomede smiled weakly. "Thank you, Mary, for waking me."
Lily arched a brow in puzzled amusement and looked around, then caught Kira's gaze. Kira silently mouthed the word, "You." With a slight smirk, Lily settled back down. "Yeah, well… you're welcome."
Diomede stood and turned toward the wagon, where Gareld twisted to watch the scene unfold. Offering a half-hearted wave, Diomede returned a nod from Gareld, who turned back to the reins.
Clayton approached the rear and grasped Diomede's arm gently. "What was all that about?"
Diomede met his gaze. "What was I doing?"
Leaning in, Clayton lowered his voice. "You were screaming like you were being murdered. Kira was panicking—she could feel your fear and pain."
Diomede glanced over and saw Kira hiding behind a blanket wrapped tightly around her, her face flushed. A heavy wave of shame settled in his chest. "Sorry. I haven't had nightmares like that in a while."
He climbed back into the wagon bed and took the same spot where he had been knocked out. Clayton returned to the seat beside Gareld.
"Everything alright?" Gareld asked.
Clayton nodded. "Yes, Sir Eithen has seen many things in his travels—some memories just don't know when to leave him alone."
Gareld offered a knowing nod. "I know a few men visited by their past like that." He gently flicked the reins. "Alright, Randy, let's get moving again. Shouldn't be much farther now, everyone."
Diomede laid his head back, the shadow of his nightmare lingering in his mind's corners. He watched as the moon trailed their wagon along the night sky, a silent witness to his unrest.