Ethan stayed where he was, hunched over the anvil, sweat dripping onto its cracked surface. His breath came in ragged pulls, every inhale felt like like he was drinking fire.
"Well, at least I now know where I am," he rasped. "Oathbound."
The name felt wrong in his mouth. He'd never played it, just heard his brother talk about it for hours. He knew the basics: you forged Oaths in your Soul Forge, and those Oaths defined your strength. But knowing about the game and being inside it were two very different things. Here, if he died, there would be no second chance; it would be game over.
He staggered a step, clutching the anvil for balance—
CRACK.
Agony detonated through his body. It wasn't a wound. It wasn't even pain in the flesh. This was deeper; it was like a thousand rusted daggers tearing into the very core of his existence. His back arched as a scream ripped itself from his throat, raw and guttural.
The black memory-mirrors along the walls splintered violently, shards raining down in showers of silver sparks. Memories, his memories, bled out of them, scenes melting away before he could grasp them. A laugh. A smell. A voice calling his name. Gone.
Another crack split the anvil, the pale-blue glow spilling out like blood from an open wound. The cold fire in the forge flared violently and then collapsed, leaving only a shivering ember.
A blue message burned into his vision, hard to read through the tears and black spots clouding his sight:
Warning: Soul Integrity –30%
Structural Stability of Soul Forge Critically Compromised
He dropped to his knees, clutching at his chest. Each heartbeat was an explosion of white heat, searing through nerves he didn't even know he had. His bones vibrated. His teeth felt like they'd crack apart.
He knew, without a doubt, that if this went on for even a few seconds longer, there'd be nothing left of him to save.
"God. . . ahhh . . .DAMN IT—" His voice broke into a hoarse scream.
The pillars shuddered and bowed, their glowing veins dimming as if the whole place was bleeding out. The violet crystals dimmed to near black.
Somehow, through the haze, he understood: if the Forge collapsed completely, so would he. Body. Mind. Soul.
With sheer willpower, he forced himself to his feet, staggering toward the far wall. A door shimmered into existence at his command, dark wood, bound with glowing purple sigils, but even forming it cost him another spike of pain that doubled him over, bile burning the back of his throat.
The moment he stumbled through, the Soul Forge began collapsing in on itself. The pillars caved inward. The floor fractured like glass. The last thing he saw was the anvil. It's light flickering in weak, desperate pulses before it shattered into a thousand fragments.
Then the world snapped back.
He slammed into his body like being dropped from a skyscraper, his limbs twitching uncontrollably. Cold air clawed at his skin, but his mid still felt like it was on fire. His vision swam. Somewhere distant, he thought he heard wind, but he couldn't focus on anything except the agony chewing through him from the inside out.
The darkness took him before he could even draw a full breath.
---
Ethan's eyes shot open to pain. It wasn't the dull ache of bruises or the sting of a cut. This pain ran deeper; it felt wrong, as if someone had hooked molten wires into his body and pulled. His muscles locked up, and his jaw clenched until he thought his teeth might crack. Every nerve screamed.
For a moment, he couldn't even breathe.
The ceiling above him swam in and out of focus. Jagged stone arches loomed, crumbling and coated in moss and centuries of dust. The little sunlight that trickled through the holes was weak, swallowed by the darkness.
Voices murmured around him.
He turned his head, and just that simple motion sent another shockwave of phantom pain through his body, forcing a strangled gasp from his throat.
Shapes moved in the shadows. Gaunt figures wrapped in tattered cloth, hiding their faces behind crude masks of bone and clay. They stood in a loose circle, surrounding an ancient altar. His altar.
Ropes bit into his wrists and ankles. A sickly-sweet smell filled the air, something like rotting eggs and blood. The cracked tiles beneath him were stained with blood of various origins.
One of the masked figures stepped forward, holding a sleek, smooth dagger made from black stone.
"…the offering will open the way," the figure rasped, its voice dry as parchment. "Even a powerless one will suffice."
Powerless?
Ethan's heartbeat pounded in his ears. He knew enough about Oathbound from overhearing his brother to understand one thing: people without power were prey. The world worked on the law of the jungle
And right now, tied to an altar and half-delirious from the pain ripping through him, he was the easiest prey in the room.
The masked man moved closer to the altar, where Ethan was tied, before standing just beside his bound figure.
His dagger's edge caught the light, flashing for a heartbeat before the masked figure lifted it over Ethan's chest.
His pulse thundered. The phantom pain still burned through him, but somewhere beneath it, there was… strength. A strange, unnatural steadiness in his body, like every muscle, every tendon, every bone was working at perfect capacity. Balanced. Controlled.
The ropes creaked as he flexed his wrists.
They were old, frayed in places, eaten through by years of damp. The masked figures were too certain of their helpless prize to notice the faint grinding sound as he twisted his arms.
Snap.
One strand gave way. Then another.
The figure with the dagger didn't even flinch, still chanting in that dry, rattling voice.
Ethan's mind sharpened despite the pain; his Willpower had been the anchor for his soul when it almost shattered, and now his body matched it, every stat pulled up to that same level. Strength. Agility. Endurance. They moved as one.
He inhaled once, bracing.
Then pulled against the rope with all his strength, and it burst apart like a popping balloon.
In a single motion, he ripped his ankles free, sat up, and drove his shoulder into the chest of the nearest masked figure. The man, or what Ethan assumed was a man-staggered back, dropping the dagger.
The others froze for a fraction of a second.
That was all the time Ethan needed.
---
Ethan lunged forward, snatching the weapon from the ground before jumping back up.
The weight of it surprised him; it was heavier than it looked, the hilt wrapped in cracked leather. He turned it in his hand instinctively, blade low, legs spread wide.
The second robed figure stepped in, swinging a rusted chain. Ethan shifted to the side, the chain whipping past his shoulder, and swung his dagger forward in a wide arc. The dagger sank into the shoulder of the chain-wielding maniac. He stumbled back, tripping over a fallen stone block, and went down hard.
Another came from behind. Ethan spun, slashing through the air, forcing them to back off. His heart pounded in his ears, but his movements felt strangely precise, like his body was reacting before his mind caught up.
The remaining two circled warily, muttering in their strange, rattling voices. Ethan's pulse hammered, but his movements stayed precise, every shift of weight deliberate. One feinted left, the other darted right. He pivoted on his heel, slashing at the first and twisting away from the second's grasping hands.
Blood sprayed in the air as they crashed into each other, and Ethan didn't waste the opening; he stepped in, pressing the dagger's flat against one's throat and pulled.
The figure screamed and staggered back, then dropped on the ground dead.
Two masked men were still alive, and Ethan wasn't gonna let them live.
The chain-swinging maniac with the shoulder wound, seeing his comrade fall, let out a guttural roar and charged.
Ethan sidestepped, the heavy chain whipping past his face. He caught the man's momentum, pivoting and driving an elbow into his side. The chain clattered to the ground as the attacker doubled over. Ethan didn't hesitate — the dagger flashed upward in a small arc, and the man crumpled to the stone floor.
The last masked figure froze, eyes darting from the dagger to Ethan's steady stance. They took a single step back, then another, before breaking into a run toward the shattered doorway.
Ethan's breath was ragged, his muscles burning, but he pushed forward. His hand shot out, catching the fleeing figure by the cloak, yanking them off balance. The dagger came down in a clean motion, ending the struggle.
The temple was still again.
Ethan stood among the fallen, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood. He glanced at the dagger in his hand, its sleek black edge catching the faint light filtering through the ruined ceiling, and tightened his grip.
Whatever this place was, it wasn't safe, but he would get out of here in onepiece