Chapter 16
Varka broke his very name—the word tethering him to this world splintered. In its ruin, he became something beyond human.
Rain hammered down like molten silver, striking my borrowed skin with burning cold. No thoughts came from Varka—only a vanished mind, leaving silence thundering in Carter's head.
Night pressed heavy, like a closing tomb. The godskin recoiled, wary now of the presence rising—something alien, untethered by mortality.
Varka rose. Torn flesh hung in tatters, blood spilling crimson rivers onto the bruised earth. Around him, gloom thickened and twisted—the forest itself seemed to recoil, steeped in unnatural ink.
His memories and will contorted into grotesque new forms. The air tasted metallic, mingled with acrid smoke and sour rain, underlaid by a faint, unseen rot lurking like poison. The world fought his unnatural existence.
Not yet.
Varka's will flared—frail but burning, a tenuous thread anchoring him to life. What is one man's will against the void of the universe? His thoughts came jagged and alien. I have crossed the line, forsaking name and flesh for power enough to drag my killer down.
His broken limbs coalesced into living ink. Mastery surged where pain should have consumed.
The creature's confidence wavered. Varka, reborn in shade, advanced. He caught a glimpse of Snezna—near death, yet breathing.
"Still alive," he murmured, voice fractured but resolute. "You deserved it more than I. I will repay my debt, old friend."
Varka lunged, earth fracturing beneath his feet. The ground itself seemed to recoil, unsure whether to obey or flee. The shadows he conjured now were stronger, more resilient. They struck true, leaving marks against the foe. The godskin fought back, its appendages lashing in brutal rhythm.
Seems like it's actually seeing me as a threat now, Carter thought.
Varka shadowstepped close.
Got to be more careful. A minor power-up doesn't ensure victory. Focus.
He conjured his familiar sword, striking the godskin—but it dissolved and reappeared around him. Varka swung with all his strength, forming a crescent of lightless flame. The shockwave pummeled a vast portion of the forest.
Varka kept striking, arcs of blood-fire burning the entire canopy. Even with memory bleeding back, he had forgotten how to shadowstep properly—erased by that horrid creature. Still, through sheer will and fury, he clawed the upper hand.
Then came the whispers.
A terrible noise, seeping into Varka's mind. He tried to ignore them—but his mind refused. They carried knowledge—corrupting, forbidden knowledge. Thankfully, Carter couldn't understand it; the language itself rejected him.
So this is what they meant by corruption beyond the veil, Varka thought. His mind faltered, buckling under unbearable pressure. And now, he had no name to tether him to the mortal plane.
The godskin seized the moment. Its body, once humanoid, became a horrific mass again, blades slicing through the air—each capable of rending the world apart. Varka tried to shadowstep, to dodge—but his focus shattered.
One blade struck, hurling him across the ravine. Carter thought he was dead—Varka had stopped moving.
Then, across the ravine, the godskin saw only darkness. Darkness covering an entire side of the forest.
Varka's mortal shell had long abandoned humanity, becoming what his name had always meant: a formless shade. Carter couldn't hear Varka's thoughts anymore. All that remained was his primal desire—to tear the abomination apart. And so he did.
Varka's form soared, blanketing the sky. The moon vanished beneath a shadowed expanse. He formed a protective shell around Snezna, holding him close.
When the last of his humanity abandoned him, as if that had been the final tether, he dropped into the forest like a meteor.
The godskin braced, turning into a pool of liquid that clung to the ground.
In that instant, everything surrounding them was annihilated—the trees, the earth, the grass, the animals, even the very air itself. Carter gauged the devastation; it spanned an area twice the size of a football field.
A small puddle of reflecting grey liquid remained. Varka's silhouette knelt within it, barely holding on. His body was no longer human—no different from the godskin, a mass of shadow taking human form.
The whispers grew louder, invading his very being.
The puddle shuddered—not dissolving, but remembering form. From its depths, a silhouette in tattered scholar robes began to rise.
Still alive? Varka could barely conceive it. But he knew the figure was worse off than him, surviving only by clinging to what remained of its stolen flesh.
Varka tried to move—his hand didn't obey. Control over his being had vanished.
Then a voice broke through the storm—Snezna's:
"Var—Varka, look around."
A slender thread of clarity pierced the madness. Varka strained to respond.
Suddenly, a blade pierced the void—sharp, cold. Two piercing blue eyes burned through the darkness. Not salvation, but judgment.
The Valius Commander.
Recognition flickered. Enemy.
A breath stretched long. The air thickened with merciless certainty. Then, with motion effortless and cruel, the Commander cast Varka backward. He tumbled into the ravine's cold, black maw.
The world held its breath. Echoes of inevitability lingered before darkness claimed him.
As he fell, time seemed to stop. A slow, bitter realization crept through the void.
So that's why that godskin attacked me? The thought barely formed—fragile, sharp, cruel. How foolish not to have seen it sooner.
"You hear me, don't you?" Varka's fractured voice echoed inside Carter's mind. "The thing that wears my face."
Carter froze. Wait—he knows I'm here.
Varka's thoughts barely cohered, yet they cut like broken glass. If you can hear this, know that this is all because of you, you damned creature. Snezna wouldn't just be a puddle on the ground. He might have lived. And I… I would still be alive, still have my name, if not for you.
"I'm not at fault," Carter argued silently, though his words fell on deaf, shattered clarity. I have no control over this.
Varka's mind curled inward, bitter and cold. Control… what a laughable word. No one ever has control. Not me, not you, not even the Commanders or the so-called kings of Valius. We are all pieces on a board we cannot even see. Even the strongest man is shackled by chains he does not understand.
Well… not that I expected to survive this. No one ever does in this business. I never valued my life anyway. What is one life, against a world built on slaughter?
One regret remained—unfinished business, the mission left undone. Yet even that seemed distant now, fading into the endless dark. How foolish—if only I had spotted the mark on me sooner. None of this would have happened. I was blind… blind to the truth even when it burned in front of me.
If only humans in this world—Astarians, Valius, or otherwise—didn't have to live under the cruel laws of the Great Ones. They devour dreams, they bend fate, and they call it order. And we kneel, pretending it is destiny.
The bitterness deepened, becoming something colder, heavier. But perhaps this is destiny. Not chosen, not fair—just inevitable. The Astarian slaughter, the endless wars, the rise and fall of names and nations… nothing more than a passing shadow before the abyss.
A final thought clawed its way out:
If I must curse someone, then let it be not you, parasite, nor myself, nor even the Commanders. Let it be the world itself. This cursed world where hope is a joke, where survival is the only truth. Remember that, creature. Remember it well.
And with that, Varka slipped fully into the void.
Carter awoke with a jolt, drenched in cold sweat. For a moment, he thought he'd screamed.
But the echo still ringing in his ears wasn't his.
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Author's Note:
Some paths lead only to dead ends. After Chapter 16, I strayed too far from the story's true shadow. So, I'll be retracing my steps—rewriting from where it all began to unravel.
Forgive me, reader. Even nightmares deserve a proper shape.