The warmth of Lara's home felt fragile, like a bubble that could pop at any moment. The flicker of firelight on the wooden walls gave the room an inviting glow, but beneath the surface, there was a tension—subtle, but there. Dark sat in the corner, his back against the beam, his crimson eyes half-lidded, scanning the room like a predator at rest. Lara's parents spoke kindly, their voices low and steady, but they might as well have been talking through static to him.
Lara's Father: Dark, I hear you've been looking out for our daughter. That's not something we take lightly.
Dark barely moved. His voice came low, measured, but with a weight behind it that carried more meaning than the words alone.
Dark: That's my job.
Lara's lips curled into a faint smile as she glanced at him from across the room, but the warmth didn't reach him. Across the room, Leona leaned back in her chair, sipping her tea with an amused smirk.
Leona: (mocking) That's your job, huh? You ever think about saying something that doesn't sound like it came out of a bad action novel?
Dark didn't respond, his eyes flicking to the floor, the corners of his mouth tightening. Gilmuar, seated near the window, stared out into the darkened sky, his brow furrowing slightly. His hand rested on his knee, but the tension in his fingers betrayed him.
Tier leaned against the far wall, one foot pressed against it, his arms crossed. He gave Gilmuar a glance, his voice low enough that only the two of them could hear.
Tier: You feel it?
Gilmuar didn't respond at first, but the faint flicker of gold in his eyes gave the answer. His hand tightened slightly, his body going still.
Tier: (softly) Thought so.
It hit them then, sudden and sharp.
The world held its breath.
The warmth, the light, the soft hum of the fire—gone. In an instant, the walls of Lara's home exploded outward, splintering into a storm of debris. The ground beneath them groaned, cracking as if the earth itself was breaking apart. The sound of it wasn't just loud; it was deafening, a roar that felt like it came from the very core of existence.
Dust and smoke filled the air, swirling in chaotic patterns. But nothing touched them. A golden dome of energy flickered around the group, shimmering like a fragile barrier between them and the destruction. Gilmuar stood in its center, his hand outstretched, his fingers trembling under the strain of maintaining the shield.
Dark's head was lowered, his face obscured by shadow. The world outside the barrier slowed, the destruction moving in distorted ripples, as though time itself couldn't keep up. His body tensed, his hands curled into fists, and then he looked up.
His eyes.
Golden, blazing, cutting through the smoke like a predator in the dark. Jagged lines of shadow carved across his face, framing his eyes in an intensity that made the world feel smaller, quieter. It wasn't fear or surprise that flickered in his gaze—it was something raw. Controlled rage.
His head turned slowly, his eyes locking onto the space beyond the barrier. There, standing in the swirling chaos, was a figure. Not a man, not a beast, but something in between. Its form was undefined, the edges blurred and shifting as though the air around it refused to settle. Hollow eyes stared back, two black voids that seemed to swallow the light.
Dark's breath hitched, his pulse hammering in his chest. But it wasn't fear—it was recognition. He knew this thing. He'd seen it before, in fleeting visions, in the depths of his own mind. A nightmare made flesh.
Dark: (thinking) It's real. It's actually real.
The figure didn't move, but its presence pressed against them like a storm, heavy and unrelenting. And then it spoke—not aloud, but directly into their minds. Its voice was a whisper, jagged and sharp, like broken glass scraping against metal.
Figure: Fear. Resistance. Chaos. All that you are... will become mine.
Dark's jaw tightened. His fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. The air around him cracked, faint trails of crimson energy rising from his body like embers.
He didn't wait. He didn't hesitate.
With a roar that ripped through the barrier like a shockwave, Dark moved. Kyuketsu was in his hand, the blade burning with crimson energy as he closed the distance in a single motion. His strike was precise, cutting through the space between them with enough force to split the ground beneath him.
But then, it happened.
The blade stopped.
No, it shattered.
The sound of Kyuketsu breaking wasn't just loud—it was wrong. The air seemed to recoil from it, the shards of the once-indestructible blade falling to the ground in slow motion. Dark's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat as he stumbled back.
Dark: (sharply) Seriously?!
The figure didn't react. It loomed, its hollow gaze fixed on him, its presence growing heavier with each passing second. The darkness around it writhed, tendrils of shadow creeping outward, reaching for the ground beneath Dark's feet.
Its voice returned, colder this time, sharper, digging into their minds like claws.
Figure: You cannot destroy what is beyond your reality.
Dark backed away, his crimson aura flickering wildly as his mind raced. He glanced at the shattered remains of Kyuketsu, his pulse pounding in his ears. For the first time in years, doubt crept into his thoughts.
The wind tore through the ruins of what was once Lara's home, scattering debris and dust like fleeting memories. The figure didn't move, its dark form standing unnervingly still, and yet its presence grew heavier, more suffocating. Dark's breath was shallow, his gaze darting between the shattered remains of Kyuketsu and the towering entity before him.
Leona's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and desperate.
Leona: Dark! What the hell is that thing?!
She was standing behind Gilmuar's shimmering barrier, her hand gripping the hilt of her weapon. The fear in her eyes was unmistakable, but it wasn't just fear—it was confusion. This wasn't a monster she could understand, a threat she could measure. This was something else entirely.
Gilmuar, still holding the protective dome, growled through gritted teeth.
Gilmuar: I don't know, but it's not from this realm. Its energy... it's wrong. Twisted.
Dark didn't answer. His focus was locked on the figure, his mind racing. The memories of his visions clawed at him, fragments of nightmares that now felt all too real. This thing had been in his dreams, in his thoughts, lurking like a shadow he couldn't escape.
The figure tilted its head, a motion so subtle yet so unnatural it made the air feel colder. The tendrils of shadow that writhed at its feet began to stretch outward, twisting through the rubble like living things. One tendril reached for Dark, inching closer with an almost playful slowness.
Dark's body tensed, his aura flaring violently as he stepped back.
Dark: (thinking) No. Not this time. I'm not running from this.
He raised his hand, crimson energy igniting around his fist. The ground beneath him cracked as his power surged, the sheer force of it sending shockwaves through the ruined battlefield. He thrust his hand forward, unleashing a concentrated blast of energy aimed directly at the figure's core.
The explosion lit up the night, a brilliant flash of crimson that tore through the debris and obliterated the tendrils reaching for him. For a moment, the figure disappeared in the chaos, swallowed by the blast.
The silence that followed was deafening.
And then it spoke again, its voice cutting through the stillness like a blade.
Figure: Power. How... futile.
The dust cleared, revealing the figure completely unscathed. Not a mark, not a crack, not a single sign that Dark's attack had even touched it. The shadows around it writhed more violently now, as if agitated.
Dark's eyes widened, his teeth clenched as his mind raced for answers.
Dark: (thinking) It didn't even flinch. What the hell is this thing?
The figure stepped forward, the ground beneath its feet crumbling into darkness with each step. Its hollow eyes locked onto Dark, and for the first time, it raised a hand. The motion was slow, deliberate, as though mocking him.
Figure: You fight, but you do not understand. Shall I show you... your insignificance?
Before Dark could react, the figure's hand opened, and an invisible force slammed into him like a tidal wave. It wasn't just strength—it was a violation, a presence forcing itself into his mind. The world around him blurred, distorted, and then shattered like broken glass.
Dark: (shouting) What the—!
He was no longer in the ruins of Lara's home. The battlefield was gone. The others were gone. He stood in a void—an endless expanse of darkness, with no up, no down, no horizon. Just nothingness.
Dark: (thinking) Where... am I?
The figure appeared before him, materializing out of the void like a ghost. Its hollow eyes burned brighter, and when it spoke, its voice wasn't just in his head—it was everywhere.
Figure: This is the space between thoughts. The void where dreams and nightmares collide. Here, your strength means nothing. Here, you are mine.
Dark's breath hitched, his fists clenching as he tried to summon his aura. But nothing happened. The crimson energy that had always been a part of him, that had been his lifeline in countless battles, was gone.
Dark: (growling) No... No, you don't get to take that from me!
He lunged forward, his movements sharp and precise, but the figure didn't move. It didn't need to. The air around it rippled, and Dark's body froze mid-strike, held in place by an unseen force.
Figure: Such defiance. It will make your fall all the sweeter.
The pressure on Dark's body increased, crushing him from all sides. He gritted his teeth, his muscles straining against the invisible hold, but it was no use. The figure leaned closer, its voice a cold whisper in his ear.
Figure: Tell me, Dark. Do you dream of fear... or of failure?
Dark's vision blurred, memories flooding his mind—visions of faces he couldn't save, battles he couldn't win, moments where he had doubted himself. Each memory hit like a hammer, driving deeper into his psyche.
But then, something stirred.
A faint flicker, deep within him. A memory not of failure, but of resolve. A voice, faint but unwavering.
Voice: You are more than this.
Dark's eyes snapped open, the golden blaze returning as his aura ignited. The force holding him shattered, and he dropped to the ground, his fists glowing with crimson energy once more.
Dark: (snarling) You don't get to decide who I am.
The figure recoiled slightly, its hollow eyes narrowing.
Figure: Interesting.
The void began to crack, light seeping through the fractures as Dark's aura grew stronger. He took a step forward, his voice steady and sharp.
Dark: I've been in nightmares before. I've fought worse than you. And I'm still standing.
The cracks in the void widened, the darkness trembling as if it couldn't contain him any longer. The figure raised its hand again, but this time, Dark was faster. He moved with impossible speed, closing the distance in an instant and slamming his fist into the figure's core.
The void shattered completely, the world around them collapsing in a burst of light. Dark gasped as he found himself back in the ruins of Lara's home, his body trembling but whole. The figure was gone, its presence nothing more than a lingering shadow on the edge of his mind.
Leona rushed to his side, her voice frantic.
Leona: Dark! Are you—what just happened?
Dark didn't answer immediately. His crimson eyes scanned the ruins, his breath steadying as he gripped the hilt of Kyuketsu's shattered remains.
Dark: (softly) It's not over.
In the distance, a faint ripple disturbed the air, the same unsettling presence returning. Dark's grip tightened, his gaze narrowing.
Dark: (thinking) Whatever this thing is... it's just getting started.
The air grew cold, unnaturally still, as if the world itself was holding its breath. The eerie silence was broken by a faint, distorted hum—low at first, almost imperceptible, but it grew. A haunting, sinister melody filled the air, crawling into the ears of everyone present. The sound wasn't just heard; it was felt, an unsettling vibration that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Dark's head snapped toward the source, his crimson eyes narrowing as the shadows at the edge of the ruins began to twist and contort. The blackness writhed like a living thing, spreading outward, devouring the rubble it touched. And then, from the void, a figure emerged.
But it wasn't the same as before.
This time, it was white. Pure, stark white, like bone or ash, its edges blurred as though it didn't fully belong in this reality. The figure stood taller now, its presence even more oppressive, and its form more defined. Its hollow eyes burned with an unnatural light, flickering like dying embers, and its movements were slow, deliberate. Every step it took was accompanied by a faint, metallic echo, as if the very air recoiled from its existence.
The figure raised a hand, pale and skeletal, inspecting it as though seeing it for the first time. Its head tilted slightly, and then it spoke.
Figure: (softly, almost curiously) Oh...
The sound of its voice was different now. It was layered, echoing as if spoken from multiple dimensions at once. Deep, distorted tones overlapped with a soft, chilling whisper, creating a sound that was both alien and ancient.
Dark's muscles tensed, his grip tightening on the broken remains of Kyuketsu. The others stood frozen behind him, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and disbelief. Leona took a cautious step closer, her voice barely a whisper.
Leona: Dark... what is that?
Dark didn't respond. His gaze remained fixed on the figure, his instincts screaming at him to move, to attack, but something held him back. This wasn't like before. This was something else entirely.
The figure lowered its hand, turning its attention to the space around it. With a slow, deliberate motion, it reached into the air, its fingers curling as if grasping something unseen. The shadows around it twisted violently, coalescing into its grip, and then it pulled.
From the darkness, an ancient dagger emerged.
The weapon was jagged and broken, its surface etched with faint, glowing runes that flickered like dying stars. The blade looked as though it had been shattered and reforged countless times, its edges uneven and cracked. The figure held it up, inspecting it with a detached curiosity.
Figure: (softly, its tone shifting) Do you see? The ruin of what was... the truth of what will be.
It stepped forward, the dagger glinting faintly in the eerie light. Its voice grew heavier, darker, yet it carried an almost mournful quality, as though speaking not just to Dark, but to the world itself.
Figure: (softly) I am not chaos. I am not order. I am the whisper in the void, the fracture in the mirror. I am the beginning, and the end. Tell me... do you fear the silence between breaths?
Dark's fists clenched, his aura flaring as he stepped forward. His voice cut through the tension, sharp and defiant.
Dark: I don't care what you are. Whatever game you're playing, it ends here.
The figure tilted its head again, its hollow eyes locking onto Dark. It raised the dagger, the runes along the blade flaring brighter, pulsing in time with the sinister hum that still lingered in the air.
Figure: (mockingly) You speak of endings... yet you stand in their shadow.
Without warning, the figure moved. It didn't step forward—it simply was, closing the distance between itself and Dark in an instant. The dagger arced toward him, its jagged edge aimed directly at his chest. Dark reacted on instinct, raising his broken blade to block, but the impact sent a shockwave rippling outward, shattering the ground beneath them.
Dark staggered back, his arms trembling from the force. The figure didn't relent. It moved again, faster than before, each strike of the dagger carrying an overwhelming weight that seemed to bend the very air around it. Dark dodged and parried, his movements precise but strained, each clash pushing him closer to the edge.
Leona screamed from behind the barrier.
Leona: Dark! Watch out!
The figure stopped suddenly, mid-strike, its head snapping toward Leona. It stood still for a moment, its hollow eyes narrowing as if assessing her, before turning back to Dark. Its voice dropped to a chilling whisper.
Figure: (softly) They watch. They scream. But they do not understand. Shall I teach them?
Dark's aura flared brighter, a crimson inferno blazing around him as he lunged forward.
Dark: (shouting) You'll touch them over my dead body!
The figure didn't move. It simply raised the dagger, and as Dark's strike closed in, the runes along the blade flared blindingly bright. The resulting explosion of energy sent Dark hurtling backward, crashing into the rubble with enough force to shatter the ground beneath him.
As he struggled to his feet, the figure took a step closer, the air around it growing colder with every movement.
Figure: (softly, almost amused) Is this all you are, Dark? A shadow of a shadow... clinging to broken pieces of yourself?
Dark wiped blood from his lip, his eyes burning with fury as he raised his shattered blade once more. He could feel the weight of the fight, the oppressive presence of the figure, but he refused to back down.
Dark: (growling) I've faced worse. And I'm still standing.
The figure paused, tilting its head slightly as if considering his words. Then, slowly, it raised the dagger again, the runes along its surface glowing brighter, more erratic.
Figure: (softly) Then stand, Dark. Stand and fall. One is inevitable.
The two clashed again, their battle a storm of light and shadow, each strike tearing through the ruins and shaking the earth itself. The fight was far from over, and the figure's voice lingered in the air like a haunting melody, its words echoing long after they were spoken.
Figure: (softly) Show me... the strength of the living....
Figure: (smirking) How...Quaint....
To Be Continued....
End Of Arc 4 Chapter 11.