Prologue: The Shadows of Theos
Prologue: The Shadows of Theos
Theos—the heart of the Eastern Continent. God's territory and the birthplace of the former Klaus Empire. For centuries, it was a land of enlightenment, a beacon of civilisation that illuminated the world with its faith, wisdom, and power. Scholars from every corner of the continent flocked to Theos, eager to learn from its greatest minds. Warriors trained in its hallowed halls, seeking to serve under the empire's ever-expanding banner. With great power came great responsibility, yet those entrusted with it strayed from the principles they once preached.
Decadence, corruption, and greed took root in the hearts of the empire's ruling class. The once-noble Klaus bloodline, blessed by divine right, withered under the weight of its own excesses. Their monarch, known for his insatiable desires and cruelty, indulged in vices that drained both the empire's wealth and its spirit. His court, composed of sycophantic advisors, did nothing but appease his whims. The people whispered of a reckoning, yet no one dared to act.
Then, as if cursed by divine punishment, the monarch fell into a deep and mysterious coma—never to wake again.
Doctors, healers, and apothecaries from all corners of the world were summoned to the royal palace. They examined him with every method known to man, using medicinal herbs, incantations, and alchemical potions. Yet none could diagnose or cure the sovereign's peculiar affliction. Days turned to weeks, weeks into months, and still, the king remained trapped in an endless slumber. Desperation gave way to faith, and the empire called upon monks, nuns, and exorcists to intervene. Holy men and women chanted, prayed, and performed sacred rituals. Still, their efforts proved futile.
The empire spiralled into despair. Without its ruler, the government weakened. The economy stagnated, and lawlessness crept into the streets. Society, once a well-oiled machine of prosperity, withered. The light of Theos, once radiant, was now cloaked in shadow.
Then, one fateful day, a passing traveller uttered words that stirred something deep within the people—a truth they had long ignored, buried beneath their pride and desperation.
"His soul has been plagued by the manifestations of the darkness."
The empire demanded answers. Their former prosperity was slipping through their fingers like grains of sand, and they would do anything to reclaim it—even if it meant bargaining with devils.
The traveller they sought was no ordinary man.
Everything about him was foreign—midnight-black hair cascading in waves, golden eyes gleaming like molten metal, and pale skin that glowed under the moonlight. Clad in an ancient military uniform of the finest craftsmanship, he seemed plucked from the annals of history, the living incarnation of Homura-no-Kagutsuchi, the Shinto guardian deity of war and exorcism.
His presence was unnerving. Staring into his golden eyes felt like losing oneself in an abyss. Yet the royal servants, driven by desperation, pressed him for the truth.
"Speak! What do you mean?" they demanded. They'd imagine that everything was just a nightmare and their monarch would rise once again. They hadn't prepared for the worst.
The traveller regarded them with measured calm. "This is no mere illness," he declared. "It is the burden of a tainted heart. Greed is a poison, and humans—weak and easily swayed—fall prey to whispers in the dark. These creatures wait, lurking in the abyss, striking the moment one's core is lost to desire and indulgence."
The members of the royal family and the servants pleaded with the traveller for solutions. He took a glance at the monarch under comatose and gave the empress a sympathetic look.
The empress, despite her regal composure, trembled. Her sleepless nights and skipped meals had taken a toll. "We feel fine. But His Majesty… he was strong. How could this happen to him?" she whispered.
The traveller stepped forward, casting a glance at the unconscious monarch before turning his gaze to the empress. "I will cleanse the darkness this once," he stated solemnly. "But if he succumbs again, his soul will shatter."
"Shatter?" the butler repeated, eyes narrowing. "What does that mean?"
He had been observing the whole scenario since the traveller had intruded into his master's resting quarters. He was unsure what he should do. Now, for once, he knew what he could do. He needed clarification about his master's current state of health.
"Death. Corruption beyond salvation. His senses will warp, his essence dissolve, and his soul will be lost to the River of Styx. His body will wither, and all emotions he ever held dear will be locked away in the netherworld."
A chilling silence filled the chamber. Au courant with the current situation, several of them still believed that a cure was at their fingertips. They were not prepared for the worst. Scanning the traveller's solemn expression for the tinniest bit of hope, their effort was nought. He was being serious.
The traveller turned, his sharp gaze settling on an old oil painting hanging above the sovereign's head. The painting was among one of his famous pieces while he was still alive. Its intricate strokes and vibrant colours belonged to a renowned artist, Nikolaos Gyzis. The title, subtly etched in the corner, read Eros and the Painter.
Yet something about it felt... wrong.
The traveller was frowning at the painting. With heightened discerning and observant abilities, the traveller felt something peculiar coming from the old painting. It was a tingling feeling he could not describe into words. However, he remembered where he last had these feelings. His senses were warning him.
His instincts screamed at him. He had sensed this presence before.
The butler, noticing his intense stare, hesitated. "Sir? Is something the matter?"
The traveller said nothing. Instead, he seized the khakkhara he had leaned against the wall upon entering the chamber. With a single, forceful strike, he drove its tip through the canvas, callously pierced through the elaborate strokes the oil painting.
A collective gasp filled the room. The empress and her attendants stood in shock, their hard-won treasure—now defiled.
"What have you done?!" the empress screeched.
The empress, along with her handmaidens and the butler were utterly shocked. After all, the painting was something they had painstakingly gone through many ordeals to obtain it. It was a priceless artefact.
The traveller remained unfazed, his gaze never leaving the punctured painting. As he withdrew his staff, a thick, oppressive shadow spilled forth, coiling through the air. Two crimson eyes flared in the darkness.
Then, it emerged.
A monstrous form took shape—a goblin of nightmares, an Oni of legend. Its grotesque, humanoid body loomed over them, green-skinned and scaled, its long horns curling wickedly atop its head. Sharp ears twitched, and jagged teeth gleamed under the dim candlelight.
Usually depicted in mythological stories associated with malice and misfortune, oni goblins were known for their strength, brutality, and insatiable hunger for human flesh. Mythological stories expressed a prosperous era and flourishing culture which transcends from one generation to another. The empress paled, her childhood bedtime stories manifesting before her very eyes.
This can't be real…
But it was.
This was the parasite feeding on the monarch's vitality all along.
The empress and the servants of the palace were as white as a sheet. This was beyond their expectations. They prepared for the worst, but to think a painting globin had been feeding on the monarch's vitality. They were completely devastated.
The traveller, unshaken, tightened his grip on his khakkhara. He calmly observed the opponent before his eyes. An expression void of trepidations and confident movements, the traveller went in for the first kill. With a swift, calculated strike, he lunged at the beast, his weapon searing into its flesh. The Oni howled in agony.
"Lost souls of the netherworld, begone! Return to nothingness and be judged by the Great Ruler of the Underworld—King Enma!"
The creature recoiled, unable to approach the sacred artifact in his hands. Furious, it swung its massive arm at him. Without batting an eyelid, the traveller effortlessly deflected its return strike. A powerful barrier was erected between the oni goblin and himself. But before its blow could land, a barrier shimmered into existence, deflecting the attack. In the process, its arm was severed, black ichor splattering across the chamber walls.
The Oni screeched in agony.
The traveller exhaled. "You don't learn, do you?"
This was a low-level Etherius, a lesser entity of corruption. The goblin at present was unable to make intelligent conversations and complex movements. But even the weak could cause great ruin if left unchecked. It was time to finish this.
Raising his khakkhara, he began the fatal chant.
˹
O wretched beast of malice and sin,
Your dominion ends, your fate begins.
Bound by greed, enslaved by night,
By Enma's will, I cast the light!
Seigi no honō, subete o yaki harai!
(正義の炎,全てを焼き払い!)
Flames of justice, burn all impure!
By the weight of the Judge's decree,
I shatter your chains, I set souls free.
You who feast on sorrow and strife,
Return to void, forsake this life!
Jigoku no mon hirake, aku o nomikome!
(地獄の門開け,悪を飲み込め!)
Gates of Hell, open wide, devour the wicked!
˼
Upon chanting the last of the fatal verse, a separate domain has cut through space. A rift tore through space, engulfing the Oni in divine flames. It howled one last time before crumbling into nothingness.
The traveller's skill of transitioning from defense to offense was splendid, which the empress and her followers were impressed. From that moment, they knew the traveller was a person with extremely high spiritual power and skill. There was no one in Theos empire who possess such high-level skills like him. It was as if he was the incarnation of the guardian deity of war and exorcism himself, Homura-no-Kagutsuchi.
The chamber fell silent.
As the traveller lowered his khakkhara, the monarch of Theos stirred. His eyes fluttered open.
The empress, eyes brimming with tears, rushed to his side. Everything felt like a dream come true. It was a miracle."You're awake…!" Her voice trembled with relief.
Hope had returned to Theos.
The skies, once dull and lifeless, glowed with hues of dawn. The darkness that had plagued the empire had begun to lift.
"Thank you!" she cried, bowing before the traveller. "Thank you so much!"
Theos had been granted a second chance.
The traveller had brought hope to the empire. Amidst engulfed by the darkness, a silver lining had rekindled the forgotten philosophies preached by Theosian priests since ancient times.
The dreary skies were repainted with warm colours. Sunlight coruscates through the gloomy streets for the first time in months. This signifies the end of the crisis. This incident, in the far future, would come to be known as the Era of Abyss. Relieved, the royal parties and state officers lightened at the small ray of hope they have been granted. The people anticipated great changes to the empire following their sovereign's awakening.
Yet, not all wounds heal so easily. Though the monarch had awakened, the scars left behind would take time to mend. The empire had much to rebuild.
The sovereign turned to the traveller; his voice hoarse. "You are no ordinary man. Who are you?"
The butler and the empress's handmaidens agreed unanimously. They were piqued with utmost interest.
Possessing a skill no others before him could, he demonstrated unique abilities in cleansing evil. Henceforth, the Theosians learnt of the existence on the curse of the lurking darkness that had befallen them, the Etherius Shadows.
A smirk played at the traveller's lips.
"Nikolas Steinhart."
And thus, the legend began.
In time, the policies of Theos would change, driven by the wisdom of the man who had saved them. And from his efforts, the Exorcism Order was born—an organisation dedicated to hunting the shadows that lurked within the world.
For the Etherius were far from gone.