Prologue

The clearing felt like a battlefield frozen in time, each heartbeat a reminder of the dread that had descended upon them. The remnants of their victory still clung to the air, but Kryos could sense it—the stillness before destruction. He stood motionless, his sword low, glowing faintly with the echoes of battle. His eyes scanned the edges of the forest, cold and calculating. The tension was palpable.

"Is everyone alright?" Kryos's voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife. His gaze flicked briefly to his companions, but his attention never wavered from the shadows that crowded the edges of the clearing.

Nira's fingers were tight around her sword, but her hands trembled in a way that betrayed her fear. Gregas, always the stalwart protector, was barely holding his ground, eyes wide and searching. Uraiah's pale face was a reflection of terror, his breath shallow and ragged as though the very air had turned to lead.

Kryos saw it, the underlying fear that gripped them all. He knew the danger wasn't gone. It was merely waiting.

Without warning, the ground shuddered—a deep rumble that sent vibrations through the trees and into their bones. Kryos's gaze hardened. The air itself seemed to bend as the shadows stirred, and the trees around them began to groan and shift.

And then, it came.

A wave of darkness surged from the treeline, tendrils like writhing snakes extending outward with terrifying speed. The shadows were alive—alive and hungry. The beast that had been lurking in the dark was more than just an enemy; it was a nightmare made flesh.

It emerged with a guttural roar, a mass of twisting tendrils and grotesque, jagged shapes that defied the natural order. Its body was an ever-changing mass of shadow and terror, each movement distorting the very air around it. Its eyes—if they could even be called eyes—were pools of endless blackness, drawing in light and hope alike. Its form was ever-shifting, monstrous, incomprehensible.

"NO!" Nira screamed, her voice filled with dread as she instinctively took a step back. But the creature wasn't focused on her—it was coming for them all.

Before anyone could react, the first tendril shot out with the speed of a striking serpent. It whipped through the air, aiming directly for Uromai. The teenager—slight and unprepared—could barely raise his sword in time. The shadow caught him by the chest, its dark tendrils coiling around his frail form and lifting him into the air with a sickening snap.

Uromai's breath left him in a desperate gasp. His feet kicked, his arms flailing, but the creature's grip was unyielding. His face contorted in terror, the fear of a child facing something far beyond his control. The darkness pressed in, suffocating him as he struggled to breathe, his legs kicking uselessly in the air.

"I—can't—" he gasped, his voice breaking as he tried to escape the unrelenting pull of the shadow's grip.

Kryos's eyes flicked to him, but there was no emotion, only cold calculation. He saw Uromai's desperation, the terror painting the teenager's features, but he did not flinch. Instead, he took a single, measured step forward, his sword at the ready. His voice rang out—steady, unfeeling. "Stay focused."

But Uromai couldn't. He was too small, too weak, his body frail and fragile against the vast, unfeeling power of the beast. A second tendril lashed out, grabbing his leg, pulling him in two different directions at once. The darkness began to tear at him, pulling his limbs with brutal force.

"Help—me!" Uromai screamed, his voice barely audible above the roar of the beast. His sword slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground uselessly as the shadows swallowed him whole. His form vanished, consumed by the darkness that twisted and churned around him.

"NO!" Nira's voice cracked with a raw, agonized scream, but it was too late. Uromai had already been swallowed by the creature, his faint cries lost in the tumultuous roar of darkness.

"Uromai!" Gregas shouted, stepping forward in a fit of rage, but the beast's tendrils moved with terrifying speed, slamming into Gregas's chest with the force of a boulder. He flew backward, crashing into the trees, his breath knocked out of him. He stumbled to his feet, blood staining his lips, but there was no time to recover.

The darkness lashed out again, tendrils snaking through the air like whips, cutting down the trees and tearing the earth itself apart. Gregas was caught by another tendril, his arms flailing as he tried to break free, but the shadow was relentless. It coiled around him, suffocating, crushing, until there was no sound left—just the dark, hollow emptiness of the beast feasting.

Uraiah stood frozen, his face pale with terror, his body shaking uncontrollably as the shadows closed in around him. His sword trembled in his hand, but his courage had already been drained. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, unable to move.

"No!" Kryos's voice broke through the chaos. "Uraiah, stay!" But Uraiah was already gone, dragged into the dark with the same terrifying speed that had claimed the others. His scream echoed through the forest for a heartbeat before it was swallowed by the void.

Nira stood at the edge, her body trembling, her hands shaking as she tried to hold herself together. But the darkness was closing in. It was all too much, too fast. The last thing she saw before the shadows took her was Kryos, standing resolute in the center of the chaos. His sword gleamed in the dim light, but it was futile. The shadows surged forward, and Nira was gone.

The clearing fell silent, save for the crackling of the dark, the whispers of the creature as it shifted and fed. And in the distance, Kryos stood, his breath slow and measured, sword steady in front of him. The blade—imbued with the last vestiges of his power—glowed with a faint, holy light, casting eerie shadows on the ground. He felt the pulse of magic through the hilt, coursing like fire through his veins. This was no longer just a sword. It was an extension of his very will, a conduit of his unshakable resolve.

The creature recoiled, its dark tendrils snapping and twisting in an enraged fury. The forest around them felt alive, bending and groaning beneath the weight of its power. The air itself crackled with malevolent energy, swirling like a storm. But Kryos did not flinch. His every motion was calculated, precise—each strike flowing naturally, as if the sword were an extension of his own body. The magic within it surged with each swing, lighting up the shadows as he cut through the beast's tendrils with a holy fire that scorched the air. But the creature—its form constantly mutating—reformed with terrifying speed, its malice undeterred.

Kryos's eyes narrowed, the pain in his body ignored, the blood from his side soaking his tunic. His breath was shallow, but his focus was razor-sharp. He couldn't lose. Not now. Not after everything they had fought for.

The creature charged, a blur of black, its maw opening wide. But Kryos was faster.

With a single, sweeping motion, he drew his sword through the air. The magic within the blade flared to life, bright as the dawn, and with a single strike, he cleaved through the beast's chest. The ground trembled beneath his feet, the magic in the blade overwhelming the dark mass. For a moment, there was silence. The creature staggered back, the wound burning with holy light, its form buckling under the weight of Kryos's strike.

The air hummed with the sound of the beast's agony, its form splintering apart. Kryos felt a surge of victory, but it was fleeting. The creature's glowing eyes flared, and with a shriek that sent the trees shaking, it reared back—its body twisting, expanding. It was adapting, growing stronger. Dark energy crackled violently around it, a storm of raw power that threatened to tear the very sky apart.

Kryos's breath quickened as the creature closed in. He could feel the cold shadow of death creeping toward him, its presence suffocating. His body was drained, his magic near its limit, and yet he gripped the sword tighter, refusing to let it go.

With a final surge of will, he swung his sword in a wide arc, calling on the last of his magic. The blade hummed with energy, the light flaring once more—but the creature was already on him. It was faster, more relentless now, and before his strike could land, a mass of tendrils whipped out, wrapping around his limbs and pulling him toward the maw of the beast.

"No!" Kryos shouted, struggling, trying to break free, but it was too late.

The creature's maw opened wide, the dark energy swirling like a void, and Kryos's body was dragged forward, his sword slipping from his grasp. His chest burned as the tendrils tightened, constricting, squeezing the air from his lungs. He felt the cold touch of the abyss as the creature's darkness began to consume him, his vision clouding over.

In his final moments, Kryos's thoughts were scattered—memories flashing in a haze. His comrades. The battles. The moments of quiet resolve. He had fought for them all. For the light.

But now… there would be no victory. No triumph. Only the consuming darkness.

His final breath was a soft exhale, a whisper of defiance in the face of inevitable death. "I… will not… fall…"

But the darkness did not hear him.

With a final, violent tug, the creature's tendrils wrapped around him, pulling him into the depths of the abyss. The last remnants of the light in his sword flickered and died, the forest falling silent.

The battle ended in a terrible silence. The clearing was empty, save for the lingering darkness that still hung in the air, like the remnants of a storm. Kryos was gone. His sword lay in the dirt, its light extinguished, casting a faint, forlorn shadow.

But in the stillness, a whisper of wind swept through the trees. A soft rustle of leaves. And somewhere, just on the edge of the clearing, a figure—small and silent—lay unconscious.

Uromai.

His heart barely beating , breath slow and shallow, his body unmoving as he lay on the forest floor. He was alive, albeit barely. He had survived.