A little twist.

The rain had stopped, leaving the air heavy with dampness. The eternal Forest of Darkness, known for its lonely beauty, stretched endlessly under the dim light breaking through the thinning clouds. This was no ordinary forest (it had lifeless, twisted trees that told stories of despair). Every drop of water and every glinting fruit was a trap, carrying just enough poison to end lives in moments.

The people of Narzan whispered about the mythical creatures that lived here—beasts so old and wicked that even the strongest mages shuddered at their mention. However, they were not the forest's only terrors. Predators of all shapes and sizes prowled the shadows, hunting with an intelligence honed by survival. The rivers themselves held horrors beyond imagination.

This forest did not forgive mistakes; those who ventured inside rarely left. Only the hardened tribes who called this place home dared to claim it as their hunting ground. For them, the forest was not a predator's lair but a proving ground. Anyone who wasn't an A or B Rank Master Mage stood no chance here. Death came quickly, silently and often without being seen. Yet, although this wilderness was ruthless, there was life—barely clinging, barely human.

Mage Ranking System:

1)Novice — E,F

2)Adept — C,D

3)Master — A,B

4) Archmage — SS,S

(Exceptionals):

1: Legend — SSS(Highest Rank a Human can achieve)

2)Breakers — SSS(Results of an extremely terrifying and cruel experiment if anyone survived after that experiment they are SSS rank but regardless of the experiment the powers of the survivors are not given it was earned.)

Veythor's body lay crumpled on the damp earth, his life slowly fading away. His armor, which was once a shining symbol of his strength, now hung in broken pieces. Blood seeped from wounds that were too numerous to count, gathering around him in a dark, sticky circle.

A jagged stab near his heart was the most severe of all. He hovered on the brink of death, the strands of his fate unraveling with each passing moment. His breaths were shallow and wheezing; each one felt like a struggle against what was unavoidable. However, deep inside him, a flicker of life stubbornly clung on. The forest was quiet, except for the distant rustling of leaves.

From the shadows stepped a lone figure. She walked with quiet determination, her steps steady despite the tricky ground. The woman had long, black hair that glimmered even in the dim light. Her navy-blue robe and matching armor hugged her body, both practical and stylish. A scarf concealed her face, leaving only her striking blue eyes visible—eyes that scanned the forest with sharp focus.

As she advanced, her gaze landed on Veythor's body. She halted, her hand instinctively resting on the hilt of the sword at her side.

Her thoughts churned: *What is that thing? Is it human... or something else?

Her caution was clear as she inched closer, each step careful. The body before her was grotesque, soaked in blood and unrecognizable. For a moment, she debated whether to turn back. However, something kept her there—curiosity, maybe, or a deeper instinct.

Finally, she stood a few feet away, her body tense, ready for any sudden movement. She observed him for a long moment, her sharp eyes noticing the faint rise and fall of his chest.

*It's a human... but how is he alive in that state? He's lost so much blood...* Cautiously, she crouched beside him, her movements precise and controlled. She reached out, her gloved fingers brushing against his wrist to check for a pulse. What she felt shocked her.

He was alive.

Her heartbeat sped up and for a moment, she just froze. This wasn't a coincidence—it couldn't be. Quickly, she pulled out a clean handkerchief and started wiping the blood from his face. With each stroke, more of the man hidden under the crimson mask appeared. As his features became clearer, her eyes got wider and her breath caught in her throat. Recognition flashed across her face, followed by something deeper—something close to exhilaration. Her hand shook a bit as she finished cleaning his face and her mind raced. She murmured, almost in disbelief: "...Is... isn't he...? No, it can't be..." However, she paused and a slow, knowing smile crept beneath her scarf. Her voice, barely above a whisper, had a hint of triumph: "Bingo. I never thought... not in my wildest dreams." Veythor lay still, unaware of the world around him, trapped in a dark place where pain and consciousness mixed together. The forest stood as a silent witness to the delicate dance of fate unfolding before it. The woman leaned in closer, her expression balancing concern and intrigue. "You're an unlucky one, aren't you?" she whispered, her voice soft yet edged with excitement. "To have survived this long in such a state..."

She looked around, the shadows of the forest moving like they were alive (watching her every move). The air was thick with tension: it felt almost heavy. However, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was out there. The trees whispered secrets, but she couldn't understand them. Although she was scared, this only made her curiosity grow stronger.