The Fragment Of The Dark Blade

>[29/30]

"Just... one... more... motherfucker..."

>[Exercise Complete]

>[Host Status: Unconscious]

Didn't even finish my last "fuck you" before everything went black.

System Status:

Host: Amir (Unconscious, Probably Dying)

Current Task: Recovery Mode

Soul Integration: 70%

Update Progress: 90%

Risk Level: Extremely High

Meanwhile, in Hell, Aram watched Amir collapse like a sack of potatoes with the most "done with this shit" expression possible.

"..what a fucking mess"

—————————————

Opss! Let's rewind to the moment where everything first took root.

—————————————

Walking into the dark cave, Ramon held up his oil lamp, its faint glow barely piercing the suffocating shadows. The silence was unsettling—not just because of the eerie stillness but because of the unshakable pressure in the air, something ancient, something that felt like a warning.

The damp air carried the scent of earth and rusted metal, mixing with the distant, rhythmic sound of dripping water. Ramon gripped the lamp tightly, his other hand brushing against the cold stone walls as he moved deeper into the unknown. Behind him, Robert Stewart, his American business partner, walked with unwavering confidence, his boots crunching on loose gravel. There was no hesitation in Robert's voice when he muttered, "We're close." His words dripped with greed, so much so that Ramon felt the weight of it hanging in the air between them.

----

Back in 1992, a large-scale mining operation had overtaken parts of the Pearl of the Orient Seas, drawing in opportunists from all walks of life. Among them was Ramon Gomez, a former medical student with a promising future in surgery. He had the skill, the knowledge—everything he needed to become a great doctor. But something inside him refused to settle. A different kind of calling gnawed at his soul, one that pulled him away from sterile operating rooms and toward the raw, untamed world of the mines.

His closest associate, Robert Stewart, was no ordinary businessman. With 16 years of experience in treasure hunting and historical research, Robert had an obsession—one that consumed him. He had spent years analyzing ancient texts, including the so-called Books of the Gods, manuscripts filled with mythological references that, strangely, seemed to point toward a single landmass in the Pearl of the Orient Seas. It wasn't just speculation; his research had led him to a map—one so cryptic and enigmatic that even seasoned historians dismissed it as nonsense. But Robert was convinced. And because of that, so was Ramon.

---

The locals had warned them. Over and over, they had whispered of a curse, a danger lurking deep within the cave. They spoke of restless spirits, of something ancient that was never meant to be disturbed. But Robert, ever the skeptic, had laughed in their faces. He didn't believe in superstition. To him, the gold buried beneath the earth was as good as theirs, waiting to be claimed.

Then they saw it.

At the end of the tunnel, a massive stone door loomed before them, its surface covered in carvings that pulsed with an eerie, almost living energy. Ramon's breath hitched. These weren't random markings—no, they were something far older than the Spanish conquest.

Robert, practically trembling with excitement, ran his fingers over the carvings.

"This is it," he whispered, his voice laced with the kind of reverence only greed could produce. "Just like the texts described."

They had spent years chasing this—piecing together clues, scouring ancient manuscripts, unraveling folklore. And now, standing before this impossible door, it was all real.

Ramon knelt, his fingers tracing the inscriptions. He remembered the words they had deciphered, the ones believed to hold the key to unlocking the past.

Taking a deep breath, he whispered the phrase aloud:

"Otis moha enka'tar patros, uda sohana liokar de vahnat a'thilan."

(Open the path of the past, so that the secret of the guardian may be revealed.)

A deep rumble shook the cavern. Dust and loose rocks cascaded from the ceiling as the carvings ignited with a golden glow.

Then—with a groan like the earth itself was exhaling—the stone door slowly began to open.

---

Beyond the threshold lay something neither of them had expected.

Gold veins snaked through the cavern walls, shimmering under the dim glow of their lamps, casting strange, shifting patterns across the ground. But at the heart of the chamber, something far more unsettling stood—a dark obelisk, its surface crawling with pulsating markings.

And at its base…

A shattered green crystal.

Even in its broken state, the fragments pulsed with an unnatural radiance, like a heartbeat refusing to fade.

Ramon's stomach twisted. Something about this was wrong. So much so that every instinct in his body screamed at him to turn back. But Robert was already moving forward, too consumed by his excitement to notice—or care.

"We found it!" he shouted, his voice triumphant.

Then, the growl came.

Low. Inhuman.

Shadows moved—not just flickering, but shifting.

Before Ramon could react, Robert's voice sliced through the rising panic.

"Get back! The creature is real!"

Gunfire erupted.

American soldiers—Robert's men—had followed them in, weapons drawn, their bullets tearing through the darkness. But it was useless. The creatures weren't made of flesh and blood. They were something else—something that bullets couldn't touch.

And then, chaos.

The soldiers screamed as the shadows consumed them, torn apart by unseen hands. The air reeked of blood, gunpowder, and the raw, metallic scent of death.

Robert was thrown against the cavern wall with a sickening crunch. He tried to rise, but the creature was faster. Its clawed hand slashed through his chest in a single, brutal motion.

Ramon could only watch as Robert's life was ripped away in an instant.

And then, survival took over.

In the chaos, his hand brushed against something cold. The crystal.

He didn't know why, but he grabbed it. Because of fear? Because of instinct? Because of something deeper? He didn't know. He just knew he couldn't leave it behind.

So he ran.

---

The first rays of dawn slipped through the cracks of the wooden hut. Ramon woke with a sharp gasp, pain flaring through his body.

The scent of burning herbs filled the air, mixing with the dampness of the jungle.

A fire flickered in the corner. And sitting across from him was an old woman—her eyes sharp, filled with an unsettling knowledge.

Between her fingers, she held the crystal.

"Why do you have this?" she asked, her voice low but firm.

Her words sent a chill down his spine. Because of the way she looked at him. Because of the weight in her voice.

"This is cursed," she said. "If it touches someone chosen by the spirits… that person's life will be filled with darkness."

Ramon's jaw tightened. He didn't believe in curses. In spirits. In fate.

Without a word, he snatched the crystal from her grasp.

Outside, the villagers gasped.

The elder's face darkened. She began to chant, her voice heavy with something Ramon couldn't quite grasp. It wasn't just a warning. It was a prophecy.

But he ignored it.

Because of his stubbornness. Because of his disbelief. Because he refused to accept the weight of what he had taken.

And so, he walked away.

Straight into the nightmare that awaited him.

----

When he arrived home, the scent of blood was already in the air.

The door was wide open, and the air smelled of blood and gunpowder.

His heart raced as he stepped inside.

"D-dad...help me"

His 15-year-old son knelt beside his mother's lifeless body, his hands stained with her blood as he shook

her, begging her to wake up.

But she wouldn't. She was dead.

Ramon staggered forward, his body going numb. His pregnant wife-murdered.

His eyes scanned the room, and his stomach twisted. His sister lay lifeless nearby, a bullet hole in her chest.

The maids-all shot dead. Their blood pooled beneath them, the air thick with the scent of death.

Then, his son choked out the words that made his blood run cold.

"It was the Americans... They were looking for you."

Ramon's breath hitched. His vision blurred with rage.

The American soldiers had come.

They had searched for him-and in his absence, they had slaughtered his family.

His trembling hand reached into his pocket, clutching the crystal fragment.

Then-a noise from the hallway.

Someone was still here.

Ramon's breath was heavy, his mind clouded with rage and sorrow. His hands trembled, but he forced himself to stay focused.

Then, from the corner of his son's eye, a figure appeared.

A woman. Or at least... something that looked like one.

Her form flickered in the dim light, her face obscured in shadow.

Dark, hollow eyes stared at them, her presence cold and unnatural.

His son's breath hitched, and instinctively, he stepped forward-but the figure vanished.

Like a blink of an eye.

He stood frozen, his skin prickling. But he shook his head.

Maybe it was just his imagination-a trick of the mind in the midst of horror.

Then, reality crashed down on them again.

The boy turned back to his father-who was now kneeling beside his dead wife, his hands gripping her bloodied body.

Ramon's eyes burned, but he refused to break. Then, a desperate thought struck him.

"What if the baby is still alive?"

His heart pounded. He had to know.

He carefully lifted his wife's lifeless body and carried her into the room. His older son followed, eyes wide with fear and uncertainty.

Ramon laid her down on the wooden floor. His hands hovered over her stomach. He had no tools. No proper instruments. But he was once a man of medicine-he knew what needed to be done.

"Listen to me." His voice was sharp but steady. "I need your help."

His son swallowed hard but nodded.

Then, he began.

His hands worked quickly-a desperate, makeshift operation.

He had abandoned medicine years ago, choosing the mines over the cold sterility of a doctor's life. But now... he had no choice.

Blood coated his fingers as he made an incision. His mind raced, but his hands were steady.

His son handed him cloth, water-whatever he could manage.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity-he reached inside and pulled the child free. But-there was no sound. No movement. No pulse.

His chest tightened. His hands shook as he cradled the tiny, lifeless body. Hopelessness crushed him.

"No... please..." His voice cracked, tears slipping down his face.

"Not you too."

Then- A soft gasp. A sudden, fragile wail.

The infant's tiny body trembled, his cries breaking the suffocating silence.

Ramon's breath caught. Hope surged back into him.

His son let out a choked sob of relief. The baby was alive.