Malrik, the Dreadborn

Kael's breathing was ragged, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. Three days of relentless pursuit had taken its toll, and though his will refused to falter, his body was near its limit. The damp forest around him carried the scent of wet earth and blood, a grim reminder of the foes he had already dispatched. Every step felt heavier, yet he pressed forward, his mind locked onto a singular goal—eliminating the remnants of his father's influence.

A rustling in the underbrush snapped him to attention. He shifted his weight, drawing his blade despite the stiffness in his muscles. The bandits he had been tracking were close—too close. But something was wrong. They weren't moving with the reckless aggression he had come to expect. There was discipline in their steps, a coordinated approach that set his instincts on edge.

His grip tightened on the hilt. They know I'm here.

A voice cut through the stillness, smooth yet laced with danger. "You've done well to make it this far, Kael."

Kael's eyes narrowed as a figure emerged from the shadows. This wasn't an ordinary bandit. His armor was reinforced, bearing a crest Kael recognized from his father's elite mercenaries. A lieutenant.

The man studied him with cold amusement. "Tired, aren't you? Three days without rest, yet you still press on. Admirable, but foolish."

Kael remained silent, muscles coiled despite his fatigue. He had been trained never to show weakness in the face of an enemy. His heart pounded, but his expression remained impassive.

The lieutenant smirked, tapping his sword against his palm. "Your father said you'd be relentless. I see he wasn't wrong."

Rage burned through Kael's exhaustion like dry tinder catching flame. "I am nothing like him, Varik."

Varik chuckled. "That remains to be seen." He lifted his sword, its edge gleaming even in the dim forest light. "But if you're so eager to prove it, let's see how much of his training you remember."

Kael's eyes darted around, assessing the situation. The bandits moved to encircle him. Their stances weren't that of mere raiders—these men had been trained. By whom, he could already guess.

Father's influence lingers even here.

He exhaled slowly. He couldn't afford to waste energy on drawn-out combat. If Varik had been trained under his father's regime, he was more than just a brute—he would be a tactician. Underestimating him would be a mistake.

Then I'll have to end this quickly.

Kael lunged first, feinting right before twisting left, aiming for Varik's exposed side. But the man was fast—too fast. Their blades met in a harsh clang, sending vibrations up Kael's arm. He gritted his teeth. He's stronger than the others.

A sudden shift in footing nearly cost him his balance, and a memory surfaced—his mother's voice, gentle yet firm. A blade is not just a weapon, Kael. It is an extension of your will. Balance is key—without it, even the sharpest sword will fail you.

He adjusted, steadying himself. The lieutenant pressed forward, confident, but Kael let instinct guide him. He dodged under a horizontal slash and struck—quick, precise, relentless.

The bandits hesitated, momentarily thrown off by Kael's unexpected counterattack. He had to use that. If he could break their morale, this fight would end before it truly began.

But then, Varik laughed, blood trailing down his arm from a shallow cut. "Good. You've got fire." His grin widened, predatory. "Let's see if you can survive it."

Kael didn't answer. His focus remained locked on the shifting figures around him. The bandits were recalibrating their approach, moving like wolves waiting for their leader's command. Varik was merely toying with him, testing his limits. Stalling.

The realization struck him just as another presence made itself known.

A chill ran down Kael's spine. He had felt this sensation before—an unseen force lurking just beyond his perception, oppressive yet eerily patient. Something far worse than Varik. Something watching.

The bandits tensed as if they, too, could sense it. Their confidence wavered, eyes darting toward the treetops and shadows, searching for the source of the unseen menace. Even Varik hesitated, his smirk faltering for the first time.

Kael's fingers tightened around his sword. What the hell is out there?

Then, from the darkness beyond the trees, something moved.

A shape too large to be human. Eyes gleamed like molten embers, filled with hunger and something deeper—something unnatural. The forest seemed to darken around it, the air thick with an oppressive weight. A low growl reverberated through the trees, neither animal nor human.

The bandits who had stood firm a moment ago took a step back.

Varik's expression shifted, his amusement vanishing. "What in the—"

Then the creature emerged fully into view, its form twisted and grotesque. Its blackened hide shimmered as if absorbing the faint moonlight, jagged bone-like protrusions lining its spine. The smell of decay and something even fouler wafted through the clearing, causing the nearest bandit to gag and stumble backward.

Kael's jaw tightened. He knew this name, though he had only ever heard it whispered in the depths of the darkest records—Malrik, the Dreadborn. A creature that should not exist, a spawn of corrupted sorcery and twisted blood rituals. His father's hand was evident in this abomination.

Varik's grip on his sword faltered. "Impossible," he muttered. "It was only a myth."

A deep, guttural chuckle rumbled from Malrik's chest, a sound devoid of warmth or amusement. Its ember-like eyes locked onto Kael, recognition flickering within them. "So, the son of the betrayer stands before me," the creature's voice was a rasping snarl. "How fitting."

Kael felt the weight of its gaze, a force pressing against his very soul. His mind screamed at him to run, but he held his ground. He had faced nightmares before. He would not falter now.

Varik took an uncertain step back. "This wasn't part of the plan."

Malrik let out another low growl. "Your plan means nothing. You are all but insects."

The bandits scattered, their fear overtaking their loyalty. Even Varik hesitated before cursing under his breath. "Damn it," he spat, eyes darting between Kael and the monster. "If you want him, take him. I have no interest in dying here."

He turned to flee, but Malrik moved faster than any of them could react. A clawed hand lashed out, seizing Varik by the throat. The lieutenant's struggles were pitifully brief. With a sickening crunch, Malrik crushed his windpipe and tossed him aside like discarded meat.

The remaining bandits bolted, their footsteps lost in the thick darkness of the forest.

Kael stood his ground. His fingers tightened around his sword's hilt. I won't run.

Malrik's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Brave," it mused. "But bravery alone will not save you."

Kael exhaled, steadying his stance. If he was to face Malrik, then he would do so with everything he had.

The true battle had just begun.