Chord ??

Chapter 1: Chord ??

Rain pounded against the warehouse's metal roof. Alden ran his thumb over a crack in the glass vial, feeling the smooth edge where decay had begun. His White Chord withdrawal made his hands tremble, but he forced himself to focus.

Three copper coins rolled between his fingers as payment for his last delivery. They left smudges on his skin, the metal tarnished by many sweaty palms. A loose floorboard creaked under his boot as he shifted his weight, and the sound echoed among the stacked crates in the dim space.

"You're late," said the merchant from the shadows between the crates. His gaunt face and sunken eyes were familiar, but something was different—his collar was pulled too high and he kept touching his neck.

Alden suspected the merchant might be showing signs of Shroudmark. The thought reminded him of his own scars.

"Had to take a longer route," Alden replied, moistening his dry mouth. "Artificer patrols have increased since the last storm."

He removed a vial of Black Chord from his coat pocket. The liquid inside reflected the weak light from the grimy windows, giving off an oily sheen. His touch had left faint marks on the glass.

The merchant's eyes locked on the vial. "This had better not be mixed with pig's blood," he said, his hand trembling as he reached for it. "I lost two customers last week because of substandard product."

"It will burn you regardless," Alden replied in a flat tone. He thought there was no point in explaining that the so-called customers had likely succumbed to the normal effects of Black Chord—the substance was lethal either way.

A red glow caught his attention. Through gaps in the wall planks, small glowing embers drifted on the wind. He realized an emberstorm was brewing—they had only minutes, if that.

Still focused on the vial, the merchant brushed the cork stopper with his thumb. "The price has increased—it's five coins now."

"That wasn't the deal," Alden replied, clenching his jaw. Despite the chill, a bead of sweat ran down his spine. He needed that coin for White Chord, and his hand tremors were worsening.

"The deal has changed. Take it or—" The merchant's words were cut short as he gasped. The vial slipped from his fingers.

Alden lunged forward but missed. The vial shattered on the floor, and Black Chord splashed onto the merchant's arm.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the air crackled, and smoke began rising from the merchant's sleeve.

"No, no, no!" the merchant cried, clawing at his arm as his flesh bubbled and twisted. His bone and muscle warped unnaturally, and flames erupted from his arm.

Alden thought, "Get out, now." He fumbled for the White Chord vial in his pocket. His hands shook so much he almost dropped it. After two failed attempts, he finally inserted the needle into his vein.

A rush of cold relief spread through his bloodstream, easing the tremors momentarily. However, he could already feel the corruption setting in—blue veins bulged under his skin, and his fingertips grew numb as they began to harden.

Suddenly, the warehouse doors burst inward. A group in black leather armor, armed with crossbows, entered—the Artificers.

"By order of the Eclipse Guard—" The lead Artificer's words died on his lips as he saw the merchant, who now resembled a burning tree rather than a man. Screams filled the air.

Alden immediately moved. He leaped over a stack of crates as crossbow bolts struck the wood behind him. One bolt grazed his arm, and his blood sizzled and smoked, spreading Black Chord corruption.

Heat pressed against his back as flames engulfed the warehouse. The merchant's screams turned inhuman, resembling the sound of splitting wood and crackling fire. Alden did not look back.

He burst onto the street as the warehouse collapsed, sending up a plume of burning debris. The sky had taken on a deep red hue, and glowing embers swirled densely, leaving small burn marks wherever they landed.

His legs gave out in an alley three blocks away. He slid down the wall as rough brick scraped his back. The effects of the White Chord were fading too quickly, and pain shot through his arm at the wound.

A voice echoed in his mind: "You'll crack like porcelain, Alden." He jerked his head up, wondering if that was Elias's voice. But the alley was empty—it was just his mind playing tricks on him. His withdrawal always evoked his brother's voice.

A puddle caught his eye. In its reflection, he saw what he had been ignoring—white fragments, like broken glass, spreading across his left eye and replacing flesh with crystalline material.

Above him, the sky was red. As his consciousness faded, Alden couldn't tell if the screams were real or just memories—the sound of his brother shattering all those years ago.

The emberstorm had only just started.

A ladder rung gave way under his grip, causing him to fall into knee-deep filth. Stagnant water soaked his boots, and each step released bubbles with a foul odor of decay. His hardened fingertips scraped against the sewer wall, leaving marks in the thick moss.

Clusters of glowworms pulsed faintly overhead, their blue-green light illuminating droplets falling from rusted pipes. The steady sound of the water marked time as the withdrawal gnawed at him.

He reminded himself, "Just keep moving. Find a place to rest, somewhere safe."

His stomach churned. Alden barely managed to steady himself against the curved wall before he vomited black bile. Where it hit the stone, it sizzled and corroded the surface. The White Chord was leaving his system too rapidly.

"I warned you about this," he rasped, his throat feeling as though it had swallowed shards of glass.

Something brushed against his hand. Alden recoiled, but not before he felt a small bite on his hardened fingertip—a rat had nibbled at it, mistaking it for dead flesh. The bite was barely noticeable through the calcification.

The rat scurried away, its whiskers twitching and its feet making wet slapping sounds on the stone. Then, silence followed.

Alden froze. The rat stood motionless for a moment before diving into a crack in the wall as the shadows shifted.

"No. Please no," he silently pleaded. His hands trembled as he searched for a weapon. He grasped a length of rusted pipe, likely fallen from the ceiling.

The darkness separated from the wall, taking on an amorphous shape—a Stalker, one of the invisible Hollowed that haunted such places.

Alden swung the pipe blindly as he felt claws scratch his thigh. A sharp pain erupted, and his pant leg became soaked with either blood or sewage; in the dim light, he couldn't tell which.

The Stalker moved silently, its presence marked only by a cold sensation. Another slash appeared on his arm, extending from his elbow to his wrist.

Thinking, "I can't fight what I can't see," he grabbed the vial of Black Chord he had saved from the warehouse. The needle slid into his neck with practiced ease.

For a moment, the world went silent. Then, gradually, other sounds returned—the steady drip of water, the skittering of rats in distant tunnels, and a slow, rhythmic thump. It was the heartbeat of the Stalker.

Alden now discerned the Stalker's form, outlined by the silence it created. It lunged at him. He ducked beneath its claws and struck upward with the pipe, aiming for the area where its heartbeat pulsed.

Black blood sprayed across his face. The Stalker's form briefly became visible, with twisted limbs and multiple joints, its skin slick, before it collapsed into a puddle in the muck.

He heard a whisper: "Your veins are my roots." The sound seemed to come from the walls—the voice of the Eclipse carried by the burning Black Chord in his blood.

Alden slumped against the sewer wall, letting the pipe fall to the ground. The clatter echoed like shattering glass, reminding him of another time and place.

"The Grey Chord erases memories," Elias said gently as he held up a vial filled with swirling silver liquid. "Each dose takes something away. Eventually, you'll forget why you fight."

Alden watched his brother's hand as he spoke, noting how the flesh had begun to harden and turn transparent. "There has to be another way," he said.

"Maybe," Elias replied with a sad smile. "But we are running out of time to find an alternative."

The memory blurred. Alden could never clearly recall the moment when Elias's hand shattered, scattering sharp fragments across the lab floor. Sometimes he believed he could still feel the shards embedded in his palm, as if they were seeds waiting to take root.

A distant rumble snapped him back to the present. The tunnel walls trembled, dislodging dust and moisture from above. Was another emberstorm approaching, or something worse?

Alden forced himself to stand. The effects of the Black Chord were fading, leaving him with pain and the constant whispers of the Eclipse. He had to keep moving and find a place to withstand the withdrawal before it completely overwhelmed him.

Somewhere in the dark ahead, rats resumed scurrying along the safe paths through the tunnels. For now, they were his only guides.