THUD
The goblin's head struck the ground with a wet, final smack as Ali's hand cut through the narrow gap between its freshly severed head and the limp, collapsing body.
But Ali didn't spare even a heartbeat to admire his work. The instant the creature's corpse hit the dusty wooden floor, the entire body started to glow with a sinister red hue, the same ominous glow that already bled through the walls, ceiling, and rotting beams of the accursed house. Ali's Force sense screamed inside him, a sharp alarm vibrating through his bones — danger was rushing toward him like a tidal wave.
Yet Ali didn't leap through the doorway right away. He forced himself to stand still for a split second longer, eyes darting through the flickering red gloom for that scrap of paper the goblin was holding with such excitement. His sharp gaze locked onto it — a brittle sheet resting on a workbench at the far end of the room, radiating the same demonic glow that seemed to poison the air itself.
He reached out with the Force. With a precise flick of his fingers, Ali yanked the paper from the bench along with a handful of tools, scraps, and dusty books. The objects hurtled toward him, weightless in the grip of his power.
Ali wasted no more time. He sprang backward through the crumbling doorway, landing lightly on his feet outside the doomed structure. Without breaking stride, he grabbed Melissa around the waist, pulling her close as he shouted a single, unmistakable command at the looming, otherworldly beast behind him.
"Bite," Ali said, his voice echoing like iron against stone.
A monstrous Dragon head, impossibly large and twisted into the shape of a demonic nightmare, surged forward out of the shadows behind him. Its jaws cracked open wider than any natural beast could manage, teeth like fresh blades gleaming in the red light. With a single earth-shaking chomp, the Dragon devoured the entire house from its foundation upward — splintered wood, ancient stone, cursed relics, all vanished in an instant. The colossal creature then twisted upward into a swirling black portal that ripped open above the clearing, its gaping maw disappearing inside the void with a sound like reality tearing in half.
Melissa gasped for breath, clutching at Ali's arm as the house — and the cursed power festering within it — ceased to exist. She felt Ali set her gently on the ground, and then he stepped away from her side, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the patch of earth where the house once stood. Nothing remained but a hollow imprint in the dirt and the faint, acrid scent of brimstone.
Ali advanced toward the spot, boots crunching softly over the broken ground. He bent down, retrieving the single slip of paper — the only thing Shadow's ravenous jaws hadn't devoured. The rest of the items he had tried to drag out had been swallowed whole by the Dragon without hesitation.
Ali exhaled, his breath visible in the chill that now lingered around the empty clearing. He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, transparent glass phone — a gift from Miles, forged with tech that seemed almost as alien to this world as Ali himself.
He unlocked the camera app with a swipe of his thumb and positioned it over the paper's surface. Symbols shimmered to life beneath the lens, translating themselves line by line into clear English on the screen.
Ali's eyes sharpened. This was no ordinary parchment. The words etched across its cracked surface gleamed with a menacing, blood-red light. At the very bottom, a single crimson dot pulsed in a steady, mocking rhythm, like a heartbeat that refused to die.
"Brother, I have continued to follow your will, and the cursed House Maler who once stood in your way years ago has been completely ruined. I have poisoned their last heir, and he will die a slow death, just as you wished."
Ali's voice was low as he read the words aloud, each syllable scraping across the silent clearing. The message felt like poison dripping from his tongue — a confession from the old man, a final report to a hidden master.
He continued, his eyes scanning the next twisted lines.
"May the demon Lord's path open for you at the awaited time, brother. I assure you, your efforts will not be forgotten, and you will be rewarded greatly. I have good news — with all our brothers' help, I have finally tracked down the Hero. After months of searching, I believe the time has come to open the gate, if only for a few seconds."
Ali's brow furrowed as he read the trailing, half-finished reply from the old man. The air around him seemed to grow heavier with every word, thick with Origin energy that coiled and pulsed like a living thing around his wrists. A sudden, searing pain ignited from the tattoo on his wrist, worse than anything he'd felt since arriving in this strange world.
'The gate must be for the demon world. These two are connected to the demons.' Ali's thoughts flashed through his mind like a blade. He clenched his teeth, eyes fixed on the crimson dot that suddenly shimmered and twisted on the paper, reshaping itself into fresh, burning words that carved themselves into the surface before his eyes.
"I see a brother has died at the hands of the nonbelievers… Know this — we will find you and make you pay for what you have done. The demon LORD WILL RETURN TO THIS CONTINENT and punish the NONBELIEVERS."
Ali read the vile threat off the screen, his voice steady and sharp as steel. Before he could even blink, the paper's glow spiked into a blinding flash of red light. Ali snapped his arm back and flung the cursed parchment into the air — a heartbeat later, it exploded with a roar, erupting into a roaring sphere of flames that would have incinerated an ordinary man where he stood.
Ali didn't flinch. He raised his hand and squeezed it into a tight fist. The raging fireball collapsed instantly, shrinking down into a tight, angry orb no larger than his clenched hand. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he snuffed it out completely — the threat erased as if it had never been there.
'I've stumbled onto something massive. Is the war about to start now? But he said the gates would only open for a short time, so maybe not yet…' Ali's mind churned with dark possibilities as his interface alerted him. A new message from Miles…
[Ali what do you want to do? If the Demonic Forces can track you then maybe we should leave the South and relocate], Miles sent, his words flickering onto Ali's interface in cold blue letters that glowed in the dark.
Ali read the message in silence, his mind already racing through dozens of possibilities.
[No, just keep surveillance over our border with the North, I will install more amplifiers for you and all plans will continue as normal. If we come under an attack we can't fight against then me and you will escape.], Ali responded, his eyes narrowing as he hit send.
Ali turned to face Melissa who still sat on the cold stone a few steps away. Her eyes were wide, reflecting the empty space where the cursed house had vanished. She hadn't moved or spoken — her mind still trapped in the echo of that monstrous Dragon swallowing an entire structure whole.
Before Ali could speak to her, the ground shook beneath his feet — BANG!
A shockwave cracked through the clearing as someone slammed down from the sky, landing beside Ali in a burst of wind and dust that scattered the ashes of the obliterated house.
Ali didn't even flinch. He barely shifted his stance as Seraphina stood up from her crouch, golden hair whipping behind her like a banner in a storm. Her eyes blazed with anxiousness and worry as she glanced from Ali to the scorched earth where the cursed dwelling had once stood.
"Ali, what was that!! I sensed Demonic energy — was that you?" Seraphina shouted, her voice slicing through the clearing.
Ali didn't bother meeting her eyes for long. He tilted his head slightly, voice steady and dismissive.
"No, it wasn't me. I'll explain later. I'm going back to the Fortress."
With a flick of his fingers, he snapped his fingers through the air. Immediately, the hush of night was shattered by the roar of powerful winds swirling high above the clouds.
Seraphina stepped closer, frowning. Her boots crunched over the debris left behind by the Dragon's disappearance.
"How long exactly?" Seraphina pressed, her tone sharper now.
Ali finally looked down at Melissa, who stared back at him with wide, confused eyes. He didn't smile. He didn't soften. His voice remained the same unyielding iron.
"Seraphina, take her and her family back to the castle. They are my guests — make sure no harm comes to them. Her cousin is poisoned and heavily injured, make sure he survives until I get him help. And do not forget about the list…"
The order dropped like stone into water — simple, direct, absolute. Seraphina's eyes flickered with the urge to question him again, but this time she held her tongue. She gave a sharp nod, the stubborn fire in her eyes flickering as she gave Melissa a disgusted look.
Ali didn't watch them any longer. He took one step back, his eyes flicking skyward where the wind tore open the clouds like paper. A heartbeat later, he shot upward — the air cracked with a boom as his body blurred into the sky, a streak of shadow swallowed by the thundering currents above.
Far above the town, the roaring winds cradled him higher and higher until his boots landed on something massive and alive — the broad back of his Wind Dragon, scales shimmering with a ghostly emerald sheen under the fractured moonlight. The dragon beat its wings once, twice, and the two of them vanished into the dark sky, leaving only the rustle of broken leaves behind.
Far from Obidos, beyond the forests and the quiet farmlands, at the edge of the sprawling capital, warm lanterns flickered outside an old Theatre House built from marble and polished wood. Its grand double doors were thrown wide open tonight, inviting the people of the capital into a night of legends and old songs.
Inside, velvet curtains framed the wide stage where performers dressed in shimmering costumes brought ancient stories to life. Tonight's play was one every child in the continent knew by heart — the tale of the Hero and his faithful party, their long, bitter journey to drive the Demonic Forces back into the hellish realm they came from, saving the continent from ruin and sealing the Demon World's gates forever.
Families filled every row, children perched on their parents' laps, eyes wide with wonder as painted mages and knights clashed wooden swords and shouted lines of bravery. Laughter and gasps filled the hall — here, the horrors of monsters and corruption felt far away, replaced by simple, comforting fiction where good always triumphed and heroes never fell.
Among the sea of clapping hands and cheerful faces sat an old man, hunched but dignified, a thick coat draped over his shoulders. Beside him sat his granddaughter, a pretty young woman in a neat dress with ribbons in her hair — but while her grandfather watched the actors on stage with misty eyes, his granddaughter's gaze never strayed to the stage at all.
Instead, her eyes were fixed on the man seated next to her — a figure that didn't belong among the simple, carefree crowd. The man beside her sat silent and motionless, yet his presence radiated power that seeped into every seat around him. His thick beard and long hair fell forward, half-shrouding his face in shadow. He looked older with the hair — maybe mid-forties at a glance — but beneath that shaggy disguise was a body built by battle, muscles still coiled with power no years could truly strip away.
Even with his hair untamed and his rough cloak covering his broad shoulders, there was no hiding his eyes. When the light from the stage caught them, they glowed faintly — brown eyes warm yet impossibly bright, eyes that drew people in whether they wished it or not. Something in the very air around him bent toward him, like the world itself leaned closer to hear him breathe. He was the world's favourite — even hidden, he could never truly disappear.
Up on stage, the play reached its climax — the actors standing under painted stars and fake moonlight.
"Oh Hero, what say you? The Evil Demon General has attacked the city!! Do we go back to save the people, or march forward into The Demon Lord's Castle?"
The woman in the blue mage's costume raised her staff high, pointing it toward the audience as she turned to the actor playing the Hero — a young man clad in bright white armour and a makeshift golden sword.
The silent man with the glowing eyes didn't blink. He didn't move. He just watched the stage — but if anyone looked closely enough, they might see the faintest flicker of something ancient and weary in his gaze.
The world cheered for the Hero on stage. But the real Hero sat hidden in plain sight, unmoved by the echo of a story he knew all too well —a story that was changed through history to suite the rulers of each kingdom, a fake that never revealed the true horror of what occurred.
In the darkness behind his half-shrouded eyes, memories flickered to life like dying embers refusing to be snuffed out. In his mind's eye, he saw her — the beautiful mage he had loved more fiercely than anything else in his long, weary life. Flashes of her face cut through the dull glow of the stage before him: her smile brighter than any sun, her arms wrapped tight around his shoulders as if she'd never let go, her breath soft against his chest as she slept in the curve of his arm like she belonged there, safe from every nightmare that stalked the world.
Then came the memory that always pierced deeper than any blade — her whispering to him through tears of joy that she carried his child, just moments before they crossed through the gate that led straight into the Demon World's hellish maw.
The visions didn't stop there. They poured through him like a flood he couldn't hold back. He saw his comrades — the unbreakable souls who had stood at his side when all hope was ash and ruin. The strongest heroes the continent had ever forged in its countless centuries of war and sacrifice.
The elf archer whose arrows could find a target half a kingdom away, who never missed no matter how fierce the storm or how deep the darkness. The Demi-human whose command over beasts bent even the wildest creatures to her will, her roars shaking the battlefield as titanic beasts answered her call.
The barbarian whose laughter rose above the clash of steel, who threw himself into the thickest bloodshed with a grin that turned fear into courage for all who fought beside him. The priest, kind and gentle, whose miracles healed thousands, whose voice alone seemed enough to banish death from the wounded and dying. And beside them — the human mage, his love, unmatched in power, unmatched in brilliance, unmatched in the warmth she gave only to him.
And last of all, himself — the Hero of Humanity, the Hero of the Continent, who had never lost a single battle, who bore the weight of every hope and every promise spoken under the stars.
But the memory twisted, growing sharp and cruel as it always did. He saw them again — not as shining champions, but as broken souls standing above him. Their bodies were torn and battered, blood matting their hair and soaking the ragged remnants of their armour. They looked at him with eyes full of pain but also unshakable resolve. If not for the flicker of their powers, the blessings of gods and spirits clinging desperately to their fading lives, they would have been corpses already.
"You must close it from the other side, you're the only one strong enough…" the elf shouted hoarsely, voice trembling as he lifted his bow one last time and turned to face the monstrous horror approaching through the swirling darkness.
The mage — his mage — knelt beside him. He could still feel her fingers brushing his cheek as she bent down, her lips finding his in one final, desperate kiss that tasted like love and farewell all at once. She pulled back just far enough to smile at him, that same smile that made him believe he could defeat anything.
"My love, do what must be done, save them, do it for all of us," she whispered. Her fingertip pressed gently against his forehead — a promise, a goodbye, a command. He tried to call her name, shouted it so loud his throat tore raw, but it was no use. She was gone before he could hold her again.
And then — emptiness.
The man snapped back to the present with the roar of laughter and clumsy cheers echoing off the walls of the grand old theatre. On stage, the actors dressed as heroes were hammering away at a clumsy prop shaped like a Demon Lord, smacking it with fake swords while tossing jokes at each other every other line. The crowd roared with delight at every punchline, completely blind to the ghosts watching from the man's mind.
He couldn't watch another second. The mask of calm he'd worn for so long cracked all at once. He pushed himself up from his seat, his boots scraping the polished floor as he turned and strode down the narrow aisle.
The old man and his granddaughter — the same pair who had offered him quiet work and a corner of peace in their small shop for the past year — exchanged worried glances, then hurried after him, weaving through the rows of startled families.
But when they stepped out into the crisp night air, the man they'd connected with for months, the man who had fixed shelves, chopped wood, and smiled kindly at the little ones who visited the shop — he was gone. No trace, no footprints.
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