Darken rose to his feet after the wolf's sudden, feral assault — standing before a challenge unlike any he had faced before. A confrontation that could very well place him at the threshold of death... or beyond. And yet, he accepted it, indifferent to the outcome.
For a few seconds, everything stood still. Neither Darken nor the wolf moved. Only the sound of their labored breathing filled the air, as if each awaited the other to make the first move. Then, the wolf lowered its head slightly, never breaking eye contact with the unmoving Darken — its gaze watching for the slightest misstep, any wrong motion, ready to tear him apart with razor fangs and shred him in two.
Waiting for me to move? Don't worry… I can stay like this forever,
Darken thought confidently — a confidence that cracked as a chilling truth crept into his mind.
Wait... forever? That's impossible. No. ABSOLUTELY NO !
Elsewhere, King Kazler watched with careful eyes, studying both Darken and the wolf intently. He waited in silence, poised, reading every shift. Despite the danger, despite the tension, the king remained calm — as one accustomed to walking the edge without ever blinking.
Toril broke the silence at last, his voice measured: "My king… did you come to observe what Darken might do? To test your trust in him, perhaps? Or is there another reason that brings you here as a witness?" He chose his words cautiously, careful not to provoke the king in such a precarious moment.
The king replied with calm gravity: "Both reasons… trust, and to see what this human is capable of. But there is another reason I stand here."
"And what is that?" Toril asked, his eyes flicking between the king and the mounting scene.
Kazler paused, lost in his silence, before answering with a deep, steady tone: "It's difficult to admit… but I'm here to witness the end of that wolf. The one who suffers now… because he chose to protect me."
Before Toril could ask another question, a violent explosion erupted where Darken stood. He turned sharply — the battle had begun. And it began with terrifying ferocity.
Darken and the wolf lunged at one another with wild intensity, as if neither had any intent but to kill… or perhaps something far deeper.
The wolf struck first, a blur of motion, swinging its claws with such force that it shattered a nearby boulder into shards, flinging stone like paper in a storm. Dodging such attacks wasn't merely difficult — it was near impossible. Its movements were erratic on the surface, but lethally precise beneath. Predicting them was a brutal challenge. Defending against them? Harder still.
With every passing second, the wolf grew more savage. It wasn't just using claws — it rammed with its massive head like a raging bull, or opened its jaws wide to devour, with bloodied fangs dripping like venom. Each attack bore the unmistakable intent to kill.
I need to strike. Defense alone is a doomed strategy. There will be no miracle this time.
But rational thought amid this hell was a luxury. Every roar, every flicker of pain, every fleeting moment, tore at his focus. He knew well — a single lapse in attention could mean his bones shattered... or worse, his guts ripped open in an instant.
Then, amid the chaos, Darken glimpsed a narrow opening in the wolf's defense. A slim chance — but would he hesitate? Never. He lunged with ruthless speed, clutching the dagger Adinis had given him, driving it toward the wolf's left eye.
The blade sank into flesh, followed by a monstrous howl that echoed through the ruined valley like a demon's cry from the abyss.
" JACKBOOT! " Darken shouted, a thrill of triumph rising in him like a warm breeze in a storm.
But the satisfaction didn't last. He pulled back quickly, steadying his breath, analyzing where next to strike. Something, though, unsettled him.
When I stabbed near its eye… it felt like plunging into thick, drying clay. I was lucky to yank the blade free before it got stuck.
He realized the wolf's hide was like natural armor — not easily pierced. Adinis's blade had barely made a dent. That alone was a grim warning of what awaited him. And while he pondered, the wolf's claws struck — tearing through his chest savagely, despite all his caution.
"Gahh!!" Darken's scream shattered the silence, dropping him to one knee, clutching his chest as pain ravaged his body like a carrion beast feasting. It felt as if his chest had been split open, his gut erased by an unseen blade.
Damn it… there's no safe spot left. But how? How did that happen?!
He tried to think, even as every nerve screamed in agony. His mind began to collapse… as if awareness itself had become another enemy trying to kill him.
Then, without warning, he sensed another attack — from behind. He tried to evade, but failed. The blow struck with the same fury, ripping across his back like an axe fueled by the wrath of the earth.
And still, Darken clung to consciousness, fighting not to black out. He understood now: he hadn't lost because the wolf was too fast… he had lost focus. He had faltered. And now he was paying the price.
Elsewhere, Adinis rode with Laro atop Larveo, cutting through the cursed land in search of the first sigil's location. The path was not merely rough — the very terrain groaned beneath corrupted magic. Though they began with confidence, an eerie sense of disorientation followed them like a heavy shadow. The land shifted, reshaped itself to confuse them.
What worsened their worry was the distant echo of battle — Darken's voice rang out, not as a man's, but as the guttural roar of something unraveling under pressure — sharp, loud, as if tearing the sky itself.
"Was that the human's voice?" Laro asked, dread staining his features.
Larveo replied tensely, "He's facing more than he can handle. We must find the first two sites before this land swallows them whole. If we're too late, there won't be anyone left to save."
With that, Larveo picked up speed — but suddenly, he stopped, eyes gleaming with alert.
"What is it?" Adinis asked, though she didn't wait for a reply — she felt it too. That aura… that tightening in the air, as if something vile were inhaling life itself from around them.
"Ah… agh!" she gasped, knees buckling as her body convulsed like someone thrown into winter's chill in the middle of fire. Laro gasped beside her, grasping at his throat, his face paling into a faint blue like a man drowning in open air.
Adinis felt something tear at her will — not just her body. A sudden urge to give up, to collapse… as if her very existence no longer mattered.
But from within that ruin, the face of Eirl emerged from shadow — the one memory still untouched. Her smiling, laughing, standing beside her in suns that no longer shone… that was enough to ignite a tiny fire inside.
She resisted. She clung to the earth, to the roots of memory, and stood — through pain, through despair. She stood like someone refusing what fate tried to force upon her.
This… is nothing!
She thought fiercely and stepped toward the source of the black aura — coiling like angry smoke.
There she found a boulder, behind which pulsed a swollen mass — throbbing in purple and black, like the heart of a demon born of a curse. It was grotesque — its pulse diseased, its presence enough to chill the bones.
Adinis pulled a red vial from her bag, uncorked it, and poured it over the mass. The liquid spilled like warm blood — and in moments, the pulse slowed… hardened… shattered, collapsing into nothingness. Leaving behind an empty space — and something else in the air. Something unseen, yet deeply felt.
"Did… it work?" Laro muttered, voice hoarse, barely able to keep his eyes open.
Larveo answered lowly: "Yes. The first one is gone. Now—"
But a sudden explosion cut him off. A massive rock crashed from above, followed by a storm of debris — as if the sky itself rejected what they had done. Without hesitation, Larveo leapt, grabbed Adinis in his teeth, and dove away as stone rained like shrapnel around them.
"What was that?!" Adinis screamed, eyes wide, mind struggling to catch up.
Larveo didn't answer. He was staring up — to where the rocks had fallen — and what they revealed.
The battlefield.
What had been a fight between Darken and the wolf had become something else. Something not human.
Darken was no longer defending — he was attacking, wildly, with a fury almost devoid of thought. He leapt from rocks, lunged at the wolf, as if neither of them had any sense of survival left. The wolf snarled, pounced, tore — jaws open to devour — while Darken pressed forward, dodging, slashing, heedless of pain.
"Is that … a real human?" Adinis thought, her heart trembling as she watched. Before she could speak, Larveo pulled her onto his back again.
"Hurry! Things are spiraling beyond control!" he said, running full tilt. "That wolf… must not die. We must try to save him too…" he added, whispering, as if the words weren't meant for her… but for someone far away. Or perhaps for an older version of himself.
Elsewhere, Darken was still locked in combat with the wolf — a frantic physical clash, a primal war echoing from a time before language. But this time… it was he who attacked. Even without an opening, without a chance, as if… he were ready to carve one out with his bare nails if he had to.
Just moments earlier, he had barely been able to stand.
I should have died.
Darken thought, pressing forward — without hesitation, without thought.
But in a moment I didn't even perceive… something stirred inside me.
Something merciless. It doesn't ask questions. It just… pushes me forward.
He leapt high, with timing sharp and broken like a shattered clock, dodging the wolf's charge that tore the earth beneath it. He landed on its back with deadly precision, as if he knew it intimately, as if this savagery was once an old home he'd long forgotten.
He drove the blade down toward its skull — but the wolf shuddered violently, its body convulsing in rage, flinging Darken like a rag doll. He hit the ground hard, rolled through the dirt, and rose — without a groan.
And here I am, moving like nothing in me is broken. But… the pain is unbearable.
And that's good. Good enough to win.
Then for a heartbeat — like a cold blade slicing into memory —his mind stopped.
Wait… what was my mission again?
What… was I supposed to do with this wolf… again?
His eyes narrowed, as though searching in darkness for something deliberately forgotten.
But his body didn't stop. It lunged toward the beast again, even as the monster opened its jaws like hell itself was breathing through them.
I don't remember.
In a flash like lightning inside a burning skull,
Darken moved. He wrenched the blade upward like ripping a nightmare from his eye and slashed the wolf's left jaw with brutal force — no mercy, no thought, only a single decision… sharp as fate.
The wolf's scream ripped through the valley — not a sound, but a bomb of anguish exploding in the silence of nature. Blood poured forth as if someone had slit the throat of night itself. Some of it splattered across Darken's face, covering half of it… like a mask of pain.
He didn't blink.
And still…
This feeling…
Cold… but alive , I just feel...
Kill… kill…I must... kill…
Meanwhile, King Kazler watched. His silence was not that of a passive observer — but the silence of a soldier who heard the final whistle and yet was still on the battlefield. His fist trembled, clenched so tightly that his skin broke and bled, not from what he saw — but from what he felt should never have been seen.
Toril saw it — saw the tremor in the king's hand. And he understood. The king… was not only afraid for Darken.
He feared what Darken was becoming. He wore the mask of resolve… but what he witnessed was the birth of something that should never be born.
Then, without warning, the cursed sigil on the wolf's back began to shift — moving as if it were a living parasite crawling across flayed skin. It swelled like a cocoon, then expanded into a dark membrane, wrapping around the beast's body like a living curse. It seemed to be dying — and in its death throes, it gifted the wolf a monstrous surge of power… healing its wounds in grotesque fashion, inflating its veins and muscles until it became something beyond feral.
In that moment, Darken's mind was adrift — as if his consciousness had been severed from his body. His eyes were blank, his breath ragged and uneven, as if something inside had broken… or been released.
And because his focus was gone, he didn't block the incoming blow — a vicious kick from the mutated wolf's hind leg, which struck his body with catastrophic force, lifting him off the ground like a weightless doll.
The impact was worse than anything he'd known. His body flew like a torn rag, slamming into a massive rock wall. The crash tore layers from the stone, scattering them like arrows, until a section of the cliff collapsed onto Darken's body — burying him beneath rubble soaked in dust and blood. The explosion alone was enough to make any witness believe the man beneath… was gone.
"…He's become more savage…" Toril whispered, eyes wide with disbelief, though his mind had already anticipated it.
"oh please no , Angelo…"
"Oh no… the young wolf…"
"No, no, no… young master, please no…"
The whispers behind the king rose — trembling murmurs like funeral chants woven from fear and regret. Toril heard them — and heard a name among them. A name unlike any other. A name etched into his memory with the weight of leadership, courage, and gentleness… A name he never thought he would hear in this context.
"Impossible…" Toril said, his voice shrinking, as though his heart could no longer keep up with what his eyes were witnessing. Slowly, he turned toward the king — eyes trembling, bracing for the truth. "That wolf… he's not your son, right? He's not the young wolf… Angelo… right?"
He waited for denial.
He prayed for it.
But what he received was : "Yes."
The king spoke the word with a bitterness too vast for expression. His eyes locked on the beast — as if searching its face for one long lost.
Then he continued, voice hoarse, heavy with sorrow, rage, and buried shame: "That is my son, Angelo. My only heir. The one who received the curse meant for me… the direct spell of those damned outsiders. A curse I should have borne… not him."
Then he whispered — words that bled like open wounds:
"My son… why must you suffer like that? You did nothing to deserve it…"
And in that same moment, the wolf — or what was left of Angelo — howled. A scream so sharp, so unnatural, it defied reason… and instinct. It didn't sound like an animal. Or even a cursed thing. It sounded like a twisted echo from beyond reality.
Toril stepped back, horror washing over him.
The pieces fell together — like fragments of a past exploding in his face.
The king never asked Darken to kill the wolf.
He asked him… to distract it. He never hoped for victory… but for salvation. A final dream — that perhaps… the son's mind could still be reached.
But then… silence fell. And with it came a feeling unlike any other.
A choking, cursed force slithered in from the void — filling the air with crushing pressure. Toril felt it. So did the king, who dropped to his knees under the weight.
"What… is this feeling?" Toril muttered, his voice shaking with a terror he could no longer hide. His very bones trembled. Every part of him screamed: Run. Flee. You cannot stay here.
Even the king's warriors collapsed, or bowed, or froze in place — their eyes locked into nothing, as though darkness itself had begun to seep through the air.
One of them, barely upright, raised a trembling finger toward the wolf: "Your Majesty… the wolf… Angelo… he seems… different."
The king turned toward him — barely able to lift his gaze — and there… he saw it.
Angelo, the angry Wolf , was no longer moving. He was frozen. Silent. But he wasn't calm. He was… afraid.
The king's voice came low, heavy like a man describing his own execution: "the Dire wolves do not fear. Not death. Not enemies. Not beasts. Their ferocity exceeds all known.
But if a dire wolf fears…?"
"Fear?" Toril whispered, his skin crawling, as if a single word had unlocked a forbidden memory — a door to something that has no name.
And then he saw what the wolf Angelo saw.
That savage beast… was staring at the pile of rubble where Darken had been thrown. As if… whatever lay beneath those rocks… was no longer the same.
"If that means anything at all… it means the creature within is not just dangerous. It is… unnatural. Something beyond fear itself… something otherworldly."
And from within… a gaze emerged.
Two crimson eyes, sharp as blades, glowing through the dust and stone. Eyes that gazed out like twin stars from hell.
And beneath them… a voice rose.
Void of mercy.
Void of life.
Only a promise — of distraction .
"I Must… Kill… Claridis."