A pale gray dawn struggled to pierce the thick fog that cloaked the shattered battlefield. Ground churned and scarred by war lay hidden beneath coils of mist, the air damp and heavy with the smell of earth and iron. Twilight still reigned in the lingering gloom of morning as two figures clashed in deadly combat. Daeshim's blade flashed through the haze as he poured his strength into each swing. His heart hammered in his chest, a mixture of fear and fierce resolve to end the threat.
Daeshim roared as he swung his sword down from above, aiming to cleave through the armored chest of the commander. The commander's face was half-shrouded in shadow and mist, but Daeshim could make out the gleam of steel and the glint of malevolent eyes. With a resounding clash, his sword struck the metal plating; sparks flew as the blade rattled on impact. Daeshim's muscles screamed with effort, but the commander did not flinch. He followed with a furious spin and overhead slash aimed at the commander's head, but even these blows were absorbed.
Yet despite his attacks, the commander remained standing, taking every hit without falling.
Elira's voice rang out sharply behind Daeshim, slicing through the clamor of battle. "That's Skar'Ven! His strength increases every time he gets hit! That's why he's not fighting back!" Her words were urgent and terrified as they cut through the foggy tumult.
Daeshim's body froze in mid-swing, adrenaline and anger coiling in his chest. His hand tightened on the hilt of his blade as Elira's words sank in. Skar'Ven… of course. A chilling realization stabbed at him like a blade to the heart. He knew the stories, the twisted legend of this necromancer-commander. If every strike only made the monster stronger… then how could he possibly defeat him? His eyes narrowed with grim determination as he spun on his heel.
"Then how do we kill him?" he demanded, voice low and urgent over the clash of steel.
Elira's figure moved through the mist as she ducked behind a shattered wagon wheel, heart pounding in her chest. "You have to cut off his head! But be warned — his neck is protected by a metal armor tougher than anything a human or even a Necravor can cut!" Her warning was breathless, each word heavy with fear and desperation.
Daeshim's lips curved into a slow, dark grin at her words. He straightened up from his crouch, trembling with suppressed energy. "Good thing I'm neither," he whispered fiercely, eyes shining with a dangerous light.
With a guttural roar, Daeshim lunged forward again, veins standing out on his neck as he poured every ounce of strength into a savage blow. His sword crackled with heat and bloodlust as it sliced through the air, cleaving the thick mist. Each step he took churned damp earth, the smell of blood and adrenaline in the air. For a moment, Daeshim saw only the narrow line of vulnerability at the monster's armored neck — the slim gap between creature and armor, between life and death.
But fate offered no victory so easily. Skar'Ven's eyes widened in that instant, a crimson glow flaring briefly in the depths of his irises. The monster twisted with superhuman speed. With a cruel smirk, he caught Daeshim's downward strike by the blade, cold fingers closing around it. Daeshim's roar turned to a choke of surprise as the force of his swing knocked him backward through the swirling fog.
Skar'Ven held the blade intended to kill him, turning it in his hand as he reclaimed his stance. His metal gauntlet gleamed under the gray sky. He chuckled, the sound low and cruel. "So, you know my secret," he said. "But it won't save you."
Daeshim's eyes narrowed into icy slits as he faced the undying commander. He felt a fierce flame ignite deep inside him. "We'll see," he growled, voice heavy with contempt and unbroken resolve.
Renewed fury coursed through Daeshim's veins. He struck again, faster and more carefully this time. His blade danced in arcs of white fire through the gray air as he shifted his weight, feinting left then right. Skar'Ven reacted with surprising speed, parrying each strike with gauntleted arms. Sparks erupted with every clash of steel. Daeshim cried out with the effort, whipping his sword up toward Skar'Ven's armored chest, hoping to wrench away the heavy plate around the neck.
Daeshim snarled with savage triumph as he sensed a momentary opening. He crouched low, one fist braced on the ground for power, and roared into Skar'Ven's face before launching his final, devastating attack. The sword became a comet in his hand as he drove his entire body upward into the creature's neck. With a thunderous crash, steel met metal once again — and this time, something shattered.
For a heartbeat, time seemed to slow. Daeshim's muscles tensed against the mounting resistance. Then with a sudden, ear-splitting screech of torn steel, the enchanted collar around Skar'Ven's neck gave way. The sword tore clean through the heavy metal as though it were wet parchment. A hot, coppery shower of black blood exploded into the mist. Skar'Ven's head lurched forward from his shoulders and, in one horrible instant, came free with a sickening crack. The severed head tumbled from the platform of battle as though dropped by invisible hands. The sound of dripping, thick blood hitting the sodden earth was the only noise as the dead body of the commander convulsed once, twice, and then fell silent.
Daeshim fell to one knee in the blood-soaked mud, the momentum of his strike carrying him past his foe. His sword clattered to the ground between them. The world around him grew eerily quiet. Only the soft plip-plop of fresh blood echoed in his ears as it seeped into the earth. Crimson pooled around Daeshim's bare boots, the fog drinking it up greedily. He sat there in stunned silence, the adrenaline deserting his limbs and leaving only a cold emptiness that made his body tremble.
A cold wind stirred through the field, as if even the air recoiled from what had happened. The dawn light dimmed; grey mist seemed to swirl tighter around him. Daeshim's chest heaved with ragged breaths. In that awful stillness, the reality of his actions crashed in. The familiar rush he had felt in battle was gone, leaving only a hollow ache. His ears rang faintly with the ghost of the steel clashes, then fell silent except for the steady beating of his own heart.
He lifted his head slowly, eyes glazed. Skar'Ven's body lay still and headless in the mud. From the wound where the head had been, dark blood seeped steadily, soaking the grass. Half of the commander's face was frozen in a permanent sneer of shock, one lifeless eye staring toward the heavens. Daeshim's stomach twisted at the sight of that twisted grin, now fixed in death. He looked away, struggling to breathe as guilt and nausea washed over him.
His limbs shook so badly that he had to press a hand against the earth to stay upright. Every muscle in his body screamed in pain and exhaustion. He clenched a fist to stifle a groan as wave after wave of adrenaline-fueled relief and horror crashed over him. His breaths came in ragged gasps. With a fierce effort of will, Daeshim dragged himself up the best he could. He weaved through the lingering vapors of mist as he stumbled backward, his eyes never leaving the fallen commander. The smell of spent rain and blood was thick in the air.
He did not notice someone approaching until Elira's hands were on his shoulders. "Daeshim... it's done," she said softly, her voice quivering with relief. She supported him gently, fear and compassion shining in her wide eyes. He was bent and shaking, robes stained and bruised by the ordeal. Elira met his gaze with a steady warmth. "You did what needed to be done," she murmured. "He can hurt no one else now."
Daeshim's eyes stung. A strangled sob escaped him as he realized the truth in her words. He did not trust himself to speak. The last threads of rage and aggression that had driven him through the night were slipping away, leaving only raw, ragged emotion behind. He looked down at Elira as if seeing her for the first time. "Elira..." he croaked, voice hoarse and breaking. Before he could say more, he bent forward and collapsed into her as his strength gave out. His knees hit the ground with a thud, and he buried his face in her shoulder.
Elira wrapped her arms around him tightly. The scent of gunpowder and blood clung to her, but she pulled him closer, pressing a cool hand against his feverish brow. Her own hands trembled, but she did not let go. "You did what you had to, Daeshim," she murmured in his ear. "You saved us... you saved everyone."
Daeshim's body slowly crumbled under the weight of his own emotions. He gasped, unable to form words, and a choking sob broke free from his chest. His knees buckled and he fell, knees striking the muddy ground. Elira caught him, holding him tight. He pressed his face deeper into her shoulder, crying as though all the pain and fear and guilt were spilling out of him. Elira's arms remained a warm anchor around him, her whispering voice steadying the storm inside his head. Each of his ragged breaths was met with gentle murmurs of reassurance.
Daeshim could not find his voice; he only nodded slowly. A wave of exhausted emotion — horror, sorrow, even a grim surge of satisfaction — coursed through him. He felt his legs go limp and his body fold against the earth. Elira's hands were everywhere, supporting him, as he sobbed until his throat was raw. The fog swirled around them, a silvery curtain for this private anguish. At last, his cries quieted into shaky whimpers as he gave himself permission to lean on her completely.
"I saw myself in him, Elira," he finally managed, voice shaking. "I felt something during that fight... something inside me I never knew. What if I become like him? What if I can't stop?" His words came out in a rush of fear and shame.
Elira gently lifted his chin, bringing his tear-streaked face level with hers. Her eyes, bright with unshed tears of her own, bore into his. "Listen," she said softly but firmly. "You're human, Daeshim. We all have monsters inside us that we fear. But look at me — you did not become that monster. You put an end to his terror. You protected all of us when no one else could. That darkness tried to tempt you, yes, but you banished it with your sword. You saved lives. Do you hear me? You saved lives."
Daeshim tasted the copper tang of blood on his tongue and felt shame wash through him. His entire body ached — all the cuts, bruises, and exhaustion from the fight — but none of that compared to the hollow ache in his heart. He looked around at the eerie stillness of the battlefield. Fallen soldiers and horses lay scattered, and the mist drifted lazily through the trunks of broken wagons. The sky was lightening to gray-blue at the edges. The reality pressed on him that the night's horror was truly over.
Elira remained beside him, rubbing his back and whispering gentle reassurances. Eventually, Daeshim managed to stand with Elira's support. His legs were like lead, but he set his chin high. The taste of shame was gone now, replaced by a dull sense of resolve — for now, at least. Elira offered a sad smile. "It's alright now, Daeshim. Come on. We should get you cleaned up." She helped him to walk, and he allowed it. His body complained with every step, but the weight had lifted: Skar'Ven was dead and his people were safe.
By the time the sun had risen fully above the horizon, casting golden light on the quiet fields, Daeshim and Elira had reached their fortress. The cold dawn air felt sharp on his skin as he trudged along the drawn gates of the keep. Fatigue dragged at Daeshim's bones with every step; even as dawn chased away the shadows of the night, he felt the darkness inside him linger. Finally, the enormous wooden doors of the fortress groaned open at their approach. Warm lantern light and the familiar scent of burning hearth embraced him. The horrors of the night were left outside those gates, and for that brief moment, Daeshim allowed himself to feel safe. But there was still one more task to face: understanding the path that lay ahead of them.
They hurried through the empty halls, guided by a single torch, until they reached the heart of the keep. The corridors and stairwells were silent — most of the household still slept. Daeshim leaned heavily against the wall, feeling the wear of battle in every bruise. Elira gave him a steadying look. "Ready?" she whispered. Daeshim nodded wearily, and together they pushed open the heavy oak doors of the ancient library.
The library was a grand hall of quiet reverence, dust motes swirling in beams of morning light that filtered through tall, arched windows. Shelves soared from floor to ceiling, each filled with brittle scrolls and leather-bound tomes. A vast, heavy table sat in the center, its surface covered in maps, books, and papers strewn about in careless desperation. The scent of old parchment and ink hung in the air, mingling with the faint smoke of burning oil from a lone lamp that still glowed softly on the table. Here, in this vast archive of knowledge, Daeshim and Elira would seek the guidance they needed.
Elira closed the library door behind them, and silence settled heavily over the ancient hall. Daeshim moved between the towering shelves, fingers trailing along dusty spines. Each book held secrets, perhaps even the one clue they needed. Torches flickered overhead, casting shifting shadows across worn stone. Dust motes drifted lazily through the lamplight as the two hunted for the right volume. They had nowhere else to turn, and every passing moment without an answer felt urgent.
They pulled books down and scanned pages by the glow of the single golden lamp. Scrolls of prophecy and arcane research lay open on the large table, and maps of strange star alignments were pinned to the walls. Only the quiet rustle of parchment broke the hallowed stillness. At times, Daeshim thought the library felt alive – shelves creaked as if turning themselves, and once a page drifted gently toward him on an unseen breeze. Their breaths were shallow; they were afraid to miss any detail, hopeful that some hidden knowledge would make sense of what they had endured.
Finally, a glint of faded runes caught Daeshim's eye. He slid an ancient, vine-bound tome from the shelf, and as it opened it released a plume of golden dust. A single page fluttered free and drifted to the table below. The lamplight revealed an illustration: a swirling doorway of emerald light framed by a jungle of colossal ferns and twisted vines. Beneath it, in a language nearly lost to time, was an incantation of summoning. Daeshim's pulse quickened as he recognized the purpose: this was the rite to open a portal to a wild, untamed realm. Cautiously, he cleared his throat and whispered the long-forgotten words inscribed there. The moment the final syllable left his lips, the air around them changed.
The ground beneath their feet vibrated faintly, and the library's very stones seemed to hum with power. From the page on the table, a pinprick of light arched upward, connecting to the ceiling. In an instant, a swirling ring of energy blossomed above the table. It hovered there, three meters across, rotating in a blur of emerald and gold. The very air crackled and hissed; whispers of raw magic filled the room. Torches erupted in fierce flame as if caught in a storm. Within the ring, shifting images appeared: sweeping vines, towering tree trunks, and distant shafts of green sunlight — a window into another world. Daeshim's breath caught — beyond that luminous veil stretched the vivid image of a jungle, alive and beckoning.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then Elira reached out, fingertips brushing the rippling heat of the portal. It welcomed her touch with a warmth like sunshine on her skin. She turned to Daeshim, eyes wide with awe. "This is it," she whispered. "The way to the Wildrealm." With a trembling hand, Daeshim slid his fingers into hers. Together they stepped forward into the unknown.
The stone floor of the library and the flickering lamplight vanished in a cascade of color. Suddenly they were standing on soft, damp earth. All around them sprawled a lush, vibrant jungle. Giant ferns grew taller than any man, their fronds brushing Daeshim's thighs. Enormous tree trunks, wider than cottages, soared up into a canopy of deep green leaves that filtered the sky into a mossy jade.
Brilliant flowers in scarlet and violet dotted the underbrush, and thick vines spiraled like green snakes around the trees. A humid warmth clung to Daeshim's skin, and the air smelled rich with loamy earth and sweet blossoms. From somewhere overhead a bird's call echoed, and the deep bellow of an unseen beast rumbled through the green. Daeshim glanced at Elira; both wore expressions of awe. She squeezed his hand gently, and together they took a deep breath of the damp, alien air. Now there was no turning back — they had stepped beyond the portal into a new world.
Daeshim's boots sank slightly into the soft ground as he moved forward, leaves and vines brushing against his legs. The jungle hummed around them. Shafts of sunlight pierced the canopy, illuminating swirling mist in golden beams. A gentle breeze stirred, carrying the scent of wet earth and orchids. He looked at Elira, her face alight with wonder. This place was not their home, but it was real and full of life. Hand in hand, they set off into the emerald wilderness, the portal's ring of light fading silently behind them.