The wind howled across the broken wasteland, dry and sharp like a blade dragging across stone.
Asvard adjusted the strap on his torn cloak, feeling the weight of Prwyer's gaze on his back. They had been walking in silence for what felt like hours, the landscape around them twisting in unnatural ways. Mountains leaned at impossible angles. The sky above flickered between red and black, as if even the heavens were growing impatient.
Ahead, a vast plain stretched under the bleeding sky. At its center stood four towering monoliths, each etched with ancient runes and anchored to the ground by chains the size of trees. They pulsed faintly, as if alive, and between them, waiting like a statue of inevitability, stood Ashar.
His armor, blackened and scarred, shimmered faintly with Void essence. His scythe rested casually against his shoulder, yet the air around him was heavy, suffocating. The ground at his feet was cracked and broken, as if Hell itself had flinched when he arrived.
Asvard's steps slowed.
Prwyer stopped beside him, voice low.
"Stay sharp. This isn't a lesson. It's a measure."
Asvard nodded, feeling the tension building inside him, a slow coil of heat in his chest.
They approached.
Ashar didn't move until they were close enough to hear the low hum coming from the monoliths. It was like a whisper threading through Asvard's mind, speaking in languages he didn't know, promising power, ruin, freedom.
"You're the cause" Ashar said finally, his voice flat but not hostile.
Asvard met his gaze. "Cause of what?"
Ashar turned his head slightly. The monoliths behind him pulsed once, faintly, in response.
"Their stirring"
Asvard frowned, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
"The Four?"
Ashar's eyes narrowed slightly, as if studying something beyond Asvard's skin, something deeper.
"They haven't stirred in centuries. Not until you appeared" Ashar said
Asvard gritted his teeth. "So what? You think I'm corrupting them?"
"No" Ashar said simply
He set the scythe down on the ground beside him, the blade sinking slightly into the cracked earth.
"I think you're waking them up"
Asvard said nothing. His fists tightened at his sides.
Ashar stepped closer, his boots grinding against the stone.
"This world, this legion... it's built on silence, discipline, chains. The Four are the pillars that keep it standing. If they wake up completely, it means the foundations are about to shift"
His eyes, cold and clear, locked onto Asvard's.
"And when foundations shift, everything built on them falls"
The air thickened. The ground vibrated slightly underfoot.
Prwyer spoke quietly from beside Asvard.
"Ashar doesn't want to destroy you. If he did, you wouldn't even see it coming"
Asvard glanced at him, heart hammering.
"Then what does he want?"
Prwyer's mouth was a grim line.
"He wants to see if you're worthy of the noise you're causing"
Ashar raised one hand.
The four monoliths behind him began to hum louder, the runes flashing briefly with an ominous dark light.
"This is not a fight for survival" Ashar said
He shifted into a low stance, scythe lifted with one hand.
"This is a fight to prove you can stand... when the very world tries to drown you"
The ground split beneath Asvard's feet.
He stanced into a crouch instinctively, Void instincts flaring inside him.
Ashar didn't give him a second longer.
In the blink of an eye, the Fang of the Unleashed Legion was upon him.
The first swing came low, a slicing arc meant to cleave Asvard's legs. He twisted, barely evading, the scythe's edge kissing the air inches from his skin.
Ashar flowed forward, relentless. The second attack came vertically, a cleaving downward strike with enough force to shatter boulders. Asvard side-stepped, Mirage Reversal kicking in reflexively, his after-image distorting the air behind him.
Ashar's eyes flickered briefly at the movement. His lips twitched into the faintest hint of approval.
Asvard didn't wait for another attack. He lunged forward, fists coated in the raw essence of his evolving Abyssborn blood. His punch screamed through the air - but Ashar caught it effortlessly with the shaft of his scythe, twisting Asvard's momentum sideways.
He crashed into the dirt, skidding painfully across the broken ground.
"Good reflexes" Ashar said, stepping forward again
Asvard staggered to his feet, spitting dust.
He focused, feeling the strange resonance from the monoliths grow louder in his ears.
Whispers. Shapes. Memories not his own.
He blinked. For a split second, he saw a different landscape - a blood-drenched field under a sky split in half by a dying sun. He shook his head violently, clearing the illusion.
Ashar was already mid-swing.
Asvard threw up his arms instinctively, a veil of Abyssal energy forming between him and the incoming blow. It absorbed most of the impact, but the sheer force still launched him backwards.
He hit the ground hard.
Pain flared through his side, but he forced himself up again.
Ashar stood there, relaxed, almost casual.
"You're adapting" he said
"But adapting isn't surviving"
The words were cold. Not cruel - just a statement of fact.
Asvard gritted his teeth. His body hurt, his muscles screamed, but there was a deeper fire waking inside him. A refusal.
He dropped into a stance Prwyer had taught him - loose, ready to move.
Ashar shifted his grip.
And the next exchange was different.
He moved faster, sharper, driving Asvard back with brutal efficiency. Every clash rang out like a hammer on an anvil, the air around them warping from the sheer pressure of their blows.
Ashar's Void-infused strikes sliced through the battlefield like cracks forming in glass.
Asvard ducked, weaved, countered when he could - but it was clear who was controlling the flow.
Still, Ashar didn't strike to kill. Not once. Every blow was precise, controlled, forcing Asvard to react, to adapt, to think.
He was molding him.
Testing him.
The whispers from the Four grew louder.
At the edge of his mind, Asvard heard a different voice -not his own, not the swords -but something raw, ancient, familiar.
Survive.
He clenched his fists tighter.
He launched forward with everything he had, channeling Mirage Reversal instinctively - his form blurring, splitting into half-seen illusions that darted toward Ashar from different angles.
Ashar's eyes flashed.
He spun his scythe in a wide arc, Void energy detonating outward.
Asvard's illusions shattered - but the real Asvard was already ducking low, aiming a desperate punch at Ashar's ribs.
The scythe's shaft caught his wrist mid-swing -but Ashar didn't counterattack.
Instead, he leaned closer, voice a low whisper.
"Not bad"
And with a sudden shove, he sent Asvard sprawling backwards.
The fight ended.
Ashar straightened, resting the scythe across his shoulders casually.
"You're not ready" he said
"But you will be"
The Four behind him pulsed in rhythm, their whispers receding slightly.
Prwyer approached, helping Asvard to his feet.
Asvard panted heavily, wiping blood from his mouth.
"Is that it?" he asked hoarsely
Ashar regarded him silently for a long moment.
Then, with a faint smile that barely touched his eyes, he said
"For now"
Without another word, he turned and walked back toward the monoliths, the broken ground closing behind him with every step.
Asvard watched him go, feeling something strange burning in his chest.
Not hatred.
Not fear.
Something else.
A distant, forgotten warmth.
Prwyer clapped him on the shoulder, gently but firmly.
"You did well" he said
Asvard grunted.
"I got my ass kicked"
Prwyer chuckled once, a low, rare sound.
"Everyone does. First time they face the Fang"
They turned and began the long walk back to the training grounds.
The sky above roared with distant thunder, and somewhere, far beyond sight, the world shifted slightly.
The Four slept again.
For now.
But the foundations had begun to tremble.
And nothing, not even Hell itself, could stop what was coming.
"Was it the right thing to do?" Ashar muttered to himself while gazing upon the bleeding sky.
(To be continued)....