"What do you think you're getting into? Are you just a mortal like everyone else? You will bear the punishment then
it was Strange whispers coming from an empty place
Running. Then running again… whispers low, chilling, and unnatural crawled into his mind.
The frail body of an old man, New Marloth, gasped for breath. Suddenly, he collapsed to the ground.
Before him stood a strange, horrifying figure, its form unrecognizable.
It spoke:
"You have no right to challenge death, mortal. Do you think you can bear this forbidden sin?"
New Marloth couldn't utter a single word. He couldn't even move.
The shadowy being produced a long scythe and, in one swift motion, tore him into shreds
only for him to awaken from the nightmare.
He was sitting in his wooden chair inside his cabin, rainwater dripping from the roof. The heavy downpour must have woken him.
He stepped outside, drank a cup of tea, and prepared for work. Mounting his black horse, he rode through the quiet morning forest, leaving his modest wooden home behind.
The city pulsed beneath a cloud-choked sky, where marble towers of lofty palaces pierced the horizon, guarded by statues of mythical beings with silent, unblinking eyes. At their feet, covered carriages draped in dark cloth rolled by, drawn by black steeds adorned with cryptic sigils, the creak of their wheels mingling with the sharp rhythm of hooves striking the cobblestone. Arched bridges stretched like stone limbs over shadowed rivers, their torchlit pillars casting dancing reflections upon the dark waters. Deep within the markets, where alleys twisted like the guts of a labyrinth, ramshackle stalls overflowed with strange wares, the air thick with the clash of spice and smoke. And there between the murmurs of merchants echoed footsteps whose source could not be known… whether they belonged to man… or something else.
His destination: the capital city, and an old, dusty bookstore.
Inside, he was greeted by a young man with dark hair and brown clothing an employee who knew him well.
"Welcome back, Master Marloth," the young man said warmly. "This place feels empty without you."
The old man gave a faint, content smile.
"Thank you, boy."
He sat down and began reading a book titled Forbidden Sources Volume II.
Turning the pages, he came across a passage describing The Spiral Rift System a forbidden ritual called The Soul-Line Break.
It required the Song of Death, though the page only contained fragments.
Despite not carrying the blood of his dark-born clan, New Marloth still possessed considerable skill in his field.
Yet the memory of his past failures lingered.
After an hour, he left the shop, nodding politely to the young man.
Above the rooftops, a white owl flew, landing on a chimney. Its sharp eyes followed Marloth's path.
Walking through the city streets, he noticed something unusual priests of a certain church, escorted by kingdom soldiers, leading shackled children covered in scars and strange markings.
New Marloth's gaze was cold.
He recognized the church it didn't belong to this kingdom. It was the infamous Sanctified Order, a so-called "holy" sect from distant lands, notorious for their irrational cruelty.
But no one dared oppose them.
He turned away and continued his path.
By midday, a sudden headache struck him. His illness overwhelmed him, and he collapsed in the street.
Passersby reacted with a mix of concern, fear, and ridicule.
With great effort, he forced himself to his feet.
He eventually reached the busy marketplace.
"It's fine… for now," he muttered to himself. "But soon, the tricks will begin."
A sudden shout broke the air
A thief, dressed in pale rags with his face covered, sprinted through the crowd, clutching the jewelry of a noblewoman in a sparkling blue dress.
She chased after him, but he was too fast.
New Marloth stepped into the thief's path.
"Out of my way, old man, or you'll regret it!" the thief snarled.
With a sly smile, Marloth replied, "Are you sure? I think you'll regret this."
He tossed a small silver sphere to the grou it exploded in a thick cloud of smoke.
Taking advantage of the confusion, Marloth struck the thief in the stomach with a metal staff, sending him sprawling.
When the smoke cleared, the noblewoman rushed forward and slapped the thief. "You. filthy scoundrel! Don't ever try that agin understand?"
Marloth handed her the stolen jewelry.
"Your necklace, my lady."
"Thank you, sir. You're very brave. Is there any way I can repay you?"
"No need," he said, walking away. "Just watch your steps."
Later, in a shadowed alley, the same thief sat beside Marloth.
"Here's your share," Marloth said, tossing him a pouch of coins.
"Couldn't you add a few more jewels?" the thief asked. "I risked myself for this job."
"I rarely work with this kingdom's criminals," Marloth replied. "When I agreed to this job, it was an unusual decision. I don't like risk. Now take your cut and get lost."
He tossed the thief two gemstones and left.
On the road, he pulled out a small map of the royal palace stolen from the noblewoman.
He knew her daily route well. She was one of the palace's servants, and this was just the beginning of his scheme.
---
Deep underground, in an unknown location…
The walls were gray stone, lined with cells and instruments of torment.
In one chamber, a massive iron door guarded a strange pit. a pool of white liquid that shimmered unnaturally.
Nine figures, all robed in black, sat cross-legged atop the surface of the pool, as if gravity had no claim over them.
One of them. a bearded man with short black hair. spoke:
"It has taken months to gather for this meeting."
A towering, dark-skinned man with cropped black hair replied:
"A pleasure to see you all again, though the times are… uneventful."
A red-haired woman with green eyes sighed.
"There's little important news to discuss."
Another voice. an old bald man with a blindfoldcut in:
"Master… are we still pursuing the project?"
The bearded man nodded.
"We have nothing to fear. Every royal decision passes through our hands. Most crimes in this land trace back to us. We control everything.
The children taken from the streets. the world believes them to be deformed wretches deserving punishment. are, in truth, tools for our cause.
Only one obstacle remains before our Dark System reigns supreme: the elimination of all who carry the blood of the god-born."
A masked man, wearing a white demon mask, added:
"Half the clans remain silent. either bought with titles or destroyed by our will.
Only one target remains: the Nyothren clan. We believed them wiped out… but one survivor remains. An old fool, discovered by my own scout in one of the kingdoms."
The council stirred in shock.
"Impossible… I'll kill him myself."
"Don't worry," the masked man continued. "He has no trace of his clan's power his illness has left him weak. But if we want absolute rule, he is the final piece to break."