The night fell like a blade across the village. Marcus walked silently, the black metal piece burning in his pocket, as though it had a pulse of its own. The streets, once familiar, had shifted—the alleys stretched too long, the shadows moved of their own accord, and every corner whispered secrets he wasn't meant to hear.
A low growl broke the silence, deep and guttural. Marcus froze. From the darkness, a figure emerged: tall, twisted, half-man, half-beast, eyes glowing with merciless hunger. Its claws scraped the cobblestones, sending sparks into the air.
Marcus: This is it… the monsters Duncan spoke of…
The creature advanced, silent at first, then faster—its movements unnatural, predatory, each step seeming to tear at the very air. Marcus felt the pull from within, the beast he had seen in his vision stirring, coiling like a serpent in his chest.
He drew a breath. The black piece in his pocket vibrated violently, as if it were calling to something buried deep inside him. Panic surged—but beneath it, a raw instinct, ancient and feral, began to awaken.
The monster lunged. Marcus stumbled back, heart hammering, but his hands moved almost by themselves. He grabbed a rusted iron rod from the ground and swung blindly. The creature hissed, recoiling—not in fear, but in acknowledgment.
Duncan's words echoed in his mind: "Every test will reveal the monster that sleeps inside."
The black piece burned through his pocket, and Marcus felt a surge, a strange, violent clarity. The air thickened; his vision sharpened. The beast before him paused, tilting its head as if recognizing something familiar.
Marcus: "I… I don't want this… but I can't run."
A deep roar tore from his chest—not his voice entirely, something darker, something wild. The ground trembled beneath them. Marcus swung the rod again, this time striking true. The creature snarled, but did not fall.
Then, instinct overcame hesitation. He ran toward the monster, the black metal piece now glowing faintly in his hand, a beacon of power he could not yet name. With each step, he felt the beast within him struggle to break free, to claim his body, his soul.
The two collided with a thunderous impact. Metal and flesh clashed. Marcus felt teeth graze his shoulder, claws tear at his sleeve. Pain surged—but beneath it, an exhilaration he had never known. The vision of himself atop the corpses, drenched in blood, flashed in his mind. He did not run. He did not hesitate.
And then, something broke. The monster recoiled, howling, before vanishing into the shadows like smoke scattered by wind. Marcus fell to his knees, chest heaving, hands trembling. Blood—not entirely his—dripped from his palms, as if marking the first step of a transformation he could not yet comprehend.
He looked at the black piece in his hand. It no longer trembled. It pulsed softly, patiently, as if waiting for him to accept what he truly was.
Marcus whispered to himself, almost a vow:
Marcus: "If this is the path… I will walk it. And I will not be devoured."
Above, the castle remained, inverted and silent. But deep within its walls, the whispers had begun to stir. The game had started, and Marcus had taken his first step.
The legend of the Lord of Monster was no longer a dream. It was awakening.
—To be continued.