The figure’s grin widened unnaturally, stretching from cheek to cheek in a grotesque display of wicked amusement. Their dark eyes gleamed, twin pools of malice that seemed to drink in the fear before them, reflecting a delight that was anything but human. They wore a smile that held no warmth, only the cold promise of torment.
"For my amusement, I will humor you, human child," the figure intoned, their voice low and velvety, dripping with mockery.
"Be careful what you have wished for."
As the final word left their lips, a chill slithered up Regna’s spine like a serpent. The grin on the figure’s face was wrong, predatory, as if it were a beast savoring the inevitable kill. The air grew heavy and oppressive, as though the night itself recoiled in submission to the entity’s terrible presence. The ground beneath Regna trembled, a low growl rumbling through the earth, mirroring the ominous power that radiated from the figure. Her breath caught as the being began to ascend, rising effortlessly from the soil, as though gravity itself dared not defy it. Arms spread wide; they floated higher, long, silken white hair swirling unnaturally around them like spectral tendrils, curling and stretching as if seeking to ensnare all within reach. Their form swelled, larger and more imposing, as though they were expanding to blot out the stars.
Above, the blood-red moon pulsed, each beat synchronized with the figure’s ominous ascent. The crimson glow thickened, spilling over like liquid fire, drawn inexorably toward the figure’s outstretched hands. The light flowed in serpentine rivers, pulling into their palms and coalescing into two swirling orbs, each a nexus of unearthly power. The air thrummed with a deep, resonant hum, vibrating with an energy that made Regna’s teeth ache.
When the figure spoke again, its voice thundered across the field, reverberating through the night with the weight of an ancient, unfathomable power.
"Child of man... Regna Vimezulte," it proclaimed, each syllable echoing like the toll of a death knell.
"From this day forth, your soul and the essence of your being, shall be bound unto me."
Regna’s gaze locked on the figure, her wide eyes glistening with terror. Her heart pounded against her rib cage, each frantic beat a drumroll of dread. She wanted to look away, to tear her gaze from the entity, but she was trapped, ensnared by their dark majesty. Her bloodshot eyes quivered, and though her body was frozen in fear, her trembling fingers clung desperately to Rayne’s cold, lifeless form. She buried her face in her friend’s shoulder, seeking solace in the only remnant of familiarity in this waking nightmare. The figure’s hands lowered, and the crimson orbs began to pulse rhythmically, each beat perfectly mirroring the frantic tempo of Regna’s heart. A terrible sensation crept over her—a chain, invisible yet unyielding, snaking around her soul. It coiled tighter every second, binding her to the being looming above. She felt her essence, her very self, pulled toward an infinite void, an abyss that yawned open with the promise of eternal servitude.
The figure’s dark eyes sparkled with cruel satisfaction, its gaze heavy with possession. There was no mercy in its expression, only a strange, twisted delight in her despair.
"Do you understand, child?" it asked, its voice low but unrelenting.
"The wish you have uttered comes with a price. A bond, eternal and unbreakable. From this moment forward, your life belongs to me."
Regna’s lips parted, but no words emerged. Her voice was stolen, her mind awash with fear and regret. She clung tighter to Rayne’s lifeless body, her silent scream resounding only in her heart. Yet some part of her refused to yield, a flicker of defiance flickering faintly amid the storm.
Sensing her hesitation, the figure let out a low mocking chuckle. Its grin widened, its shadow stretching further across the trembling earth.
"Fear not," it crooned.
"Though your path will be wrought with pain and sacrifice, the prize you seek may yet lie within your grasp."
The being raised its hands again, the orbs of crimson light spinning faster, their brilliance intensifying. The glow began to contort, shifting and writhing as if alive. From the seething energy, jagged spikes spiraled outward, encircling the orbs in an intricate lattice. Slowly, the spikes coalesced into a bud-like structure, pulsating with latent power, its surface shimmering with an eerie, otherworldly luminescence.
The bud quivered as if poised to bloom, its terrible beauty hinting at the catastrophic power it held within.
...
A small figure darted through the tall wheat on the other side of the fields, moving with purpose despite the eerie red glow that blanketed the land. Mikhail ran, his eyes focused on the direction of the last sight of debris and flames, his breathing steady even as sweat rolled down his forehead. The crimson moonlight, with its maddening pull, seemed to hold no sway over him; he moved forward with an eerie calm, as though something within him kept the effects at bay.
As he sprinted across the uneven ground, his thoughts raced faster than his feet. Somewhere out here, his classmates needed him. Somewhere in this nightmare, his friends were scattered, frightened, and alone. And he wasn’t about to leave them behind.
Finally, Mikhail stumbled into a clearing, the very place where Kogel and the monstrous beast had waged their brutal battle. The ground was littered with scorched patches and broken debris, remnants of the fierce fight. But the sight of his classmates, huddled together amid the chaos, stopped him in his tracks. They sat together, their faces pale and weary, gathered around the unconscious form of Kogel. Thick and almost protective dark mist hovered above them like a shield, casting a shadow over the small group and shielding them from the ominous light of the crimson moon.
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When his classmates saw him, a glimmer of hope sparked in their eyes. Mikhail wasted no time; he rushed to them, dropping to his knees as he reached their side.
"Are you guys okay?" he asked, his voice filled with a quiet urgency.
One of his classmates looked up at him, her voice shaking but relieved.
"We’re alright... but this mister," she murmured, gesturing to Kogel.
Mikhail glanced at the man lying in their midst, his clothes scorched, and his skin marred with fresh scars and burn marks. Kogel’s face was drawn, his breathing shallow, and even unconscious, he looked as though he had barely survived a deadly ordeal.
Mikhail’s gaze swept over each of his classmates, checking them one by one, until a question rose in his mind, a question that filled him with sudden dread. His eyes widened as he looked around.
"Where are they?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.
"Who?" one of the younger kids asked, looking at him in confusion.
"Kas, Regna, and Rayne," Mikhail replied, his voice tight.
"Where are they?"
The children exchanged uncertain glances before one of them spoke up.
"K-Kas... She ran off. She said she was going to find the others."
Mikhail’s gaze dropped to the ground, his mind whirling. He bit his lip, weighing his options, each thought sharpened by a growing sense of urgency. After a moment, he let out a sigh, nodding slowly as he took in the situation.
"And this... barrier?" he asked, gesturing to the dark mist that hovered above them, shielding them from the ominous light of the moon.
One of the other kids shook their heads, looking equally mystified.
"I don’t know... It just appeared out of nowhere. It started sprouting out of this guy after the moon turned red," the child said, pointing at Kogel.
Mikhail’s gaze shifted to Kogel, the unconscious man who had somehow summoned this strange protective shield. He took a deep breath, realizing that, for now, this barrier was their only chance at staying safe from the moon’s influence.
"Alright, pick him up," Mikhail said, his tone steady but firm.
"We need to get him to the bus. Now."
With Mikhail’s guidance, the children moved to lift Kogel, struggling under his weight but driven by a shared determination to protect their fallen savior. Mikhail took one of Kogel’s shoulders, bearing the man’s weight as the others helped support him, and they began their slow journey back through the fields. As they moved, the dark mist shifted with them, flowing like a liquid shadow, expanding and contracting to shield them from the crimson light. It was as if it had its own will, sensing the danger and adjusting to guard them as they moved.
Mikhail glanced up, the weight of Kogel heavy on his shoulder, and caught a glimpse of the blood-red moon hanging ominously above them. He didn’t know what had happened or what the crimson moonlight meant, but one thing was clear: he had to get his friends to safety, and he had to find the others before it was too late.
...
In the desolate, blood-soaked streets of Krenkol, Heathrine moved swiftly, her boots striking the cobblestones with a harsh rhythm that echoed through the lifeless town. Shadows danced in the haunting glow of the crimson moon, their jagged forms twisting unnaturally against walls stained with fresh blood. The air reeked of iron and decay, the sickly stench clinging to her with every step she took, as though the town itself sought to mark her as one of its own.
Her face was set in a grim mask, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her jaw clenched tightly. Yet behind her outward composure, her thoughts churned like a storm-tossed sea.
"This is far from what was foretold," she thought, frustration simmering beneath her practiced calm.
"This… is beyond my power."
Above her, the red moon loomed, vast and malevolent, painting the town in hues of crimson and shadow. Under its maddening light, the once quiet village had devolved into an unrecognizable nightmare. Bodies lay strewn across the streets like discarded dolls, their limbs twisted, and their faces locked in grotesque masks of fear, rage, or agony. Here and there, the remaining "living" moved like wraiths, their eyes wild and glassy, their movements erratic, twitching, and unnatural. They snarled and stumbled, reduced to primal creatures driven by some insatiable, unknowable hunger.
Krenkol had become a cruel stage, its residents cast in a macabre play with no rules, no salvation, only the certainty of death.
Heathrine’s sharp eyes darted from shadow to shadow, cataloging the carnage with a calculating detachment that belied the knot of unease coiling in her gut. She had seen battlefields and cities turned to ash by war or pestilence before, but this was no ordinary devastation. This was something darker that had torn through the town like a vengeful god, leaving chaos and despair in its wake.
The crimson moon had changed everything. It had twisted her mission into something almost unrecognizable, a nightmare far removed from the prophecy she had prepared to face.
With each step she took, the wrongness grew sharper and more oppressive. The feeling was not merely unease; it was something deeper, primal, a bone-deep certainty that something monstrous waited ahead. It thrummed at the edges of her awareness, an unholy presence radiating from the fields beyond the town, its power ancient and overwhelming. The air seemed heavier here, colder, as though the breath of the entity reached even this far.
A shiver ran down Heathrine’s spine, the instinct to flee whispering insidiously in her mind. Her pace faltered, her boots dragging against the cobblestones as doubt crept into her thoughts.
"Maybe this mission ends here."
The words struck her like a cold blade, unbidden and treacherous. Her fingers tightened into fists, her nails biting into her palms as her resolve wavered. The power emanating from the fields was unlike anything she’d encountered before. It wasn’t just greater than her magic; it was incomprehensible, something vast and boundless, something that mocked the limits of her strength.
Her breath quickened as she stood at the edge of the town, the fields stretching before her like a yawning abyss cloaked in darkness and red haze. The oppressive energy pulsed louder here, a heartbeat that wasn’t hers, each thrum pulling at her chest with invisible chains.
For a moment, the thought rose again, insidious and tempting.
"Turn back. Save yourself. This is not your fight."
But she shook her head violently, as though the motion could scatter the doubt before it could take root. Her lips parted, and she whispered into the thick, blood-soaked air:
"No."
The word was soft but defiant, a flaming spark against the consuming darkness. Her steps steadied, and she lifted her chin, her gaze hardening with renewed determination.
"If this is beyond my power, I’ll find another way."
With each step into the fields, the tension coiled tighter around her, pressing down on her shoulders like an unseen weight. The wrongness clawed at her resolve, but she pushed through it, refusing to yield. If fear was a weapon, so too was defiance, and Heathrine clung to hers like a shield.
Ahead, the distant horizon flickered with faint movement, shadows shifting within shadows, something stirring in the crimson haze. The unholy presence pulsed stronger now, rippling through the earth and the air, each wave a warning and a challenge.
Heathrine gritted her teeth. Whatever awaited her in the fields, she would face it. She had no choice.
She had come too far to turn back.
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Streets of Krenkol [https://i.postimg.cc/fW5RnC8y/image-7.png]Streets Of Krenkol From Heathrine's Perspective
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