RR Copyright NOTICE: Welcome to Death Smith by OsiriumWrites on Royalroad.com. If you’re reading this message on another website, my work has been reproduced without permission.
ASH FORGED
DEATH SMITH BOOK 2
Prologue
February, 13 AR East Bulgaria
A crackling fire waged its war against the frigid night sky, its dancing flames casting flickering shadows that painted the surroundings with an eerie glow. Sparks leapt into the air, their brief existence fading into nothingness. That evening, the Rift-site carried a lingering scent, a mixture of burning plastic, wood, and the unmistakable tang of spilt blood. In mere minutes, the once- secure and well-maintained site was now gone, overrun, and ravaged. The sudden emergence of cloaked figures from the Rift had caught both the site personnel and the Rifters off guard.
Confusion and shock had played a role, but it was the staggering gap in abil- ity that had sealed their fate the moment the intruders had emerged. The Rifters, armed with modern weaponry and high-quality armor, had proven to be no match, their resistance lasting mere seconds. Both high-caliber bullets and explosives barely seemed to slow down the cloaked figures, if the Rifters even hit them. The projectiles that had found their mark encountered an invisible barrier, abruptly halting their momentum and rendering them ineffective.
After the sudden onslaught, a lone Rifter clung to life, her trembling hand applying desperate pressure to her wounded stomach as she bled out onto the cold ground. Kneeling beside her, a cloaked stranger observed her gradual descent into the clutches of death. There was no trace of hatred in his golden eyes as he wit- nessed the woman’s futile struggle. Throughout this ordeal, his countenance remained resolute, undisturbed by all the death around him, as if numb to it all. “It will be over soon, youngling,” the stranger said, his tone masculine and almost regal. His hand rested gently on hers, his four fingers carefully guiding her hand away from her fatal wound, hastening her fate. “Surrender to it,” he whispered, witnessing the gradual disappearance of color from her visage until she lay motionless, her eyes losing focus. We all end the same, the stranger thought, his gaze fixed upon her fading form, etching the image of the female Rifter into his memory. Moments later, his cloaked companions converged, wordlessly sig- naling that it was time.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
With measured steps, the stranger guided them toward the vicinity of the Rift itself, where a smaller figure remained seated on the ground. Vibrant energy surged from the figure, distorting the air and stirring a whirlwind of dust. The sheer inten- sity of the wind thrust the hood backward, unveiling her unmistakable features. In that moment, he recognized his own reflection in her, a shared lineage that extended beyond mere blood. The two of them bore the weight of duty and an unbreakable oath to what remained of their family and people.
“I . . . found it,” she said between gasps. Exhaustion and pain had ravaged her body as she had woven more of herself throughout the process, strengthening her connection with her surroundings until it finally stopped. It was the price a seer had to pay to read the flow of fate itself. Pebbles and dirt fell downwards as she felt her energy leave her. Gravity forced the seer onto her hands and knees.
“It is here . . . The harbinger of their ruin,” she told him. Her golden eyes were wide with fear and disgust. “I felt its destruction, the sheer brutality of it . . . Heard the echo of countless souls lost in a single moment. The people of this realm . . . they have no inkling of what kind of weapon they’ve brought into existence,” she explained, forcing herself upright, as he physically supporting her.
Embracing her, the stranger sensed his companions’ approach. His gaze lin- gered on each of them, fortifying their connection and resolve. They shared an unspoken understanding of the gravity of the situation, the very reason they had stood by his side all these years throughout countless realms.
United in the aftermath of the havoc they had unleashed, nine souls stood resolute, driven by a shared purpose. And with a mere seven words, he would set in motion a sequence of events that would defy the course of fate itself: “The Seer has spoken. Locate this weapon.”