The dense forest loomed like a cathedral of trees, their branches heavy with fresh snow, bowing under the weight of winter’s chill. The only sound was the occasional rustle of leaves, barely audible beneath the thick blanket of snow. The crisp, cold air hung still as Alexander’s sharp gaze darted toward the disturbance that shattered the quiet. The bushes at the forest’s edge trembled violently, drawing his attention like a magnet.
With an effortless hop from his horse, he landed lightly on the snow-covered ground, his feet seemingly gliding over the surface without leaving a single footprint. The snow, pristine and untouched, stretched out before him, and the surrounding evergreens stood like silent sentinels, their dark limbs sagging under the weight of frost. Overhead, the sky glowed faintly with the last hues of dusk, while the call of distant birds echoed through the frozen stillness.
Suddenly, the stillness shattered. From the underbrush, a group of bandits burst forth, their snarls mingling with the crunch of snow beneath their boots, their weapons flashing under the dim light. The leader’s hand flew to his sword, but it was a hopeless gesture.
Alexander was already in motion, his body a blur against the stark white landscape. With a flick of his wrist, the first bandit flew backward, the force of his motion sending the man crashing into a tree, snow falling in thick clumps from the branches above. Another lunged forward, but Alexander backhanded him with effortless precision, the impact sending ripples through the snow, and a crack of thunder seemed to echo between the trees.
Within mere moments, the attackers lay scattered like broken twigs, their bodies buried in the snow, groaning in defeat. Not a drop of blood had yet stained the ground. Alexander hadn’t even drawn his katana.
Arthur, barely able to comprehend the scene, stood frozen, his breath puffing out in clouds of vapour. "You make it look too easy," he murmured, his voice tinged with disbelief.
"That's because it is." Alexander’s voice was cold, his eyes still fixed on the fallen men, their forms blending into the snow. The white powder that coated the ground swirled around his feet, carried by the faintest breeze, yet Alexander remained unruffled.
As if spurred on by the insult, one of the bandits, bruised and desperate, staggered to his feet. His wild eyes gleamed with rage as he charged toward Alexander with a broken cry, the snow crunching loudly beneath his boots. Alexander reached for his katana, but the blade stubbornly resisted, refusing to budge from its sheath.
"Really?" Alexander muttered, his brow furrowing as he tugged again, this time with more force. But the katana remained locked. "Give me... oneeee… second..." He groaned, frustration flashing in his eyes. With one final pull, he lost his grip entirely, and to his chagrin, stumbled backward into the snow, landing on his rear with a dull thud.
The bandit paused, clearly confused, his breath visible in the cold air. Alexander, however, glared up at him, irritation etched into his features. “Seriously? This is how I’m going to go down? Stuck sword?”
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath—the only sounds were the soft rustling of nearby trees, the faint call of birds, and the crackle of snow underfoot. But then, with an exasperated sigh, Alexander blurred into motion once again.
In an instant, he vanished from sight, reappearing behind the bandit. His katana gleamed in the dying light, now freed from its sheath and buried deep in the bandit’s chest. The man’s eyes widened, blood dripping onto the pristine snow as he collapsed, lifeless, staining the white powder with crimson.
Alexander stood over the body, his katana glowing faintly as the final rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon. The shadows of the forest grew longer, stretching like fingers over the snow-covered ground, while the birds that had taken refuge in the trees fell silent, as if mourning the fallen.
"Pathetic," he muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper as he sheathed his katana with a quiet click. The remaining bandits, wide-eyed and trembling, stood rooted in place, their weapons shaking in their hands as they glanced at the bodies of their comrades lying still in the snow.
“Who’s next?” Alexander’s voice cut through the icy air, sending shivers down their spines. His breath misted in the cold, but the air around him seemed warmer, alive with the tension of impending doom.
The leader, a towering figure with a jagged scar across his face, tried to rally his men. “W-we outnumber him!” he shouted, but his voice wavered as snowflakes began to fall softly from the darkening sky. “He’s just one man!”
Alexander chuckled, his breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. “Outnumbering doesn’t mean out matching,” he said smoothly. The snow beneath his feet swirled lazily as he stepped forward, the faint light casting long shadows around his form. “I’ll make sure you learn that lesson tonight.”
As he spoke, the crimson blood from the fallen bandits began to move, rising from the snow in twisting tendrils, swirling in the air like serpents. His Will—Will of Blood—awoke with a malevolent pulse. The surrounding forest seemed to respond, the trees whispering in the wind, and the snow glittering ominously under the moonlight.
With a flash of movement, Alexander vanished once again, reappearing behind one of the bandits, his katana slicing effortlessly through the air. “Too slow,” he whispered, before driving the blade into the man’s back. Blood exploded onto the snow, and the body crumpled, a marionette with its strings cut.
Panic surged through the remaining bandits. The once tranquil forest became a battleground, the sound of clashing steel and falling bodies mingling with the faint rustle of branches and the distant call of owls. Blood tendrils whipped through the air, immobilising another bandit, dragging him to his knees as Alexander’s katanas danced through the night like streaks of silver.
“Crimson Tide!” Alexander shouted, his voice booming through the trees. The blood swirling around him formed a wave, crashing into the remaining bandits like an unstoppable force, sending them sprawling into the snow, helpless.
The snowstorm began to thicken, the flakes swirling faster as the wind picked up, howling through the trees. Alexander stood amidst the carnage, his breath even, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. The scattered bodies lay around him, the once peaceful forest floor now a scene of devastation, painted red against the white snow.
Arthur, still frozen in place, could only manage to utter a single word, his breath fogging in the cold. “Holy… shit…”
Alexander chuckled, sheathing his katanas as he turned toward his horse, the snow crunching softly under his feet. "Come on, Arthur. Let’s go." With a final glance at the fallen bandits, he swung himself onto his horse, disappearing into the darkened forest, the snow closing in behind him.
⬗ ⯁ ⬖
The woman struggled against the heavy chains that bound her wrists and ankles. "LET ME GO!" she shouted, her voice breaking the thick silence of the chamber. The chains rattled with every movement, her face twisted in pain as she tried to break free.
The room around her was dimly lit, the flicker of a lone torch casting long, twisted shadows against the cold, stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of dampness and decay, a weight that pressed down on her as much as the chains themselves.
From behind her, a man’s voice cut through the darkness, calm yet laced with menace. "Why should I?" he asked, stepping into the faint light. His boots echoed across the stone floor, each step slow and deliberate. “You know where the Fatebound child is. You know everything.”
The woman clenched her teeth, glaring up at him through strands of messy hair. “I told you, I don’t know where he is,” she hissed, her voice low but defiant.
He sighed, a mocking disappointment in his tone. “Naughty, naughty. Lies aren't goodies.” Without warning, he spat on her shoe, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
She flinched but refused to look away. Her anger burned behind her eyes, despite the chains that held her down.
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The man crouched down to her level, his hand roughly grabbing her chin. “Tell me,” he said, his voice soft but threatening, “and I’ll set you free.” His gaze bore into hers, waiting, expecting her to break.
The woman met his stare with fire in her eyes. “I… I won’t tell you.” And before he could react, she spat in his face.
The man froze for a moment, wiping the spit from his cheek. Then, slowly, he stood up, his smile replaced by a cold, calculating look. He raised his hand, pointing his index finger directly at her.
"That's it," he muttered, a hint of anger creeping into his voice. A small flicker of flame sparked at his fingertip, casting an eerie orange glow in the chamber. The fire crackled softly, growing hotter as the man’s expression hardened.
The woman’s breath caught in her throat as she lifted her head, staring at the flame. The shadows on the walls twisted and danced in the firelight, growing longer, more menacing. The heat in the room increased, the flickering fire reflecting off the cold stone, making everything seem to shimmer.
Without a word, the man let the flames burst forward, a searing trail of fire hurtling toward the woman. But something stopped the flames. A pressure of some sort.
“How…” The man’s eyes widen as he increases the amount of flames sent out.
The flames still didn’t touch the woman… The pressure simply made it go around her instead of hitting her.
“HOW?!” the man shouted, his voice echoing through the stone chamber. His eyes widened with rage as he sent another burst of flames towards the woman, this time stronger and fiercer, the heat radiating off it scorching the air around them.
But once again, the flames parted just before reaching her, bending around her body as if some invisible force repelled them. They dissipated harmlessly against the cold walls.
The man’s hand trembled with frustration as he glared at her, his breath quickening. “Are you a divine vessel or something?” he demanded, his voice a dangerous mix of curiosity and fury.
The woman remained silent, her expression unwavering, not even flinching as the heat dissipated around her. She kept her eyes down, refusing to answer or acknowledge his question.
“ANSWER ME!” he snapped, but when no reply came, his patience snapped too.
With a sharp gesture, he snapped his fingers, and immediately, the chains around the woman’s wrists groaned to life. They pulled back with brutal force, yanking her arms above her head and pinning her against the cold stone wall. Her feet dangled off the ground, her body now suspended by the chains as they clinked into place. The iron links cut into her skin, but she remained expressionless, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her pain.
Satisfied, the man sneered as he took a step back, his eyes flickering with a twisted sense of control. Without a word, he turned and strode towards the large doors at the end of the room. His footsteps echoed in the oppressive silence as he made his way towards the throne room, the flames still faintly dancing at his fingertips.
The man pushed open the grand doors of the throne room, the heavy creak echoing through the vast, dimly lit chamber. His eyes locked onto a shadowed figure seated upon a grand throne, draped in an oppressive darkness. The figure leaned forward slightly, his presence suffocating, his voice deep and laced with menace.
“Well?” The figure’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. “Where is he?”
The man hesitated, his gaze dropping briefly. “...I couldn’t—”
“I’ve heard enough.” The figure interrupted, his tone cold and dismissive. He raised a hand, and with a simple gesture, the man’s right arm began to convulse violently. His skin shifted, morphing into a light red hue, while his nails blackened and elongated into sharp points. Each fingertip turned to gleaming gold, pulsing with an ominous energy. The power coursed through his body, filling him with raw, overwhelming strength.
“Do you feel it?” the figure asked, a sinister chuckle escaping his lips. “Stronger now, aren’t we?”
The man clenched his fist, feeling the surge of power flooding his veins, invigorating him. “Yes… much stronger. Thank you, sire.”
The figure’s laughter grew darker. “Oh, I’m not finished with you yet.” With a snap of his fingers, the transformation continued. The man’s hair bleached to an unnatural white, strands turning as pale as bone, while his left eye darkened, becoming a bottomless pit of black.
The figure leaned back on the throne, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “The One with the Devil’s Eye.”
“Opposite of… the One with the God’s Eye…” The man thought to himself.
“Indeed.” The figure spoke, reading his mind.
The man’s eyes widen, looking towards the figure as he bows down one last time, “I will find him. I will give you his head.”
“Good.” The figure nods as the man heads to exit the room, “Oh…” The figure spoke, stopping the man, “Before you leave, look at this.” The figure claps as a small cloud spawns between the figure and man.
The cloud showcases the past… of Arthur in the forest with another man.
“Come on, Arthur! It’ll be fun!” The other man said, in the cloud.
“Ali, this is not a good idea…” Arthur said, nervous.
“You want to learn about your blind eye, right? We need to find ruins and ancient stuff. Maybe even find a mage to help us, a scholar mage!”
“Ali, please, let’s go back.”
“Come on!!!” Ali shaked his head, disappointed in Arthur. “Just for old time’s sake? We never have fun.”
“Old time’s sake? Mate, we are 15, we don’t have ‘Old Times’ yet.”
“For… childhood’s sake!”
“Dawg, we are IN our childhood.”
“Stop being a weak ass nerd and get up.”
Arthur sighs, “If anything happens, it’s on you.”
“Fine!”
“It is on him…” A random and unknown man says as he points at Ali, “Bang!”
Ali got shot. Shot dead.
“ALI!”
“...Wha..?”
“Heh.” The unknown man chuckles. “God’s Eye is down!”
“You idiot… Why did you kill him?!” Arthur stares at the man.
“CODE RED, I KILLED THE WRONG ONE! IT’S HIM!” The man stresses and points at the boy, trying to shoot but it just won’t shoot. “BANG!” Still no shot.
Arthur stands up and rushes towards the village, leaving the man behind and confused why he couldn’t shoot his shot.
The cloud vanishes, “You see? God’s Eye.”
“What does it even do?”
“A few things. Make reality shifts to keep the user safe for a while until the eye deems the user not worthy enough as they couldn’t save themselves. And… whatever hits the eye the user gets 50% of. In the form of a form. Like if a God were to hit the eye, the user would gain the ability to transform into a 50% God mode. But the user must master and train with the form… be strong enough to wield the strength of that mode as well as be strong enough to control it or else they will go Berserk everytime they go in the form.”
“And what about mine?”
“Yours? It’s the Devil’s Eye. It alters reality to the worst possible outcome for its opponents, but it is limited. It’s random and it could backfire. You have enhanced senses and reflexes, overall enhanced stats actually. Your Will has increased massively and you have even more mastery and control over your Wills.”
“I see.”
“One last thing about your eye. Channel enough Will into it and the other eye will turn into the devil’s eye as well. You also have an Inner form. The Devil, I’d say. Chaos itself rests inside of you. Whenever needed, blink 3 times straight and yell out… ‘Chaos’. Boom! You will be transformed into Chaos. Control over the mind and you’ll be good, lose control and Chaos will cause… literal chaos.”
“Understood.”
“Good, now leave and get me his head.”
“I will, sire, I will.” The man bows and nods in respect as he walks out of the room, closing the grand doors.
Heading towards the room of forgery.
“CLANK!” The hammer slammed against the anvil, the sharp ring echoing through the forge.
“You,” a voice called from the doorway.
The blacksmith didn’t bother looking up, his muscles flexing with each strike. “What d’ya want, mate?” he barked, hitting the anvil again.
“Clothing.”
“I ain’t no cloth merchant,” the forger grumbled, eyes still on his work. “Go find a tailor or somethin’. You’re at the wrong place.”
“I need armour,” the man replied, stepping forward, “that looks like clothing.”
The blacksmith paused, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Now you’ve got my attention.”
“Why didn’t you say so?!” he barked, kicking the door open. Inside, a set of robes hung in eerie silence.
The white fabric gleamed, almost glowing in the dim light. A sharp, blue gem glistened at the collar, and intricate silver threads lined the hood. Beneath, a grey-and-white patterned shirt with a strange sheen hung alongside simple black trousers that seemed heavier than they looked.
The man grabbed the robes, fingers brushing the cool gem, feeling a faint hum of power as the air shifted around him. Grinning, he muttered, “Now this... is more like it.”
He shut the door behind him with a quiet click, slipping into the robes without hesitation. The fabric was light but sturdy, draping over his frame with an effortless grace. The blue gem on the hood caught the dim light, gleaming faintly as it settled into place.
With a final glance in the mirror, he stepped out, his posture taller, his presence commanding. A new fire burned in his eyes as he muttered to himself, each word carrying a sense of rebirth.
"I. Am. Malik Vespera."