Deep within the ethereal depths of the Forest of Nightmare, far beyond the limits of mortal exploration, a profound and primordial darkness began to stir. Its ancient power resonated, manifesting in a voice that emerged from the abyssal depths, causing the very air to quake in trepidation.
"Why have you ventured into my domain?"
The voice intoned, an otherworldly timbre reverberating from the unfathomable depths below. It addressed the being that knelt before it, head bowed in deference. This creature, shrouded in an aura of darkness, possessed crimson eyes that burned like smoldering embers, while its majestic wings remained folded against its formidable form.
"I come to present an enigma," the creature answered, its voice laden with a fear that defied logic, for it had long transcended the realm of mortals. Nonetheless, Its form quivered with each passing moment in the presence of this indomitable darkness.
Silence stretched forth, pregnant with an unspoken weight, as the darkness awaited the creature's further revelation.
"I have encountered a human boy, carrying the scent of death. Yet, he remains unmarked by the divine touch," the kneeling creature narrated, its words weaving a tapestry of curiosity and uncertainty.
The silence persisted, commanding even the restless wind to withhold its anguished cries in the presence of this subterranean entity.
"Have they dared to defy the very laws that were set in place?" the darkness pondered. "But such trivial matters are inconsequential... for the hour draws nigh," it pronounced, each word resonating with an overwhelming gravity.
"We have stirred from our thousand-year slumber, while they still languish in the depths of oblivion," the enigmatic voice continued, evoking a shiver of unease within the kneeling figure. It knew all too well that a single utterance from this indomitable presence could herald its demise.
"The potency of the remaining spell dwindles with each passing moment, at this rate all will be for nought," the being ruminated, delving into thoughts that eluded the comprehension of the winged creature.
Once again, a profound and soul-stirring silence descended upon the area, wrapping its invisible tendrils around the bowing figure.
"Unless..." the voice of darkness resounded, piercing the air with its malevolent allure.
"All beings shall surrender their soul!"
"Hear my decrees and be bound by them... strip the living of their souls," it commanded, its words etching themselves into the mind of the creature.
"Your command shall be my unyielding law. But what of the humans bearing the mark of God?" the creature ventured to inquire, its voice quivering in the face of impending doom.
The presence lingered for a while before responding.
"God is but a harbinger of death," the response reverberated, unleashing a horrifying pressure that expanded the presence of the being until the prostrate creature nearly succumbed to the very weight of its existence. It was not a physical force that pressed upon it, but a malevolence that permeated the essence of its soul, threatening annihilation.
"As you decree, my lord, I shall enact your will upon this realm," it acknowledged, bowing deeper in submission.
The darkness seemed to radiate with a sinister satisfaction, its presence lingering like a specter in the air. And as the being rose from its prostrate position, its wings unfolded with an ominous grandeur.
It would fulfill its purpose.
...
Shortly after witnessing the unexpected appearance of an unknown creature, Morend, the influential figure behind the sole branch of the organization's non-noble faction in the kingdom of Sylphrena, embarked on a journey to the organization's headquarters situated in the kingdom of Kael.
Certain matters demanded personal discussion, surpassing the limitations of written correspondence. Naturally, he sent word of his imminent arrival, emphasizing the significance of the forthcoming discourse. As a former black-ranked explorer, Morend's message would not go unheard.
The ranks were bestowed upon explorers who demonstrated the ability to survive in perilous zones, with each rank corresponding to the color of the danger zone. Black held a special status, reserved for those who had survived an encounter with a crcreature.
Years had passed since the battle that marked Morend's retirement, following which he assumed responsibility for the faltering branch in Sylphrena, dedicating himself to its care and management. Despite his tireless efforts, the branch continued its decline.
Morend let out a weary sigh, taking a puff from his cigar as he gazed out of the carriage window. The main building of the headquarters came into view, evoking a mix of anticipation and apprehension. Once again, he mentally rehearsed the story he had prepared, meticulously crafting it after an audience with King Urtemis.
He was also faced with the daunting task of ensuring the utmost discretion among his subordinates. He knew all too well that when two people shared a secret, it was only a matter of time before a third person became privy to it, and soon after, the number of those in the know would multiply exponentially. Nevertheless, he clung to the hope that by containing the knowledge to a select few, they could delay the foreseeable. It was a fragile strategy, but he remained resolute in his commitment to safeguarding this secret.
Morend sensed a brewing headache, a direct consequence of having to cover for Jack. It seemed trouble followed the man wherever he went. However, out of loyalty to King Urtemis, Morend refrained from mentioning Jack, his children, or their adventurous pursuits.
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Regardless, that remarkable young boy had met an untimely demise, eliminating the need for forceful recruitment that he had contemplated after witnessing the battle, even if it meant defying the king's wishes at the time.
After a brief inspection by the guards, Morend found himself within the organization's headquarters. The premises had grown to the extent of qualifying as its own self-contained city, complete with a prison, various living quarters, training fields, a hospital, and even a dedicated area known as the Crafters' Quarter, a sanctuary for skilled artisans. It was here that Morend acquired his artificial owl from an old friend, necessitating his personal visit to replenish his stock of magical crafts.
As Morend studied his dwindling budget with concern, he retrieved a new cigar and lit it with a flick of his hand. This simple pleasure brought relief to his frequent headaches, perhaps an unwelcome sign of advancing age.
Abruptly, the carriage came to a halt, signaling their arrival. Stepping out, Morend stood before a magnificent work of art.
The grand hall of the organization's main quarters stood as a testament to architectural brilliance. Its intricate carvings and elaborate details emanated an air of timeless elegance. Towering ceilings soared overhead, upheld by majestic pillars laden with the weight of history and significance. Sunlight cascaded through stained glass windows, painting the polished marble floors with a mesmerizing palette of vibrant hues.
Morend walked through the hall, marveling at its breathtaking beauty, until he reached the chamber where the five seats of power convened to deliberate upon their agenda. Today, he would recount the events he had witnessed just days ago, a tale that would set in motion a chain of consequential events.
In the chamber, the former black-ranked explorer stood before the organization's five most influential figures. Even in the context of the three kingdoms, there were few individuals who held greater power. However, he remained unfazed, if he desired, he could eliminate four of the five seats within a minute, disregarding their individual prowess. But strength alone did not matter here.
Among the council, there was one person he acknowledged as a formidable opponent: Captain Cedric, a former black-ranked explorer. Cedric's vast experience proved invaluable to the organization, particularly for his pivotal role in capturing a creature alive two decades prior. Since then, he had held a prominent seat within the council.
Cedric sat ramrod straight in his seat, exuding an air of discipline honed over years of service, much like an old bear guarding his territory. His rugged countenance bore the marks of a seasoned explorer turned military leader. A prominent scar marred his temples, a testament to the countless battles he had weathered, and half of his ear was missing, a remnant of a fierce encounter.
His black hair, though graying at the edges, still retained its vitality, framing his weathered face. A neatly trimmed goatee added a touch of refinement to his formidable visage, a symbol of his ability to balance strength with a keen strategic mind.
Another seat belonged to Rhian, a former explorer renowned for both skill and an extensive network of contacts. His presence was marked by his striking appearance and the aura of influence he carried. With his long, flowing blond hair that seemed to catch the light in just the right way, he possessed looks that bordered on alluring. A prominent chin added a touch of definition to his otherwise flawless countenance, hinting at a determined and unyielding spirit beneath his youthful exterior. His cerulean eyes had an almost magnetic quality, drawing the attention of those around him.
Unlike other seats, Rhian's position was obtained through election. Crossing him was a frightening prospect, as it would swiftly result in social isolation.
Even the vermin seemed to befriend him—a truly disconcerting individual.
Morend's gaze shifted to the figure occupying the central seat, which held the greatest significance but was unfortunately occupied by the biggest fool he knew—Elian. As one of the descendants of the organization's founder, Elian was chosen to uphold its legacy and maintain its traditions.
In reality, he was nothing more than a corrupt and overweight man who attained his seat solely due to his birthright. In Morend's eyes, he was a liability, far less useful to the organization than even the despised nobles. But what annoyed him the most was that Elian was a sycophant of the nobility.
Damned bootlicker.
Quickly diverting his gaze, the sight of Elian triggered a resurgence of his headache.
The remaining two seats were occupied by Lady Seraphina and Lord Alistar, representing Sylphrena's nobility—the sole noble lineage among the three kingdoms. Their existence stemmed, as Morend would describe it, from a Queen's horniness centuries ago, deviating from the law that stipulated only one royal descendant. Consequently, Morend had to endure the presence of these individuals as an unfortunate consequence of the past.
To complicate matters, Lord Alistar was the father of the leader of the noble branches – another idiot – in the Kingdom of Sylphrena—a situation that further frustrated Morend.
In his mind, the world seemed increasingly populated with idiots, a thought that weighed heavily upon him.
"We have read your letter Morend and are curious to hear what your subordinates have reported," the central seat spoke, adhering to the customary start of the meeting.
What a showoff.
Morend was sure that Elia had only recently been informed of the matter and was now putting on a performance.
"As stated in my letter, a team from my branch encountered a creature that has not been documented yet. Luckily, they were able to revive afterward and report," Morend began, recounting the tale he had meticulously crafted during his journey.
"Why are these individuals not present with you? Shouldn't we hear directly from those who encountered this creature? And how did yellow-ranked explorers venture into the Red Zone without your authorization? As a leader, shouldn't you have better control over your subordinates?"
Lord Alistar, as expected, seized the opportunity to undermine Morend's reputation. If given the choice, Morend was certain that Alistar would place his branch under the command of his own son. The Marquise was brimming with venom and his son was no different.
The marquise's attire was a reflection of his station and wealth. He wore a robe adorned with rich shades of blue and purple, the colors of his noble house, signifying his elevated status. His wardrobe and looks were always immaculate, he would never leave the house looking less than perfect, as one could see from his long, meticulously groomed beard flowing down like a cascade of grey and his bald head, gleaming in the council's ambient light, as if he had polished it prior to the meeting.
Morend wondered how narcissistic one individual could possibly be.
"With all due respect, Marquise Alistar, you have not stood face-to-face with such a being. My subordinates need time to recuperate and regain their strength after that encounter. Furthermore, as detailed in my report, they were pursued by entities within the forest. They did not deliberately walk into the Red Zone, they were chased into it," Morend responded, maintaining his composure.
He would not give Alistar any chance to land a hit on him.
"Let's focus on the important issue. How they met it does not matter, you wrote something intriguing Morend," the former black-ranked explorer Cedric changed the topic.
"You think that this creature is weaker than the other ones? You are an experienced man, who earned his rank through blood and sweat, that's why your words hold a certain weight," the seat paused, contemplating his next words.
"Can it be captured?" Cedric asked the question that gathered the attention of everyone present, even the guards were listening even more attentively now.