The lead guard stood amidst the chaos, his thoughts a turbulent storm of anger, confusion, and unease. From the very moment he had been assigned to this task, something had felt inherently wrong. The orders had come from the royal council itself, a rare occurrence for someone of his station.

Yet, despite the high authority, the details of the mission were maddeningly vague.

He had been told to gather exactly one hundred and one Lower citizens and transport them to the base of the Cursed Half Mountain—a place with a reputation dark enough to make even the bravest men shudder. A piece of land that even the ever-powerful and healing touch of nature refused to approach.

And the task?

To oversee them digging a series of holes. It was unusual and raised red flags, but he had dismissed his skepticism and followed the council's command. Disobedience wasn't an option, especially when it came to orders from above.

What had unnerved him further was the inclusion of a Black Monolith. The monoliths were rare and powerful tools, typically reserved for critical operations or emergencies for the Kingdom. To see one allocated to what appeared to be a menial task was baffling. But again, he had pushed aside his doubts, assuming the council must have had their reasons.

Then came the more bizarre instructions: using the monolith to keep the Lower citizens in line and to periodically release shockwaves at the mountain.

The vibrations were meant to stir up the enormous horde of beetle-like monsters, driving them into the holes to be slaughtered. The goal was to fill the pits with blood. Even this had seemed unnecessarily convoluted—why not simply execute the Lower citizens directly and let their blood serve the same purpose? But questioning the council's methods was not his place.

Now, standing amidst the pandemonium, he cursed his earlier compliance. The mountain, which was supposed to show only faint cracks and dull red light after the pools were filled, now pulsed with a hellish glow. The monsters, meant to be funneled into the holes for slaughter, were instead swarming indiscriminately, overwhelming his subordinates. The guards fought valiantly, their skills on full display, but even they were struggling to hold their ground.

The lead guard gritted his teeth. Retreat was impossible. The council's orders were clear: hold the position at all costs. He would not allow himself to dwell on the frustration of being left in the dark. He abandoned thoughts of blaming the council—such thoughts were treasonous—and focused instead on what he could control.

Drawing his blade, he dove into the fray near the closest hole. His movements were a blur, faster than the monsters could react. His sword carved through the creatures with lethal precision, splitting their grotesque bodies apart. Crimson ichor sprayed into the air as he dispatched group after group, each swing of his weapon leaving a pile of twitching corpses in his wake.

Despite their numbers, the monsters couldn't touch him. He moved with inhuman grace, leaping over swarms and landing precise strikes on their most vulnerable points.

His strikes weren't just efficient—they were devastating. The monsters' blood sacs exploded violently upon death, sending torrents of blood pouring into the hole. It wasn't long before the pit was brimming with the viscous liquid.

Satisfied, he turned his attention toward the central hole, where the activity seemed even more intense. He sprinted toward it, his enhanced agility allowing him to weave through the chaos with ease. As he neared, however, he froze.

Two figures stood near the hole.

At first, he thought they were more of the monsters or perhaps guards, but something about their stance caught his attention. They stood upright and motionless and seemed to not notice his approach.

His eyes narrowed as he took in their appearance. The two were teenagers, unmistakably Lower citizens. The runic tattoos on their necks, wrists, and ankles marked them as such. Yet something was off.

One of them looked barely alive, his body a horrifying spectacle of damage. He was little more than a skeletal frame, with flesh and muscle clinging to his bones in thin, sinewy strips. The only part of him that seemed untouched was his blood-drenched face, though it was pale and ghastly.

The other, while battered and bloodied, was in far better condition. His wounds, while severe, were not debilitating. Still, there was something about his posture, the way he stood protectively in front of the other, that caught the guard's attention.

What truly unsettled him, however, were the corpses scattered around the hole. These were not just the remains of monsters but also guards. The blood-filled pit behind them gleamed ominously, its surface rippling in a way that made the guard uneasy.

He locked eyes with the teenagers, and for a moment, the chaos around them seemed to fade.

The lead guard tightened his grip on his sword, his mind racing. What in the name of the council is going on here?

On the other hand...

Zayn's gaze locked onto the lead guard standing a short distance away, his presence as imposing as the chaos raging around them. The guard’s unnervingly calm demeanor made Zayn’s stomach churn.

Despite the blood-soaked battlefield and the hellish glow emanating from the mountain's peak and cracks, the man seemed utterly unshaken. His piercing eyes studied them, as though weighing their very existence.

Zayn glanced at Lain, whose face bore a look of shock—no, it was worry. A deep, genuine worry that Zayn rarely saw in his otherwise collected, newfound, companion. The silence between them stretched, thick and suffocating, before Lain’s voice pierced his thoughts.

We’re basically screwed, Lain said, his mental tone sharp but resigned.

Zayn couldn’t help but respond with a mix of annoyance and dread. You’re not helping.

What am I supposed to say? Look at him, Lain shot back, his internal voice tinged with panic. That guy is definitely going to kill us. He's the guard leader, I bet he could kill us five times over and have enough time for lunch.

Zayn studied the guard more closely. The way he stood, his posture, and the faint glint of ornate crystals at his side—it all screamed danger. Despite his instincts screaming at him to stay still, Zayn entertained a wild thought.

What if we fought him?

Lain’s mental voice cracked with disbelief. Fought him? Are you insane?

What’s the alternative? Run? Zayn argued though he wasn’t convinced by his own words.

He’ll catch us in a heartbeat, Lain said. Did you forget those crystals? The ones the other guards used were bad enough, but those? They’re probably leagues worse.

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Zayn didn’t respond immediately. Deep down, he knew Lain was right. This wasn’t just some random guard—they were dealing with someone who likely outmatched them in every conceivable way.

Then, in the blink of an eye, the lead guard disappeared from his spot. Zayn’s heart skipped a beat as a gust of wind and a cloud of dust revealed the guard standing directly between them.

The realization hit him like a blow. That speed… we didn’t even see him move.

Startled, Zayn lashed out instinctively, swinging his arm toward the guard. But before his attack could connect, the guard caught his wrist effortlessly. The grip was ironclad, far beyond anything Zayn had ever felt before. He strained against it, but it was like trying to bend steel with his bare hands.

The guard’s cold, calculating eyes raked over Zayn’s wretched form, studying every inch of his ruined body. Zayn could feel the weight of that gaze as if the man were peeling back his very soul.

“Are you the spy?” the guard asked, his voice low and steady.

Zayn blinked, completely thrown off. “What? What are you talking about?”

The guard’s eyes narrowed, and he repeated the question. “Are you the spy?”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about!” Zayn exclaimed, his voice trembling with confusion.

The lead guard’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something like disbelief crossing his face. His grip loosened just enough for Zayn to catch his breath, though the man’s scrutiny didn’t waver.

“Impossible,” the guard muttered under his breath. “You shouldn't be alive if you are humanoid, yet...”

He released Zayn abruptly, letting him stumble back. Then his attention turned to Lain, who had been watching the exchange carefully.

The guard didn’t even get a chance to speak before Lain surged forward, throwing a heavy punch directly at his face. The force was immense for someone Lain’s size, but the lead guard barely flinched. His head turned slightly from the impact, but there wasn’t so much as a scratch.

For a moment, there was silence. The guard’s gaze locked onto Lain’s glowing blue eyes, and his lips curled into a humorless smirk.

“So that’s it,” the guard said quietly, almost to himself. “How foolish of me not to check the Lower citizens more closely.”

Before Lain could react, the guard’s leg swung out like a battering ram. The kick connected with Lain’s torso, sending him flying several feet into the air before he crashed into the blood-soaked ground with a sickening thud.

“Lain!” Zayn shouted, but before he could rush to his companion’s side, the guard turned his attention fully to Lain.

The lead guard didn’t give Lain a moment to recover. He was on him in an instant, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him off the ground like a ragdoll.

“You thought you could hide among the useless dregs, didn’t you?” the guard snarled, slamming Lain into the ground with enough force to crack the dirt beneath him. “If it weren’t for me, you might have succeeded in killing my men.”

Lain coughed violently, blood splattering from his lips as he struggled to push himself up. But the guard didn’t relent. His boot came down hard on Lain’s chest, pinning him in place.

“Your spy antics have cost me a lot today,” the guard said, his voice cold and filled with disdain. “You should be proud knowing you fucking caused this.”

Lain glared up at him, defiance burning in his eyes despite the pain. “You’re insane.”

The guard responded with a brutal kick to Lain’s side, the impact sending him rolling across the ground.

Zayn watched, frozen, as the beatdown continued. He felt a mix of fear and rage bubbling inside him. The guard’s strength was overwhelming, and Lain’s condition was worsening by the second.

But then something shifted in Zayn. He clenched his fists, his trembling body forcing itself into motion. He didn’t care how strong the guard was. He couldn’t just stand there and watch.

With a burst of determination, Zayn charged forward, his legs propelling him with everything he had left. He didn’t know what the hell the lead guard was talking about—spies, secrets, or whatever nonsense—but none of it mattered.

What mattered was that Lain was going to die, and if he stood by and did nothing, he’d be next.

Adrenaline surged through him as he closed the distance. The guard was focused on Lain, his form towering over his battered companion. Without hesitation, Zayn threw himself into the fray, aiming a powerful kick at the side of the guard’s knee.

The impact connected, and for a split second, Zayn thought he might have done something. But the guard barely flinched. He turned to Zayn with a look of annoyance, as though swatting away a bothersome insect.

Zayn swung his fists wildly, a barrage of desperate attacks meant to distract and wound. His strikes landed but seemed to do little more than irritate the guard. With lightning speed, the man grabbed Zayn by the collar and hurled him several feet away.

Zayn hit the ground hard, his bones rattling from the impact. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain in his ribs. Before he could charge again, the guard closed the gap, his movements so fast they were a blur. A heavy fist collided with Zayn’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him and sending him sprawling.

Meanwhile, Lain struggled to rise, blood dripping from his mouth. He attempted to lunge at the guard, but the man sidestepped with ease and retaliated with a crushing elbow to Lain’s back, slamming him to the ground.

The fight was brutal and relentless, with Zayn and Lain barely able to mount any kind of offense. The lead guard was too strong, too fast, and far too experienced. Every move they made seemed anticipated, every attack effortlessly countered.

Zayn’s persistence, however, didn’t waver. He threw himself back into the fray, this time trying to distract the guard while Lain recovered. He aimed for the man’s face, hoping to at least slow him down. But the guard caught his punch mid-swing, his iron grip tightening around Zayn’s wrist.

“You’re persistent,” the guard growled. “But you’re not entertaining.”

With a sickening twist, the guard wrenched Zayn’s arm behind him. Pain exploded through Zayn’s body as he felt his shoulder dislocate, followed by the grotesque sound of muscle and bone tearing apart. His arm came free, and the guard didn’t hesitate to use it.

He drove Zayn’s severed arm into the ground, impaling him through the back and pinning him like a bug on a skewer. Zayn screamed, his vision blurring as blood poured from the wound. He struggled weakly, but the pain was too much.

As the guard turned back to Lain, a high-pitched screech tore through the air. Zayn’s head snapped up despite his agony, and his eyes widened in shock.

Lain was changing. His body twisted and warped, his human form melting away like wax under a flame. What emerged was monstrous—a grotesque figure with elongated limbs, a slick, inky-black body, and a face that resembled an octopus, with tendrils writhing where a mouth should be.

The screech intensified, a low-frequency sound that made Zayn’s head throb and his ears feel like they were about to burst. Even the monsters in the distance shrieked in pain, writhing in response to the sound.

The guard, to Zayn’s disbelief, laughed. Blood trickled from his nose, but he seemed unfazed. “So, you’re finally showing your true self,” he said, his voice filled with cruel satisfaction.

But the transformation didn’t deter him. In a burst of speed, he closed the gap between himself and the creature that had been Lain. Before Lain could react, the guard drove his sword into his mouth and through the ground, pinning him in place.

Zayn watched helplessly as the guard pressed down on the sword, driving it deeper and deeper. Lain’s monstrous form writhed and screeched, but he couldn’t break free.

“No…” Zayn whispered, his voice weak. He tried to move, but his body refused to cooperate. His pinned arm burned with pain, and blood pooled beneath him.

Desperation overtook him. He reached for the nearest rock, small and jagged, and hurled it at the guard with all the strength he could muster. It didn’t even reach him. The stone fell harmlessly to the ground, but it was enough to draw the guard’s attention.

The man turned his expression one of mild annoyance. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?”

He sighed, placing a hand on the black crystal at his side. The runes etched into its surface began to glow ominously as he pointed it at Zayn. He muttered words in a language Zayn couldn’t understand, and the runes around Zayn’s neck ignited with an eerie black light.

Zayn’s body convulsed as the runes took hold. His throat and muscles constricted, choking him from the inside out. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream. His vision began to darken, the world around him fading into a suffocating void.

No… he thought, his mind racing. I can’t… I won’t die like this.

He had promised himself he’d fight back, that he’d change his fate. He had promised to do what he wanted and he didn't want to die. He didn't want to die just after escaping the pool of blood.

But now, he was powerless. His body was betraying him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He tried and tried as he could but achieved nothing as he became not different from a struggling worm on a hook.

As the darkness slowly consumed him, golden runes suddenly materialized in the darkening world before his eyes. For a moment, hope flared within him. Was this another chance, like in the pool of blood?

He knew that there was no presence of the golden runes the first time but he held out hope,

The runes shifted, forming words in a style reminiscent of a system notification. But as the message became clear, Zayn’s hope crumbled into despair.

[You Have Failed To Complete This Story]

[You Are Dead]

The last thing Zayn saw was the words burning brightly against the void before everything went black.