> “Our contract has been fulfilled” - Baal Berith
Nord? Nord, wake up! You must wake up!
Drifting through the void, Nord became part of the waters that ensnared her, her mind drenched in dread and acceptance. It was no longer about understanding or fighting. It was about becoming.
Then, Nord understood her surroundings was not ethereal but deadly real. The lack of oxygen and the pressure in her ears and chest were not figments of her imagination but signs of a deep-water environment. Panic began as the realization hit her. She was sinking into the abyss. Her struggles became frantic as she sought to reverse her course, her body reacting in sheer terror to the impending danger.
But the more she fought, the more the water seemed to pull her in, a force intent on claiming her. The pain intensified, with it, the horrifying understanding that she might not escape this fate. Her mind raced, and her limbs flailed, but the abyss was relentless. Her thoughts turned dark, and as the pressure continued to build, the hope began to fade.
The chill of the deep water seeped into her very core, numbing her body and clouding her mind. Every attempt to ascend, to escape, was met with failure. Her energy drained away, sapped by the cold and the desperate struggle for survival. The urge to breathe became an all-consuming agony, a torture that clawed at her insides and drove her to the brink of madness.
Her limbs were heavy and unresponsive, her vision blurred by the lack of oxygen and the pressure of the depths. Hope had abandoned her, leaving only the crushing weight of despair. As the dark waters closed in, her mind wanted nothing more than to succumb to the inexorable pull of the deep, resigning itself to the fate that awaited.
Her limbs were lifeless, her mind weary, and her soul aching for rest. The struggle had become too much, and the temptation to sleep, to give in and let the darkness claim her, was irresistible. The water caressed her, gentle and loving, understanding her needs, wants, and desires. It was a mercy, a gift, a way to end the torment.
Slowly, she succumbed, her body relaxing, her mind quieting, and her soul ready to drift into the eternal night. It was an acceptance, a resignation to the inevitable, a choice to find peace in the awaited oblivion. She wanted it, she needed it, and finally, she embraced it, allowing the darkness to take her, to wrap her in its cold arms and carry her away.
Nord! I command you! Wake up!
The tranquil surrender was shattered, replaced by an immediate and terrifying understanding: she was drowning. The darkness that had once been a comfort was now a suffocating nightmare, and the cold embrace of the water was a death grip.
Wake up!
Water filled her lungs, choking and robbing her of life with every agonizing second. Panic was a wild, uncontrolled beast that tore through her mind and drove her to claw and thrash in terror. The sensation of losing control of her body was horrifying.
Her survival instincts kicked in, primal and powerful, but her body betrayed her, weakened and unresponsive.
Fight!
The darkness loomed, ready to claim her, but she was no longer willing to go quietly. The fear was raw, the desperation palpable, and the fight for life became a frantic struggle against the inexorable pull of the deep. Her mind screamed for air, for life, for another chance, but the abyss was relentless, its cold grip tightening, dragging her further from hope and closer to oblivion.
Come on! Fight!
The mysterious and powerful words echoed in her mind, a lifeline in the midst of chaos. There was someone, something beyond her understanding, yet deeply connected to her very being. In the horror of drowning, the pressure, the cold, and the relentless terror, those words were a beacon, a guide, a source of strength.
Fight!
And fight she did, the words fueling her, empowering her, transforming her fear into determination, her despair into hope. They were a command, a challenge, a promise, a truth that she clung to as she struggled against the pull of the deep. They were her salvation, her anchor, her reason, her purpose, her everything.
Death would not claim her while those words rang in her ears. She would rise, live, and conquer, for the words were with her, and they would not let her fall. They were her strength, her courage, her will, and she would not be defeated.
You need to swim! Swim up! Up!
Every movement was a battle. Each attempt to rise met with a force that seemed intent on dragging her down. Her legs were heavy, weighed down by the depths, encased in a grip that felt like lead. The effort to kick, push, and ascend was more than a Herculean task.
The struggle was exhausting, the odds insurmountable, the situation desperate, but Nord would not yield. She would fight, strive, and defy with a roar. She redoubled her efforts, summoning the last reserves of her strength. The water responded, parting before her, yielding to her will, allowing her to rise, to break free of its suffocating embrace.
Slowly, painfully, she began to ascend, each upward thrust of her legs bringing her closer to the surface, closer to life, closer to hope.
She would not be defeated.
She would not be denied.
She would live.
Gasping for breath, Nord broke the water's surface, her body wracked with coughs as she expelled the water from her lungs. The air was cold and tasted sweet, a sharp contrast to the brackish, choking liquid that had nearly claimed her life.
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But as she looked around, she found herself surrounded by inky darkness, a void so complete it was as if the world itself had been swallowed up. Desperation clawed at her again, a gnawing fear that she was lost, adrift in an endless sea of nothingness.
With a grim determination, she began to swim, her arms and legs moving in slow strokes, every muscle in her body straining as she propelled herself forward.
And then, finally, when hope was beginning to wane, her hand brushed against something solid, something real. Land. Solid ground. A promise of safety.
As her fingers barely grazed what appeared to be a combination of rock and weed, an unyielding grip fastened around her neck, yanking her violently down to the dry ground. Her surroundings were still blinded by darkness, perplexing her about the malevolent force at play. The weight of an indiscernible presence bore down on her, accompanied by the warm exhalations of its breath caressing her face.
Struggling against the unfathomable power, she attempted to push it away, only to find it was an unassailable might. Her face was manoeuvred to the side, her neck exposed and vulnerable. An instant, a sensation akin to innumerable needles puncturing her skin enveloped her. Her heart raced faster with each puncture, and her strength drained away like sand slipping through her fingers.
Despite prevailing over the initiation, vanquishing the Hallow, and conquering the abyssal depths of water, she now faced defeat against an unknown creature that defied her comprehension. Weighed down by exhaustion and fear, her eyelids drooped heavily. In a feeble murmur, she admitted, "I'm scared."
I know.
"Will you stay with me?"
No.
"Why?"
Our contract has been fulfilled, Nord. I'll... miss you... goodbye.
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A soft heat seeped through Nord's eyelids, provoking unease. She moved to the other side, escaping the invading brightness. All she desired was another five minutes of sleep. Yet, even though the light ceased, it assaulted her face, and a sickening stench overtook her senses.
Despite the light no longer touching her face, a nauseating odour invaded her nostrils, a foul and loathsome blend of putrefaction, decay, and the cold scent of death. It was a smell that could not be ignored.
Her yearning for sleep was forgotten, replaced by a growing sense of unease, a deep and unsettling feeling that something was amiss. The smell was more than an unpleasant odour; it was a harbinger, a warning, a sign of something dark and dreadful.
Sitting up suddenly, Nord took in her surroundings, her senses assaulted by a room that seemed to belong to a time long past. The compact space was tidy, meticulously arranged, and adorned with antiquated furnishings that spoke of an age gone by. A dark, ornate rosewood theme prevailed, rich and heavy, with opulent floral designs.
The sole element that provided respite from the room's heaviness was the pale beige curtains, allowing a semblance of breathing space. Yet, the oppressive stench shattered any idyllic scenario, turning the reverie into a nightmare.
Rising from the bed, she became aware of her attire—a cotton nightgown enveloping her form. Yet, she had no recollection of changing her outfit. Her last coherent memory was of being submerged in water, and then...
A shiver coursed through her as realization struck. She had been bitten.
Hurriedly, she dashed to the mirror hanging above the dresser, her eyes locked onto her reflection. Her heart raced as her gaze settled on her neck. There it was—an immense, discoloured bruise, a swirl of blue and purple, punctuated by two conspicuous puncture wounds. The area still throbbed with pain in a persistent sting.
She stepped out of the room and recognized the setting as a vast manor. The corridors stretched long and wide, lined with numerous doors, reminiscent of a grand hotel or an opulent inn. The architecture exuded a sense of luxury, dominated by wood and velvet textures. Bizarre portraits showcasing a realm of fantasy adorned the walls. That she should have paid more attention.
Descending the stairs, Nord found herself in a magnificent hall. Her eyes took in the gleaming bar counter, the silent promise of the piano, the waiting anticipation of the stage. The room was filled with elegance and sophistication. Yet, it seemed to be waiting for something, standing still in a moment of paused beauty.
There was an underlying quietness, a calm that settled over the room as if it were holding its breath, waiting for something to begin or perhaps for someone to arrive. The hall was a contradiction, a blend of grandeur and silence, magnificence and stillness, a place of promise and emptiness.
To the left, a door stood ajar, revealing a glimpse of an empty and quiet kitchen beyond. Tentatively, she called out, "Hello?"
She continued her exploration until she opened a door that led to the back of a store. The room was filled with shelves lined with various trinkets and relics, the organized chaos of a working space. And amidst the surroundings stood a young man with white hair.
He wore formal trousers, but his white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and his suspenders were down, hanging loosely at his sides. He seemed out of place, a figure that didn't quite belong here.
His arm was extended, passing through a ray of light that filtered through the window. The light caught his pale hair, giving it a luminescent quality, and highlighted the contours of his arm, creating an ethereal and striking visual like a Renaissance artwork.
He seemed lost in thought, his eyes fixed on the beam of light as if he were trying to understand something profound or seeking an answer to a question that had been bothering him.
Nord's presence went unnoticed, or perhaps it was simply ignored. "Hello?" she said once more, daring to come in.
His attention shifted to her as she entered dangerous territory, her voice threading cautiously into the conversation. His bloodshot eyes fixed upon her, sharp and penetrating as if trying to read her very soul. His canine tooth teased his lower lip, a habit or perhaps a sign of something more, an unsettling detail she couldn't ignore.
"Hello?" she inquired, aware of the delicate ground she was treading.
"It doesn't burn," he spoke, his arm idly swaying under the sunlight.
"The sun?" she queried.
"Why doesn't it burn me?" he pressed, the confusion evident in his tone.
"I see. Was it LSD? Shrooms? Cocaine? Do you need help? You look like you might," she offered, ready to retreat and distance herself from the stranger.
In an instant, her world turned topsy-turvy. She found herself forcefully pinned against the wall, his body rigidly pressed against hers, his hands immobilizing her. "What are you?" his voice demanded, a fierce intensity in his crimson eyes.
"What?" she stammered.
"What are you?" he repeated.
"Huh, I'm a tattoo artist, I..."
"What are you?" he cut her off again, his persistence unnerving.
Her voice trembled as she responded, "Am I in danger?"
He released her, pacing behind the counter. His frustration was palpable. He muttered, "Fifty years, unable to feel the sun on my skin. Fifty years! Do you even comprehend how incredible it feels?"
"I'll just go check my things," she muttered, edging backwards slowly. "I'll be back soon, okay? Everything's going to be alright. You probably just need to stay hydrated, and... well, I'll be right back," she assured, stepping out and quietly shutting the door behind her. Her pace quickened as she rushed upstairs.
In a frenzy, she swung each door on the upper floor, one by one, revealing meticulously arranged rooms that appeared ready for guests. Each space was a picture of pristine and grace, awaiting occupants.
Swiftly, she repeated the process, her movements frantic, her pace unrelenting, driven by the urgency to find her suitcase, Kirara and her mobile device to call for help.
Then it hit her. An overpowering stench of decay gripped her senses, penetrated her being, and stopped her in her tracks. It was a smell that couldn't be ignored, a smell that couldn't be denied, a smell that demanded attention, that commanded investigation.
Hesitating for a split second, her mind recoiling, her body resisting, she swung open the door from which the noxious odour emanated. The sight that met her eyes was one of horror, shock, and disbelief.
There lay a figure, lifeless. Dead.