The figures of history, now grotesque, zombified versions of their former selves, stood before Espen, their eyes glowing with a dark malevolence, their bodies twisted into monstrous forms. Each one of them wielded a weapon that was a twisted reflection of their legacy, their movements slow and deliberate at first, but Espen could feel the danger radiating from them like a storm about to erupt.

Espen's eyes flared with fury, her body covered in the swirling mass of red and black shadows. Her claws twitched, her tail flicking with anticipation. She was ready for blood.

The room seemed to pulse with dark energy as the five figures of history began to move, their bodies shifting unnaturally, bones cracking, muscles rippling. They moved as one, their footsteps echoing in unison as they surrounded her in the vast art room.

The first to move was a zombified Leonardo da Vinci. His body hunched and twisted, his face a grotesque mockery of his once-great intellect. In his hand, he wielded a long, jagged knife, shaped like a scalpel. His eyes gleamed with cold calculation, analyzing Espen like a machine.

Leonardo dashed forward, his movements unnervingly precise. His blade gleamed in the dim light of the art room as he aimed for Espen's throat with a surgeon's precision. Espen ducked low, her tail whipping around to deflect the incoming strike.

CLANG!

The scalpel clashed with her tail, sparks flying as the two forces collided. Leonardo twisted his body mid-air, spinning with impossible grace as he brought the blade down again in an arc aimed at her ribs. Espen slid backward, her claws scraping against the floor as she dodged the blow by mere inches.

But the moment she regained her footing, Cleopatra struck from the side, her weapon of choice a long, twisted scepter, the head of which resembled a venomous serpent. The snake's fangs dripped with a dark, viscous liquid—poison. Cleopatra's movements were fast, fluid, like a cobra striking its prey. She swung the scepter with wild precision, aiming straight for Espen's heart.

Espen blocked with her forearm, but the force of the impact sent her skidding across the floor. Blood dripped from her arm where the fangs had grazed her skin, the poison already starting to seep into her veins. Her red and black shadows flared around her in response, amplifying the wound's effects—her red shadows causing it to bleed faster, the black making the skin rot around the bite.

Cleopatra smirked, her eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure.

"You think you can stop me?" Espen growled, her voice dripping with venom of its own.

She dashed forward, a blur of black and red. Her claws slashed through the air, leaving trails of shadows in their wake. She targeted Cleopatra first, her furiosity unchained. Espen swiped at Cleopatra's midsection, her claws digging deep into the ancient queen's flesh, ripping through her stomach and sending a spray of blood across the room.

SLASH!

Cleopatra staggered back, her face twisted in pain and surprise. Espen didn't stop. She spun on her heel, delivering a brutal kick to Cleopatra's chest that sent her flying into a nearby table, shattering it to pieces. Cleopatra's body crumpled into the wreckage, blood pouring from her gaping wound.

But before Espen could capitalize on the opening, Genghis Khan charged in, his massive form barreling toward her like a freight train. In his hands, he wielded a heavy, rusted war ax, its blade jagged and chipped from centuries of battle. He swung it with terrifying strength, the ax cleaving through the air with a deafening whistle.

Espen barely managed to sidestep the first swing, the ax embedding itself into the floor where she had stood moments before. Genghis roared in frustration, pulling the ax free and swinging it again in a wide arc. Espen ducked under the blow and retaliated with a vicious uppercut, her claws tearing through Genghis's chest, leaving deep, bloody gashes.

THUNK!

Blood splattered onto the canvases lining the floor, staining the art with gore. Genghis grunted, his eyes blazing with fury as he swung his axe again, this time catching Espen across the shoulder. The blade bit deep into her flesh, blood pouring from the wound as she snarled in pain.

Espen's body was wracked with pain, but her rage only grew. The shadows around her thickened, swirling like a living storm. She let out a guttural roar, her voice echoing through the art room as she launched herself at Genghis with renewed fury. Her claws glowed with the red and black shadows, each slash delivering a fatal wound.

SLASH-SLASH-SLASH!

She tore into Genghis, her claws ripping through his flesh like paper. His blood sprayed across the room, his body convulsing as he tried to fight back. But Espen was relentless. She kicked Genghis's legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. Before he could get up, Espen pounced on him, her claws digging into his throat.

With a savage twist, she ripped his throat out, blood gushing from the wound as Genghis's body went limp beneath her.

But there was no time to rest. Napoleon Bonaparte was already upon her, his small, twisted form darting forward with surprising speed. In his hands, he wielded a bayonet, the blade dark and rusted, but still deadly sharp. He stabbed at Espen's side, aiming for her kidneys in a quick, precise motion.

Espen twisted, but the blade still grazed her side, opening a deep gash. She hissed in pain, her anger flaring even brighter. She slashed at Napoleon with her claws, but he was quick, ducking and weaving around her attacks with surprising agility.

Napoleon was relentless, his movements quick and calculated. He stabbed at Espen again, this time aiming for her throat. Espen blocked with her forearm, but the blade still cut deep, blood pouring from the wound. Napoleon smirked, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as he pressed the attack, stabbing at her again and again with brutal precision.

Espen was forced to retreat, her body covered in deep cuts and wounds. But she wasn't done yet.

With a snarl, she slammed her foot into the ground, propelling herself forward with a burst of speed. She closed the distance between them in an instant, her claws glowing with red and black shadows. Napoleon's eyes widened in surprise, but before he could react, Espen slashed across his chest, her claws cutting deep into his flesh.

SLASH!

Blood sprayed from the wound, Napoleon staggering back in shock. Espen didn't give him a chance to recover. She lunged forward, her claws flashing in a deadly arc as she sliced through Napoleon's throat, his blood gushing out in a torrent.

Before Espen could finish off the twisted emperor, Da Vinci reappeared, his scalpel flashing in the dim light. He moved with surgical precision, aiming for Espen's exposed back. But Espen was ready. She spun on her heel, her tail lashing out and deflecting the blade just in time.

CLANG!

Da Vinci's eyes narrowed, his face twisted in frustration. He moved again, his body a blur as he slashed at Espen with brutal precision. Each strike was aimed at a vital point—her throat, her heart, her lungs. But Espen was faster. She dodged each strike with ease, her body moving like a dancer as she weaved in and out of his attacks.

Finally, she saw an opening. She ducked under one of his swings and slammed her fist into his chest, her claws digging deep into his flesh. Da Vinci gasped, blood pouring from the wound as he staggered back. Espen followed up with a brutal kick to his stomach, sending him crashing into the wall.

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Espen stalked forward, her eyes glowing with fury. The shadows around her pulsed with dark energy, her claws dripping with blood. Da Vinci tried to stand, but his body was broken, his chest a mess of blood and torn flesh.

With a snarl, Espen grabbed him by the throat and lifted him into the air. She stared into his eyes, her voice low and dangerous.

"Move out of my way…! Ryzen's in trouble without me!"

With a final, brutal slash, she tore through Da Vinci's throat, his blood spraying across the room as his body crumpled to the floor.

Only Cleopatra remained, her body twisted and broken, but her eyes still blazing with hatred. She raised her scepter, the snake's fangs dripping with poison.

But Espen was done. She dashed forward, her claws flashing in a deadly arc. Cleopatra tried to block with her scepter, but Espen was too fast. She slashed through Cleopatra's chest, her claws cutting deep into her flesh. Blood poured from the wound, Cleopatra gasping in shock.

Espen didn't stop. She grabbed Cleopatra by the hair and slammed her head into the ground, her claws digging into the ancient queen's throat. With a final, brutal twist, she ripped Cleopatra's throat out, her blood gushing out in a torrent.

The room fell silent, the twisted figures of history lying dead around her, their bodies broken and bleeding. Espen stood in the middle of the carnage, her body covered in blood, her chest heaving with exhaustion.

Espen stood amidst the carnage, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. The once grand art room was now a blood-soaked battlefield, the twisted bodies of the zombified historical figures lying in broken heaps around her. Her hands trembled as she looked down at them, her claws still dripping with blood—too much blood. It wasn't just theirs. Cuts lined her arms, deep gashes across her legs, her shoulder throbbing with the wound from Genghis's axe.

Her breath hitched in her throat, her heart pounding as she stared at her hands, drenched in crimson. Her claws, slick with gore, seemed to pulse with the black and red shadows still swirling around her, the rot and bleed effects lingering in the air.

She stumbled backward, her legs weak, nearly tripping over the remains of one of the abominations. Her head was spinning, the metallic scent of blood filling her nostrils, making her stomach churn. She wiped her hands on her clothes, desperate to get the blood off, but it just smeared, spreading across her skin like a stain she couldn't remove.

Her breaths came faster, more ragged. She blinked rapidly, her vision blurring, and for a moment, she thought she was about to pass out.

Then everything went dark.

'What's happening?! I need to get to Ryzen!'

A deep voice echoed through the blackness, so low and guttural that it felt like the ground beneath her feet was vibrating.

"You know what you are."

Espen gasped, spinning around, her eyes wide, heart pounding in her chest. The art room was gone. The blood, the bodies, the destruction—it had all vanished. In its place was something entirely different.

She was standing in the middle of a vast kingdom, the air thick with the smell of smoke and fire. The sky above was a dull, oppressive gray, and the ground beneath her feet was rough, uneven cobblestone. All around her, people bustled, their voices a low murmur, but they weren't paying attention to her. Their eyes were all drawn to something else.

Espen followed their gaze, her body stiff with unease.

Ahead of her, a towering pyre had been erected in the center of the square. Atop it, bound to a wooden stake, was a woman. A beautiful woman, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders, her belly swollen with pregnancy. Her face was streaked with tears, her body trembling as the flames at her feet crackled and hissed, licking at the wood, threatening to consume her.

The crowd murmured amongst themselves, their voices cold and judgmental.

"She's the one," a man muttered, his voice filled with disgust. "The witch who seduced kings and brought ruin to their lands."

"She corrupted the courts," another spat. "All for the sake of Hell itself."

"Look at her, even now," a woman hissed. "Carrying the spawn of darkness in her womb. She's not even ashamed."

More voices joined in, cruel and condemning. They spoke of how she had brought kingdoms to their knees, how she had used her beauty and magic to manipulate rulers, to twist entire nations into chaos. They called her a servant of the devil, a harbinger of doom, a monster who thrived on the suffering of others.

Espen's breath quickened as she listened, her chest tightening with an emotion she couldn't quite place. There was something about the woman—something that made Espen's heart ache, something that felt familiar in a way that terrified her.

Suddenly, the woman screamed, her voice raw and desperate, cutting through the crowd's cruel whispers like a blade.

"I'm innocent!" she cried, her voice cracking with anguish. "I was used—forced into this! I didn't ask for any of this!"

The crowd jeered, their faces twisted with contempt, but the woman's voice only grew louder, more frantic. Her eyes were wide, bloodshot, her body shaking with fear.

"They—they forced me," she sobbed. "I was born into this! I was *forced* as an embryo! I never had a choice!"

Her words were lost in the roar of the crowd as they chanted for her death, their voices merging into a deafening wall of hatred.

"Burn the witch!"

"Kill her!"

"End it!"

The king, a tall, imposing figure in golden armor, stepped forward, his sword gleaming in the dull light. His face was hard, emotionless, as he raised his blade, preparing to bring it down and end the woman's life.

The witch's eyes widened in terror. "NO!" she screamed, her voice filled with agony. "Please, *I'm innocent*! You don't understand! I was—"

Her words were cut off by a sharp, guttural scream as her body convulsed violently. Her eyes rolled back in her head, her mouth open in a silent scream as her swollen belly began to ripple and bulge unnaturally.

The crowd gasped, horrified, and took several steps back as the woman's stomach split open with a sickening tear, blood gushing from the wound.

The witch let out a bloodcurdling scream, her eyes wide with terror as something dark and monstrous began to emerge from her torn flesh. The shadows that spilled from her belly were thick, oily, writhing like living things. They grew and expanded, twisting into a massive, hulking form—a being of pure darkness, towering over the pyre, its presence suffocating.

The people screamed, their faces contorting in horror as they scrambled to flee, but it was too late. The dark being stood tall, its form shifting and undulating, its eyes glowing a deep, malevolent red.

And then, as if to mock the heavens themselves, beautiful paladins of light descended from the sky. They were radiant, their armor gleaming with holy light, their halos adorned with delicate flowers. They moved with grace, surrounding the dark being, their faces solemn, their weapons held at the ready.

But the dark being, unphased by their presence, let out a low, rumbling laugh. Its voice was deep and ancient, filled with a terrible wisdom that chilled Espen to the bone.

"You are nothing but the remnants of a dying era," the dark being intoned, its voice echoing across the kingdom. "Your light is fleeting. Your righteousness is hollow. You seek to destroy what you do not understand."

The paladins stood firm, their weapons raised, but there was a tension in the air—a sense that they were outmatched, that the darkness before them was something far beyond their comprehension.

"This is only the beginning. The origin. The origins of Zohombae. Remnants of chaos and the fodder of death, I shall call them Zombie."

Espen stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest. The blood on her hands, the shadows around her—it all seemed to pulse in time with the dark being's words. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

"W-what is this...?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

But before she could find an answer, everything went black again.

When the world came back into focus, Espen found herself standing alone in a vast, empty space. The kingdom, the pyre, the dark being—it was all gone. The only thing that remained was the suffocating sense of dread that clung to her like a second skin.

And then she saw him.

The dark figure stood before her, tall and imposing, his form cloaked in shadow. But this time, he was different. His presence was more personal, more intimate. And as he stepped forward, Espen realized with a jolt that she was a child again—small, vulnerable. Her body was weak, her hands tiny, her voice trembling.

The dark figure reached out, his hand resting on her head, his touch cold and heavy.

"You've put your host in danger," he said, his voice low and filled with contempt. "They know where you are now. The monarchs will come for you. They will kill him... and they will kill you."

Espen's heart raced, her small body trembling under his touch. "Wh-what do you mean...?" she whispered, her voice small and frightened.

The dark figure let out a low, cold laugh, his hand tightening on her head. "You are an abomination, Espen. A mistake. I regret ever allowing your existence. But I needed her—your mother—as a vessel. An embryo to plant my seed into this world."

His words cut deep, each one like a dagger to her heart. Espen's chest tightened, her eyes stinging with tears. "No... no, that's not true..."

"You will be lonely again," the dark figure continued, his voice dripping with malice. "Just like you were before. You bring nothing but death to those around you. You are a curse."

But as his words echoed in her mind, Espen's thoughts turned to Ryzen. She thought of everything they had been through, the battles they had fought side by side, the bond they had formed. He had been there for her, had fought with her, had *trusted* her.

She clenched her fists, her tears flowing freely now as she shook her head, her small body trembling with a mixture of fear and rage.

"No!" she screamed, her voice filled with defiance. "NO! I'm not alone! I have Ryzen! I'm not…"

The dark figure recoiled, his eyes narrowing in anger.

But before he could respond, the world shifted again.

Espen gasped, her body jerking as she found herself back in the art room. The blood-soaked floor, the broken bodies, the shattered canvases—it was all real again. But this time, there were tears in her eyes, her chest heaving as she fought to control her breathing.

She stood there, trembling, her heart heavy with the weight of what she had just seen—what she had just remembered.

And then she whispered, her voice barely audible, "Ryzen..."