Jaxith was sitting upon the forest soil, his breaths ragged, a stark echo of his last confrontation with the scarlet giant. Before him, the manticore, a creature of darkness, rage and menace, lay dying, a crimson pool spreading beneath its fallen form. As the creature’s lifeblood seeped into the soil, Jaxith, too, sought respite from the toll exacted by the Negative Abyss, a power he had once again summoned prematurely after a very short time. Yet, even in this moment of reprieve, his mind was consumed by a singular question: the enigmatic origins of the manticore’s aberrant form, sickening modification and the peculiar circumstances of its appearance in this desolate forest.
Yesterday, an assassin, transformed into a scarlet giant, and after slaying it, he engaged in a cryptic dialogue with a mysterious person known as Blamore, who had seized control of the demon’s corporeal form. From this enigmatic exchange, Jaxith surmised that Blamore was the malevolent force pursuing Irene. Now, a grotesque, corrupted manticore had materialized from the void, its sudden emergence a perplexing and undoubtedly intentional event.
A cacophonous, feminine laugh, echoing through the forest canopy, jolted Jaxith to his feet, despite the debilitating pain that racked his heart and lungs. His sword, still stained crimson, remained clenched in his right hand, a steady drip of blood marking the soil below.
“EXHAUSTED I SEE, MORTAL,” a chilling, feminine voice resonated through the forest, echoing within Jaxith’s mind. The spectral demoness, unseen yet omnipresent, had made her presence known, her voice a chilling harbinger of impending doom. Despite the exhaustion that gripped him, Jaxith maintained a facade of composure, his body weary and his spirit drained from recent battle.
“IT SEEMS MY FELINE COMPANION HAS CAUSED QUITE A STIR, THOUGH HE FAILED TO FULFILL HIS INTENDED PURPOSE. NEVERTHELESS, HE ACCOMPLISHED MY TRUE OBJECTIVE,” the spectral demoness’s voice echoed, a chilling presence that seemed to permeate the very air. Jaxith, his gaze darting across the forest, sought the source of the disembodied voice, a futile endeavor as the demoness’s words seemed to emanate from every direction at once. It’s like she’s talking beside him but at the same time, she’s not even around. From her cryptic remarks, he surmised that she was the enigmatic force behind the manticore’s existence in the first place and its subsequent demise.
“STOP LOOKING AROUND, YOU WON’T SEE ME MORTAL, YOU MORTALS DON’T HAVE THE RIGHT TO SEE US OR EVEN HEAR OUR GREAT VOICE UNTIL THE TIME COMES, BUT AS YOU SEE, I MADE AN EXCEPTION JUST FOR YOU AND YOU’RE NOW HEARING ME, YOU SHOULD BE GRATEFUL FOR THAT.” The demoness’s voice boomed, a chilling proclamation that filled the air. Jaxith, perplexed by the enigmatic being, was unsure of her intentions. What does she mean by them? Were these words a mere illusion, a trick orchestrated by the enigmatic Blamore?
“Perhaps I should reciprocate your generosity,” Jaxith retorted, his voice icy, his sword raised in a defensive stance. “Why don’t you reveal yourself, so I may repay this supposed kindness? I loathe owing favors.” His words, though defiant, were a calculated ploy to lure the elusive demoness into the open. Fear, a relic of his past, had long since been eradicated, leaving him unyielding in the face of the unknown.
"HAHAHA! YOU HUMANS NEVER CEASE TO AMUSE ME," the demoness cackled, her voice echoing through the forest. "I BESTOW UPON YOU THE HONOR OF HEARING MY VOICE, YET YOU DARE RAISE YOUR WEAPON AGAINST ME? I KNEW YOU WERE FEARLESS, DEVOID OF THE STENCH OF FEAR. THIS PIQUED MY CURIOSITY, A FACTOR THAT, ALONG WITH MY PRIMARY OBJECTIVE, COMPELLED ME TO TEST YOU. BUT I NEVER ANTICIPATED SUCH INSOLENCE." Her words, laced with arrogance, hung heavy in the air as Jaxith remained vigilant, his gaze scanning the forest for any sign of the enigmatic creature.
“I apologize for disappointing you, but my actions stem from courage, not rudeness. Perhaps you are too cowardly to recognize the distinction," Jaxith retorted, his gaze unwavering, his silver hair a stark contrast to his resolute expression. The fearless hunter, undeterred by the spectral presence, exuded an aura of defiance.
“SILENCE, FILTHY MINION! DARE NOT TEST MY PATIENCE, FOR MY WRATH IS INDESCRIBABLE,” the demoness thundered, her voice a tempest of rage. Jaxith’s boldness had begun to erode her composure.
“You won’t dare,” Jaxith countered, his confidence unshaken.
“WE SHALL SEE,” the demoness hissed, her words a chilling promise.
“If you possessed the ability to act, you would have done so by now. A being of such purported power, hiding in the shadows, unwilling to reveal itself. Why not simply state your intentions and expedite this charade? I am no fool. You’ve admitted to a secondary interest in me, yet you hesitate to divulge it. If you refuse to speak, then let us cease this pointless exchange,” Jaxith declared, his voice firm. The demoness's silence, a testament to his astute observation, only solidified his conviction. He yearned to unravel the mystery surrounding her, to comprehend her motives for corrupting the manticore and targeting him. Yet, before he could delve deeper into the enigma, a sudden, dramatic event unfolded: the manticore’s lifeless form ignited, consumed by a fiery inferno. Jaxith, his cold gaze fixed on the burning corpse, was left to ponder the implications of this bizarre occurrence.
“LISTEN, HUMAN. YOU MAY BE CLEVER, BUT YOU LACK THE FORESIGHT TO COMPREHEND THE IMPENDING TRANSFORMATION OF THIS CONTINENT. WHEN THE TIME ARRIVES, AND IRENE FULFILLS HER DESTINED ROLE—” Jaxith’s eyes widened in recognition. Irene once again. The name echoed through his mind, a recurring thread that connected the disparate events, it’s like any single irrational event isn’t irrational after all. The puzzle pieces, once scattered, began to coalesce into a disturbingly clear picture. “I INTENDED TO CLAIM HER, BUT YOUR SUDDEN EMERGENCE TO AID HER PIQUED MY INTEREST. HOWEVER, IT WAS NOT YOUR ACTIONS THAT TRULY CAPTIVATED ME, BUT RATHER YOUR ESSENCE.”
“My essence?” Jaxith inquired, his curiosity ignited.
“INDEED, YOUR SMELL, SOMETHING FAMILIAR ABOUT IT, SOMETHING TERRIFYING THAT WOULD MAKE US MORE HOSTILE WITH YOU, I WANTED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT YOU FOR NOW, THE MANTICORE WAS MY CARD TO BRING ME IRENE WHEN SHE GETS OUT OF TOWN, BUT I CHANGED MY MIND WHEN I SAW YOU, I WANTED TO SEE WHAT’S BEHIND THAT SMELL, UNFORTUNATELY WHAT I SAW WASN’T WHAT I WANTED, BUT STILL THE SMELL OF THE NEGATIVE ABYSS WAS DIFFERENT FROM THE OTHER SMELL YOUR BODY PRODUCES, THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG ABOUT YOU, HUMAN, SOMETHING I FELL THAT IT WOULD MAKE OUR TASK HARDER, BUT REMEMBER, YOU’RE NO MATCH TO WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN, I’LL LEAVE THE GIRL FOR NOW, CONSIDER IT AS A CHANCE TO SAVE YOURSELF, BECAUSE THE NEXT TIME WHEN SOMEONE OF US FIND BOTH OF YOU, YOU’LL REGRET THE MOMENT YOU DECIDED TO HELP HER, YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT HAS BEEN HAPPENING ALL OF THOSE YEARS, THOUSANDS OF YEARS FROM PLANNING, AND NOW, THE TIME FOR THE GREAT TRUTH WILL BE UNCOVERED, IT’S VERY CLOSE, HUNTER.” The demoness’s voice echoed, a chilling prophecy that held little meaning to Jaxith. Her cryptic words, shrouded in ancient secrets and ominous foreboding, left him more perplexed than ever.
“So, you’re merely a puppet in Blamore’s grand scheme,” Jaxith retorted, his voice laced with disdain.
“I AM NO ONE’S PUPPET, MINION! THAT DECREPIT OLD MAN IS BUT A LOYAL SERVANT TO HIS GREAT HIGHNESS,” the demoness hissed, her pride wounded by the accusation.
“Then demonstrate this supposed power of your kind. Perhaps then I’ll gain a clearer understanding of your intentions toward the girl,” Jaxith challenged.
“I AM RENOWNED FOR MY CUNNING. ENGAGING YOU DIRECTLY WOULD BE A STRATEGIC MISSTEP, UNRELATED TO THE NEGATIVE ABYSS. I BELIEVE YOU UNDERSTAND MY MEANING. THE FATE OF THE BURNING CREATURE IS A TESTAMENT TO MY FORESIGHT. I SENSE A LINGERING REGRET WITHIN YOU, A DARK PAST THAT HAUNTS YOUR SOUL. IS THIS REDEMPTION YOU SEEK? INDEED, YOU STRIVE TO ATONE FOR PAST TRANSGRESSIONS BY AIDING THE GIRL. YOUR PRESENCE HERE IS NO MERE COINCIDENCE, HUMAN. ONLY TIME WILL REVEAL THE TRUTH,” the demoness declared, her voice filled with certainty. Jaxith, deep in thought, pondered the enigmatic words. Thousands of years of meticulous planning, Irene’s destined role, the unveiling of a profound truth— what is going on around here?
“You fear exposure, that’s why you incinerated the manticore, correct?” Jaxith inquired serenely.
“YOUR ASTUTE DEDUCTION, COUPLED WITH YOUR ENGAGEMENT, RENDERS SUCH CATACLYSMIC REPERCUSSIONS WHOLLY UNNECESSARY. HOWEVER, YOU MAY YET SUCCUMB TO OUR INFLUENCE,” the demoness replied calmly.
“Such a fate awaits you in dreams alone,” Jaxith retorted.
“CEASE YOUR VIRTUOUS PRETENSE. YOUR KIND ARE NOT BENEVOLENT, MERELY LATENT. TIME WILL REVEAL YOUR TRUE NATURE,” the demoness declared before her presence began to dissipate, extinguishing the manticore’s fiery form. A tranquil silence enveloped the scene.
Jaxith approached the manticore’s remnants, now reduced to mere ash. He scrutinized the residue, searching for any anomalous sign that might reveal the identity of the enigmatic demoness. However, the ashes offered no clues, nothing but the mundane remnants of a creature consumed by flame.
Disappointed, Jaxith dispersed the ashes and surveyed his surroundings, vigilant for any potential threats. A perplexing aspect of the encounter was the demoness’s imperceptible presence, he wasn’t even able to smell her. Even as she conversed with him, she seemed to exist outside the realm of sensory perception. To ensure his safety, he needed to verify her absence before relaxing his guard. Once satisfied that no danger lurked nearby, he sheathed his sword.
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Jaxith recalled the demoness’s mention of Irene as her primary target. A surge of worry propelled him towards his steed. What interest could such a sinister entity hold in a mere pickpocket? What’s so special about her? Irene’s ordinary façade concealed a mystery, a dangerous enigma. Her obliviousness to the peril surrounding her was a cause for grave concern.
Jaxith’s mind raced, grappling with unanswered questions. His enigmatic nightmare, the demoness’s cryptic warnings, and Irene’s inexplicable allure formed a perplexing puzzle. The demoness’s fear of exposure and her cryptic reference to Irene serving her purpose only deepened the mystery. What connection bound Blamore to this sinister plot? The answers to these questions were elusive, shrouded in darkness.
Jaxith was sprinting as fast as he could towards his horse, his mind consumed by a whirlwind of thoughts. Upon reaching the spot, a horrifying scene unfolded before his eyes. His steed lay lifeless, its body a grotesque tableau of spilled viscera. The horse had not fallen victim to a predator, but rather a deliberate act of cruelty. No bite marks marred its corpse, suggesting a more sinister method of killing.
Intrigued, Jaxith noticed strange markings amidst the blood splatter. To gain a better vantage point, he ascended a nearby tree, his gaze fixed on the cryptic symbols to read it.
“RUN! WHO KNOWS WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO HER!” The blood-red message, a chilling omen, confirmed the demoness’s intent: Irene was the target.
A surge of adrenaline propelled Jaxith down from the tree and into a desperate sprint towards the forest exit. The demoness's power was formidable, a force capable of overwhelming the mansion’s defenses without anyone being able to stop her. He clutched the tracking stone in his pocket, a beacon of hope if he didn’t make it on time, praying that Irene is still carrying it. Time was of the essence, a race against the clock to avert catastrophe.
Opting to forego further rest, Jaxith once more tapped into the perilous power of the Negative Abyss, although being tired. He didn’t want to waste any more time and needed more speed. His form blurred, a dark phantom darting between the trees, as he accelerated towards the town’s entrance. Upon reaching the outskirts, he cautiously deactivated his ability to avoid drawing unwanted attention. Panting heavily, he pressed on, seeking out Mr. Desmond.
Finding the stable owner engaged in conversation, Jaxith bypassed the pleasantries and rushed to the stable. He swiftly selected his steed, a relic of his journey from Lumina, and spurred the horse into a gallop.
“Jaxith! What’s the matter?” Mr. Desmond’s voice, filled with concern, echoed behind him. Yet, Jaxith, a harried figure consumed by urgency, offered no explanation. He merely vanished into the distance, leaving the stable owner bewildered.
Within moments, Jaxith arrived at the mansion’s gates, where two guards stood sentinel. Dismounting from his steed, he approached the guards, his breath ragged.
“Open the gates,” he demanded, his tone authoritative.
“Who are you?” one guard inquired, his face a mask of confusion.
Jaxith, however, had no patience for formalities. With a swift, forceful motion, he seized the guard by the collar and slammed him against the gate. His eyes, a chilling shade of scarlet, burned with a dangerous intensity as it looked straight into the afraid guard’s eyes, a stark contrast to his usual demeanor. Now Jaxith started acting strange.
“Open the gates, or I shall do so myself,” Jaxith insisted, his gaze unwavering. The guard, trapped in his grip, was powerless to resist. The other guard, sensing the escalating tension, unsheathed his sword.
“Release him, or face the consequences of your actions. You are assaulting the mayor’s guard,” the second guard warned.
Jaxith turned his gaze towards the other soldier, his expression turned even more menacing. “What’s happening here?” Officer Ronald’s voice cut through the tense silence from the other side of the gates. He regarded the chaotic scene with a mixture of surprise and concern.
“Unbar the gates,” Officer Ronald commanded calmly, his gaze fixed on Jaxith. “He is the hunter who went out to vanquish the manticore.”
The free guard, startled by the officer’s tone and Jaxith’s intimidating presence, fumbled for his keys. Jaxith, sensing the guard’s trepidation in his hand, gently nudged him aside. The guard recoiled, gasping for breath as Jaxith strode past.
The gates creaked open, revealing the path ahead. Jaxith marched towards Officer Ronald, his demeanor resolute.
“They were ignorant of your identity,” Officer Ronald chided. “You could have simply inquired. Why such a violent outburst?”
Jaxith, unperturbed, ignored the officer’s rebuke. “Where is she?” he demanded.
Officer Ronald, taken aback by Jaxith’s single-mindedness, replied, “In her chamber, I believe.”
Jaxith paused, his gaze fixed on the imposing mansion. The demoness, he surmised, must have slipped in unnoticed. A surge of urgency propelled him forward, and he dashed into the mansion, leaving Officer Ronald perplexed by his erratic behavior.
Jaxith sprinted through the grand hall, weaving through startled guests. With a careless disregard for the consequences, he shoved a maid, spilling her tray of delicate porcelain cups. His growing anxiety fueled his relentless pursuit.
Finally, he reached their chamber and burst through the door. “Irene!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the empty room. Desperation drove him to the bathroom, flinging open the door. “Irene!” he cried again, but the room remained silent. Disappointment and confusion washed over him as he closed the door, his mind racing.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you? I thought you were different,” Irene’s anguished plea echoed in his mind. Jaxith bolted from the room, his heart pounding. She couldn’t have gone far. He roared her name, his voice reverberating through the halls.
“No, stop! That’s not fair!” Her desperate cry pierced through the mansion. Jaxith, honing his heightened senses, strained to pinpoint her location. A sudden surge of adrenaline propelled him towards the back garden, his sword drawn.
“Please, someone help me!” Her cries grew louder, fueling his urgency. He sprinted faster, his determination unwavering. As he burst through the garden gate, a horrifying scene unfolded before his eyes. Two maids stood nearby, their laughter echoing in the open garden. In the midst of the flowerbeds, Irene lay helpless, only her legs exposed. A monstrous, crimson hound, its head obscured by the foliage, was savagely attacking her. Another demonic hound had emerged from the shadows.
Jaxith lunged across the garden, his movement swift and decisive. With a powerful kick, he dislodged the hound from Irene, sending it crashing into a nearby tree. The two maids recoiled in terror, their eyes wide with fear. Irene, startled and shaken, gasped, “Jaxith, what are you doing?”
A surge of primal rage consumed Jaxith as he raised his sword, ready to strike the beast. His eyes, filled with a dark intensity, held a look Irene had never seen before. Yet, as he turned his gaze back to Irene, he saw that she was unharmed, not a scratch marred her delicate skin. Confusion washed over him as he shifted his attention back to the hound. It was no longer a demonic hound but a simple dog, its golden fur matted with dirt, cowering and limping away.
“What’s your problem now? You don’t want me to have a little fun? And you nearly killed a poor dog for no reason! You came charging in like a madman with your bloody sword,” Irene scolded, her voice laced with anger. Jaxith, breathing heavily, was utterly bewildered. The demoness’s influence was taking its toll, clouding his mind and distorting his perceptions. She must have done something to him. A throbbing headache pulsed in his temples, and his thoughts felt muddled. He glanced around, noticing the frightened maids and the injured dog hobbling towards them. Guards, alerted by the commotion, rushed into the garden. His gaze fell upon his blood-stained sword and his own blood-spattered coat. A wave of horror washed over him. It's like he's turning into a monster.
“You’re panting again. I doubt you’ll explain yourself. You’re just good at ruining perfectly good moments,” Irene snapped, her irritation palpable. Jaxith, his arrival as dramatic as a tempest, stared at her in disbelief. Then, a blood-curdling scream pierced the air.
“HELP MEEEEEEE!”
Irene’s face contorted into a mask of terror, her eyes bleeding profusely, just as he had witnessed in his nightmare!
Jaxith recoiled, his left hand clutching his temple as he sank to one knee, his sword gripped tightly in his right. Irene, her expression morphing from fear to concern, watched him with growing apprehension. The guards, still wary of his blood-soaked blade and menacing demeanor, hesitated to intervene. He just came from killing a manticore after all, surely they don’t want to miss with him. Jaxith, a captive of his own turmoil, lowered his gaze, his eyelids fluttering as he sought to regain control of his senses. The recent confrontation with the manticore had left its mark, and now, a darker force seemed to be seizing hold of him.
“Jaxith, you look worse than yesterday. Are you sure that manticore was so easily dispatched?” Irene inquired, her voice gentle as she approached him. But before she could draw closer, he raised his left hand to halt her advance without looking up.
“I’m fine,” he insisted, his voice barely a whisper.
“Yes, I know. You’re always fine. But let me help you this time,” Irene replied, undeterred.
“I SAID I’M FINE!” he roared, his head snapping up, his eyes blazing with anger. Startled by his outburst, Irene froze in her tracks.
“Then stay fine until you die like that,” Irene retorted, her tone cutting. She stormed away, leaving him alone. Jaxith watched her retreat, his gaze fixed on her retreating figure. The maids, sensing his growing agitation, edged further away. With a practiced ease, he sheathed his sword and turned to leave. The guards, their hands trembling with fear, parted to let him pass.
Returning to their chamber, he found Irene seated, her back turned to him. As soon as he entered, she stormed out, slamming the chamber’s door behind her. He took a deep breath before walking into the bathroom, his reflection staring back at him from the mirror. A wave of self-doubt washed over him.
“Please, don’t abandon me like the others,” Irene’s desperate plea echoed in his mind, conjuring the horrifying image of her blood-curdling visage. He glanced at his reflection, only to find her standing behind him in her terrifying bloody form. He turned around to find nothing except the eerie glow of the black flames that consumed the bathroom, the same black flames from his nightmare!
Shock paralyzed him. His eyes widened in disbelief as the room was engulfed by the infernal fire. The screams of the tormented, their cries for help, echoed in his mind, but he remained rooted to the spot, a prisoner of his own past.
“CEASE YOUR VIRTUOUS PRETENSE. YOUR KIND ARE NOT BENEVOLENT, MERELY LATENT.” The demoness hissed from behind Jaxith!
Jaxith whirled around, his gaze fixed on the mirror, and again, there was nothing. But the terrifying apparition and the consuming flames had vanished, leaving the room untouched. As he peered Into the reflective surface, the nightmare returned, its grip tightening. He closed his eyes, shaking his head violently, desperately trying to quell the torment. The cacophony of the nightmare reached its crescendo, a deafening roar that shook his very soul. With a surge of primal rage, he lashed out, his fist connecting with the mirror, shattering it into a thousand pieces. His expression, once filled with fear, now hardened into a defiant glare.