After Perseus changed directions to save the villagers,
Within the forest clearing,
Uncle Linden walked with a confidence that belied the turmoil within him, striding purposefully toward the behemoths. Each monstrous creature in his path stepped aside, their eyes gleaming with greed and longing, some even drooling.
Despite their hunger, none dared to move against him.
The behemoths' ravenous eyes tracked his every step, but they kept their distance, as if an invisible barrier held them back. Each creature was a nightmare made flesh: the Behemoth of the Unknown writhed and twisted, never settling into a single form; the Behemoth of the Dark absorbed the light around it, a moving void; the Behemoth of Failure murmured dark promises that echoed like a creeping fog.
The air itself seemed to thicken with their malevolence, pressing down on Linden like an unseen hand.
His mind screamed, ‘No… no… I don’t want to do this…’ Yet, his body moved with a calm precision. Tears brimmed in his eyes, glistening trails marking his silent despair. ‘Somebody, please just save me!’
He passed by the torches kept ablaze on the trees, their light flickering desperately as if trying to ward off the encroaching darkness. The luminous barriers of the village now a distance away emitted a soft, steady glow, but even they seemed dim in the face of the looming terror.
‘Hope… Perseus… Holmes… I’m sorry.’ The names of his loved ones echoed painfully. When Perseus had returned, joy had flooded his heart, but his face remained a mask. His hand, meant to embrace, had shackled instead. The guilt gnawed at him, a constant, bitter reminder of his betrayal.
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4 Years Ago,
“Uncle Linden! Perseus is missing!” Holmes burst out, panting heavily.
“What? Where is he?” Linden's worry etched deeper lines on his face. Holmes was never this serious.
“He read his father’s diary. He knows the truth now,” Holmes blurted out, urgency in his voice.
From that day on, even though his rank within the village guards rose, he never advanced further. He remained stationed at the village perimeter, always hoping to see Perseus again, searching the forests every chance he got.
When they were finally reunited, he couldn’t even embrace Perseus or express his joy. He was imprisoned within the confines of his own body.
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“Hey, old man!” Holmes, now grown, shouted from the wall.
“What do you want, kid?” Linden replied, not taking his eyes off the forest, always hoping.
“I need to get stronger,” Holmes said, his eyes scanning the distant horizon.
“Heh.” The old man smiled.
“I need to protect the village, to be its shield. I want to be the village chief,” Holmes declared, his voice firm with newfound determination.
“Ahahahaha, a dumb brat like you, the village chief? That’s rich,” Linden laughed heartily, doubling over, hands on his knees. Holmes blushed, fidgeting with his cap, a small grin escaping despite himself.
Linden finally straightened, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. As he did, he fixed his gaze on Holmes, his laughter subsiding into a warm, lingering smile. His eyes, twinkling like the first stars of the evening, locked onto Holmes with an intensity that spoke volumes.
Holmes met that gaze, feeling a wave of unspoken words wash over him. Linden’s eyes sparkled with a deep, unwavering trust, an almost fatherly pride that went beyond the laughter. He gave a small nod, just a fraction, but enough to convey his belief.
Holmes’ breath caught for a moment. He could feel the silent support wrapping around him like a comforting cloak, as if Linden’s pride and faith were lifting him higher than any words ever could.
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‘You were a great Chief, Holmes,’ Linden thought, his memories a procession of faces lost to time. Panic clawed at him.
‘What’s happening to me? Why won’t my body obey?’ The statues of triumph loomed, their grandeur now a cruel jest. The warm glow of the hearths felt cold, the mirrors reflected only his haunted eyes, and the gardens, once a sanctuary, seemed barren.
In the depths of the forest loomed a behemoth unlike any other—a colossal manifestation of death itself, born from the villagers' deepest fears. It growled, a sound that resonated with primal terror, and every other behemoth lowered its head in submission. The Trees of Life around the village seemed to shudder in its presence.
‘This is… the king of this horde?’ Linden thought, despair settling over him like a shroud. Without warning, his hands moved of their own accord, pulling out the black poison bead from his pocket and casting it to the ground.
‘No!’ Uncle Linden’s internal scream was filled with horror, hoping against hope that this was all a terrible nightmare.
The skeletal behemoth of death extended its hands, wrapping them carefully around Uncle Linden.
‘No, no, no!!’ he screamed within, ‘I was born a village guard to protect the village, not to destroy it! No, I won’t become your vessel to form an Archetype, I won’t let you use my body to destroy what I sought to protect! Nooo!’
Despite his desperate cries, his body remained unresponsive. A subtle smile twisted his lips, betraying his agony as he watched the behemoth of death.
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‘Why can’t I move? Why can’t I fight this?’ The sense of being imprisoned in his own body was suffocating. ‘It’s like I’m drowning in my own skin, unable to scream, unable to run. I can’t even express the despair of wanting to fight, and being unable to. Please, someone… anyone… help me!’
His fear of being the traitor to the village seeped into the air; a palpable, suffocating presence. The tapestries of trust hung limply, as if mocking his plight. Smaller behemoths, sensing his dread, circled him like vultures, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. Slowly, they coalesced into a new behemoth of betrayal, almost as large as the behemoth of death in front of him.
As the behemoth of death picked him up, Linden’s thoughts drifted to a happier time, a memory he clung to desperately,
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The village green was a serene tableau, framed by the golden light of a setting sun. The sound of children’s laughter mingled with the rustling of leaves, and Uncle Linden’s eyes sparkled as he watched his daughter, Hope, chase after dandelion seeds. The village had gathered for the annual spring festival, and Hope, with her flowing dress and radiant smile, was the very embodiment of joy.
Linden's face was etched with the lines of countless sacrifices and silent hardships. His hands, rough and calloused from years of fighting to protect the walls, now gently cupped Hope’s small face as she ran toward him.
“Daddy, look! I made a crown!” Hope’s voice was a melody of innocence as she held up a delicate wreath of wildflowers. Linden’s heart swelled as he took the crown and placed it gently on her head.
“Beautiful, just like you, my little Hope,” he murmured, brushing a stray curl from her forehead.
The villagers saw him as a pillar of strength, the man who had stood unyielding through storms and droughts, who had always put the needs of others above his own. But today, as he looked at his daughter, his heart ached with a bittersweet tenderness.
Hope suddenly ran towards the blacksmith’s stall, her eyes filled with longing as she looked at one of the armors present there. It was a female warrior armor, but smaller. It looked like it would perfectly fit Hope. “Daddy, can I please have it? Pretty please!” she pleaded.
“Honey…” Uncle Linden was about to deny her by saying something.
“It’s ok!” Eorlund, the village blacksmith, approached with a soft smile.
“What do you mean it's ok! Why would you even make such a small armor, you brat! It’s like you want to make parents feel forced to buy these,” Linden scolded the blacksmith.
“Here, Hope, you can have it,” Eorlund said, completely ignoring Linden’s cusses. “After all, I made it for you.”
“Say what?” Uncle Linden looked at Eorlund, confused.
“This looks beautiful!” Hope said with gleaming eyes. “Oh wait…” She said as if she had forgotten something. She looked at Eorlund deep in the eyes and bowed. “Thank you, Mister Eorlund.”
“Haha, it’s not a big deal,” Eorlund replied with a laugh.
“This…” Linden hesitated for a moment, confused. Suddenly, Linden pointed his index finger and shouted, “Is this a new scam?”
“Oh relax! Remember when you fixed that broken wheel on my cart during the worst of the winter storms? You wouldn't take a single coin for it.” His voice was thick with gratitude. “You saved my family that day. Since you refuse any manner of repayment, I decided to give something to Hope instead.”
Linden chuckled, his eyes never leaving Hope. “I was just doing my duty. You didn’t have to…” Although he tried his best to keep a tough façade, his eyes glowed with joy. “Oh yeah!” Suddenly Linden shouted again, “Why is your brat hiding behind the stall and peeking?”
“Oopsie!” Holmes said as he ran off, “Hehe, Hope looks so beautiful when she smiles,” he thought as he ran.
“Childish infatuation am I right?” Eorlund said scratching his head with an awkward laugh.
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But now, all of it seemed distant, unreachable.
His limbs moved as if pulled by invisible strings, each step a betrayal. Fear gnawed at his insides, a relentless predator. The future loomed, a dark, swirling void, and he yearned to break the chains, to stand defiant against the suffocating tide of dread.
Yet, despite the inner turmoil, his body betrayed no such struggle. The behemoth of death's grip tightened, and Uncle Linden could only watch in silent horror as the darkness enveloped him, his mind a cacophony of desperate, unheard screams. ‘Hope,’ he remembered his daughter one last time, ‘forgive me.’
Crunch!
Uncle Linden screamed within his mind, but his shouts never emerged. Even as he was bitten, his face maintained a twisted smile, his eyes gleaming an eerie purple.
Crunch!
His blood vessels bulged in pain, his whole body reddening, yet the smile never disappeared.
Gush!
Blood splattered around the scene as his body was torn in half. The Behemoth of Death began slowly chewing and savoring Uncle Linden’s feeble form. As the blood within Linden’s body made contact with the Behemoth’s body, it ignited in black flames.
Crunch! Crunch!
The Behemoth of Death continued chewing on the man’s body until its entire form was engulfed in black flames.
Roar!
It roared as the aura of death blanketing the battlefield converged around it, forming a black cocoon that slowly floated into the air. With their king now aloft, the rest of the behemoths turned toward the newly formed Behemoth of Betrayal and bowed. The monstrous creation first smiled, then bolted toward the village at an unimaginable speed, the essence of betrayal fueling its terrifying advance.
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At the present,
Crack!
Before Perseus and the rest could even react, a seven-foot giant skeleton descended from the sky. Countless Behemoths of Darkness combined with its falling body to form a black cloth akin to a death reaper. Behemoths of Pain with their spikes and chains wrapped around its limbs, Behemoths of Insignificance giving it an aura of overwhelming despair, and Behemoths of Regret adding a haunting, echoing wail to its presence. The whole battlefield smelled of rot and decay, a foul stench that made eyes water and throats burn.
“I was the village's shield, its guardian. Now, I’m its doom. My body betrays me, and death is my only solace. The village will fall by my hand. I am the shadow, the curse upon the innocent,” the giant skeleton intoned, its voice echoing through the village.
Its eyes gleamed with intelligence as it landed on the battlefield. Scanning it for a moment, it suddenly charged towards Perseus at incredible speed, sensing the aura of death from the countless behemoths slaughtered by him.
"NO!" With a swift maneuver, the village chief blocked the kick about to land on Perseus.
Boom!
In a fraction of a second, the strong village chief was blasted away, his shield shattered into nothingness. His body flew toward the village walls, crashing with a bang. He was momentarily stuck on the wall before falling to the ground with a thud, leaving a massive impact hole.
"Holmes!" Perseus shouted, his eyes tearing. However, the moment he showed his back to the enemy, the skeleton pounced at him again.
Bang!
Perseus tried his best to dodge the punch, but as soon as he did, the skeleton maneuvered its body for a crescent kick, hitting Perseus squarely.
Perseus barely got up after being sent flying, his eyes bloodshot. The two exchanged blows, but Perseus was far too slow.
The other guards tried to help Perseus, but they were soon interrupted by the rest of the behemoths.
"That is not a behemoth," the priest said. "That's an archetype." He looked at the skeleton far away on the battlefield from the walls. Even while fighting Perseus, the skeleton looked toward Lorian and the priest, its mandible raising into what seemed like a smile.
Boom! Slash! Boom!
It wasn't a fight anymore. Perseus was trying his best to beat the skeleton, but none of his attacks landed. On the contrary, the skeleton was beating him like a punching bag.
“Perseus!” a villager cried out in terror.
The villagers' eyes widened in terror as Perseus staggered. Whispers of doom rippled through the crowd. They knew the stakes—if he fell, their greatest hope could become their greatest nightmare.
Perseus, battered and bleeding, knew he couldn't give up. He saw Chief Holmes struggling to rise from the debris near the village wall. With a defiant roar, Perseus pushed through his pain and charged at the skeleton again. The archetype met him with a malevolent grin, ready to deliver a fatal blow.