Erik drifted in a state between sleep and wakefulness within his bed at the Inn, feeling a quiet yet powerful pulse drawing him deeper into a dreamscape until he was fully engrossed in sleep. When he opened his eyes moments later, he found himself not in the dark void he’d known before sleeping off the copious amounts of alcohol from the night, but within a vast, shimmering expanse of his .
His mind scape had transformed.
Where there had once been a stump oozing with black ichor and eventually new leaves and growth blossoming, was now a towering celestial tree, its branches stretching out endlessly above him, adorned with shimmering silver leaves that radiated faint starlight. Golden veins pulsed within its trunk, like rivers of molten magic winding through bark that seemed alive, glowing with a gentle, rhythmic pulse. Erik felt himself drawn upward along the trunk, to a new elevated space where he could look out over his domain—and beyond it.
A strange, comforting sense of boundless potential washed over him as he gazed out into the cosmos. Suspended in the distance were other worlds; planets and realms he somehow knew were within reach, each orb faintly pulsing, a beacon of mysterious invitation. Here, magic felt like second nature, every element of it accessible, responding to his every thought. Erik lifted his hand, and threads of energy rippled from his fingertips, bending at his will.
In this space, he felt unbound.
A sapphire glow appeared before him, a portal, edged in silver patterns so intricate they defied any art he’d ever seen. Wisps of shimmering blue mist poured down from it like a waterfall. Erik stepped closer, feeling a strange tugging sensation at his core. As he reached out to touch it, the edges of his vision began to blur.
And then he woke up.
Erik blinked, disoriented, the ceiling of his inn room coming into focus as he adjusted to the morning light. The room was simple but cozy; crooked wooden walls, a small window filtering in the sun, and the faint scent of pine lingering in the air. Sitting up, he pressed a hand to his chest, as if to ground himself from the dream. The sensations of power and unbound magic lingered in his mind, the celestial tree vivid in his memory.
He grabbed his belongings, slipping his sword onto his belt before heading downstairs.
***
The inn’s main room was already bustling with activity. Patrons laughed and chatted over breakfast, the warmth of the hearth filling the space. At one side of the room, Vesper sat with Oswin, her expression serious as she spoke quietly with him. At the other side of the room, Erik spotted Berndhardt in the kitchen, humming a tune while handling a massive roasting chicken on a spit.
Berndhardt, clearly in high spirits, poured his signature concoction from a flask into a massive tankerd, humming so loudly it reached every corner of the inn. The innkeeper herself sat by the fireplace, bundled in Berndhardt’s heavy cloak, looking thoroughly unimpressed with her current state. Erik smirked as Berndhardt walked over to her with the tankard, offering it with a grin.
“Here, m’lady, nothing cures a heavy heart like a bit of Viking blood!” he said, with the flourish of one making a grand gesture.
The innkeeper glared at him, slapped his hand away with surprising force, and grumbled, “I’ll not touch that blasted swill. Go fetch some proper ale, and leave the enchanted mess for yourself, you big oaf!”
Unfazed, Berndhardt laughed, retreating back to the kitchen and returning with a tray of fresh mugs, this time filled with the inn’s own ale. As he passed by, Erik caught his eye, amused.
Berndhardt hummed his way back to the innkeeper, dropping off the fresh tankard with an exaggerated bow. She eyed it warily but accepted with a huff, muttering under her breath. Erik and Vesper stifled laughter, while Berndhardt simply resumed humming, his spirits undampened.
Erik walked over to where Vesper and Oswin were sitting, pulling up a chair and nodding to them in greeting. Oswin glanced up, his gaze lingering on Erik for a moment.
“Did you sleep well, Erik?” Oswin asked casually, though there was a faint, probing edge to his voice that Erik didn’t miss.
Erik shrugged, careful to keep his answer light. “Well enough.” He hesitated, the images of the dream still fresh in his mind, but he kept those details to himself. Glancing away, he added, “The night was… strange, I’ll give it that.”
Oswin’s gaze lingered a little too long, and Erik felt the subtle weight of the High Magus’s curiosity. It was clear that Oswin was studying him, trying to glean any reaction or hint of what lay beneath. Vesper, noticing Erik’s tension, interjected.
“Strange how?” she asked, her tone more direct but with a familiarity that felt reassuring.
Erik’s hand drifted to his sword as he leaned back, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “Just… dreams,” he said finally, glancing between them. “Nothing worth worrying about.”
He felt Vesper’s eyes on him, her brow furrowing, but she didn’t press further. Berndhardt, ever the oblivious entertainer, chose that moment to stride over, humming with an energy that disrupted the heavy silence settling between them.
“Dreams and deep thoughts can wait until after breakfast!” he declared, lowering a tray with a collection of mugs filled with a rich purple drink. “Try this wildmoon berry brew,” he grinned. “Specialty of my homeland.”
The drink’s color was striking, a deep, glowing violet with an almost otherworldly shimmer. Erik raised an eyebrow, intrigued, and took a tentative sip. It was surprisingly refreshing, the flavor a complex blend of tart and sweet, with a subtle, warming aftertaste that seemed to infuse energy into his limbs. Vesper, too, seemed pleasantly surprised, her eyebrows raising as she took a sip.
“Well, Berndhardt, you’ve outdone yourself,” she said, holding up her mug in approval.
Berndhardt took a deep swig and grinned broadly. “A fine morning calls for hearty food, good cheer, and wildmoon berry brew!” He winked and looked at Erik. “No sense brooding over dreams when you’ve got this in front of you.”
Erik shot him a half smile, feeling the weight of his thoughts ease as he reached for the drink again. Whatever lay ahead or behind in the strange depths of his mindscape would have to wait. For now, Berndhardt’s exuberance and the exotic taste of wildmoon berry brew were a welcome distraction.
The door to the inn burst open, a chilling gust sweeping in as a squad of guards entered, led by a grizzled captain with a scar running down his cheek. He scanned the room with cold, assessing eyes before his gaze landed firmly on Erik, Berndhardt, and Vesper. The patrons around them fell silent, the lively atmosphere dimming in an instant.
The captain’s voice rang out, harsh and uncompromising. “We’ve received reports of a demonic presence in the area. We’re here to take the one who wields the cursed blade… the one seated next to the giant ox of a man and the emerald eyed woman.”
A murmur of unease rippled through the inn as the guards took a step forward, their eyes fixed on Erik’s sword. Erik felt the weight of their stares but kept his expression neutral, his hand instinctively drifting toward his hilt.
But before he could respond, a wave of pressure filled the room, freezing everyone in place. Even the guards were rooted to the spot, their expressions faltering as their feet refused to move. Erik’s breath hitched, a dense, suffocating energy pressing down on him, as though the very air had thickened into a solid wall.
The innkeeper stood up slowly from her seat near the fireplace, her eyes narrowing as she strode forward, every step resonating with power. The guards flinched as she approached, and the captain’s hand wavered on the hilt of his sword, his confidence visibly shaken.
“You dare,” she hissed, her voice a soft, seething fury, “to set foot in my inn with such demands?”
The captain opened his mouth, but the words emerged as a strangled, guttural moan, the force of her presence bearing down on him like a storm. The innkeeper’s gaze hardened, and she leaned in, her tone dripping with disdain.
“I said,” she continued, “speak up. Or do I need to remind you of your place?”
The guards exchanged nervous glances, clearly outmatched by the innkeeper’s imposing aura. Erik felt the strain of it himself, his lungs tightening as he struggled to keep his breathing steady. The energy suffusing the room was unlike anything he’d encountered before, and his prismatic core stirred within him, instinctively circulating its power to withstand the crushing force.
With effort, Erik rose from his seat, his legs heavy as though bound by invisible chains. He took a step forward, steadying himself, and placed a hand on the innkeeper’s shoulder, earning a surprised glance from her.
“It’s all right,” he said, his voice measured, though each word took effort. “I’ll go with them. There’s no need to escalate this further.”
The innkeeper’s eyes flashed with irritation, but a flicker of surprise crossed her face. She studied Erik, as though reevaluating him, before giving a curt nod and withdrawing her pressure from the room. Erik felt the weight lift, the air returning to normal, though a lingering tension remained.
Erik turned to the guards, his gaze steady. “Lead the way then.”
Vesper and Berndhardt tensed, but Erik gave them a brief shake of his head, signaling for them to stand down. He glanced back at the innkeeper, who regarded him with a newfound respect, her expression softening just a touch.
***
Erik moved through the labyrinthine alleys and narrow back streets, the guards flanking him without overt force yet making it clear that he wasn’t here by choice. Their path wound through increasingly shadowed and silent quarters of the city, leading him further from the bustling inn and into an area filled with ancient stone buildings carved with faded symbols. The structure they finally approached loomed ahead, a stately building, its stone facade adorned with a massive relief of scales, the weight balanced with precision.
The scales of justice. Erik recognized the symbol immediately. It was the universal mark of the judicial authority; a place where judgments were handed down without appeal. Though this was unfamiliar territory, Erik had grown up in noble circles, and he knew the quiet power of a place like this.
Once inside, the guards escorted him through the echoing corridors to a room where an older man, on the further side of life but impeccably dressed, waited with an air of palpable impatience. The man wore rings on each finger, each bearing a different gemstone, and his robe was finely tailored, the fabric clearly woven for someone of status and authority. He eyed Erik with a blend of interest and disdain.
“Erik, is it?” the man asked, his voice clipped and expectant.
Erik gave a short nod, his expression impassive. He could tell immediately that the man was nobility, not just from his attire, but from the subtle intonations in his voice; the sense of entitlement that radiated with each word.
The man’s gaze drifted over Erik’s worn clothing, his sword, and the dust of travel that clung to him like a second skin. A sneer flickered at the edge of his lips as he spoke. “Tell me everything; your travels, where you’ve come from, and why you’ve decided to associate with… individuals of questionable character.”
He paused, his eyes sharp as they shifted between Erik’s face and the weapon at his side. “And what business do you have speaking with a foreign dignitary? Not to mention your choice of companions; a paladin-like figure and, of all things, a Viking?” He raised an eyebrow, his tone mocking. “Curious company, wouldn’t you say?”
Erik remained still, watching the man with a calm, unwavering gaze. He let the silence stretch, feeling the weight of each word hang in the air before responding.
“I’m a traveler,” he replied smoothly, allowing a faint smile. “And travelers cross paths with all kinds. It’s common enough to pick up interesting sorts along the way. Companions are valuable on the road, whether for safety or the stories they bring.” His tone was polite, neutral, carefully skirting the implied accusations.
The man’s expression tightened, a hint of frustration flickering as he leaned in. “But a dignitary? You’re telling me that a man of your… circumstances just happened to engage with someone of influence?”
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“Engage?” Erik raised an eyebrow, his voice level. “Sharing a table for a conversation doesn’t imply allegiance. It implies… conversation.” He tilted his head slightly, holding the man’s gaze. “Surely, you wouldn’t equate polite discourse with loyalty?”
The man’s lips thinned, clearly displeased with Erik’s responses. He leaned back, eyes narrowing, assessing. “You play a dangerous game. I suggest you remember that here, the law is not as flexible as you may believe. Forces much greater than yourself are at play, and I wonder if you truly understand the risks involved.”
Erik’s patience was wearing thin. He straightened, letting his gaze harden as he met the man’s eyes. “If I may,” he said, voice cool and respectful, “am I being charged with something? Or am I free to go?”
The man’s eyes flashed, his expression darkening. “Charged?” He let out a short laugh, sharp and dismissive. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You’ll remain here under my authority until I am satisfied with your answers. Obedience is not optional.”
Erik held his gaze, unyielding. “And you are?”
The man gave a tight, self-satisfied smile. “I am the governor’s son. My word is law.”
Erik’s own lips twitched, amused by the irony. He let the man’s words settle, not betraying any hint of recognition. He kept his voice measured. “Then perhaps I’ll take my leave, seeing as my only loyalty here is to the law.”
The man’s face darkened, his tone dropping into a threatening sneer. “You think your arrogance will protect you? Guards, seize his weapon and escort him to the cells. The arbiter will make the final call on what to do with you.”
Erik nodded, unhooking his sword with deliberate care. “Very well,” he said, holding it out.
But as he let go, the sword fell to the floor with a heavy thud, refusing to budge from its place. The guards exchanged uneasy glances, one stepping forward to grasp the hilt, pulling with all his strength, but the sword was immovable, rooted to the spot.
The governor’s son’s expression shifted from smugness to frustration, a faint edge of confusion creeping in as the guards struggled to lift the sword. Erik watched them for a moment, then shifted his gaze back to the governor’s son, his voice calm but steely.
“If I’m not being formally charged,” he said evenly, “then I’ll be leaving now.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, but he seemed to be at a loss, momentarily stunned by the weight of Erik’s presence and the immovable blade. Erik turned toward the door, his patience exhausted. He’d entertained their questions, played along, but he wasn’t about to let himself be detained any longer.
Erik turned toward the door, patience thoroughly spent, but he hadn’t taken more than two steps before the governor’s son’s voice rang out, laced with venom.
“Not so fast” he sneered. “Perhaps your precious blade won’t be going anywhere, but neither will you.”
Erik paused, his grip instinctively tightening. He turned back, watching as the man straightened, chin raised with an air of forced bravado. The governor’s son’s eyes flashed with the cold determination of someone whose pride had been wounded.
“I formally challenge you to a duel,” he announced, his voice carrying a note of triumph. “An honor bound duel, under the laws of this city. You won’t slip out of this so easily.”
Erik arched a brow, glancing around at the guards, who were exchanging uneasy glances. This duel was clearly the man’s last attempt to reassert some control and save face.
The governor’s son continued, a smile creeping back to his lips. “Or do you lack the courage to face me directly?”
Erik’s expression remained impassive, but inside, a spark of satisfaction flickered. If this man was foolish enough to press the issue, then perhaps it would be worth humoring him on his terms, with witnesses.
“Very well,” Erik said, his tone measured. “I accept. But I trust that you understand the consequences of your challenge.” His voice carried a quiet warning, though the governor’s son seemed either too arrogant or too foolish to heed it.
“Oh, I understand,” the man replied, giving a smug nod. “And I’ll enjoy watching you beg for mercy before it’s over.”
Erik said nothing, only nodded. “Let’s get on with it, then.”
Erik was escorted out of the stone hall and into the bustling streets, his patience teetering on the edge. The guards led him through winding alleys and side streets, weaving their way toward the center of the city. He couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of a formal duel with rules a far cry from the brutal battles he’d faced so often recently.
As they emerged into the city center, Erik took in his surroundings. The execution grounds lay before him, though they’d fallen out of use long ago and now served as a market square, the vendor carts casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Yet a crowd had begun to gather in anticipation, their curiosity piqued by the commotion and the rumors of a duel.
Across the square, he spotted Vesper, Berndhardt, and their new companions, the High Magus and his scout standing among the onlookers. They exchanged wary glances as they took in the scene, Berndhardt’s hand resting on the hilt of his ax as he looked on with a mixture of irritation and readiness.
With an exaggerated gesture, the governor’s son raised his hands, drawing attention to himself. “Citizens!” he announced, his voice echoing through the square. “This outsider has agreed to a duel, under the laws of the city! As a gesture of his goodwill, I will permit my elite guard to engage him for training purposes.” He paused, savoring the attention. “They will demonstrate restraint, but this will be an important lesson… in handling lesser opponents.”
Erik’s eyebrows shot up, an amused disbelief spreading across his face as he shook his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, drawing the demon cursed blade from his side. Inside, the demon’s voice cackled with wild glee.
“Are you really going to let them make a fool of you like this? Just let me in. We’ll finish them all in seconds!” the demon taunted.
“No need for that,” Erik replied under his breath, amused. He wasn’t interested in creating more chaos, but he wasn’t about to be humiliated, either.
The four guards stepped forward, surrounding him, weapons drawn. Erik shifted into a loose stance, more curious than concerned. He didn’t even bother to attack, merely dodging and weaving as they lunged at him in turn. His movements were fluid and precise, each step measured, each dodge perfectly timed, barely breaking a sweat as he evaded their clumsy strikes.
The crowd began to murmur, a few chuckling as Erik danced around the guards with ease, his grace and speed almost taunting them. Frustrated, one of the guards swung wildly, but Erik sidestepped, guiding the blade away with a quick parry.
Laughter rippled through the audience. Vesper and Berndhardt exchanged glances, both smirking at Erik’s effortless display.
The governor’s son’s face reddened, and he raised a hand, signaling to stop the guards. “Enough,” he barked, trying to mask his frustration. “This was only a warm up,” he declared, lifting his chin. “Now… bring out the mercenaries.”
From the edge of the crowd, five mercenaries stepped forward, each wielding a different weapon, their expressions unreadable but intense. They were veterans, each movement deliberate, their postures exuding skill honed over countless battles. They moved with coordinated precision, encircling Erik with the practiced grace of seasoned fighters.
The first, a wiry man wielding a longsword and dagger, lunged forward with lightning quick strikes, each thrust powered by an aura of magic. Erik ducked and parried, feeling the strength behind the blows but keeping his footing. The second mercenary, armed with clawed knives and a buckler, came at him from the side, their strikes sharp and rapid. Erik dodged and deflected, his movements quick and almost playful as he navigated each assault.
The third mercenary, wielding a rapier with a faint magical glow, advanced with precision, his blade slicing the air. Erik countered each thrust, pivoting and weaving, feeling his prismatic core respond with heightened awareness and agility. His body moved almost on instinct, calculated and efficient a far cry from the raw, primal power he’d wielded with the demonic system. This felt like something truer to him, something he could control.
As the fourth mercenary, a magic-wielder with an electric whip, cracked the weapon toward him, Erik felt a surge in his core. The energy pulsed through him, faster than he’d ever felt before. Dodging the whip’s crackling arcs, he couldn’t help but remember his mentors, the goblins Gorgrik and Grak, and the discipline they’d drilled into him.
Then, almost by instinct, he felt a spell pressing at the edge of his memory, something he hadn’t used in ages. As he dodged and parried, the words came to his mind, a remnant of his training that felt strangely familiar.
“Tempestra…” he murmured under his breath, feeling the prismatic energy surge.
But he’d underestimated its power.
Magic surged up from his core, flooding through him like a storm unleashed. He directed it upward, realizing too late that he hadn’t controlled the spell’s strength. Wind roared from him in a spiraling tempest, streaks of electricity crackling through the air as the summoned storm spiraled into the sky, swirling with raw, unconstrained energy.
The crowd gasped, stepping back in awe and fear as the air around Erik pulsed with violent energy. The mercenaries, taken aback, scrambled into defensive positions, backing away from the fierce cyclone above them.
Vesper and Berndhardt exchanged alarmed looks as the atmosphere thickened with an unearthly hum. Erik felt a rush of exhilaration mixed with apprehension, he hadn’t anticipated this outcome, hadn’t known his core could release such unbound power.
But his attention snapped back to the mercenaries, who had regrouped behind the fifth one, a warrior clad in full black armor with a massive sword strapped to his back. He watched Erik with cold, calculating eyes, and as he stepped forward, he stabbed his sword into the ground. A dark wave pulsed outward from the impact, reverberating through the ground, suffusing the air with a chilling darkness.
Erik felt a shiver run through him as the man’s aura washed over him. Vesper, across the square, clasped her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide as she recognized the dark energy emanating from the warrior.
“That’s… that’s a dark paladin,” she whispered, horrified. The figure stood like a harbinger of death, his presence a twisted mockery of the purity her order revered.
The air grew heavier, oppressive. And as Erik watched, the mercenaries’ bodies began to contort, their forms warping as green ichor dripped from their mouths, their faces twisting into grotesque shapes. Each one let out a guttural moan, their bodies vibrating violently as the darkness suffusing the paladin’s aura seemed to consume them from within.
One by one, they transformed into monstrous eldritch horrors, their human features melted away and replaced by twisted limbs, elongated jaws, and eyes that glowed with a sickly green light.
The governor’s son, who had been watching with smug satisfaction, paled, his smirk vanishing as the true horror of the situation unfolded. He took a step back, visibly shaken as he realized the this was much more than he bargained for.
Erik tightened his grip on his sword, his prismatic core surging to meet this new, terrible threat.
The dark paladin’s head tilted at an unnatural angle, a sickening crack echoing through the square as its face contorted into a leer fixed solely on Erik. It began to speak, the voice deep, guttural, and reverberating with malevolent energy.
“You… will be mine soon enough,” it hissed, the words thick with malice. “Dominion failed, but I will succeed. I’ll tear that core from you, corrupt it, and spread its darkness like a plague. You’ll be hunted, captured, and bound. And when I’m done, you will be… mine.”
The words sent a chill through Erik, and he felt his grip tighten on the demon blade. But inside his mind, the demon’s voice broke the momentary silence with a dark realization. “I know who this is,” it said, its usual mocking tone replaced by something closer to dread. “This is a corrupted demon; an eldritch terror that was once… royal. It’s my brother.”
Erik’s mind reeled. The implications sank in, one after another,
“Yes,” the demon replied grimly. “Once, he was powerful, unbreakable, and even… admirable. But now? Now he’s something far darker, twisted beyond anything you can imagine.”
Erik clenched his jaw, his mind racing. He could feel the dark paladin’s focus on him like a tangible weight, a predator preparing to lunge. Turning inward, he demanded, “What are we supposed to do about this?”
The demon hesitated, its tone shifting to something begrudgingly serious. “You’re not going to like this… but let’s make a deal.”
Erik’s mouth twisted in immediate disgust. “Absolutely not,” he muttered under his breath. “I’d sooner toss you into a volcano than let you back inside my head.”
“Fine,” the demon sighed, resigned. “Worth a shot, wasn’t it? A demon’s gotta try.” The sly tone was back, faintly amused. “Besides, it’s always good for shock value.”
Erik’s irritation deepened, but he remained silent, waiting for the demon’s actual solution.
“Listen,” the demon said more seriously, “when the captain repaired this blade, he didn’t just fix it. He set up a connection; a pathway, between the demon realm and your new… system. This includes a temporary system boost, one that’ll give you back some of the abilities you lost, specifically the powers you’ll need to deal with this… abomination.”
Erik exhaled, steadying himself. “And what does that entail?”
“One of your eyes will reactivate, granting you identification powers. You’ll also get a mouth on your hand again, but it’s not me. It’s your new system flowing through adapting to the demonic interference.”
Erik grimaced. “A mouth on my hand. Again.”
“Trust me,” the demon snickered, “it’s useful, if unsettling.”
“Fine,” Erik grumbled. “And the eldritch energy? This thing is practically leaking it. I’ve seen what it can do to others.”
The demon’s response held a note of smugness. “Ah, but your Prismatic Core isn’t like other cores. It absorbs all energy sources, including eldritch. That’s why it doesn’t harm you.”
Erik’s eyes widened as the realization settled over him. “Wait… does that mean I can use eldritch magic?”
The demon paused, as if savoring the answer. “Yes. Which is precisely why the Seven Court Captains showed up that day. Because you can use every type of magic, Erik. Every. Type. You are, quite literally, a threat to the entire balance of everything… were you not listening at all?”
A cold chill prickled down Erik’s spine. “So… that’s why everyone keeps hunting me?”
“Precisely,” the demon confirmed. “You’re an anomaly, a Forsaken. A name that suits you well. To stay alive, it’s better to be a shadow of the Forsaken than a dead one.”
Erik processed this, the weight of it settling heavy in his chest. “The Forsaken,” he murmured. “That’s what they call my race?”
“It’s more than a title” the demon continued. “Your people were eradicated by the Seven Court Captains’ races. Your kind could wield unrestricted magic, a power that threatened the entire cosmic order. And yet… that very eradication was orchestrated by some among the Forsaken themselves, extremists who saw your kind as too dangerous to let live.”
A chill coursed through Erik. “So, you’re telling me that my own race betrayed itself?”
“Essentially,” the demon replied, almost gently. “Those extremists, the Forsaken Order believed that your people’s powers were too dangerous for the universe. They were afraid of what unrestricted beings like you could do.”
“Why tell me all this now?” Erik asked, frustration mingling with the disquiet of his newfound knowledge.
“Because you need to understand what’s at stake,” the demon replied, its tone cold. “And right now, you need to know that I’m offering you a temporary system boost. It’s the only way to match that thing’s power so it doesn't keep coming back.”
Erik took a steadying breath, casting a quick glance at the dark paladin, who still stared with an unnatural intensity. “Fine.” he said quietly.
A surge of energy rushed through him, and Erik felt one of his eyes flare to life with the now familiar tinge of power. A faint, glowing mouth appeared on the back of his hand, already pulsing with raw energy. Information flooded his mind as he focused on the paladin’s corrupted form, seeing it for what it truly was—a twisted remnant of a once-royal demon, corrupted to the core with eldritch power.
And in that moment, the demon’s voice resounded one last time, “Remember this, you are Forsaken. A shadow in the universe’s blind spot. And as long as you remain hidden, they’ll never see you coming.”
Erik closed his eyes, end imagined his prismatic core pulsing with demonic energy siphoning from the cursed blade he held. Inside, he felt a familiar creep of darker intent, bringing back distant memories of far darker days. Instead now, his core kept it at bay, he demonic essence only migrating to areas that Erik willed and within a few moments, his right eye glowed a crimson red and a familiar prompt appeared.
System Message: Eldritch Energy Detected
Warning: Eldritch Entities Detected in Proximity.
Threat Level: High.
Recommendation: Prepare for hostile engagement. All defensive and offensive capabilities are advised.