Blood gushed from the gaping wound in the man's chest like a geyser, splattering against the ground in fat droplets with each desperate breath he took. His eyes rolled back into his head, his face contorted in agony, and Ronan could hear the death rattle echoing through the eerie silence of the battlefield. The scent of iron and copper mingled with the acrid stench of gunpowder and smoke, making everything around him feel surreal. Screams of pain and terror ringing out from all sides only added to the chilling symphony of chaos that surrounded him.

The battlefield was a nightmarish scene; bodies littered the ground like broken dolls, limbs twisted and mangled by shrapnel or blades or bullets. A thick fog of dust and smoke obscured everything more than a few feet away, making it difficult to see anything but vague outlines of soldiers advancing or retreating. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and fear, mingling with the acrid stench of gunpowder and burning flesh. Clods of earth were turned up by boots, causing tiny clouds to drift lazily through the haze.

Ronan could taste the metallic tang of fear in his mouth as he fought to keep his grip on his own nerves. His heart raced like a runaway train, thundering in his ears as he tried to focus on saving this one man's life while knowing there were countless others just like him - wounded or dying - all around them. He felt hot sweat trickle down his back underneath his armor, sticky against his skin as he leaned closer to press harder against the wound.

a sudden bolt of lightning crashed down from the sky, striking just a few feet away. He could feel the heat and power of it even from his position on the ground, and he immediately ducked behind the nearest cover, pulling out his sword in case of any further attacks.

The battlefield was now illuminated by the bright flashes of lightning, each one bringing with it a deafening boom that shook the ground. Ronan winced in pain as he felt another strike hit close by, causing him to keep his eyes closed throughout the whole light show.

He could hear screams all around him and knew that this battle was far from over. The enemy soldiers were closing in on their position, taking advantage of the chaotic weather to advance undetected. Ronan's heart raced as he tried to come up with a plan.

Suddenly, another bolt of lightning struck close by, causing Ronan's ears to ring and his vision to blur. He staggered back as he felt a sharp pain shoot through his body. He knew he needed to keep moving or risk becoming an easy target for the enemy.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Ronan forced himself to stand and start staggering towards their camp. His armor felt heavier with every step, but he refused to let it slow him down. He had to warn his comrades and get them ready for another attack.

As he stumbled through the chaos of battle, dodging fallen soldiers and debris along the way, Ronan couldn't help but think about how surreal this all seemed. Just days ago he had been living a simple life as a farmer's son, dreaming of adventure and glory in battle. Now here he was, fighting for his life on a bloody battlefield in some strange land.

But there was no time for reflection now; only survival mattered.Looking back at the fight he could see the tell tale signs that a Tarnished entered the battlefield. Tarnished were individuals who can gather and harness the very rare resource known as shard energy It was said that they were able to perform incredible feats with this energy, making them formidable opponents in battle.

Ronan had only heard stories about the Tarnished, but now he was witnessing their power firsthand.

The wind whipped around him, momentarily blinding him as he tried to focus on the fight at hand. Two warriors stood across from each other; the first warrior had Ronans military insignia and the wind spun and howled around him; you could see it like it had a life of its own.

The second warrior wore a strange dark armor with no insignia, his hands crackled with the power of lightning,The shard energy swirled around them like miniature tornadoes as they circled each other warily. Suddenly, the airborne Tarnished warrior lunged forward, hands outstretched, sending a bolt of lightning towards his opponent. The ground beneath their feet exploded as the bolt found its mark, kicking up earth and debris into the air.

Ronan took this opportunity to dive for cover behind a nearby boulder, wincing as his wound protested against the movement. Peering out from behind his cover, he saw that the other warrior was still standing but had taken damage from the attack. He could see that this was no ordinary battle; the stakes were higher than ever before.

The shard-infused warrior laughed maniacally as he conjured another bolt of lightning in his hand while the wind warrior was still recovering from the previous strike. Ronan knew he had to act fast or watch helplessly as his comrade fell before him.

With a cry born of desperation, Ronan picked up a discarded sword and flung it at the back of the Tarnished warrior's head, praying to whatever gods might be listening that it would buy them both some time.

Unfortunately the gods did not answer his prayers as the wind warrior parried the bolt with a swirl of his own elemental power, causing it to dissipate harmlessly into the air. The Tarnished warrior whirled around, his eyes glowing with an unnatural light as he spotted Ronan cowering behind the boulder.

Catching the sword in his hand he threw it to the ground Ronan's heart sank as he realized he had just sealed his fate - and maybe that of his comrade as well by drawing attention to himself. He knew there was no way he could hope to stand against such power alone or even together they would have a slim chance at best he wasn’t even a player in this game he had no powers.

Ronan braced himself for the inevitable, trying to find some solace in knowing that he had at least tried to make a difference. clenched his fists in frustration as he crawled back in fear. He could feel his heart pulse in his chest. He wanted to run, he wanted to hide his body refused to move. It was like his muscles turned to stone, the sweat on his forehead trickling down in icy rivulets as dread consumed him. Every instinct screamed at him to flee, but he was paralyzed, a helpless spectator to the unfolding horror before his eyes.

In the blink of an eye the man grabbed Ronan by his arm, shaking him like a ragdoll. He held Ronan up looking down Ronan can see the shard the man possesses. It was under his palm, it appeared like someone ripped his skin open, placed the shard in and healed the injury with the shard in it.

As the man tightened his grip, Ronan felt an electric current course through his body, as if every nerve ending had been set ablaze. It was like being struck by lightning over and over again, his muscles spasming uncontrollably in response to the intense power surging through him. His eyes widened as sparks danced across his skin, crackling with energy like a live wire about to short out. The smell of ozone filled the air, replacing the acrid stench of fear with a sharp, biting tang that made him cough. The hair on his arms stood on end, and he felt the burning sensation spreading throughout his body; every inch of him was alive with an electrifying pain that seemed to shoot through him again and again. He tried to scream, but no sound escaped his lips; instead, they were frozen open in a silent O shape as he stared at the man in utter terror.

Suddenly, with a flick of the wrist, the man released him, sending Ronan flying backward onto the cold ground. He landed with a thud that shook his bones and rattled his teeth. Stars exploded behind his eyes as he struggled to catch his breath, tasting blood where he'd bitten down on his tongue during the fall. The world around him seemed to slow down - bits of stone debris falling from the sky like rain, each piece illuminated by a small blue glow emanating from the shard-encrusted hand of the man before him. The sound of their heavy breaths echoed in the silence that followed: harsh puffs from Ronan's lungs and labored pants from the man towering over him.

The man stepped closer, looming over Ronan's prone body. Ronan's vision started to swim as he struggled to stand up again, his legs shaking under him. He tried his best not to look directly at the man, unable to tear his gaze away from the blue glow that seemed to emanate from within him. It felt as though it was seeping into Ronan's skin, making every nerve ending tingle and stand on end. The air around them crackled with electricity, snapping and popping as if it were alive. The smell of ozone filled his nostrils, making him cough violently against the bitter metallic taste in the back of his throat. Slowly but surely, he managed to rise to his feet, feeling the burn in his arms as he clutched at them desperately. His knees were weak and wobbled beneath him, but he forced himself not to fall again.

As he looked up at the man - who stood taller than ever now - he could see that his eyes were completely black, devoid of any humanity. They were like two bottomless pits of darkness staring down at him with an unholy satisfaction. The hand still held aloft sparked menacingly, ready for another strike if needed. Ronan tried desperately to remember everything he'd learned in self-defense classes just in case he had a chance to escape, but fear clouded his thoughts even more than before.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears like a drumline, drowning out all other sounds except for the man's heavy breathing which echoed ominously around them. Sweat trickled down his forehead and stung where it landed on fresh cuts on his face.

The cold air did nothing to cool the searing heat coursing through him, nor did it dull the pain that wracked his body. This wasn’t how he envisioned his life ending, gunned down by some power mad mage half a world away from home.Just as Ronan accepted his imminent demise,he could hear a piercing whistling sound approaching his locations

Ronan, feeling the burn in his arms as he clutched at them desperately, watched as the other shardbearer raised his hand again. This time, there was no pause. No hesitation. The bolt of lightning launched itself from his fingertips as if it were a living thing, hungry for flesh and bone. Ronan knew he couldn't simply stand there and accept his fate - not when there was still fight left in him. He braced himself for the impact, eyes squeezed tightly shut as the heat became unbearable and the wind howled around him once more.

But then something changed. The wind picked up around him, swirling into a torrent that threatened to tear him off his feet and send him back into the dirt. A second later, it whipped around his assailant with such force that it lifted him into the air and slammed him against a nearby tree with a heavy thud. The man in black armor staggered but remained standing, glaring at Ronan through narrowed eyes. His lips moved silently, perhaps cursing or trying to summon another burst of power to attack again.

When he switched directions and sent out a current of electricity the previously thought downed Air shard user. In response the wind bearer jumped high enough to clear over the field of electricity

The wind-wielding warrior landed with a grunt, kicking up a small storm of dust and debris around him. His tattered cloak billowed behind him as he stared down the shard-bearer with glowing eyes.

Ronan watched with a glimmer of hope as the newcomer raised his arms, palms facing outward. The air seemed to swirl and coalesce around him, invisible currents gathering strength. With a yell, he thrust his hands forward, unleashing a powerful burst of concentrated wind.

The gale force slammed into the lightning shard-bearer, whipping his cloak back and forth wildly. He tried to brace himself, bolts of electricity arcing across his body as a shield. But the relentless onslaught of wind overwhelmed his defenses, lifting him off his feet and hurling him backwards like a ragdoll.

He crashed into the ground hard, rolling and tumbling until finally skidding to a stop. Dazed, he pushed himself up on one knee, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

The wind warrior didn't let up, striding forward with palms outstretched as if pushing against an invisible wall. With each step, the gale surrounding the fallen shard-bearer intensified, swirling faster and faster until it formed a miniature tornado entrapping him.

Ronan had to plant his feet and lean forward just to remain standing against the powerful gusts buffeting him. He watched in awe and terror as debris, rocks, even broken branches were caught up in the vortex, pummeling the lightning wielder mercilessly.

Just when it seemed the winds would tear the man apart, the warrior punched the air with both fists. The explosive burst of air pressure caused the tornado to implode in on itself with a deafening boom.

In the sudden stillness after the cacophony, Ronan saw the shard-bearer crumpled on the ground, his body battered and unmoving. The wind warrior turned towards Ronan, holding up a hand in a placating gesture.

"Easy friend, I mean you no harm. That tornado dancer has been a thorn in my side for too long. You're lucky I got back up when I did."

Ronan could only gape in shock and nod dumbly. He had witnessed power and abilities today that his simplistic farmer's mind could scarcely comprehend...

As the adrenaline rush began to wear off, Ronan became acutely aware of the throbbing pain throughout his body from when the shard-bearer had blasted him with lightning earlier. His muscles felt like lead, screaming in agony with every shallow breath he took. The deep gash along his ribcage oozed blood that seeped through his tattered shirt.

He swayed unsteadily on his feet as a wave of dizziness washed over him. The world seemed to tilt violently as his vision blurred and narrowed into a single pinpoint of light. Ronan's knees buckled, and he collapsed bonelessly to the ground, his body's resistance to the trauma finally giving out.

The last thing he saw before the blessed blackness of unconsciousness consumed him was the silhouette of the wind warrior approaching cautiously, a look of concern etched across his weathered features. Then everything faded into murky oblivion as Ronan's mind escaped into a dreamless slumber, offering temporary respite from the waking nightmare he had endured.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

A soft groan escaped Ronan's cracked lips as he slowly regained consciousness. His eyelids feel heavy and crusted over, as if he hadn't opened them in days. Wherever he was, it was warm and the air held the familiar musty scent of the camp infirmary tent.

Forcing his eyes to open a sliver, Ronan was greeted by the sight of a canvas ceiling overhead, sunlight filtering through the gaps in the material. He went to rub the bleariness from his eyes but felt a sharp twinge of pain shoot through his right arm. Looking down, he saw it had been bandaged and secured in a sling across his chest.

Memories came flooding back in a jumbled rush - the chaotic battlefield, the blinding lightning strikes, the arrival of the mysterious wind warrior. Ronan's breath caught in his throat as he recalled the unbelievable power and abilities he had witnessed. It all seemed like a fever dream, one from which he had finally awoken.

But the dull aching throb across his body told him it had all been far too real. He must have blacked out from the shard-wielder's attack and the wind master had somehow gotten him to safety.

The tent flap opened and a field medic entered, holding a tin cup and damp cloth. "Ah, good to see you among the living again, lad. You gave us quite a scare out there."

Ronan started to ask what happened but the medic raised his hand. "Easy now, don't try speaking just yet. You took a nasty bolt full in the chest from one of those Tarnished freaks. Damned unnatural is what they are."

He helped Ronan sit up and take several sips of water while briefly checking his bandages. "Don't fret, we got the nastiest of your wounds patched up. Just need a few more days of rest and you'll be fit as a fiddle. That is, if those eyes still want to keep soldiering after tangling with the likes of them."

The medic's words rang in Ronan's ears. The Tarnished...so they were real. He had faced one and lived, seemingly only by the grace of that mysterious wind shard bearer intervention. Questions swirled through his mind, but he could barely put two coherent thoughts together in his addled state.

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The medic patted his good shoulder. "Why don't you get some more shut-eye, eh? When you've got your wits back, I'll see if our Tarnished is available to answer some of those questions I can see brewing behind those eyes."

He paused at the tent flap, throwing a look back at Ronan. "One thing's for damn certain - your life is never going to be the same again after crossing paths with one of them Tarnished."

With that cryptic warning, the medic ducked back outside, leaving Ronan alone with his muddled thoughts. His eyelids grew heavy once more as weariness crept back in. Perhaps some more rest would help make sense of it all.

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A few days later, Ronan was feeling well enough to move about the camp under his own power. His wounds were healing, though his arm remained bound up tightly in a sling. As he emerged from the infirmary tent, he squinted against the bright sunlight filtering through the trees.

"Ronan! Over here!" a familiar voice called out. It was Sergeant Casten, the grizzled officer who had been in charge of Ronan's squad. The burly man waved him over to the main command tent with his good arm.

"How's our little lightning rod holding up?" Casten asked with a wry smile as Ronan approached. "Heard you got quite the rude awakening to the Tarnished's powers out on that battlefield."

Ronan nodded somberly. "Aye, that's putting it mildly. I'm just thankful that Windmaster showed up when he did, despite being a Tarnished himself."

Casten's expression darkened slightly. "Aye, having one of those cursed shardwielders on our side is a double-edged sword for sure. But I'll not look a gift horse in the mouth - that crusty old wind-dancer has saved more lives than you could count."

The sergeant paused, studying Ronan carefully. "I reckon his arrival was the first time you'd laid eyes on a Tarnished power firsthand? A rude awakening indeed for a green recruit like yourself."

Swallowing hard, Ronan could only nod again, the memories of the battlefield still so fresh and raw - the blinding light, deafening booms, the excruciating pain. "I...I've never seen anything like it. It was if the laws of nature itself bent to their very will."

"That's the double-edged blade of shard power for you," Casten said grimly. "An incredible gift, but one that far too many wield with cruelty and malice in their hearts. We can only hope men like the Windmaster use that arcane might for nobler purposes."

He seemed about to say more but stopped himself, straightening up again. "But enough philosophizing about the Awakened for now. I'm afraid I've got some other news to share with you."

The sergeant's expression turned somber, and he put a hand on Ronan's shoulder. "Word came in from your village this morning. I'm terribly sorry, lad, but it seems your mother passed two nights ago..."

The discussion about the Windmaster's true nature was put aside as Casten relayed the tragic news about Ronan's mother. Though his world had been shaken by his first encounter with a shardwielder's power, it was now being upended in a more personal, heartbreaking way.

As Casten explained about Ronan's need to return home and care for his sister Eris, Ronan couldn't help but reflect on the Windmaster with a mixture of awe and uncertainty. If such overwhelming abilities could be possessed by one who chose to help others, perhaps there was still hope and justice to be found - even in this new, shattered world they inhabited.

For now, however, his duty was to family first. The bombshell of becoming his sister's sole caregiver weighed heavily. He would need every ounce of strength for the challenges that lay ahead.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The battered supply wagon jostled and swayed as it trundled down the old dirt road, kicking up clouds of dust in its wake. Ronan sat hunched on a crate in the back, his belongings and meager provisions for the journey bundled up beside him. His arm was still in a sling.

As the village slowly came into view through the haze, Ronan couldn't help but feel a melancholy ache in his chest. So much had changed since he left home all those months ago, bright-eyed and eager to make his family proud by joining the military. His mother's passing, his unexpected discharge, the revelation of this new shardwielding threat - it all weighed heavily on his mind.

The wagon ground to a halt just outside the village's boundary. As Ronan went to disembark, slinging his pack over his good shoulder, he noticed a solitary figure approaching from the road ahead.

It was the Windmaster, his weathered cloak whipping slightly in the dusty breeze. He regarded Ronan with a measured gaze, his once inhuman eyes now emanating a sense of calm assurance.

"Well met again, young Ronan," the Windmasters gruff voice carried clearly as he drew near. "Word reached me of your impending discharge, and I decided to offer my gratitude in person before you returned to village life."

Ronan could only gape, stunned by the legendary figure's sudden appearance. Up close, the Windmaster seemed almost...ordinary. Aside from an ornate bracer adorned with strange markings covering his forearm, he could have passed for any typical traveler.

Regaining his composure, Ronan managed a respectful nod. "I...you have my deepest thanks, Windmaster. Your intervention on the battlefield saved my life."

The wizened man waved his hand dismissively. "Think nothing of it, I merely happened upon the right place at the right time to deal with that reckless lightning wielder." He fixed Ronan with an appraising look. "Though I must admit, your bravery in the face of the Awakened did impress me, foolish though your actions may have been."

A slight flush crept into Ronan's cheeks at the compliment. Coming from one who had so thoroughly dominated and subdued a Tarnished, it carried far more weight than from any of his drill instructors.

"How...how is it you're able to wield such mastery over the storm winds?" he asked hesitantly. "If you don't mind my asking, that is."

The Windmaster's expression turned wistful as he carefully weighed his words. When he spoke, his voice carried a tinge of sadness...

"I am like the Tarnished you encountered - a vessel capable of harnessing the primal energies of the shards. An...Awakened, if you will." He held up the bracer, idly running his thumb over the etched markings. "This bracer covers an artifact embedded into my skin allows me to channel my inborn affinity for air and wind. To command the very breath of the world itself as a weapon, shield, or servant."

Ronan felt himself leaning in, hanging on the Awakened man's every word. The Windmaster looked back up, his eyes regaining their intense focus.

"I chose to use this gift to help defend the realms against those who would subjugate and destroy through shardpower. But I am a rarity, I fear..."

He trailed off, leaving the unspoken truth hanging in the air - that most Tarnished welcomed the influx of night-unlimited power, putting the world at risk from their unchecked ambition and greed.

“Unfortunately I must make my way back to the battlefield. I hope you have a prosperous future”.

He started to walk back in the direction he came from.

________________________________________________________________________________

Ronan slumped against the wall, feeling the rough stone scrape his back as he slid down to a seated position. He couldn't bear to go home, not yet. Facing that empty house, his sister's mournful eyes, the harsh reality of his mother's passing - it was too much too soon.

"Why, why, why did she die?" he choked out, slamming his fist against the wall in anguished frustration. Hot tears stung his eyes as the injustice of it all threatened to swallow him whole.

All his life, his mother had been the warm, steady center that kept their small family intact through hardship and strife. With his father gone before Ronan could remember, she was their rock, their unwavering beam of love and support. And now she was just...gone. Taken from them far too soon by a cruel fever.

Visions of her smiling face, her calloused hands forever busy with chores or crafting, her soft voice offering gentle encouragement or mild scolding flashed through Ronan's mind. He doubled over, shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs as he mourned her loss in heaving breaths.

How could he go back and face that empty house without her comforting presence to greet him? How could he look his little sister Eris in the eye when he had abandoned them to play soldier, only to return with their remaining parents ripped away?

The guilt and grief formed a leaden weight in the pit of his stomach, making him feel vaguely nauseous. Ronan raked his good hand through his unkempt curly hair, pulling at the roots so the physical pain could ground him.

"I wasn't there..." he whispered hoarsely to no one. "I left her behind, like a fool, and now she's gone forever."

Despair quickly curdled into red-hot anger and he lashed out, kicking the wall hard enough to send shockwaves of pain up his leg. But he didn't care. This burning, howling, bitterly anguished side of him welcomed the distraction from his inner torment.

"Why her? Why my mother?" he shouted at the uncaring stone, feeling his throat grow raw but unable to stop the onslaught of emotion. "Take me instead, you callous gods! Spare an innocent woman and take this pathetic wretch of a son who failed her in the end!"

His chest heaved with each ragged breath as hot tears continued tracing rivers down his cheeks, dripping from his chin to splash against the ground. At that moment, coming home felt like an unbearable sentence. Ronan wasn't sure he was strong enough yet to soberly face the consequences of his choices.

So instead, he surrendered to his anguish and grief, pouring out his sorrow against the unyielding wall as if it could somehow absorb and relieve his unbearable heartache.

Ronan pounded his fists against the unyielding stone wall until his knuckles were raw and bloodied, punch after punch unleashing the torrent of anguish and rage burning within him. He paid no heed to the stinging pain, nor to the darkening bruises blooming across his battered hands.

As the sun began to sink below the horizon, the alleyway was plunged into a gloomy shadow, but still Ronan remained slumped there. His breaths came in ragged gasps, echoing off the narrow walls that had borne the brunt of his outburst. Tear tracks striped his dirt-streaked face, mingling with trails of sweat and even specs of blood from where his knuckles had split open.

Utterly spent, he tilted his head back to rest against the cold stone, eyes slipping shut as wave after wave of emotional fatigue washed over him. The deafening roar of anger and heartache had quieted to a dull, hollow ache in his chest - the kind of soul-deep weariness that sits heavy in your bones.

How long he stayed like that, Ronan couldn't say. Time seemed to hold no meaning anymore as he drifted in that numb, grief-stricken trance. He was vaguely aware of the darkening sky gradually giving way to nightfall, the alley disappearing into inky blackness around him.

A part of him thought he should find his way to an inn or even go home before the gates closed for the night. But the larger part, the part hollowed out by raw anguish, couldn't summon the energy to move from this place of mourning. Perhaps if he just stayed here, curled up and unmoving, the world would forget about him too. Then he wouldn't have to endure facing that empty house, those pitying eyes, that constant reminder of what - of who - he had lost.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Ronan's steps slowed as he approached the familiar door of his childhood home, a gnawing sense of unease prickling at the back of his neck. The typical sounds of a bustling household were conspicuously absent - no clattering of pots, no laughter or shouts from playing children. Only an eerie silence blanketed the homestead.

He strained his ears, certain he could make out muffled voices drifting from somewhere within. Ronan's grip tightened on the strap of his travel pack as dread coiled in his gut. What awaited him on the other side of that door? His imagination began conjuring all manner of grim possibilities.

Had word of his mother's passing brought vultures seeking to prey on the bereaved? Or did the unnatural hush portend something far more sinister laying in wait? Ronan chastised himself for such fanciful thoughts, but could not ignore the age-old instincts screaming danger.

Stealing his resolve, he crept up to the door and pressed his ear against the weathered wood, desperate to make out the muffled voices. To his horror, he could discern his sister Eris's tremulous tones, stuttering out pleas between ragged sobs of distress.

"P-please, I'll do anything you ask! Just d-don't hurt us!"

A gruff, unfamiliar male voice rumbled in response, laced with dark amusement. "Oh, but I rather think you'll be the one doing the hurting, girlie. Not me."

The sound of a vicious backhand slicing through the air made Ronan's blood run cold. Eris cried out, her sobs intensifying as the cruel voice hissed threateningly once more.

"Now be a good little thing and fetch your useless brother. We've got unfinished business with the two of you."

Without a second's hesitation, Ronan drew his knife and tried the door, praying to the gods it wouldn't be barred from the inside. Mercifully, it swung open with a low creak...and the horrific scene unfolding before him made his stomach lurch.

In the center of the living room a man was restraining Eris; he was a grotesque sight to behold. His sallow gray skin seemed to cling unnaturally tight to the bones of his face, forming deep crevices and sunken contours that made his features look skull-like and hollow.

Stringy tufts of greasy black hair hung lank around his gaunt cheeks, doing little to obscure the pockmarked terrain of scars and old wounds that crisscrossed his skin. One particularly nasty gash carved through his right eyebrow, the puckered flesh forever freezing that side of his face into a permanent sneer.

But it was his mouth that was truly revolting. His thick lips were dry and cracked, continually licking at them with a tar-stained tongue as if desperate for even the barest hint of moisture. And his teeth - those horrific, decaying stubs of brown and yellow - seemed to jut out at all angles in a shocking display of grotesque negligence.

The few remaining incisors pointed inward like fangs, stained and serrated from what was undoubtedly years of neglect and abuse. Flecks of spittle and debris speckled the corners of that twisted maw, strands of saliva stretching obscenely with each vile word that slithered out from between his gnashing teeth.

The stench wafting from the man's foul alcove of a mouth blended seamlessly with the general reek that clung to his unwashed body - a noxious melange of sour sweat, stale piss, and the unmistakable copper tinge of old blood. Even from across the room, Ronan could feel his nostrils stinging and stomach roiling in revolt against the overpowering stench.

Eris whimpered piteously as the beast's rank exhalations washed over her, no doubt burning her eyes and throat. Her delicate features were contorted in a rictus of fear and disgust, struggling weakly against the arm crushing her windpipe as this vile, rotting excuse for a human being leered hungrily down at her.

To see his beloved baby sister, who had always exuded an aura of bright innocence and joy, being so brutally debased by this wretched monster's very presence...something primal and furious bubbled forth from the darkest recesses of Ronan's psyche. His grip tightened on the knife until his knuckles shone bone-white, barely restraining the urge to hurl himself forward and bury the blade in that twisted leer over and over until nothing remained but a pulpy, unrecognizable ruin.

There were two other men who could only be the brute's cohorts lounged nearby, sadistic grins playing across their features, all too pleased with the show of domination over the defenseless girl. Their eyes glittered with wicked intent, taking an almost perverse glee in Eris's whimpers of fear and pain.

At the sound of Ronan's entrance, the beast whipped his head around with a cruel sneer. "Ah, look who's finally graced us with his presence! The errant son returns home to his widdle sister."

Eris made a choked sound of panic at the sight of her brother. "R-Ronan, no! Run, they're here for -"

The words were abruptly cut off as the brigand shook her roughly, then yanked her in tight against his chest, one beefy forearm constricting around her slender neck.

"Hush now," he growled, foul breath ghosting across her ear. "Wouldn't want your pretty mouth making things worse for you and your big bro, eh?"

His dead eyes bored into Ronan's, daring him to make a move as he held the terrified girl as his own personal human shield. Sensing he finally had Ronan's full, undivided attention, the smug grin widened back into that repulsive sneer.

"So good to see you...Brethren."

“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU”! Ronan yelled at the intruders.

“Where your new family we’ll serve the same cause, the same god”. The gray man spoke up for the group. “Our lord needs you and he comes with gifts”.

Ronan stared at him like he was an alien to him. This man was talking absolute gibberish and he made it known that's what he thought.

Ronan's grip tightened on his knife as the gray-skinned man's words washed over him. A new family? Serving some dark god? His mind reeled at the utter insanity spewing from the intruder's vile mouth.

"You're mad," Ronan spat, eyes flickering between the leering men. "Let my sister go at once if you value your miserable lives."

The gaunt man threw back his head and laughed, a sound like nails on a chalkboard. "Such fire! But I'm afraid you're in no position to make demands, boy."

He gave Eris a rough shake, eliciting a pained whimper. Ronan felt his blood boil at the pitiful sound. If they harmed one hair on her head...

"We've come to collect a debt owed to our master," the cadaverous figure continued. "By birth, your soul belongs in his service. Resist, and your precious sister pays the price for your defiance."

Ronan opened his mouth to issue another threat, but the icy point of a blade at his back stilled his words. One of the accomplices had circled behind him, dagger leveled at his spine with a sinister chuckle.

"I'd listen to Kravos if I were you. The master's generosity has limits."

Trapped, Ronan's mind raced. He had to find a way to placate these madmen until he could create an opening to escape with Eris. Playing along may be their only chance.

"Very well," he said through gritted teeth. "Explain what your 'master' wants from me. But harm my sister further, and I'll make sure your agony lasts for days before the end."

The one called Kravos seemed to consider this, his lipless grin stretching wide to reveal blackened teeth. "We shall see, whelp..."

Kravos clapped his hands and smiled at Ronan“All you need to do is step in the circle and say what i say. If I like your performance then i’ll consider letting your sister live”. His eyes held a mirth that was bereft from Ronan.

Ronan solemnly accepted his fate; he knew he was in a tough bind. Forced to save his sister he complied with the madman's demand.

The complex ritual circle adorned the floor, its intricate symbols pulsating with an otherworldly glow. Two of the assailants stood within smaller circles branching out from the main one, their eyes locked on Ronan with a mix of anticipation and malicious intent.

“Step into the circle now”! Kravos held eris barked out. Ronan stood in the center of the ritual circle, his heart heavy with grief and anger. The two assailants lay lifeless in the smaller circles, their blood seeping into the intricate symbols etched into the floor.

The man with Eris stood at the edge of the circle, a cruel smirk playing across his face as he raised his arms and began to chant. The words were laced with an arcane power that seeped through the air like a dark fog, filling the room with an oppressive energy.

As the chanting reached its peak, a surge of energy crackled through the room, causing it to shimmer with an otherworldly glow. Ronan watched in horror as those within the circle plunged blades into their chests; then felt a fire ignite inside himself, as if three souls were merging together. He fell to his knees, overwhelmed by the influx of dark energy that threatened to corrupt and consume him.

The man's chanting grew louder and more frenzied with each passing moment, his voice now distorted and filled with pleasure. Ronan could feel the malevolence emanating from him, threatening his very existence. Suddenly, he was kicked in the chest and forced back up; staring into the cold red eyes of his captor as he heard the chilling ultimatum: “You will swear it if you don’t want your Sister dead”.

“I commit my soul to chaos”. Ronan stared up at the man incredulously and a little shaken and when he didn't say it quick enough the man tighten his hold and eris started choking on what appeared to be nothing. Shouting out the words with a quicken haste to them he repeated what was said.

“From this day forth i will be the obedient servant of Vorlash and may not even death will release me”

“From this day forth I will be the obedient servant of Vorlash and may not even death will release me”. “Oh gods please help me”. Ronan's world was falling apart but the situation he found himself in was really kicked into him with the next words the unknown assailant said next.

“Only one god can help you now”. The man assured him as the man straightened through the sobbing tears that started forming after the vow Ronan heard walking footsteps and the next thing broke his heart into more pieces. “I'll be taking your Sister back with me”.

The man informed him “someday I will call for you and you will come. The man, like smoke, swirled in darkness with the bodies and his Sister.