"Come here..."

The command hung in the air, heavy with expectation, and for Zerin, he wasn’t so willing to accept the invitation

'Like hell!'

The thought blazed through his mind as his eyes instinctively darted back down at the crescent blade she held with a steady hand, its silver edge glinting ominously in the dim light.

"I won't hurt you. I could never hurt you..."

Her voice was a soft murmur, each syllable laced with an unsettling sincerity. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips, but it was a smile that did little to reassure him; instead, it sent an icy shiver down his spine. Despite these warning bells going off in his head he found himself stepping forward onto the podium with her.

He swallowed briefly, grappling with the conflicting emotions that rolled in his gut. So far, trust has only proven to be a fragile thing.

"This blade is a holy crescent knife. Its purpose is to properly offer a sacrifice to the goddess."

She held the weapon aloft, allowing the soft glow of the crimson rays to dance along its intricately engraved surface, the silver gleaming beautifully.

Zerin raised his brow as he looked at the blade.

"What the hell are you going to do?"

She then responded in a downcast manner.

"Something that should have been done a while ago."

He felt an indescribable feeling clawing at his chest. He could feel as if the current moment was slowly slipping through his fingers like sand.

"Wisteria, everyone is already dead."

Her response was a quick and quiet acknowledgement, tinged with sorrow.

"I know..."

Zerin's voice rose, laced with panic. The thought of surrendering to fate after he already 'won' was unbearable, something he could never accept.

"Then what are you doing? Do you want to die?!"

"No..."

Her voice came out as a fragile whisper as she turned her head away from him. Her grip trembled as she lowered the knife slightly.

"Then throw the knife away..."

Zerin urged, his voice firm, yet underneath it was nothing but desperation.

She took a step back, creating an imperceivable chasm between them.

"I caused this," she murmured, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"If I had just—"

Her voice was sharply interrupted as his frustration boiled over.

"It doesn't matter now!"

He interjected sharply, the weight of the current circumstance pressed down on him. He closed his eyes and sighed to gather his focus.

"Just hand me the knife..."

He extended a hand to her, a lifeline to her. He hoped desperately that she would just listen.

"No! You will die, I don't want you to die like them!"

She shook her head as she exclaimed, her voice rising in a pitch, trembling with emotion. The fear etched on her face was unmistakable, if anything he truly saw how she felt just from this reaction alone.

A heavy silence enveloped them. The world outside their intimate conflict suddenly erupted, as a crack of lightning split the sky. The blinding flash illuminated their faces, starkly contrasting the shadows that clung to them. The thunder that followed roared like a behemoth, shaking the earth beneath their feet.

The ground trembled violently, as if the very world was being torn apart. A massive gash carved itself into the visibly distant landscape, splitting the earth wide open like a wound.

Zerin’s gaze was averted from her, fixated instead on the devastation unfolding before him. In that moment, it struck him: the end of the lands was not merely a tragedy that spelled doom for its people; it was an entire cataclysm.

The heart of the world crackled and grumbled beneath their feet and over the world's cry of despair Wisteria spoke out drawing back Zerin's attention.

"I was a mistake."

She said quietly, her voice trembling with the weight of her confession.

"I am just a failed vessel for the goddess, so I cannot complain, right?"

There was a haunting resignation in her tone.

She wiped her flowing tears with the back of her hands while she still held onto the crescent knife.

"But you... I won't let it happen to you too... I deserve to pay for my negligence, for my selfish decision to want a life I didn't deserve to have."

Zerin's very being shattered at her words, each syllable striking him like a dagger. This was not the lighthearted, teasing spirit he had once come to know; she was entirely now consumed by guilt.

Her face contorted with emotion, a sudden resolve rose on her face mingling with a sheen of tears that glistened as it fell from her eyes. Time seemed to slow as she raised the blade, the crescent edge shimmering in the crimson light. Zerin's breath caught into his throat, a visceral panic flooding his being.

He shouted, but the word fell away as she plunged the blade into her side. The act was swift, the sound, agonizing.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Her white, pristine dress slowly began to transform into a vivid crimson tapestry, the fabric soaking up the blood that flowed from the wound. Zerin's heart raced as he watched her stumble, her balance faltering. He rushed to reach out to her, his fingers brushing against her arm, pulling her close, lowering her gently onto the podium beneath them.

Wisteria’s blue eyes, usually so vibrant and filled with life, now shimmered with unshed tears. Disarray surged within Zerin. He grasped the blade and with a swift trembling motion, he removed it from her side, tossing the silver blade aside.

As he did, a fresh torrent of blood spilled forth, pouring out in vivid streams that painted the ground beneath them. Zerin knelt by her side, his hand pressed against the gaping wound, trying desperately to staunch the flow. but the blood continued to seep through his fingers, relentlessly. The wound was far too deep, too severe to be mended by his frantic efforts.

Her blood seemed to flow endlessly, pooling around them on the podium. Her breathing grew increasingly weak, each inhalation a struggle as her gaze shifted skyward. Zerin felt his knees sink into the warm, sticky pool, the reality of her condition rapidly crashing into him.

The words that were to spill out of her mouth were the kind that should have blossomed in a moment of joy and connection, but now, as her life flickered before his very eyes, it was nothing more than a curse.

"I love you..."

Those three words lingered in the air, heavy with bittersweet finality. A fragile breath escaped her lips, a whisper of life that faded into the void. In that moment, she vanished, her body growing still and lifeless beneath his hands.

A shuddering breath escaped him, leaving his lungs feeling barren and hollow. He searched her eyes, desperately seeking the familiar spark of the girl he once knew. But that essence was gone, completely extinguished.

With a detached gaze, he gently laid her head upon the podium. He brushed her blonde hair back away from her face, her hair cascaded into the crimson pool that surrounded her. As he lifted his hands away, the calmness he felt in his fingertips was replaced with an unbearable shake.

Zerin stood up abruptly, his movements driven by a simple truth: he didn't know what to do.

He stepped back from the podium as if reality could somehow be erased by the short distance.

His hands trembled uncontrollably. And, once he raised his hands to his face, the stark reality struck him like a cold wave: they were stained with her blood.

Zerin’s breath quickened, becoming shallow and erratic as he hyperventilated, struggling to draw in the required breath to quell the rising panic. The world around him began to blur, the edges of his vision softening.

His heart raced, pounding like a war drum in his chest. He could feel the warmth of the blood on his hands. The string of words she said before she passed taunted his mind brutally as he turned away to expelled out the nausea from his stomach.

What came forth next was true despair—a mournful cry that clawed its way from the depths of his soul. It echoed through the desolate landscape, reverberating against the ruins that surrounded him. The world around him faded into an indistinct blur.

While Zerin was in this state, he caught a glimpse of a brilliant light refracting around him, its dazzling presence drawing him out of his agony. Curiosity compelled him to turn and face the source of the illumination. Before him loomed a massive sphere of energy, a mesmerizing orb that shimmered with a mesmerizing spectrum of colors. Hues of violet, azure, and gold swirled and danced within its depths. He stood entranced, feeling the warmth radiate from it, its comforting heat enveloping his face and momentarily soothing his despair.

But the beauty of the energy was momentary, as it abruptly advanced toward him, it began to show its nature. It glided across the ground, effortlessly sucking up the lifeless bodies strewn about in its wake, and Zerin's heart lurched as he watched it consume Wisteria, her form drawn into the orb disappearing in its light.

Instinct kicked in, overriding the fog of grief that clouded his mind. He summoned his staff, its familiar weight grounding him. He raised it just in time to brace against the energy's relentless approach. The resolve surged within him, although he couldn’t quite comprehend why he was fighting for the remainder of his life. Perhaps it was the flicker of hope that remained, or to hold onto life that she cared so much about.

The pressure exerted by the light was immense, causing the staff to vibrate violently in his hands. He could feel the vibrations traveling up to his arms. After countless times of misusing the staff, it became apparent at that very moment that the staff's durability had been compromised.

As the energy continued to surge forward bearing down on the focal point of the staff, it gave way under its relentless force. Cracks increased upon its already cracked surface, and with a deafening crack, it exploded into a flurry of shrapnel, sending shards flying back towards Zerin with a speed he couldn't even react to due to the recoil of the staff's destruction.

[Your memory has been destroyed.]

The unexpected explosion of the staff caught him off guard, and he felt the breath leave his lungs as pain laced through him. Shrapnel tore into his chest, the sharp edges biting into his flesh, and he gasped, collapsing to one knee. The searing pain from the fragments embedded into his body was brutal, but it paled in comparison to the all-consuming heat of the energy sphere that drew closer to engulf him completely.

His body felt as if it were being disintegrated, each cell unraveling and fading into nothingness. It felt as if his very essence was being set ablaze.

There was no distinction between reality and the overwhelming brightness; everything around him merged into a singular, deafening brilliance.

Was this death?

Questions swirled around him, unanswered and unanswerable. What was happening?

In a frantic and desperate attempt to flee the relentless brightness that engulfed him, Zerin squeezed his eyes shut with all his might, yearning for even a moment of solace away from the blinding light. Despite his efforts, the searing luminosity penetrated through his closed eyelids, branding itself onto his very retinas.

He held his eyes tightly shut, the muscles straining with the effort, a futile gesture. And, as the intensity grew, he felt pathetically powerless to resist against the force. Zerin finally relented, giving into the overwhelming light, opening his eyes once more.

The shift was jarring, like a sudden plunge into an abyss. The glaring light that had consumed him was instantly gone, now replaced by a darkness that enveloped the space around him.

As his eyes gradually adjusted, Zerin began to discern two distinct types of darkness that surrounded him. The first was a familiar darkness, the kind that enveloped everything in an all-consuming embrace, an absence of light. The second, however, was something altogether different—a vast, impenetrable darkness that felt thicker, it appeared physically tangible.

What was unexpectedly comforting was the coolness of this dark expanse. He preferred it to the scorching heat he had endured earlier. He took a tentative breath, the stillness amplifying the sound in the enveloping darkness.

'This is it...'

Or so he thought. Upon closer inspection, he realized he was not in utter darkness, nor was he alone. Above him, suspended in the vast, inky blackness, loomed the crimson moon, casting its familiar glow. Yet its light could not penetrate the profound depth of the true darkness that enclosed this space.

Without the crimson moon's presence, he would have been adrift in a shadowy void, unable to discern anything. Up, down, left, and right—everything looked the same. Nothing held meaning; time and space were irrelevant.

An inexplicable sensation prickled the hairs on the back of his neck, a sudden jolt of awareness that sent a shiver down his spine. There was a presence—unfamiliar and unsettling.

He pivoted slowly, each movement deliberate as his heart raced wildly in his chest. He imagined a set of red eyes glowing from the thick darkness, watching him with a predatory gaze. But when he finally focused on the source of his unease, what he saw was not a monster. Instead, it was a grotesque hand, peaking out of the thick wall of darkness, weakly grasping onto a small, oval object.

A wave of curiosity washed over him, mingled with an unsettling feeling that prickled his senses. Yet, in this dark realm that he had come to regard as his grave, his curiosity proved too potent to resist.

As he cautiously approached the hand, he could make out more of its unsettling details. The hand extended outward of the wall of darkness in a languid manner, as if it were lazily draped over the edge of a bed. The flesh was grotesque, marred by disfigurements and decay. The fingers were long and skeletal, ending in sharp, claw-like nails that glinted in the faint light.

Nestled within the palm of that hideous hand was an object that stirred something deep within him. He recalled the hieroglyphs in the temple, and he has seen that seed, this was the very seed the sprung the growth that had birthed Wisteria, the failed vessel of the goddess. Without hesitation, he reached into the palm of the grotesque hand to grasp the seed nestled there.

Suddenly, a voice echoed, clear and resonant:

[You have received a memory].

The moment his fingers closed around the seed, he felt the contours of its surface—smooth yet cool to the touch. However, just as he pulled his hand back, the grotesque hand twitched reflexively.

Though the cut was small, it quickly began to bleed, the warmth of the blood trickled down his wrist. As Zerin glanced down at the back of his hand, his attention was momentarily drawn away from the pain radiating through his forearm. It was only when he felt a sharp throb emanating from his closed palm that he realized something was wrong. Panic surged through him as he instinctively dropped the seed onto the ground.

Looking at his palm, he noticed a bright red rune he had never seen before, fading away quickly offering him very little time to truly observe it.

His heart sank as he focused on the ground. The realization struck him like a cold wave: the seed was just as dark as the very shadows that cloaked the area, blending seamlessly into darkness. A sense of dread settled as he began to search frantically as he lowered himself to the ground.

Zerin felt around with trembling fingers, straining his eyes to detect the dark seed amongst the dark backdrops. He could feel the weight of despair returning to press down on him. He needed that seed; it was the only hope he had left.

As Zerin continued to search for the lost seed, a voice emerged. But he was too consumed by his quest to pay it any attention.

[Prepare for appraisal…]

[Aspirant! Your trial is over.]

Then, the voice took on a darker tone, weaving a twisted narrative.

[Adorned with a crown of serpents, a boy of favored blood ascended to the throne. The blood of hundreds stained his hands, a tapestry of sacrifice woven in his ascent. Consumed by selfish ambition, he claimed divinity, his soul ignited with divine energy. Yet, in the final act of his ascent, he bore the weight of a new curse, forever marked.]

[You have defeated a dormant human, name unknown.]

[You have defeated an awakened transfigured human: Alden…]

[You have defeated a fallen devil: Condemned King of the Lost.]

[You have achieved the inconceivable!]

The voice echoed through the darkness, each proclamation felt as if it was urging to steer away his attention, but he persisted as he searched for the seed.

[Final appraisal: Magnificent! The blood upon your hands stains everything you touch.]

[Dreamer Zerin, receive your gift!]

[You have been bestowed a True name: The Twin God.]

[Your Aspect is ready to evolve. Evolve Aspect?]

Again, the voice repeated itself, unwavering in its insistence.

[Evolve Aspect?]

Zerin clenched his jaw, irritation bubbling to the surface. All he wanted was for the voice to fade away, to grant him peace.

He shouted into the darkness.

“Yes! I accept it! Just go away already!”

[Dormant Aspect, Born of that Blood is evolving...]

[New Aspect acquired.]

[Aspect Rank: Divine.]

[Aspect Name: Lord of Veins]

Aspect Description: [In the eerie glow of a blood-red moon, he emerged from the shadows of the dying lands—The Lord of Veins. Once a mere boy, he had been irrevocably transformed by stolen divinity into the Lord of Blood, a deity forged in the relentless crucible of suffering.]

It would be a gross understatement to say that Zerin hadn't have had any inkling of a clue of what was happening.

[The First Seal is broken.]

[Awakening dormant powers...]

Suddenly, that searing pain surged back, more intense than before, striking him with a vengeance that took his breath away. Zerin’s eyes widened in shock as he collapsed into a ball on the ground. The pain radiated through him, unbearable and relentless as if fire itself coursed through his veins. He could feel his blood boiling beneath his skin.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he was forced to endure. Zerin’s body trembled as he rested the back of his hand against his brow, trying to stave off the fading sensation. Each heavy breath felt like a battle.

After his turmoil died down, Zerin noticed something peculiar. It was as if his vision had sharpened or perhaps, he simply hadn’t realized it before. Orbiting the crimson moon above were two orbs, swirly softly in the darkness. For that moment he was captivated by the scene.

[Awakening Aspect abilities…]

[Innate Ability acquired.]

Innate Ability: [Blood Fee]

Ability description: [You lack the standard soul essence; instead you possess blood essence, as your soul has been seared into your very blood.]

[Aspect Ability acquired.]

Aspect Ability: [Sanguine Surge]

Ability description: [Revitalize and sustain yourself on blood. Gain a boost to your physical abilities once a threshold of blood is consumed.]

As the new abilities settled into his subconscious, he continued his search for the seed. Just when the fatigue of despair was threatening to return once again his hand abruptly bumped into something solid. His heart leaped in his chest as he grasped the object tight, a rush of exhilaration washing over him—he found it!

‘The seed!’

He felt a spark of hope, as if the universe had conspired to restore his faith just when he needs it the most. But before he could fully revel in his newfound success, that damned voice returned slicing through his moment of happiness with a warning.

[Caution! The power you possess comes at a great cost!]

[You have received a Flaw.]

Flaw: [Bastardized]

Flaw Description: [The Gods have marked you as a target.]

“A target?”

His voice echoed barely above a whisper, laden with the pure insanity of it all.

He hadn’t paid much attention to his evaluation until now. But this revelation was something entirely unexpected. Being marked as a target by the gods was not just a minor inconvenience; it was a declaration of war.

His heart raced as he pondered the implications of such a mark.

Before he could delve deeper into his spiraling thoughts the voice returned with an authoritative command.

[Awaken, Twin God!]