The man-beast roared, shaking the cavern, and rushed toward Godric. His eyes were blood red, his nails were shaped like claws, and his teeth were filed like fangs. Godric, not wanting to kill the man, immediately went on the defensive. He split Death's Lament into two and crossed the swords together--creating a spark in the air as they formed an X-shaped pattern. He braced for impact and barely held his ground as the beast's fangs were stopped by the swords. However, the assault did not end as Godric's arms were relentlessly being attacked by the beast, which sapped the strength out of his arms.

The scratches weakened Godric's defenses; which would also have torn his arms to shreds were it not for his bracers, and so he shifted and rolled to one side but was caught by a clubbing blow that launched him onto a wall and knocked off the spear he placed on his back. He fell hard on the ground and groaned in pain.

"Fucking hells..." He cursed. "This guy hits harder than Anarórë--and that's saying something..." He coughed hard and gained his bearings as the beast howled and somewhat let out a frenzied laugh that surprised Godric.

"Fuck. It seems that I have no choice." Godric decided to go on the offensive, as it would be impossible for him to defend against his opponent. The cold, misty air was visible each time he breathed in and out. After a few moments of circling each other, he rushed toward the man-beast and attempted to incapacitate him. He knew there was still a piece of humanity there as he observed that his opponent was tactical when it came to striking. It knew that he would roll to get out of its first attempt earlier, and he observed that the monster it fought earlier only had crushed legs and a disfigured head, which most likely caused its death.

It was apparent that the legs were taken out to immobilize the monster that was bigger than it was, thus giving way to deal the killing blow to the head. The man-beast still had the mind of a hunter, which was all the reason that Godric needed to convince himself that he was still could be saved. It was a gamble--and a reckless one at that, but that did not stop him.

They were at a close distance from each other, and the beast swung a brutish forearm at Godric who dodged it as he slid downward and quickly cut its leg. Blood dripped from the wound, but it did not cry out in pain as the cut was too shallow to hinder its movements. It stopped to look at the wound and smiled, almost as if to say it was enjoying the experience.

The beast looked back at Godric and rushed at him again, however, this time it was different as it ran toward him on all fours. Godric again combined his blades back into one whole weapon and thought to incapacitate his opponent in one downward strike by timing the blow when the beast would leap.

The man-beast was smarter, for the anticipated leap never happened, and it merely stood on two legs as soon as it was within arms reach of Godric.

The young man swung downwards but only met stone as the beast sidestepped the attack and grabbed Godric in a vice-like grip as he lifted him off the ground which made him drop Death's Lament as he screamed in pain. The beast then threw Godric across the cave, who landed hard and continued to roll until he was near the dead monster's body. The beast waited until Godric stood up and ran toward him again but was only met by a hard punch thrown by the young man that staggered and left him dazed for a few seconds.

"A mana-imbued punch. Who would've thought that would work?" Godric chuckled at the discovery but was still evidently in pain. The man-beast collected himself and suddenly shifted to a fighting stance with his hands raised, almost as if to say he wanted to fight fair and square. "There you are," Godric said. "Let's settle this the old-fashioned way." He also switched to a defensive form that was taught to him by Anarórë.

The two circled each other and waited for who would strike first. After a tense moment, the man-beast threw the first punch that Godric deflected using his left palm, countering with a quick jab. He let out a wry smile as his training with Anarórë was being put to the test. Enraged, another punch was thrown, and Godric deflected again, but this time he opted to hit his opponent on the chin, hoping to render him unconscious, but to no avail for the man-beast was tenacious.

This continued for a time until Godric could no longer keep up with his opponent's stamina as he failed to deflect a jab that left him bloodied. The moment gave the man-beast an opening to attack Godric with a flurry of strikes, ending with a grab that threw the young man across the cave. It howled as if to celebrate its triumph over Godric and now stared at him with an intent to kill, as the fight had become dull.

Godric coughed and groaned in pain. He understood the situation that he was in. He knew that he was outmatched in both experience and strength. He was awkwardly sprawled across the ground amongst the rocks and stones, but the idea of surrender never crossed his mind. The man-beast howled for one last time before he lunged at the young man at full speed. Godric, in a last act of defiance, stood as he picked up the spear and held it up against his opponent.

"Come at me!" Godric taunted the beast as he accepted any fate that fell him in the next few moments.

The sound of iron clashing against metal rang throughout the cave, followed by the harrowing cries of pain from the man-beast, accompanied by a loud crash onto rocks and stone. The sound was deafening and Godric was already spent, having no energy left to even see what had happened. His vision blurred and his body collapsed onto the ground, exhausted and unconscious.

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Godric fell into a deep slumber. The battle had taken too much of his energy, and no elven magic was there to help him this time. He found himself drifting alone in a space; one that was void of life and light. His body was a transparent shade of gray, and the colors faded from time to time. He waited and waited, hoping that someone would appear and wake him from his nightmare. However, no one came.

The young man grew restless, and soon a thought crossed his mind. This must be the afterlife, Godric thought to himself. I thought it would be more crowded. He jested. The young man always knew that Death would come for all, and he had always feared that the day would come soon. Closing his eyes, he waited for the divine being's cold touch to carry him to the afterlife.

As he closed his eyes, however, the scenery shifted. From the pits of the very void itself, he was suddenly transported to a gloomy landscape. Godric was undoubtedly shaken, as the land felt seemingly cruel and twisted--not of Primera. He saw dark clouds that rumbled in the distance. The moon shone in a crimson shade that enveloped the fields below. Sounds of torture filled the air, which made his transparent body shudder. The scene shifted and moved to where Godric spotted an imposing black fortress that radiated power and authority but also pure evil.

Moments later, he found himself in what appeared to be one of the rooms of the fortress, as the window provided the same landscape he had seen earlier. Godric's body now manifested into a physical form, and he quickly rushed to a corner of the lavish room, hidden behind a curtain.

Footsteps soon followed, and a voice spoke that broke the silence and made him stand still. The language spoken was not of Men as Godric could not discern it being from Primera, nor any of the neighboring continents. It came from a towering figure with a pale complexion. He had raven hair and wore clothes that signified royalty. He walked across the room and stared outside the window, observing the view as he pressed his hands behind his back. However, Godric never had a chance to grasp his appearance as he had difficulty processing everything.

Another voice spoke but Godric was unable to locate the source. Afterwards, a figure materialized out of thin air and wore clothing similar to the first man, but was more rugged and looked like it had seen battle.

He was a stark contrast for his hair was white, his voice was calming and persuasive, and strapped behind his back was a brutish ebony war axe. Looking at the weapon was a mistake, for Godric felt a different level of fear enter his heart. His mind was clouded with thoughts of doubt and anxiety, and he felt like he was almost on the verge of going insane.

He attempted to use mana to help shield himself from what appeared to be magic imbued into the war axe, but to no avail. The power of the weapon was too ancient, dark, and powerful. The only thing that he could do was to use his entire mana pool and focus it on protecting what little sanity and consciousness he had left.

In doing so, his mind shifted and his thoughts were a complete mess. Every piece of information he knew crossed his mind, rendering him unable to move even if he wanted to. However, something peculiar happened during the process, for the unknown language slowly and surely turned into the one he was familiar with. Godric willed himself to listen in on the last conversation he might ever hear before he passed.

"...If it comes to that, it would be an unpleasant turn of events. How fares the people?" The tall man asked.

"They've been doing well so far despite what happened. However, they've taken precautions as seeds have been planted. They have learned, and are almost prepared to fight again." The other individual responded. Upon hearing the news, the figure sighed. He turned to reveal a mask of intricate design that covered a proportion of his charming features. It curved upwards which formed a crown that rested on his head.

"To be frank. I find all of this to be extremely bothersome. If I had my way, things would be easier. But alas, it is not meant to be." He remarked.

"But it will. Soon. What is your command, my liege?" The other responded as he knelt on both knees, kissing the ground--almost as if he were revering the man like a god.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"I'm afraid I will have to save my answer to that question for another time. It seems that we have a guest." The masked man and the other individual turned and stared in Godric's direction, apparently aware of his presence.

"Did you honestly think I didn't notice you?" He terrifyingly smiled at Godric.

The man with the war axe stood and slowly approached him, immediately grabbing his weapon. He was already poised and ready to strike. Without warning, he swung his axe at a terrifying speed, and Godric screamed but no sound escaped from his mouth.

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Godric woke up in a cold sweat. His screams echoed throughout the caverns, and he shook in fear of what he saw.

What kind of nightmare was that? He asked himself as he grunted in pain and stared at the ceiling of the cave.

"You're awake. That's nice to know." A voice blurted out in the darkness. "You have a good form, you know--but you still need work on your counters. How fares Anarórë these days?" The question caught Godric off-guard. He looked for the source, and moments later, the man-beast from earlier emerged out of the darkness as the fungi illuminated the room. This time, however, his humanity shone through, as he no longer had bloodshot eyes, for they were replaced with a deep, brown color. His fangs disappeared, along with the claws that almost tore Godric's arms to shreds.

"H-how do you know who...?" Godric stood up and winced as he approached him.

"Anarórë? Elf with silver hair, beautiful, physically gifted, but has a nasty attitude? Who wouldn't?" Godric stared at him.

"I jest. Your fighting stance ultimately gave it away. I only know of one individual who utilizes that form. Also, when I was still in my transformed state I smelled the scent of elvish on you." He explained while pointing at Godric's armor.

Godric looked at Death's Lament which was still at the exact spot where he had dropped it. The man then walked toward him.

"I know you came from Mistveil Forest. The sword you carry was crafted using their smithing techniques. However, the overall design is odd. Elvish weapons are known to balance the bridge between offense and defense." The man said.

"That's what Elmar said to me as well," Godric responded to the man's story. "Elmar, eh? He never showed me this weapon, but alas." He turned to the monster he had killed earlier and began to rip an arm off with minimal effort.

"Hold on, you never answered--" Godric attempted to approach the man but he again winced in pain.

"I'm sorry for the beatdown I gave you earlier. Give your body some time to heal first. A few hours is all you will need." He looked at the stab wound Godric inflicted on him earlier using the spear which was still bleeding but was nearly healed.

"And how do you know that I won't die from my injuries in a few hours?" Godric asked him. "Because you've awakened your magic, like me. Awakened beings heal faster from injuries or wounds sustained because of the mana that has been activated and is now flowing throughout your body." The man responded.

"...All right then," Godric said, still somewhat unconvinced. "Now, we're going nowhere with this. So at least answer my question. Based on what I know, you're a hunter and you're also the son of the innkeeper. You entered the caverns five autumn seasons ago in search of a cure--alone, which I might say, is mad."

"Says the one who entered the caverns alone, and almost got himself killed." The man quipped.

"Regardless, back to my question. Who exactly are you?" Godric asked.

"All right, all right. To finally calm you down, the name is Evander. Nephew of Lord Geoffrey, and cousin of Tryst, who I presume must now be the Lady of House Huntingborne." Evander looked at Godric with a serious look in his eyes.

"These days, I am but a lost soul, and Tryst must now have taken the position in my absence, although that was probably for the best--she was always the more diplomatic one," Evander answered.

"Wait...you...are of noble blood?" Godric was shocked at the revelation.

"Surprised? No one ever stops to think that nobles would be found in the Whiteflower, as well as a shithole like this, and yet here we are." He responded, unbothered.

"Then why are we still here then? I know a way out. Have you found the cure? We can ask for help." Godric tried to convince him.

"I have found the cure. I just haven't found the perfect opportunity yet." Evander sat down and began to eat the monster's huge arm raw, which almost made Godric vomit.

"By the Divines, are you mad?" He asked. "I've gotten used to it. Being trapped here for... five autumn seasons, was it?" Evander responded as he ate.

"It does things to the body. I think my acquired transformation magic plays a role in helping me digest the food as well. Also, this big fellow here can last me for at least a fortnight if I play it right." He gestured Godric toward a boulder near where he was, next to the huge slab of meat on the ground.

"Come, sit. We have much to talk about."

Godric approached him slowly and sat down as he watched Evander voraciously consume the meat. "How can you even eat that much?" He asked.

"I don't suppose you've noticed, but I just polymorphed into three different beasts earlier at the same time earlier. That takes a lot out of one's vitality, don't you think?"

"Right...you were impressive earlier as well. You're strong. However, I did manage to beat Anarórë before I left, so imagine my surprise when you hit me harder than her." Godric remarked. "It hurts though, which is the bad thing."

Evander laughed at the praise. "Anarórë? Defeated? I would not attempt to go near her after you go and boast that you defeated her. She was holding back, you know."

"I had my suspicions. I was still treated as a guest of House Alastrassa. She could have killed me back then if she wanted to despite me going all out, but she couldn't." Godric said.

"You were a guest of King Ithilien? Call me intrigued. Tell me your story." The hunter asked.

"Only if you tell me yours."

Without hesitation, Evander reached out and shook Godric's hand. "It's a deal. Now talk." Godric thought about it, but since Evander knew so much about the elves, there was no harm in telling his story.

"All right, I'll talk. Also, ease up with your grip. That handshake fucking hurt."

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Godric spent a few hours retelling his entire tale; from how it all began at Rosetown, to his days spent under the tutelage of the elves, all the way to reaching Gillsberry and meeting the old man at the Whiteflower. Evander breathed a sigh of relief, mixed with a tinge of sadness.

"My old man still lives, eh?" He asked.

"Yes, although his condition is worsening and I fear that he has little time left in our world," Godric responded. "Mind me for asking--but your father is of noble blood. Why did he spend his days living as a simple innkeeper at the Whiteflower?"

"Because that was where he found his happiness; surrounded by the company of different cultures and people with hearts of gold--away from the troubles of politics and governance," Evander replied.

"He's the younger brother of my uncle and was next in line to being the head of our house, however, he always ran away from court and found solace by living out his life as a hunter and innkeeper. He was always welcome back at Stagvalley--of course, and he visited frequently, but all that changed after my uncle was incapacitated in the civil war, and my father was pressured to lead." Evander narrated his father's story, catching Godric's attention.

"He led our house for a while, but eventually returned to Gillsberry--leaving me to act as the head at the young age of ten. It was hard, of course, but I grew accustomed to it. So did Tryst, who eventually became the priestess of the wild; a title worthy of honor and respect." He said as he gnawed on the monster's bone.

"I don't hate my old man for it. After witnessing our people who participated in the great hunt and hearing the dull talks of politicians, I finally understood why he chose to leave."

"He still lives, you know," Godric quickly reminded him. "In your scribbling, you said you found the cure--a flower. You can take it now and leave, I can aid you in getting it out of here!"

Evander chuckled, then let out a sigh. "Yes, the Whiteflower. If only it were that easy." He said as he threw the bone toward the wall. "It is being held by a monster who has held me captive here. I've tried to beat it multiple times but only ended up battered and bruised. The first time I entered, I was instantly defeated and left for dead. I was not worthy to be eaten, it said. When I came back inside the caverns after the elves found me--it told me I was a fool, and thus cursed me to rampage whenever I attempted to leave."

"Remember my condition when we fought?" Godric nodded. "I was stuck in that form for what I believe to be almost an entire year. It felt like I was in a prison. I knew what was going on but could not control my body. However, thanks to you I regained my humanity." Evander explained.

"This monster...did it have the features of a beautiful woman?" Godric asked. "Yes, how did you know? The being is alluring in that form, but all seven hells break loose once you see what its hidden form is."

"The elven king warned me about that. He loathes the monster to the point where I was even scared to ask why." Godric stood and picked up Death's Lament.

"Well, the king is terrifying once you see that side of him." Evander quipped.

"However, that thing holds the only object I need to succeed in this quest. Maybe we can work together taking it down, and maybe--just maybe--we can both walk out of here alive," Godric said.

"Hmmm... it would be nice to let loose some steam. Also, the hunter in me is just itching for a good kill." Evander picked up his spear as he approached Godric.

"It's a mad gamble, but who knows?" He remarked. "Maybe this spell will be lifted after the thing is finally dead."

"It's settled then," Godric said as he and Evander marched out of the area, weapons in hand.

"Let's go out and slay a monster."