"More than two centuries have passed, and I still hear their screams. Their faces, carved in terror, haunt my memories. They gave us help, and in return, we became their nemeses." — Scars
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The Shadow Forest was a labyrinth of whispers and shadows, its dense canopy suffocating the light. Scars moved through it with the practiced grace of a predator. Her footsteps were soft against the mulch, her breaths shallow and deliberate. The forest was alive with sounds—rustling leaves, distant calls—but she heard only the faintest disturbance ahead.
A shift in the undergrowth caught her attention. Instinct clicked into place, like a machine snapping into gear. Her world narrowed: every muscle ready, every sense attuned. Her gaze fixed on the source of the noise—a massive brown bear, its fur matted and streaked with dark green ichor seeping from parallel claw marks.
She crouched low, her mind cataloging details with precision.
Four cuts. Green fluid. Necrosis spreading around the wound. Labored breathing. Yellowed, watery eyes.
Her stomach tightened. "A Butterfly's territory expansion? No. Too early for that. Three months until the Infinite Night..."
Her thoughts churned, but the evidence was irrefutable. A Butterfly had infected the bear, its larva using the creature as a grotesque host. If the bear lived, it would become a vector for more chaos.
There’s only one way to be certain.
Before she could act, the bear raised its snout and sniffed the air. Its watery eyes locked on her. Then, with an unnatural speed that defied its bulk, it turned and bolted.
"Nightwalker's blood." she muttered under her breath. The stench that repelled predators had betrayed her to her prey.
Her spear left her hand with deadly precision, lodging deep in the bear’s neck. Yet the creature didn’t falter. If anything, it moved faster, its massive form crashing through the forest like a storm.
Scars broke into a sprint, her breath steady, her body moving with trained efficiency. But the bear was impossibly fast—faster than any beast should be. The larva was driving it, burning its host alive to protect itself.
Her lips curled into a bitter smile. "A defense mechanism that turns a host into a weapon. The abyss has a sense of irony."
The trail the bear left was easy to follow: shattered branches, churned soil, drops of green-tinged blood. But Scars knew she couldn’t let the pursuit drag on. Her body had limits. The bear did not.
She slowed to a halt, closing her eyes. The debt was settled. The spirits and gods were gone. And now, here I am, creating a new one.
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She whispered, her voice steady but laced with reluctance.
"You are the end and the beginning, chaos and order. You bear the name of the storm, and from you, even the winds took their breath. I beg you—lend me a fragment of that power. In exchange, I offer my story, my true self, bound in future debt."
Pain flared in her left eye, sharp and searing. When she opened it, her vision swam in hues of green. The world came alive in motion: the wind traced paths through leaves, every breath of air painting shapes across her skin. Her body felt weightless, her steps silent.
The bear was within sight now, its massive frame outlined against the forest gloom. She extended her hand toward the spear embedded in its neck. The weapon trembled, bound by muscle and sinew, refusing her call.
Scars pulled harder. The spear wrenched free, trailing blood and sinew, and in an instant, she was airborne, drawn toward the beast. Her hand closed around the shaft, and with a feral cry, she plunged the blade into the bear’s back.
The creature bucked wildly, throwing her into a tree. Pain shot through her ribs, but she gritted her teeth and stood. Blood dripped down her arm as she tightened her grip on the spear.
The bear charged, its roar a guttural mix of agony and rage.
Scars sidestepped, driving the broken spear shaft into the creature’s eye. It bellowed, its jaws snapping inches from her throat. Her free arm caught its lower jaw, holding it at bay even as its teeth sank into her armor. The pain was a searing fire, but she held firm.
"JUST DIE!" she screamed, twisting the shaft deeper. The bear's movements grew sluggish until, finally, it collapsed in a heap.
Scars shoved the lifeless weight off her legs, her body trembling from exertion. She lay still for a moment, staring at the canopy above. The sky was darkening unnaturally, black clouds swirling as if night were swallowing the day.
She forced herself to her feet, retrieving her blade from the bear’s corpse. Her hands worked with practiced efficiency, cutting into the infected wound until she found it—a grotesque white larva, writhing and baring rows of needle-like teeth.
Its shrill cry cut through the air as she crushed it in her hand, its remains oozing onto the bear’s fur.
Scars closed her right eye, letting the world dissolve into the sight only her left could see. The bear’s essence burned like black fire, a sign of abyssal corruption. Smaller, sharper flames flickered within—the other larvae, waiting, dormant.
She clenched her fists. Without a proper ritual, the infection would spread. Her gaze turned to the silver essence perched on the fallen tree—a fragment of the Moon, watching her with its owl-like form.
"You," she whispered.
The essence tilted its head, its silver light reflecting in her eyes.
Scars knelt. "I, ---- ----, offer my story and my self. In exchange, I ask for your strength. Guide me through the Infinite Night. Help me keep the Abyss at bay."
She was no longer in the forest. A silver lake stretched around her, its surface shimmering under the full moon. Her battle-worn armor was gone, replaced by a flowing dress that gleamed like frost. A wreath of blue lilies adorned her head, their petals cool against her scarred skin.
In the water’s reflection, she saw herself—a figure marked by battles fought and debts yet unpaid. Her left eye burned faintly, its green glow a reminder of her borrowed strength.
The deal was struck. And the Infinite Night was coming.