The monstrous figure from the shore towered above, its form grotesque and dripping with malice. 

Its crimson-red eye pulsated, filling the sky with an ominous light. 

For a moment, everything stood still, the air thick with dread. Even the ferocious clash of battle had ceased, as if all present could do nothing but stare at the unimaginable horror unfolding before them.

Zach's grip tightened around his claymore, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the terrifying figure.

He muttered under his breath, his voice filled with disbelief. 

"What the—?!" 

His pulse raced, the weight of the situation sinking in.

Qarek, standing just beside Zach, couldn't take his eyes off the monstrous form. His voice was thick with confusion and urgency.

He called out, unable to hide the strain in his voice.

"Captain!" 

Leeani's breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight. 

The colossal figure, the dark statues—all of it sent a chill down her spine. Her voice trembled, yet she pushed through the fear.

She demanded, her crossbow gripped tightly in her hands.

"What in the hell is that thing?!" 

Yzavynne quickly assessed the situation, her eyes darting between the colossal figure and Andhur. She reached out to him, pulling him closer.

She ordered, her voice sharp, though laced with worry.

"Andhur, get close!" 

Andhur, ever the jester despite the grimness of the situation, grinned through the tension, trying to mask his own fear.

He responded, his voice forced but carrying a hint of his usual bravado.

"Right back at ya!" 

Gargeal, who had been on the frontlines, now stared, his mind struggling to process the scene. 

His usual stoic demeanor faltered as he turned to Zach.

He asked, voice filled with uncertainty, though his sword remained firmly in hand.

"Zach, is this the thing?!" 

Micah and Killian, side by side, looked to one another, then to the terrifying figure, their swords momentarily forgotten as they processed the impossible reality before them.

They both shouted in disbelief, their voices breaking through the tense silence.

"What in the hell is that large figure?!" 

Seraphina, ever the curious and unflappable spirit, couldn't help but marvel at the sight. 

Her voice, though awed, carried an edge of unease.

She breathed out, her gaze never leaving the towering figure.

"Woah!"

Lyra, her breath caught in her throat, instinctively took a step back, fear evident in her eyes. 

Her voice was a soft, sharp cry.

She screamed, unable to hold back the panic that gripped her.

"Ahhh!" 

Even the warriors of Drakonium, normally calm and calculating, were caught off guard by the sheer scale and power of the entity. They stood, stunned, staring as the chaos around them froze in place.

Xertu, his massive frame looming over his allies, blinked in confusion, his voice booming as he tried to make sense of the situation.

He asked, his deep voice tinged with confusion.

"Is that thing our ally?" 

Sanaage, ever composed yet rattled by the unexpected turn of events, cursed under his breath.

He muttered, his machete still gripped tightly in his hand, though he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the figure.

"What the fuck?" 

Thorne, the cocky warrior, stood with his broadsword at the ready, though his gaze flickered nervously toward the massive creature.

 He demanded, trying to hide the unease creeping into his voice.

"Just what is that?"

Eldritch, who had seen many horrors in his life, now found himself momentarily speechless. His spear hung loosely at his side, his mind racing for an explanation.

He uttered, a single syllable that betrayed his confusion.

"Ah?"

Sentinel, ever the protector, looked from the creature to Ybael, his eyes narrowing as he demanded answers.

He barked, his voice filled with accusation.

"Is this your plan, Ybael?!"

Ybael, standing at the forefront of the scene, a manic gleam in his eyes, laughed with a twisted sense of glee. His joy at the unfolding chaos was palpable.

He shouted.

"Kill them! Kill them! Kill them all! All of them!" 

His voice rising above the chaos as he pointed toward the Renaissance Band and their allies. 

His madness was clear, and his bloodlust grew with every passing second.

The chaos froze in time as Ybael raised the black leather tome overhead, its once-ominous glow abruptly dimming to nothingness. The silence that followed felt deafening, as if the world itself held its breath. Ybael's victorious grin faltered slightly, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at the tome.

A low, otherworldly voice resonated from the tome, sending chills through everyone still alive on the battlefield.

"Thank you, human. Now, you shall all meet my creator. My one purpose has been done."

The words echoed across the shore, unnaturally cold and devoid of emotion. The voice did not come from Ybael's throat but from the tome itself.

Ybael blinked, his grip tightening on the leather book. His manic joy twisted into startled disbelief.

"Huh?! This tome can talk?!"

But before he could comprehend or react further, the air shifted violently—an invisible force tore through the battlefield, faster than sight, sharper than any blade. A guttural, unearthly hum accompanied it, rising to an agonizing crescendo before plunging into absolute silence.

Then, it happened.

One by one, every single person—Zach, Gargeal, Yzavynne, Leeani, Andhur, Qarek, Micah, Killian, Seraphina, Lyra, Tina, Eldritch, Sentinel, Thorne, Xertu, Sanaage, and the remaining Drakonium soldiers—fell victim to the strange, unstoppable force.

Heads severed. Limbs ripped clean from their bodies.

No scream. No final words.

Their bodies crumpled onto the sand and into the shallow waters of the sea, blood pooling and mingling with the surf. It happened in an instant—so fast, so brutal, that even the dying seemed unsure of their end.

Ybael shouts.

"No! I summoned you! I—I AM YOUR MASTER!"

The tome's voice emerges, mocking him.

"A pawn cannot master the hand that moves it."

Suddenly, Ybael's headless body dropped the now-silent tome, which thudded lifelessly onto the ground beside him, its sinister presence gone.

And then, as swiftly as it had begun, the nightmare ended.

The towering, grotesque figure of The Eye ceased its pulsating glow. Its crimson-red gaze dimmed and, along with the countless stone statues, vanished into the void as if they had never existed.

The shore fell eerily still.

The blood-soaked sand glistened under the dim, unfeeling light of the moon, the silence stretching endlessly. The ocean waves, gentle and indifferent, lapped at the severed limbs, carrying away small rivulets of blood as if to cleanse the horrors from sight.

For the first time, there were no voices, no whispers, no cries of anguish. Only death.

The battlefield was empty now, save for the lifeless bodies strewn across the shore. The Eye was gone, and so were its servants.

Only the black leather tome remained, lying still and dormant amidst the carnage, as though it had never spoken at all.

The tome began to speak again, its voice cutting through the stillness like a knife.

"You will all be food for my creator."

Its words dripped with contempt, as if mocking the lifeless bodies surrounding it.

"Then again, thank you, humans, for making my task a lot easier. Especially you, human, Zach."

The faint glow of the tome flickered back to life, the blood in the sand rippling unnaturally toward it, as though drawn by some invisible force. The sea itself seemed to hesitate, the waves pulling back ever so slightly as if recoiling from the power emanating from the cursed artifact.

The voice took on a sinister amusement, its tone teetering on the edge of gleeful malice.

"Try your best to stay alive," it sneered, its words vibrating with a twisted delight. 

"And entertain the one who weaves the destinies and fates of all living beings in this world."

The tome fell silent once more, its presence oppressive and unyielding. 

△▼△▼△▼△

The world around Zach felt unreal, suffocating, and incomprehensibly wrong. 

The sky above was a stark, endless white, stretching infinitely yet offering no comfort. The moon, too, hung like a pale, lifeless orb, its stark brilliance casting eerie shadows against the blackened, dead trees that rose like jagged claws from the ground. The soil beneath him was a deep, obsidian black, coarse and unyielding, as if it sought to consume anything that dared to touch it. 

Everything about this place screamed unnatural—a dark realm where life was an anomaly and despair reigned supreme.

Zach lay sprawled on the cold, blackened ground, his claymore still clutched tightly in his hand. His tunic, tattered and bloodstained, clung to his sweat-soaked skin as his chest heaved with uneven breaths. He stirred slightly, groaning as his mind struggled to claw its way back to consciousness.

Then his eyes opened.

What he saw drove the air from his lungs.

The sky. The moon. The trees. The earth.

The inhuman, grotesque landscape stretched endlessly around him, devoid of life, devoid of warmth. 

It was not a world; it was a nightmare given form. 

A sharp, visceral terror clawed its way into his chest, gripping his heart with icy fingers. His breath hitched as his eyes darted frantically, trying to find a point of familiarity, a shred of sanity in the midst of this hell.

The realization struck him like a hammer to the skull.

This place was wrong.

Zach's voice cracked, raw with desperation and panic.

"W—where am I—?!" 

He scrambled to his knees, the sharp, jagged soil biting into his palms, though he barely registered the pain. His grip on his claymore tightened instinctively as he spun around, his eyes wide with disbelief and fear.

The silence of the place was deafening, oppressive. It felt alive, as though the very air around him was watching, waiting.

His voice rang out, shattering the unnatural stillness, though no echo followed.

"Gargeal! Andhur!" 

His voice grew more frantic, his chest tightening as he stumbled to his feet, his legs shaking beneath him. 

"Qarek?!"

He turned in every direction, his eyes desperately scanning the desolate landscape for any sign of his comrades.

"Anyone?! Anyone there?!"

The desperation in his voice was palpable, bordering on hysteria. 

His breaths came in short, ragged gasps as the silence pressed down on him, suffocating and absolute. His hand instinctively reached out into the emptiness, trembling, as if expecting someone—anyone—to grasp it and pull him out of this waking nightmare.

But there was no one.

Zach's body began to betray him. 

His hands started to tremble uncontrollably, his sword slipping slightly in his grip. His knees buckled, and he collapsed back onto the blackened ground, his breath hitching as a flood of emotions overwhelmed him.

First came the tears—hot and bitter, streaming down his face as the reality of his solitude bore down on him. His shoulders shook as he sobbed, his cries echoing softly in the unnatural stillness.

Then came the anger. 

A searing, visceral rage bubbled up from within him, burning away at his chest. His fists clenched tightly, nails digging into his palms until they bled. He screamed, a guttural, primal roar that tore from his throat with the force of a broken man.

"Why?! WHY?!"

He slammed his fists into the ground, the jagged soil cutting into his knuckles, though he hardly cared. The rage was short-lived, giving way to an even deeper sense of disgust.

His mind replayed the last moments he could remember—Ybael, the monstrous figure, the black leather tome. And then... and then their deaths. 

The gruesome, instantaneous dismemberment of everyone he cared for.

His stomach churned violently at the memory, and a wave of nausea swept over him. He doubled over, clutching his abdomen, and retched onto the black soil. The bile burned his throat as he vomited, his body convulsing uncontrollably.

The putrid stench of his own sick lingered in the air, mixing with the sharp, metallic tang of the soil. Zach fell back onto his side, curling into himself as his body shook, racked with sobs and shivers.

He buried his face in his hands, the overwhelming cocktail of despair, anger, and disgust pulling him deeper into a pit of hopelessness.

The world around him seemed to respond to his emotions, though he did not yet realize it. 

The air grew colder, heavier, and the shadows cast by the pale moonlight seemed to shift, elongating unnaturally as though creeping closer to him. The dead trees swayed slightly, though no wind could be felt.

The silence was no longer passive; it was oppressive, suffocating. 

It seemed to mock him, to revel in his suffering, amplifying his every breath, every sob, every whispered plea.

Zach pressed his hands to his temples, his nails digging into his scalp as his mind spiraled further. His lips trembled as he choked out a barely audible whisper, his voice quivering with despair.

"Where... am I? What is this... this place? Someone... anyone..."

But the void offered no answers. 

No solace.

The blackened earth beneath him felt colder now, as if it were leeching the very warmth from his body. The white sky above, blinding and endless, felt like it was closing in, pressing down on him with an unrelenting force.

Zach lay there, broken and trembling, his claymore lying beside him, forgotten. His chest heaved with shallow, uneven breaths as his tears soaked into the blackened soil.

He was alone.

Utterly and completely alone.

Zach's trembling form lay motionless on the jagged, blackened soil as the oppressive silence continued to weigh down on him. 

Then, from somewhere above, the silence was broken.

The soft, rhythmic beating of wings.

Zach's tear-streaked face tilted upwards, his bleary eyes locking onto the sky. 

Against the stark white expanse, a dark, shifting mass moved—a murder of crows, their black feathers gleaming faintly in the eerie light of the pale moon. 

They swirled and twisted in synchronized chaos, their cawing echoing through the unnerving stillness of the dimension.

Zach's breathing hitched, his brow furrowing in confusion as he stared at the birds. 

"Hu—huh?!"

For a moment, the sight of their motion cut through the suffocating stillness around him, drawing his focus. They flew in a steady direction, their formation like an arrow pointing him forward.

Without fully understanding why, Zach stumbled to his feet, his body trembling as he gripped his claymore tightly. His legs felt weak, his muscles aching as though he were walking through thick tar, but he pushed forward, following the flight of the crows.

The terrain beneath him was uneven, the jagged black soil cutting into the soles of his boots. The lifeless trees grew denser, their skeletal branches clawing at the sky, and the air around him grew colder with every step.

"Crows?"

The crows cawed louder as Zach pushed past a cluster of gnarled trunks. And then he saw it.

A battlefield.

Scattered across the blackened earth were the corpses of Drakonium soldiers—the very combatants they had fought earlier. 

Their lifeless bodies were twisted and broken, their armor dented and splintered as though they had been crushed by an impossible force. Blood, dark and viscous, pooled around their remains, soaking into the unforgiving soil.

The stench of decay hung thick in the air, a vile blend of rotting flesh and metallic tang that clawed at Zach's throat with every breath.

The crows had descended, feasting with wild abandon. Their sharp beaks tore into the flesh of the dead, ripping chunks from arms, necks, and exposed torsos. Some crows dug into the sunken eye sockets, their beaks piercing with sickening precision as they plucked out gelatinous remnants. Others perched on split-open mouths, pecking and tearing at swollen, discolored tongues, which dangled grotesquely before being devoured.

"Ah!"

A crow hopped onto a soldier's groin, its talons digging into the decaying fabric. With a flurry of feathers, it began to tear at the soft flesh beneath, pulling free dark, rancid innards. Another bird clawed at the soldier's cheek, stripping away the skin until the pale bone of the jaw was exposed.

"AH!"

One particularly large crow perched atop a dented helmet, its talons scraping against the metal as it pecked relentlessly at the hollowed-out skull beneath. The crunching of brittle bone mixed with the wet, sloshing sounds of sinew being ripped apart.

Zach froze, his stomach lurching violently at the grotesque tableau. The coppery, nauseating stench of blood and viscera coated his tongue, making him gag.

His breath quickened, and his vision blurred as overwhelming emotions surged through him—horror, nausea, and the helplessness of being trapped in this nightmarish world.

His hands began to shake uncontrollably. His grip on his claymore slackened, and the blade clattered to the ground.

"A—AAHHHH!!"

The crows barely noticed his outburst, continuing their grotesque feast with savage determination. The wet crunch of flesh, the harsh caws, and the unrelenting stench of death merged into a cacophony that threatened to drown Zach entirely.

The atmosphere of this horrific world intensified around him. 

The pale light of the moon seemed to grow brighter, searing his eyes, while the shadows of the trees stretched unnaturally toward him, as if alive. The caws of the crows distorted into something unnatural, their cries echoing in his mind like a maddening cacophony.

And then it began.

A sharp pain shot through Zach's head, and he let out a guttural scream, clutching his skull as he stumbled backward.

Blood.

It poured from his eyes, his nose, his ears, and his mouth in thick streams, staining his tunic and the soil beneath him. The flow was relentless, warm and sickening as it ran down his skin.

Zach dropped to his knees, his hands clawing at his body. His flesh felt alien—numb yet itching with an unbearable intensity. His nails tore at his arms, leaving raw, bloody streaks as he scratched desperately, his movements frantic and uncoordinated.

He screamed, his voice breaking as he doubled over, his body wracked with violent spasms.

"No! No! What's—what's happening to me?!" 

The emotions came in relentless waves, each one more overpowering than the last.

He cried, his sobs choking him as tears mixed with the blood streaming from his face. He roared in anger, his fists pounding against the ground as his frustration consumed him. He gagged and vomited violently, the acrid taste of bile filling his mouth. He whimpered in despair, curling into himself as hopelessness seeped into his very bones.

The crows continued their feast, indifferent to his suffering, their shadows flitting across his convulsing form.

The world itself seemed to mock him. 

Zach's voice was hoarse now, his cries reduced to whispers as his strength ebbed away. He lay on the ground, shivering, his blood pooling around him.

And then, cutting through the madness like a knife through flesh, a voice called out.

"Zach. That's your name, right?"

The voice was calm, steady—a sharp contrast to the chaos consuming him.

Zach's bloodshot eyes snapped open, his head jerking upward as he searched for the source.

"You can't be feeling like this now. You're the pride and leader of the Renaissance Band. We need to find the others and regroup. Wherever we are, this isn't humane. This is hell. The deepest depths of hell."

The figure emerged from the shadows, stepping into the pale light. 

Tina

It was Tina. 

Her undead form was eerily calm, her eyes devoid of fear as she gazed down at Zach's trembling figure.

Zach blinked, his vision swimming as he struggled to focus.

"T-Tina?!" 

Tina approached him slowly, her steps deliberate. She crouched down beside him, her cold, pale hands reaching out to steady his trembling shoulders.

She said softly. Her voice carried a soothing weight, like a balm against his frayed nerves.

"Yes, Zach. It's me."

Zach's body convulsed again, another scream tearing from his throat as the blood continued to pour from his eyes, nose, and mouth.

He cried, his voice breaking as he clawed at his body.

"What's happening to me?! Ahhh! Argghh! I can't stop it!" 

Tina's gaze softened, and she knelt further, bringing her face level with his. Gently, she cupped his bloodied cheeks with both hands, her touch cold but grounding.

"Shhh... shhh. It's going to be all right," she whispered, her voice steady and unwavering. 

"You're not alone, Zach. I'm here."

With a gentle tug, she pulled him closer, pressing his head against her chest.

Zach's muffled sobs rumbled against her, his body shaking as the overwhelming tide of emotions began to ebb. The bleeding from his eyes and other orifices slowed, then stopped entirely, the warmth of Tina's presence anchoring him.

Tina ran her fingers through his disheveled hair, her voice a soothing hum as she repeated.

"It will be fine. I am here."

Minutes passed, the suffocating tension around them easing slightly as Zach's breathing steadied.

Finally, Tina pulled back slightly, her hands still resting on his cheeks as she looked into his weary, tear-streaked eyes.

She asked, her voice gentle.

"Are you okay now?" 

Zach took a deep, shuddering breath. His body felt weak, his limbs trembling, but the storm within him had calmed.

He said hoarsely.

"Somehow... I think I am. Why did you do that just now?"

Tina tilted her head slightly, her gaze softening as a wistful look crossed her face. 

She said quietly, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

"Mother's instinct. It's... something I used to do, back when I was alive. Whenever Aina cried—whether she'd skinned her knee or woken up from a nightmare—I'd hold her just like this. I'd tell her it would all be okay, even if I wasn't sure of it myself."

Her voice softened further, the cold edges of her undead presence momentarily melting away.

"She'd cry so hard sometimes, you know? She'd wail like the world was ending. But I learned that all she really needed was to feel safe. To feel... like someone was there for her. I guess... some things just don't leave you, even after death."

She looked back into Zach's weary eyes. 

"I suppose it's still a part of me. Maybe the best part of me. Even in this... state, I'll always be her mother. And in moments like this, I can still remember what it felt like to be alive."

Zach's lips trembled into a faint, grateful smile, his voice soft. 

Tina smiled faintly, helping Zach to his feet.

She said.

"We'll get through this."

Zach nodded, his grip tightening on Tina's hand as he steadied himself. 

═════ ◆ TO BE CONTINUED ◆ ═════