“No no no.. Do not look beyond the realm of the gods.. Do not look to the void.. The void is not empty.. It is not.. It must not be seen. For like the abyss… it stares back.. But unlike it.. The void… The void is many..”

Scriptures of the Damned; The Void that must not be seen

To the many denizens of Jasolem, from the humans to even the goblinoids, this land was ancient. To many it was called the forest of beginnings, said to be the first patch of earth to bear life. In many ways this was truth, as even the Elves who originated from their so called ‘Tree of Life’, they themselves could not remember a time without this large swathe of forest. This large land was directly below the area known as ‘Lonely Frost’, only separated by it due to the unnatural nature of the land and the mountains that acted as a natural wall.

Despite this, the outside world clearly knew barely anything about this land. None had enough knowledge to aptly deduce what this ancient forest was, except for the fact it was the oldest forest in the world, much more than the forest the Elves originated from. And as such, with its age, came beings as ancient as the Old Dragons where. Said to have come not from the will of the Gods, but purely out of the womb of the world itself.

These beings, since the dawn of the sapient beings made by the Gods, had barely changed in the millennia they had existed. Some of these creatures, though old and unchanged, are deadly in their own right. As a majority of them were prized by the people outside of the forest, often making a single individual rich just for a single carcass of a docile creature from the forest. Due to this, there had been many attempts at capturing some of the creatures of the forest, most were denied by the guardian race of the forest.

They were called ‘Ancients’, as it was a fitting name. These Ancients denied most attempts, but some they allowed, for these attempts focused on the subjugation of a particularly dangerous beast. All in the name of saving someone, something or to create a weapon that may serve the prophesied heroes centuries later. Most of these attempts succeeded, while some failed horribly. Either due to gross underestimation of the beast, or through treachery.

One such failure, rested on where a forlorn hero of the Lonely Frost died. His name had faded in time, even the tribe he came was forgotten, but a fact remained that this failure was when the Ivory Concord was first established.

The legend of the failure was told many times, each re-telling growing more extravagant and grand. Masking the grand betrayal that it was. And yet, there is still a single reminder of that tragedy. What it was, only hushed tales was heard, and the ‘Ancients’ themselves say that there lays a malevolent thing within. Whatever it was, some say that it is the Revenant of an adventurer, betrayed by his party. Another speaks of a grand a warrior, sacrificing himself to damnation so that the evil beast he had slain would be at rest for eternity.

-

Abruptly he slowed down, the gentle sound his scything-blades effortlessly echoing out, until they stopped altogether. His face, still bloodied from the feast he had partaken in mere minutes ago, looked confused. His eyes blinked rapidly as a strange sensation overcame him. It caused him to begin twitching as this sensation spread all over his body, as if dozens of worms writhed within him.

It felt utterly strange, with it making him feel a mixture of disgust and curiosity. Similar to what he felt then after he devoured that deer, it felt as if this was right. A natural thing that his body was going through, which he would have believed if the sensation of writhing worms wasn’t so vivid. It was a feeling of change, a disturbing change akin to those writhing worms eating his flesh within, but with him unable to actually feel pain from it.

“What the fuck… Shit.. Oh no no no..”

Assuming for the worse to occur, Benedict would feel a surge of fear crawl into his mind. Thoughts of actually being a host for some parasitic entity clawing their way into his mind, followed by the despair that he was most likely going to die. But it was overruled by that feeling of rightness, pushed away so quickly as if his own emotions were being toyed by a parasite. For some inexplicable reason he could not grasp, he chose to trust this feeling.

‘No parasite controls me.. This is… simply a chance gift..’

The writhing that he felt soon settled, but leaving the sensation of his flesh trying to settle around his body. Attempting to shift and create something utterly new, which was more intense on his chest. Where he could feel something wrong within his chest cavity. This wrongness intensified when he felt his breath slow, the beating of his heart growing faster as his lungs struggled to function. With his organs being forcibly changed by a force that shouldn’t be possible.

‘“Ahhh...h….”

Wheezing out, he nearly fell to his hands if not for his scything-blades. This moment stretched on for what seemed to be twenty-minutes for him. With his senses growing keen as he struggled to even live at that point. His reprieve would come in the form of the writhing return, with his breath being returned as he felt those worm-like movements crawl underneath his flesh. He could feel them moving further in, moving up towards his skull.

Without even letting him voice his reaction to this, or even think of something witty, a jolt would hit him. Causing him to twitch again, Benedict held his head then, feeling the worm-like things clawing their way slowly up into his head. The sensation of those worm-like things was so vivid, that the very horrific experienced probed to be a peculiar event that he strangely enjoyed.

Then he felt them disappear. When they seemed to have finally reached his throat and was about to go further up. They disappeared, as if they weren’t invasive parasitic worms but something else entirely. He could not contemplate what they were, or even make a guess as to what it was as he noticed a peculiar development.

“What in the nine hells..”

Before him he saw an ominous arching of trees. Forming something oddly similar to a multitude of Tori, but not crafted by the hands of some sapient thing, but something that by sheer chance, had formed naturally. This area was not lit by anything, unlike the path behind him which was lit by the luminescent plants that hanged from the branches.

There were sconces on the sides of the Tori like trees. Obviously for some sort of torch or candle, but centuries of neglect seemed to have rendered these sconces empty and rusting. But the placements of these natural Tori, or archways if one would look at them differently, was directly leading towards the light he was heading to.

It was a foreboding sight, as along the path the Tori had formed, there were small obelisks near their base. Like the ones he saw in that clearing, they had those strange letters covering them. But unlike their larger variations, the letters were written vertically directly going down. It reminded him of warning signs from his own world, with this one being blatantly obvious as the letters glowed red.

But their glow was dim, as if it was ancient. That was a sign one should turn back, but for Benedict he felt curious about them. For regardless of how wary he was of this world, and how paranoid he could get ever since he had been brought here, there was a single constant within his mind. A deep rooted curiosity of the unknown, the desire to explore and know whatever may catch his eye.

And so he tried to straighten his posture, only to slouch again as his scything-blades started to move alongside his legs. Unbeknownst to him, his body had already began to rapidly change. The first sign being the strange writhing of what he assumed to worms, followed by the strange shift in the organs within his chest. This in his old world, would not be possible as a mutation or adaptation would take decades, or even millennia to properly achieve.

Even then some of these mutations or adaptations are barely notable, and are more of than not, simple additions to the individual. But to Benedict, his change was one that defied the laws set in stone in his world, with his flesh being changed underneath the armor he wore. But it was also strangely based around necessity, with his scything-blades one such mutation from his normal form.

What would be obvious to him in the future, was that his body was stronger. With his bones and muscles slowly being altered to support a much more feral approach to his body. One which was focused on being an apex to the already adapted human genome.

What he felt on his chest, was a rearrangement of the organs already present within. His sense of pain was dulled, with his tolerance for it slowly being raised alongside with it. This facilitated the growth an additional organ, a second heart in which to pump more blood to his body. At the moment the necessity of such a growth was not readily seen, as his body was still humanoid and normal.

But it was obvious that his change was still beginning, and with him not noticing it at all, his flesh was slowly changing too, which had allowed him to lift that beast and slam it down. Anything too radical in his change would not be obvious, not with him still wearing his armor. It was a peculiar thing that he wasn’t too worried about the obvious signs of him changing, which could be explained with his own brain being changed too.

Completely oblivious of that, he walked ever forward. Not necessarily walking without a care, but simply keeping his thoughts as positive as he could make them. A hand would be brought to caress his throat, armored fingers gently touching the bare flesh before moving up to touch the side of his head. His thoughts were that of gentle assumptions, in that what he felt was only some sort of change.

And that whatever change he was undergoing would not warrant a rash reaction. In that thought he would find a little bit of solace, as he assumed too that his change would not radically turn him into a horrific mutant, or much more horrific than he already is. As he, even though being one for games that allowed an individual to play as something other than a human, prefered to keep his humanity.

But a part of him also was happy about this growing inhumanity of his. Feeling that it was awesome in a way, with it being a way to fulfill the many fantasies he had. One of which involved bloodshed, of letting loose and not have any sort of accountability for any of his actions at all. This world offered that, and he realized then that perhaps that is why the others so readily accepted their situation, even when it had just been days after their summoning.

He nodded to that, as it was an acceptable thing seeing it under this context. But he could not allow himself to accept that, as the way he was raised dictated that he must not let himself fall to his desires. Even when he wanted to do so. And more than ever he needed discipline, as without it he would find himself getting cursed or killed by simply letting his desires take hold.

However, the chance of looting something rather useful, was well worth the risks involved. As he had no idea how currency even worked in the other regions of this world. It was painfully obvious that there were other cities aside from those in the Lonely Frost, and this area he was in may perhaps be a private site. With that possibility, he would be thrown in prison should the locals find his presence undesirable, and summarily executed soon after.

Him following the obviously ‘unnatural’ Tori would possibly lead to that, as it was clear that this would not have existed naturally. It may be the entrance to some village, city, monastery even. It held so many possibilities that it outweighed the dangers it could give.

‘Better than having to sleep in.. this place.’

His eyes would then see something strange, even when the area he was walking upon was already strange. Snow, that was what he saw. Snow alone could not be strange, as he had already seen them for the first time on the city of Isalabi. But it was strange now as it completely covered the path before him, with patches of the earth looking as if they had been frozen for quite some time now.

It was evident then that something was wrong, as he passed by another of the Tori before the following to become something else, stone archways with sconces filled with still burning torches. Alongside faded signs of battle upon their surface, where the markings of swords, claws and magic could still be seen.

Though there was no signs of footsteps in the path he was taking. Further away, past several of the archways was a clearing of snow. Where a strange blizzard was brewing, contained within and not pushing towards him. As if something was being kept within.

A person from this world, would have done two things when presented with this. Either to turn around and completely assume that there is nothing of import in that area, or to approach that clearing armed to the teeth in hopes of defeating whatever was within.

Benedict was no local, and his thoughts on such a sight was rather simple.

‘That is obviously something akin to a boss battle..’

With that, he continued to walk towards the clearing. Heedless of the fact that it may in fact contain some great beast. But deep within, as one who had played numerous RPGs in his life, he couldn’t truly turn back. As he felt the need to prove himself against whatever was within that blizzard. Still he would try to quell that sudden desire, as it would lead to something horrible.

He was unprepared to fight anything within that blizzard. So he would try to turn around, but as he did so something shocking would happen then as he looked behind him.

“What the fuck-”

The path he took, underneath all that Tori, had lengthened. Quite literally spreading out to infinity without end.

“Magic… Yes. It has to be Magic.”

Facing forward he blinked his eyes in surprise, as he now stood before the clearing. There was no clear indication that he was moved by any force, and when he turned around he could see the same. But now with the stone archways stretching on.

He had inevitably dragged himself forward, as it was obvious that the small obelisks he saw was a glaring warning. A warning he should have heeded. All he could do now was to walk forward, and walked he did. But with the first step he took after such a bizarre occurrence, the sound of his leather boots hitting something hard reached his ears.

“What now..”

He grumbled, though before he could be displeased, he found something that instantly made him open his mouth in shock.

“A shield!”

He exclaimed, quickly taking a step backwards as his scything-blades lifted themselves and placed themselves further, allowing him to crouch down and see the shield. The shield which was covered in snow was barely noticeable. But quickly his armored hands would begin moving the snow that covered it, trying to find an edge to lift it up. As he did so, he could see some of the designs on the shield, surprisingly looking new and unfaded.

He could partially see upon its metal surface, something akin to nordic designs. With it surrounding what seems to be a dragon. They were engraved to its surface, colored with melted bronze that gave the design a grand finish. The designs that surrounded the dragon was a mix of flowing lines, and small detailed serpents chasing something.

“Bakunawa…”

He uttered that when he pulled the shield free from the snow. Revealing that it was a flat-topped kite shield, far larger than him that it was like a great-shield. With it being freed from the snow, the design of a dragon he saw was further revealed, showing that it was in actuality something else.

“Bakunawa.. Have mercy.. Have mercy, please.. Return our moon.”

That saying followed his words, for what he saw upon the shield was a large serpentine creature. A leviathan of sorts, with its maw wide open around a large circular thing. It was akin to a sea-serpent, but with rough fins on its neck and with it having six eyes. On its left side there was large wing, whilst below near the end of its body was a far smaller wing to the right.There was only one thing from his world that resembled this, and it was Bakunawa.

“Moon eater..”

Bakunawa, father of serpents, the old snake of Bathala, eater of the seven moons. His existence among the Filipinos was obscure at best, as he was primarily known to the people of Visayas and Mindanao. He had read about this peculiar entity, a grand leviathan that was said to have eaten seven of the eight moons the Earth used to have.

There were other versions of him, ranging from Minokawa a gigantic bird to Buwaya or Nono, which was an alligator of sorts from what he could remember. But this depiction of a dragon serpent, was not Bakunawa. That he was sure of, he only resembled the grand Moon Eater. And the Moon Eater did not have six eyes. This had to be a god of this world, or a monster of sorts.

This was made more evident when below the depiction of this creature, was massive amounts of tentacles sprouting out from some sort of abyss. Following the large creature and intertwining with the nordic designs on the shield.

His head swam then, with the sensation of writhing worms suddenly returning.

Dream of me, dream of me, my apex, my apex.. Test yourself.

A strange voice came next, drilling into his mind, sang out in a chant by dozens of voices. Varying in tempo, but with one strong voice following behind. Speaking the English words in a slow, unnatural voice akin to the rumbling of volcanoes.

The writhing of worms ended, with blood starting to drip from his eyes. There was no pain, but he felt particularly strange after that strange voice spoke. He shook his head after that strangeness of a feeling left him, he was sure he had hear that. It was familiar, as if it was once heard by him. But he could not recall where or when he had heard of it.

He flipped the kite-shield then, finding that it had an enarmes for his arm, two straps that would keep it in place even when he would relax it. It was a particularly good find, a useful defensive tool for him, as the shield itself seemed to be entirely made of metal. A particularly light one he would note as he placed his left arm into the enarmes, finding that it was just about the right size to hold tightly upon his forearm.

“Test myself.. Test myself for what?”

He uttered that as he stood up, not noticing that what dripped from his eyes moments ago was actually blood. He would delve deeper into assumptions soon after this he thought, for what was that voice and why did it occur just after that writhing sensation?

And did it trigger in reaction to his assurance that the depiction on the shield, was in no way Bakunawa? No matter the answer, it could wait. As he stood up, feeling the weight of the kite-shield as he raised it to defend his chest. It was large enough that he could use it entirely as a bashing weapon, with the material that was used in it construction largely helping with that.

Before him was the large snowy clearing. Circular and surrounded by both the towering trees of this forest, and strange trees that should only be found on the lonesome north. The blizzard was strong, as the cold would send chills down his skin as it blew cold winds towards him. He could not see pass the blizzard, but there was a vague silhouette of a standing individual within it, completely still as if it was a statue.

If he had learned anything from video-games and various fictional things, is that this was not a statue. And that this could aptly be lumped down to a bossfight. One which he was ill prepared for. But pushing that thought aside, against better judgment Benedict resolved himself in taking that thing down.

As it was obvious that he could not turn back without killing it, or finding the cause of that strange phenomena. Which he assumed to be the creature within, or something that it carried.

He briefly looked down on the shield he carried, wondering if the creature within owned it. Technically he was stealing it, or looting it rather, but after this, he was quite confident that it would soon be classified as ‘looting’.

“This it Benedict.. Your first actual fight! Or.. second one rather. With a higher chance of dying rather than being humiliated by some.. Posh fucking blond white guy..”

He gritted his teeth as he remembered the first battle he had. It was a spar, but the way Damien fought against him made it a battle. A battle which he lost, as Damien showed a natural skill with the blade, compared to his clumsy attempts at wielding a sword. He was humiliated soon after his lost, which had tarnished his perceived honor.

“I either die now. Or I win.. Loot that thing, and then get out of here..”

Mustering the courage that was within all of humanity, Benedict moved forward, raising the shield properly as he was thought by Aniara, to protect his torso. His scything-blades lifting up to rest on his shoulders, with the third segment being raised up alongside the blade in preparation for battle. It was strange that they seem to react to the situation naturally, with him influencing them with unconscious thoughts. He had to find more ways to use them, as they would be with him for a long time.

He took his steps into the snow covered clearing, into the blizzard that hid the figure. First he felt cold, a chilling cold like none other. What little clothing he had underneath his armor doing no good at all, making him shiver and chatter his teeth in regret. But he pushed on still, towards the silhouette of the figure, not making any attempts to even take on a stealthier approach, as the snow muffled his steps.

‘Fuck... I need a fur-cloak.. I should have gotten one..’

Each step that brought him ever closer to the silhouette, he could hear a voice. A rasping voice that bear a power, which refused to let go of something. The voice grew louder, and he could hear wheezing alongside it. Yet it spoke in a language he did not know, but could clearly hear it.

[I… I have given… everything…]

It was of despair mixed with anger, an anger towards a betrayal of sorts. That he could deduce, it came from something human, and as he grew ever closer it became more obvious.

[Left me to… die.. Gaagh… Why.. I have.. Saved the North..]

He would pass the blizzard then, with the entire feeling of utter cold disappearing quickly. And his sight being obscured by nothing, letting him see the source of the voice.

[Traitorous… Traitorous.. Elves…]

First of what he saw was a large dead body, that of an obvious dragon. Preserved thanks to the unnatural frost that had seemingly surround this particularly clearing, it was so large that he could only see its front, with it seemingly curling and the rest of its body obscured by the blizzard that raged around them. It resembled a Frost Wyrm, with its scales being a darker white due to its death. Dried blood covered its neck and head, with large gaping wounds caused by some weapon scattered throughout its body.

[I.. killed it.. Killed the vile Dragon.. I deserveth.. Glory… peace…For her..]

Then standing near it, near its head, was a large warrior. It was a grand thing to behold, as it resembled a mixture of both ancient viking warriors and fantasy knights molded into one. It was not heavily armored, nor was it only wearing the most utilitarian of wears, but it wore items that one could truly associate with the ‘adventurer’ classification.

It was grand in the sense that it was a true warrior, not any sort of warrior that wore extravagant apparel or unnecessary ornamentations, but one geared solely for battle alone. Benedict was in awe as he stood witness to this warrior. As it turned its head, revealing that it wore a dull gun-metal grey barbute, with horns protruding out from the sides near its forehead.

It had a fine but worn down fur-cloak around its body, covering the majority of its body and giving it an air of mystery. But when he saw Benedict, the warrior shifted its posture as it moved its cloak with a single arm, revealing it to be holding a particularly ornate two-headed axe. The entire length of it, save for the blades of the axe itself, had obvious tentacle designs wrapping around it, with the upper portion near the beginning of the blades had the same leviathan curling around it, with its head resting itself on the very tip with a cracked gem on its mouth.

[...Hnn...Another?... No..No.. An aspirant?]

Benedict could hear it speak, but he could not understand or even comprehend the language it used. It was a rough but flowing language, with a huge focus on ‘bleeding’ the emotion of the speaker into the word itself. It allowed him to at least partially deduce the feeling of the warrior.

[I… see.. I have been.. Restless.. Human.. Twisted human? Nonetheless.. Aspirant..]

Benedict tensed then as he saw the warrior shift its posture, pointing its axe towards him as his eyes stared at him. This allowed him to see the face of the warrior properly, which showed him something he did not really expect.

‘An undead… viking?’

It was undead, but not in the way one might expect. It was no skeletal or mummified warrior, but rather a spirit inhabiting the armor it once wore in life. He could discern a human face despite the ethereal nature of the warrior, finding that in life the man used to be a particularly young warrior. Grizzled through untold battles and scarred either ritually or through those very battles he had participated.

His ghostly eyes glowed red, making Benedict narrow his eyes as he expects this battle to be quite hard.

[Bearer of my shield.. Aspirant to my.. Legacy. Prove yourself.]

With that, the ghostly warrior went silent. The rasping of his voice faded and it was replaced with utter silence, save for the roaring blizzard that surrounded them. Then surprisingly, the warrior slashed at the air, before his other arm would be revealed to suddenly slam his fist into its chest. Akin to a ceremonial greeting of sorts.

Benedict unconsciously returned the gesture, by using his scything-blades to slam three times into the snow covered ground before the raised them again. In response the ghostly warrior seemed to smile, before nodding as he took a combat stance. It was a stance that looked strange to Benedict, as it looked like it was supposed to be used with a shield.

With the ghostly warrior slouching slightly, his right arm held back with the axe pointing at him, whilst the left stayed close to its chest, gripping some non-existent shield. Benedict looked down briefly to the shield he now held, and at that brief moment of vulnerability, the ghostly warrior sprang his attack.

Kicking the snow covered ground, the warrior sprinted towards Benedict with surprising speed. Causing a momentary shock of disbelief to take hold of Benedict, which allowed the warrior to purposely slam its axe against his shield. This sent a loud clang to ring out in the area, even ringing out much more than the blizzard that roared around them.

‘Holy shit-’

He thought as his left arm felt utterly numb from the impact. Without letting him react, the warrior slammed his fist into Benedict’s armored side. The sound of metal crumpling from the hit reached his ears, followed by a stinging pain soon after. Quickly retaliating, Benedict brought down both of his scything-blades towards the warrior while he was close.

But to his dismay, the warrior grabbed his right scything-blade while his axe was brought up to deflect the other blade. He forcefully flicked the hand that held one of his scything-blades as the other quickly intercepted an incoming strike from the warrior’s axe which was heading for his neck.

[Unrefined.. Savaged.. Young. Amusing..]

Benedict would then use his free scything-blade, as the other was clashing with the warrior’s axe, to strike at its torso, confident that it would hit. But the warrior deftly rushed to the right, completely dodging his strike as he followed it up by backing away, and then bringing about his axe once more to a vertical swing. Benedict met this strike with the shield on his left arm, causing a large clang to ring out with him grunting as he felt the sheer force of the strike.

Unlike the armor around his side, the shield held fairly well against the axe, even causing sparks to fly out as they made contact. He assumed that both items were made from the same metal, as they canceled each other out rather perfectly. This made Benedict grin as he pushed on, taking the offensive role in this deadly dance of theirs.

His scything-blades lashed out, jabbing in quick succession in an attempt to at least land a single strike. It was partly successful, but with the warrior deflecting and blocking most of it, his strikes did not hit any vitals. Though with his enemy being undead, he was trying to hit any sort of part he could get to. With his strikes hitting the shoulders.

This wasn’t good enough for Benedict, as he soon was brought to the brink of a berserk rage as the warrior began to laugh. His attacks were not showing any sort of effect, side from clearly causing the warrior to laugh at his feeble attempts. It reminded him of his duel with damien, at how helpless he was, and how his ego was back up by nothing more than delusional beliefs.

Compared to Damien, a chosen of the Gods of Light, his ego was backed up by strength and natural skills. Benedict could not deny that he was jealous of him, to the point that he had began to avoid any attempts at even attending the lessons given by Aniara and the other trainers. That brief memory caused anger to rapidly well up within him, and it egged him on to push himself further.

Like a beast fighting against a well trained hunter, Benedict would parry an incoming blow from the warrior, with his scything-blades darting out to target the warrior’s right shoulder and belly in quick succession. But again the warrior dealt with it, using his obvious undead nature to his advantage. His strikes were allowed to hit, and it dug dip, surprisingly piercing through the armor of the warrior.

It would have brought a smile to Benedict’s face, but he had an inkling that the warrior wanted this. And so before the warrior could even do anything else in response, Benedict would kick the warrior away. With his kick pushing the warrior further away than what his body would allow. He had no time to gawk at the sight, as the warrior who was kicked away continued to chuckle, wobbling a bit before charging at him again.

With his axed raised, the warrior held it with two hands now, bringing his axe in well timed flourishes that Benedict clumsily met with his scything-blades. He was trying to gain any sort of advantage, but the ghostly nature of the warrior did not allow him to gain any at all. But he had a slight hope, that this warrior was possessing the armor that he once wore in life, and if he could damage it further, it may be his key to victory.

Of course, the warrior could be a wraith of sorts, and his armor capable of becoming ethereal like the body it protects. Either way he had decided to keep fighting, as it was obvious that this was the only way he could get out of here. And for a brief second, it oddly felt like he was fighting a boss battle.

[You need more practice.. Your weapons are.. Reacting solely on instinct..]

Ignoring the rasping voice of the warrior, Benedict resorted to another tactic. Which was him charging at the warrior, raising his scything-blades to strike down in a single point. His foe met him head on, charging and preparing himself for a clash.

[Passionate… willful.. Primal.. Show me more!]

The warrior brought his axe to a strike first, swinging it upwards towards where he thought his scything-blades would have surely struck down to hit him square on the face. But no scything blade was there, instead the warrior would look on in amusement as Benedict slammed against him using his shield, This staggered the warrior, but Benedict did not stop with a single shield bash, he did another which pushed the undead back.

Then following it with a surprising punch to the face with his right hand. The warrior looked in disbelief, but Benedict had an irate look on his face, as if the very fight was making him angry. But his lips curled to a smile, one that showed excitement and desire, lust, lust for battle. The warrior grinned then at this, with him bringing his left arm upwards in a strike, hitting nothing at all.

But below Benedict, a pillar of skulls rose up and hit him squarely on the stomach, flinging him away to the blizzard. But instead of passing through it, he hit it as if it was a solid wall. The wind was knocked out of him, and he wheezed out as he started to feel pain, his mutating body not expecting to be tested mere hours after he had began to change.

‘Good God- That.. that fucking HURTS.’

He then hit the ground, with his arms quickly trying to push himself up alongside his scything-blades. The laughter of the ghostly warrior rang out, and he could hear it talking happily. As if his actions, or struggle rather, meant something to the ancient thing.

[You have survived.. Marvelous! Marvelous! Show me more, show me more of your.. Anger!]

Whatever it was saying to him, he could feel that it was mocking him. And unnaturally, he reacted to it with irrational anger, as if the ghost was insulting not only him, but his religion and everything he stood for. Allowing him to grow truly angry, with a rage that matched his past self. This rage coupled with his change, proved to be deadly as he unleashed a guttural roar.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

His mind swam in rage, with his consciousness drifting to a similar state when he was hunting those blind animals. Unlike that time, he was not filled with the desire to devour, or to sate a hunger that was like none other. Right now, he was simply angry, utterly furious towards the undead for that strike which had hit him. He wanted to return the favor tenfold, and his body started to writhe again. Those worm-like sensations coalescing into something he could not see, but could clearly feel.

Strangely enough, he could not move his body. Just when the warrior looked towards him, eyes wide in surprise as if he was seeing something that he could not see. This caused the warrior to smile, to shake in joy as the blizzard around them intensified.

[You have… the gift.]

It spoke again, this time as it walked casually towards him. Before suddenly appearing right before him, smiling happily like a master to its apprentice.

[Oh how I pity you.. My aspirant.. You are cursed and blessed.. Just like me. I see now.. I see..]

Slowly Benedict felt tired, his body going numb in pain as his mind yearned for sleep. He refused to do so, thinking that it was the will of the warrior before him that willed him to sleep, so that he may be killed easily. But right before his eyes, the warrior took off its helm, reverently looking at it before staring at him.

[Take my blessing… Apex.. Take my equipment, take all that I have left.. And ascend. You have passed your test. Let wrath be your song.]

Then unexpectedly, despite the actions of the warrior making no sense at all to Benedict, he placed the helm he held on Benedict’s head. With his axe being placed near his right arm.

[These will help you.. But in exchange.. In exchange… You shall.. Be.. Vengeful.. For me.. Ahaha..]

With that, the blizzard suddenly stopped, with the ghostly warrior backing away into the halting torrent of snow. He could not understand what just happened, as it did not make any sense at all. But it felt as if he simply need not to think deeply into it, and simply himself to sleep. Which he did not allow himself to succumb to.

“This.. has to be a stupid trap.. This helm is cursed alongside its.. Axe.. must.. Get rid of them..”

Though even he said that, his body refused to cooperate. With voices starting to flood his ears once more, he blinked his eyes several times as he noticed his surroundings to have changed. Or rather the way he was facing had changed, and he saw the stone archways and the path of Tori, this time not stretching to infinity.

But a group was running towards him, they looked human from afar, and he smiled at that. But when they got close enough, he saw their horns and he quickly assumed for the worse. As when they had reached him, passing by the path of Tori and archways, they had a look of horror to them. One of them in particular simply looked tearfully at him, a brown-skinned female, one that could be called beautiful with her exotic features.

But to Benedict, she and the people around her looked like entities that would kill him. As his mind in this moment was slowly falling to the clutches of sleep, and right before he had surrendered himself to it, he saw the female rush towards him with an elderly man following close behind.

[By the Ancestors.. W-What has happened to him Elder?]

With her voice ringing out, he fell to a dreamless sleep.

-

They looked at the body of the human. The gathered individuals had mixed reactions to what they were seeing. This creature before them clearly looked human, that was fact they could not refute. But many races in Jasolem looked like humans but were not related to them at all. But he had this unmistakable aura about him, but much more focused on a simple will to survive.

This wouldn’t warrant the reactions they were having, but the human before them was clearly different. As he had two strange spider-like limbs protruding out of his back, ending in a cruel scythe of bone that was constantly infused with magic, most likely without the knowledge of its owner. But there was another feature alongside those two spider-like limbs that marked him as a different thing, one being the helmet he wore, and the shield alongside the axe that came with it.

“Elder.. Could it.. Could it be?”

Salia, among the gathered individuals spoke as she knelt next to the sleeping boy. Her hands trembled as she caressed the horns on the barbute helm he wore, which caused a crackle of malevolent energy to burst out and dance around her fingers, but without harming her at all. The others, people who are part of the Choir, individuals who excelled in directing the beasts and plants of their ancient home with voice alone, gasped in disbelief.

The Elder, standing directly next to Salia had a frown on his face. As if this was not supposed to be the case. Staying silent for a minute, he looked to the clearing just beyond the body of the sleeping boy, grimacing at what he saw.

“Yes, it is… The Forlorn Guardian has been succeeded.. Fate’s tapestry cannot be unwoven anymore..It has begun.”

The frozen corpse of a helmless warrior without his weapons, and the ravaged body of a grand dragon, he saw those. As it was to be expected, but there was an addition to them, which was just before him. The boy. The boy who wore the helm of the Forlorn Guardian, carrying both its axe and shield.

And at that, he smiled.