I wake in silence. No warmth, no comfort—just breath in cold air and a dull throb where humanity used to live.
The memories are sharper than any knife.
Faces. Screams. The moment Ais was taken.
They slice into me again and again, and I let them.
Pain reminds me I'm still alive.
I stand, hollow.
Not broken—honed.
"Don't worry, Ais…"
My voice is void. A mockery of who I once was.
"I'll find you."
The town is a corpse—quiet, rotting, devoured from the inside.
I wander it like a phantom. A mourner. A predator.
Then I remember—the pendant.
I retrieve it.
Its edges are scorched, yet the metal thrums like a heartbeat.
Smoke coils from it—black as the fog, thick as regret.
"Live," I whisper.
Nothing.
"Summon."
Dead silence.
I clench my teeth.
"RISE!"
The world answers.
The ground shifts. The corpses respond.
Smoke bleeds from their mouths, their wounds. They convulse, surrendering.
It twists, dances, obeys—until it drops a second pendant at my feet.
A mask—different this time. More violent in design. Less forgiving.
I start to laugh.
It's not joy. Not madness. It's something else.
"Is this a gift… or a curse?"
Hours pass—rituals, commands, failure.
Nothing works. In fury, I slam the pendant into the dirt.
Crack.
It begins.
Smoke spills like venom, forming something… alive. Wrong. Bound.
A being born of death. I don't name it.
Not yet.
"Finally," I whisper. "It listened."
The first pendant remains still. Incomplete.
I gather supplies. Steal from the empty.
Then I leave the town behind.
Whatever part of me belonged there… died with the others.
"Staying here is a slow death. I need answers."
Hours pass. Hunger builds. I stagger.
Then—movement.
A bandit camp. Makeshift. Loud. Laughing.
I crouch behind a bush. Listening.
"What a raid!" one bellows.
"Shame we had to kill 'em all. That farm girl... she would've made a perfect toy."
The world narrows. My vision bleeds red.
The pendant burns in my hand.
I crush it.
Smoke surges. The creature—The Trapper—emerges.
A hulking figure wreathed in decay and rusted steel.
He doesn't speak. He doesn't need to.
"Kill them all. Leave one."
He nods. Obeys.
I hear it—the clink of traps snapping shut, followed by screams.
It's not a fight. It's a slaughter.
Seconds pass. Then silence.
Only one bandit remains—caught in a bear trap, leg shattered.
He whimpers as I approach. Sees my face and freezes.
"You! I saw them kill you! They stabbed you—dead center! You were gone!"
I stare through him.
"Trapper, lift him."
He's hoisted like a sack of meat. Blood drips down his leg.
"Where are the others?"
"W-what others?!"
Wrong.
Trapper conjures a trap and slams it onto his shoulder.
CRUNCH.
His scream echoes into the woods.
"ALRIGHT! OTHER SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN! PLEASE—"
"Hold him."
I return to the center of the camp.
The second pendant—it pulses. Whispers. Craves use.
"Rise."
Smoke swirls around it. The missing pieces mend.
I smile—and shatter it.
The smoke slithers upward, forming a tall, skeletal figure.
It carries a warped bell, metal screeching with each movement.
"What's your power?"
It answers not with words—but with chimes.
One. Two. Three.
It fades from sight.
"Wraith," I whisper. "You'll do."
Behind me, the bandit trembles.
"You… you're a demon! You made them from us! You twisted their souls!"
I turn to Wraith.
"Scout the mountain. Report back."
He vanishes.
The bandit stares at me, wide-eyed, shaking.
"Who hired you?" I ask.
"A-Ares! The god Ares!"
"Why?"
"He said the others don't acknowledge him anymore! He wants… reputation. Fame through fire! Through death!"
I nod.
Not in agreement—but in understanding.
In judgment.
"You killed for vanity.
He slaughtered for relevance.
My entire world… burned for a tantrum."
"Dispose of him."
"NO—NO, WAIT—!"
CRACK.
His head rolls.
Trapper drops the body. Fades back into pendant form.
Wraith returns—hands me a scroll.
Ares' location.
"Good. And the other camp?"
Wraith holds up his weapon—blood-drenched, dripping.
Nothing more needs to be said.
"Take me there. I need their souls."
We walk in silence.
The air is colder. Thicker.
The Fog feels closer now.
Ten? Twelve men at most. Why split up? They would've been stronger together… unless—
We arrive.
The camp is soaked in red.
Limbs. Faces twisted in terror. Not a single survivor.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
"Holy gods…" I whisper.
Then… I laugh.
Not because I'm amused.
Not because I'm victorious.
But because something inside me—something dark, sacred, monstrous—has finally awakened.