The Lord of Veins | Shadow Slave

Zerin's eyes widened at the lizard's defiance as its claws carved deep gashes into the stones beneath it. Relief washed over him as he struggled to fully regain his bearings after the force that had gripped his chest moments before. Together, he and the lizard might just have a chance.

The Entity seethed with fury at the sight of the defiant gaze emanating from the transfigured lizard, its rage palpable as it tore a piece of flesh that was wrapped around its shadowy form, forming a spear. The air was thick with tension, crackling like a storm about to break. But before it could even fully grasp the weapon, the lizard sprang into action. With fierce determination, it leaped at the Entity, latching onto its grotesque flesh and furiously shredding the protective layer that masked its true form beneath.

As this fierce struggle unfolded, Zerin scanned the chaos, heart pounding with urgency. He reached for his staff, the only weapon, the only confidence he had in taking this monster down. He lifted the staff while supporting his side with the other, which ached painfully at his side. Every second felt critical, and yet, as he steadied himself, his hand trembled weakly.

He struggled to get a clear shot at the Entity; the massive lizard completely obstructed his view. The lizard snapped forward fiercely, aiming to crush the Entity's opaque head, now stripped of its fleshly armor. But as its jaws clamped down with unyielding force, they met only emptiness—the Entity's head was completely intangible.

Without warning, a spear of living flesh erupted from its wicked form, piercing through the lizard's defenses. The impact was both brutal and swift, ripping through the creature's body with a sickening force. Accompanying the sounds of flesh being torn apart were guttural groans, punctuated by streams of crimson blood that spilled forth, darkening the pale stone floor beneath them.

Zerin's heart sank as he watched the creatures powerful form be tossed violently aside, crashing into weathered wall, where its stones crumbled over the creature.

Gritting his teeth, he summoned every ounce of energy he could muster and channeled it into the staff. Before the Entity could turn its attention towards him, he swiftly unleashed a powerful blast, the crimson energy zipping through the air.

The beam of energy struck the shadow, penetrating its dark exterior and leaving a gaping hole in its opaque chest. The impact resonated through the air with a violent crack, shaking the foundations of the ancient structure around them. An unearthly bellow escaped from the Entity—a sound that mingled pain and bewilderment. It hesitated, frozen in place for a brief moment, caught in the throes of its defeat.

Zerin watched, heart pounding, as the Entity's form began to tremble. The shadowy essence that composed its body shivered violently, and for a heart-stopping second, Zerin thought it might fight back. But then, with a final agonized breath, the Entity sank to the ground, its shape dispersing into a dark mist that evaporated into the air.

As the last remnants of the Fallen demon dissipated, a voice echoed, breaking through the silence like a tolling bell:

[You have slain a Fallen devil, Condemned King of the Lost]

The weight of victory washed over him, mingled with disbelief as he watched the darkness dissipate. He had done it; he had won against the monster, though Zerin narrowly evaded death. Yet, beyond the thrill of achievement, he realized that it had come at a cost.

For unknown reasons, the Priest had transformed into a monster. If this was truly the Priest he knew, Zerin wouldn't have stood a chance in a direct confrontation. Zerin reflected on the Priest's situation and concluded that this was the outcome the Priest had desired—he would rather die than become the monster he had sworn never to be.

Zerin gathered his remaining strength and approached the lizard, slowly, he began to remove the stones. As the final stone tumbled away, he caught his breath, his pulse quickening at the sight before him. The lizard was still alive, its sides rising and falling with labored breaths, but it was clear that it was gravely wounded. Its underbelly was a gruesome sight—gutted and exposed, the entrails spilling forth in a horrific display of violence. Zerin's stomach churned at the sight, bile rising in his throat as he fought against the urge to turn away.

He grasped the needle in his hand. There were only two options: leave it here or show it mercy.

Moments later, he finally rose, his movements slow and deliberate as if each second stretched out. An eerie calmness had settled into his fingertips, betraying none of the turmoil within. As he exhaled, the breath that escaped was shaky, a fragile thread of composure threatening to unravel. Then, a voice broke the silence, sudden and stark, causing his heart to skip and his breath to catch in his throat.

[You have slain an Awakened Transfigured human, Alden.]

The words hung in the air, filling the space around him with an ominous weight. Zerin's breath caught in his throat, his heart plummeting as the realization struck him.

The needle forged from a darkened elongated bone slipped from his fingers, clattering to the ground as he struggled to make sense of it all.

Shortly after, the same voice returned.

[You have received a Memory.]

That voice—it sounded familiar, a haunting echo of something he had come to despise. He hated its indifference, the way it whispered in his ear with a chilling detachment.

In the corners of his mind was the fact that he was not so different from the voice. Two lives have been extinguished, and yet he was only disturbed by the eerie calmness. How could he stand there, unshaken and seemingly fine, as there are so many dead? It was a thought that began to gnaw at him as he stood in silence.

Perhaps this was the origin of self-hatred: failing to meet your own expectations. The fact that he could overcome such harrowing trials with almost no strain on his sanity should have filled him with an overwhelming sense of dread. Instead, he felt only embers of something else. This strange detachment made him view the world in a dim light; he was merely an actor on the grand stage of the world's destruction. Each thought, word, and action seemed to float away in indifference, and deep inside, he felt a painful certainty that he would end up alone in all of this.

Zerin searched through his runes, and as he found what he sought, he read the memory immediately.

Memory: [Curtained Carcass]

Memory Rank: Awakened, Tier II

Memory Description: Alden, a true knight and a brother to the very end, now carries blades sheathed within his own skin.

Memory Enchantments

[Conform] - "Just like a knight in battle, this sheath can conform to any blade."

[Life's Partake] - "Life doesn't cease with death; it transforms."

Summoning the memory, it was a sheath, it bore similar resemblance to the sheathe the lizard would protect as its treasure. Instead, it was entirely crafted from flesh—pulsing, raw, and undeniably alive. The surface glistened, as if coated in a very thin layer of sweat or perhaps a viscous substance that hinted at its organic composition. Striations of muscle and sinew twisted around its form, creating a grotesque pattern that seemed to writhe under the dim light. Noting the way the flesh shimmered in hues of deep crimson, interspersed with patches of sickly yellow and mottled green. Veins pulsed visibly beneath the surface, a network of life coursing through the sheath as if it were a living entity.

Stepping forward, a shadow was casted over Zerin, compelling him to look up. There, framed in the shattered entrance of the dilapidated building, stood Wisteria. The once-vibrant girl burned by the loss of countless lives, her face was a mask, devoid of any trace of despair. The harsh light streaming in behind her of the morning crimson rays casted a stark outline around her figure, highlighting her contour and the deep-set intensity of her gaze. It was as if the devastation they had witnessed had scorched her heart, leaving only a hardened exterior behind.

"The gods could never touch me... They are all dead."

Her declaration rang out with an unsettling cheerfulness that felt jarringly out of place amidst the ruins.

Zerin felt a chill crawl up his spine as the dissonance between her words and the grim atmosphere wrapped around him like a vice. Her tone was foreign, almost unnervingly upbeat. In a moment steeped in chaos, she stood there as if untouched by the carnage, her dress pristine and unblemished, nor a speck of dirt or drop of blood tainting her attire.

Zerin opened his mouth to respond to the myriad questions swirling in his mind, but before he could utter a sound, she spoke.

"But then I realized it wasn't about me. It was about you."

Zerin's eyes darted around, processing the implications of her statement. Confusion washed over him as he struggled to grasp what she meant. A slight smile graced her lips after she spoke, her expression was wrong entirely.

His gaze flickered down to her hands, which were tightly gripping a knife that resembled a sickle, its curved edge reminiscent of a crescent moon. The blade glinted ominously in the light. The was she held it with tenderness, sent another shiver through him.

Without warning, she turned away from him, her silhouette framed by the crumbling doorway as she began to descend the staircase out of view. Zerin felt an urge in his feet to follow. He took careful steps forward.

As he moved cautiously, his eyes were glued to the back of her head. He watched her walk slowly, her hands still clasped behind her back holding the blade.

The serenity of the scene was surreal, the calmness seemed almost mocking in the face of the brutality that transpired.

Zerin followed her at a safe distance, he stepped among the brutalized bodies that littered the ground.

Wisteria ascended to the podium where the statue of the goddess had once stood. The entirety of the statue had been obliterated; its once-majestic form now lodged deep within the temple's ruins.

As she turned back to him, her pigtails swung gracefully through the air. The motion seemed almost whimsical.

"The people, the temple, and the altar are all destroyed."

She said matter-of-factly, her tone devoid of emotion, yet there was a hint of finality in her words.

Once again, a faint smile crept across her lips as she cast her gaze down to the worn podium she stood upon.

"I got greedy... I was a fool to think I could have both."

Her voice let out with a mixture of sadness and acceptance.

"But I am at least somewhat happy that this is the overall outcome."

'Happy?'

The words echoed violently in Zerin's mind, disbelief and anger swirling within him. He longed to shout, but the realization that he felt the same held him back. It was incomprehensible to him that he could feel a strange sense of happiness, regardless of the outcome, as long as she was alive.