Murim's Shadow Monarch

As the first rays of dawn broke through the trees, a man lay sprawled on the cold, damp earth, his face pressed against the ground. Confusion flooded his senses as he slowly stirred, a pounding headache threatening to split his skull in two. "What the hell happened last night?" he groaned, blinking against the harsh light.

The vivid memory of a red portal flashed in his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. "Must have been some weird dream," he muttered, pushing himself up and wincing at the movement. He rubbed his temples, trying to piece together the fragments of his memory. "Was I drinking again? Did I imagine that?"

As he took in his surroundings, the lush forests and jagged mountains seemed foreign yet strangely enchanting. Narrow dirt paths wound through the trees, leading to distant villages with thatched roofs, each scene invoking a deep sense of unease. "Where the hell am I? Let's follow the path for a bit. Maybe it'll lead to a main road... hopefully to a city. I'm craving some Starbucks right now."

He took a hesitant step forward, the pounding in his head fading slightly with the movement. But as he walked along the path, the serene beauty of the forest quickly turned into something chaotic. Up ahead, he saw figures clashing, martial artists executing powerful strikes, swords glinting in the sunlight, and bursts of energy swirling through the air.

"Is this… a film shoot for a movie?" he said incredulously, watching the spectacle unfold. "Those are some sick effects. I wonder how they created them." He couldn't help but marvel at the choreography, even as his heart raced with apprehension.

Suddenly, a shadow loomed overhead, and he turned to see a man huddled above him, blood smeared across his face, eyes wild with craziness. The stranger spoke in a language he had never heard before, words tumbling out in a desperate cadence.

"Sorry, mate, didn't mean to interrupt your sho—" Ken started, but his words were cut off as a searing pain shot through his shoulder, radiating down to his torso.

His eyes widened in horror as he looked down, realizing something was terribly wrong. Panic surged through him, and he stumbled back, mind racing. "Ahhhhh?!" he screamed from pain on losing his entire arm, heart pounding in his chest. This was no film—this was a nightmare.

As chaos unfolded around him, he felt the weight of fear pressing down. He turned to run, but stumbled over the rough terrain, adrenaline surging through his veins. "I need to get out of here!" he shouted, his breath quickening.

But the world around him felt alive, and every sound—the clash of metal, the shouts of warriors—echoed in his mind like a relentless drum. "What do I do?" he murmured, desperation creeping in. "I just wanted to find a city… I didn't sign up for this!"

With every ounce of strength, he pushed forward, determined to escape the madness surrounding him. 'There has to be a way out!' he thought, hope flickering as he ran deeper into the forest, each step a battle against the chaos of this strange and terrifying world.

As chaos erupted around him, panic clawed at his chest. "I need to get out of here!" he shouted, his voice lost in the cacophony. The forest blurred past him as he ran, desperate to escape the horrors he had witnessed. "That portal—whatever it is—has to be connected to all of this. I need to find it quick!"

His mind raced, thoughts tangled with fear and confusion. Each footfall echoed in his ears, but he had no idea that the man who had attacked him was right behind him, his presence a shadow lurking in the chaos.

Just as he glanced over his shoulder, a sharp blow struck his back. The impact knocked him off his feet, sending him crashing to the ground. The world spun, darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision as he fought to stay conscious. But it was too late; the last thing he saw was the man towering over him before everything went black.

~~

When he came to, he found himself being dragged through the dirt, the rough ground scraping against his skin. Panic surged as he struggled against the grip, but it was futile. He was pulled into a clearing, and what he saw chilled him to his core.

Villagers were gathered, tied up and trembling, their eyes wide with fear. Some were being forced to kneel, while others lay motionless on the ground. "No… no, this can't be happening!" he gasped, overwhelmed by the sight.

The air was thick with dread, the cries of the captured echoing in his mind. A woman called out for her child, her voice filled with desperation, while others were silenced by the weight of their despair. But as he looked around, a cold realization settled in his gut: this wasn't his fight.

"What do you want from me?" he shouted, his voice filled with desperation. "Please, just let me go! I'll do anything!" But his pleas fell on deaf ears, the villagers and bandits unable to understand his otherworldly language.

In that moment, a small child looked up at him, tears streaming down his face, wide eyes filled with terror and heartbreak. He was surrounded by the bodies of his parents, the lifeless forms a stark reminder of the chaos around them. The sight twisted something deep within the main character, yet he felt himself retreating inward, the instinct to survive overriding any impulse to comfort.

"This has to be just a dream," he sobbed, voice breaking. "A terrible one… a nightmare! Please, wake up! Please!" Tears streamed down his cheeks as he struggled against the grip holding him down.

Yet as he felt the weight of the child's gaze, he was overwhelmed by the crushing reality. He couldn't save them; he had to save himself. The darkness around him felt alive, suffocating, as he grappled with his selfishness. "I need to survive," he muttered under his breath. "It's every man for himself here."

As he was dragged deeper into the chaos, he caught glimpses of the faces around him—filled with fear, hope, and despair. But instead of compassion, he felt a chilling sense of detachment. If he made it out, he would find a way.

In that moment, he resolved to abandon any notions of heroism. The flicker of hope he once had for others extinguished under the weight of survival instinct. 'If I make it out, I'll figure it out,' he thought, urgency propelling him.

He had to find the portal and escape, even if it meant leaving everyone behind. The darkness loomed closer, but his focus sharpened. Survival of the strongest—it was the only truth he could cling to

~~

The crackling of the campfire filled the air, mingling with the laughter and boisterous chatter of the bandits celebrating their victory. They sat around the fire, sharing meager rations, reveling in their triumph over the chaos of the day. Their faces, illuminated by the flickering flames, reflected a twisted sense of camaraderie that felt utterly alien to the main character. He couldn't understand how they could laugh so easily, so carelessly, after everything they'd done.

In the shadows, the captives huddled together, their faces gaunt, eyes wide with terror. Despair weighed heavily in the air, a tangible force that made it hard to breathe. The main character watched them through half-lidded eyes, his own body weakened and trembling from pain and blood loss.

His jaw tightened as a wave of nausea rolled over him. "What the hell is wrong with these people?" he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. "How can they sit there, laughing, after they've ruined so many lives? Do they even care?"

His vision blurred as fatigue pressed down on him, and his body felt unbearably heavy. He'd lost too much blood, his limbs weak, his mind drifting between awareness and oblivion. "Just need to rest," he thought, his eyelids fluttering shut despite the danger surrounding him. "Just for a moment…"

~~

When he awoke, his skin was slick with cold sweat, and his heart thundered in his chest. He blinked groggily, his pulse racing as if waking from a nightmare,thinking it was all a nightmare he said "Fuck, that shit was way to graphic" but the nightmare hadn't ended. The fire still burned, the bandits were still there, and the captives remained huddled in fear.

And that's when he realized it was never a nightmare, but reality, every single bit of it

His arm—or rather, the stump where his arm had been—throbbed with a phantom pain so intense it nearly brought tears to his eyes. He gasped for breath, feeling a sickening twist in his gut as he looked at the scene around him. "No… no, this can't be real… This isn't real!" he whispered in disbelief.

A broken, bitter laugh slipped past his lips, a sound of madness that echoed in the night. "This is a joke!" he spat, his voice rising. "A sick, twisted joke! How could I end up in a place like this? How did it come to this after my damn birthday?!"

His laughter died in his throat as a bandit glanced over, irritated. The man stomped toward him and kicked him sharply in the side. Pain exploded through his ribs, but it wasn't enough to drown out the sharp bitterness roiling inside him.

"Shut up!" the bandit snarled, scowling down at him.

The words cut through the fog in the main character's mind, and his eyes widened in shock. "Wait… I understood that," he breathed, confusion mixing with a new, darker emotion. "How can I understand you now?"

But the fleeting sense of wonder quickly dissolved into something darker—resentment. 'Does it even matter?' he thought bitterly. 'I'm stuck here, in this hellhole, surrounded by these monsters. What difference does it make if I understand their language? They're still going to kill me, or worse.' he thought

His teeth clenched as he forced himself to sit up, though every movement sent waves of agony through his battered body. "I don't care,"he muttered, hatred curling in his gut like a coiled snake. "I'll make them pay for this. I don't care if I have to crawl my way out of here, I'll make them suffer."

The bandit sneered at him. "I heard that you Cripple, you're in no position to talk" he said, his tone cold and dismissive.

The main character realized that he said that part out loud, still his heart pounded in his chest, but not out of fear—out of pure, unadulterated rage. 'Cripple,' he repeated in his mind, the word stoking the fires of his anger. 'They think I'm nothing'

' They think they've already broken me. I'll show them… I'll make them wish they'd killed me the moment they had the chance.'

He glared at the captives around him—pathetic, trembling wrecks. He hated the sight of them, hated how they sat there, paralyzed by fear. A twisted thought crossed his mind: 'They deserve this. They deserve to be here, just like I do. None of us are INNOCENT.'

Desperation gnawed at him like a ravenous beast, driving away any last remnants of hope. There was no escape from this nightmare, no way out except through revenge. His birthday had led him to this pit of hell, but he would make sure that, before the end, he dragged these bastards down with him.

He clutched the ground beneath him, nails digging into the dirt. "I'm not going to survive this place," he whispered, his voice shaking with a mix of rage and despair. "But I'll make sure they DON'T either."

The bandit turned his back, laughing with the others, and the main character's eyes darkened, his mind filled with cold, vengeful thoughts. He looked at the fire, at the weapons scattered around the camp, and felt a strange, sick satisfaction building within him.

"I'll survive long enough to DESTROY you all," he vowed silently. "And I'll make sure you feel every bit of pain you've caused me. Even if it's the LAST THING I do."