Prolouge

The world was a canvas, and his hands were a brush; paint was the stain of blood from the fallen. And with each stroke of this brush, took a life of a single man.

A pale man stood alone in the pool of blood, amidst the carnage of the withered plains. All illuminated by the glow of the crescent moon.

Drenched in gore of those he had mercilessly slaughtered, he was unable to recall why he had done it, but there was no remorse.

The stench of death filled the air, vultures hovered above the lifeless bodies on the ground, soon devouring the flesh and drink its blood.

The ground was littered with the remains of lifeless bodies, although some were still alive and writhing in agony but their limbs were severed and blood was gushing out.

The man tried to count the bodies, but his vision grew blurry, until he was unable to discern the number. His mind was consumed with a strange sense of satisfaction, a perverse joy in the act of killing.

As he stood there alone in silence, he couldn't help but wonder...

Why was he here? What had led him to this point? But what does it even matter? It felt good anyway.

The desolate land was then slowly shrouded in a thickening fog. His pale body was smeared with blood, though none of it was his own. His skin remained unscathed, devoid of any wounds or injuries. His body was numb, he felt nothing except for the overwhelming urge to commit violence and wreak havoc on anything that crossed his path.

He tightly grasped the blade lying next to his right foot as he knelt to pick it up. An ominous urge was compelling him to take action, whispering its commands into his mind.

Despite all the thoughts in his head, he remained standing. Maybe rest for a while.

...

Gazing into the distance, a faint light beyond the mists flickered as it grew steadily brighter. Soon a group of lights emitted by wooden torches appeared as it began to intersperse around.

As he watched, an army of heavily armored soldiers numbering in the thousands began to encircle him, but they remained far enough to be barely distinguishable by his fading sight.

But apart from anybody else, a man walked towards him as he dismounted from his white horse. He was dressed in a lightweight armor of silver hue, adorned with golden stripes, and a rapier in his waist. He walked towards him with a fierce look, conveying a message without uttering a single word.

The man in front of him appeared to be of noble birth, judging by his gray hair and striking blue eyes. But there was no mistaking his intimidating demeanor.

The man who stood alone wondered if these men that were lying on the ground, whom he had mercilessly slaughtered, were his comrades, which might explain his dreadful expression.

He could see the man's lips moving, but he couldn't hear anything, as if his ears were submerged in water.

After a short moment of silence, the noble then raises his hands. The lone man was confused at first until he saw numerous arrows being fired at him from a distance.

Arrows struck him on his head, neck, and both arms, causing his entire body to be pierced, but strangely, he didn't feel any pain. But what's more concerning is that there were no blood dripping from his body.

The noble snarled, visibly displeased with what he saw. Quickly, he drew his sword and aimed it at him. He leapt forward and swung his blade in an attempt to cut his neck, but he swiftly dodged it on instinct.

As a faint voice suddenly whispered into his ear, urging him to kill, his heart began to race. His head throbbed, and his vision grew even more blurred than before. A strange tingling sensation burned in his chest, and he felt an intense urge to act on the impulse.

Despite his body resisting the strong urge to run away, he forced himself to move and leap over the soldiers who were encircling him. To his surprise, he found that he was able to jump much higher than he had ever before.

As he soared through the air, he couldn't help but wonder what was causing this sudden increase in his physical abilities.

As he landed on the ground on the other side of the soldiers, the atmosphere grew even heavier, and his body began to sweat despite the cold night.

It felt as though his body was struggling to cope with the overwhelming weight of the situation, but he knew he had to keep moving, to keep running.

But it felt as though he was wading through molasses. Every step was a struggle, and his muscles ached at the exertion.

He was well aware of the crushing power coursing through his veins, the feeling of just decapitating their heads in mere seconds.

Nonetheless, he pushed forward, driven by an inexplicable desire to escape. As his vision became more blurry, darkness gradually consumed it entirely.

The voice that had whispered to him before had now turned into screams of anguish, demanding that he stop. It was like tinnitus in both his ears. The pain in his head became unbearable, as if something was squeezing his brain.

He struggled to keep his balance as his surroundings started to distort, and the eerie noises he heard made his ears bleed.

The sky had turned black, everything turned black. A flame of a crimson red suddenly appeared in front of him. It grew eyes and limbs as it duplicated and began to swarm around him, their unintelligible whispers added more noise. Though he couldn't make sense of what they were saying, he was certain that they were responsible for the torment he was experiencing.

Despite the overwhelming chaos and confusion in his mind, he remained steadfast in his determination to escape. Ignoring everything around him and the deafening sounds that echoed in his head, he pressed on with every ounce of strength he had left towards the unknown.

His legs felt like lead, his lungs burned with each breath, and his heart pounded relentlessly in his chest. He forced himself to keep moving, to keep running until the whole place around him blurred into nothingness while he lost his consciousness once again.

Consumed by the darkness... that had been inside him all along.