You Are Mine

Nestled within a forgotten valley kissed by the emerald embrace of ancient forests stood a solitary cave, its yawning mouth agape like a silent sentinel guarding the secrets of a bygone world. Crystalline waters cascaded down an artful symphony of the stone cliffside, feeding into a serene pool that reflected the world above with ethereal clarity. The outside world buzzed with the hum of mythic wildlife; creatures of old prowled the underbrush, their forms shifting between the possible and the fantastical, like whispers on the edge of reality.

Sky-dancers with wings of gossamer drapery flitted through the canopy, their bioluminescent trails intertwining with the dappling sunlight that filtered through the treetops. Ground-walkers bearing spiraling horns and hides etched in runes of the ancient forest sifted silently through the undergrowth, their eyes alight with primordial intelligence.

Amidst this pocket of unspoiled wilderness, Kabel sought sanctuary, and the cave he discovered was swathed in the patina of ages, its walls eternally moist from the caress of time and the weeping tears of the cliffside springs. It was in this bastion of nature's raw beauty that Kabel, stoic and war-torn, chose to rest and to reflect.

He sat with his back to the entrance, the light of the setting sun painting the cave with a warm, golden hue that danced against the rough-hewn walls. Here, Kabel found a canvas primed for the telling of tales that only he could scribe. In the sanctity of this primeval gallery, he dipped his fingers into a small puddle of his own congealing blood—a crimson pigment for his austere masterpiece.

With deliberate and thoughtful strokes, Kabel painted figures of himself upon the wall. Each image told a story, a life that he could have lived, each one vastly different from the last. There was Kabel the Wanderer, his silhouette perched atop a mountain peak, gazing out into a world of endless horizons. Beside it, Kabel the Scholar, surrounded by ancient tomes and scrolls, the pursuit of knowledge illuminating his eyes.

Further down the wall, Kabel the Peaceful Farmer tilled the soil, his blade turned to plowshare, the furrows in the earth speaking of a life of quiet satisfaction. Nearby, the image of Kabel the Protector, a fatherly figure boasting a broad smile, the faces of imagined children lifted towards him in adoration, their hands intertwined in trust and love.

Each depiction pulsed with the lifeblood of its creator, immortalizing potentialities that Kabel's warrior path had forsaken. The images also conveyed his triumphs and defeats, the countless adversaries felled by his hand, and the solitude that accompanied a life spent in pursuit of mastery over the art of death.

The flickering shadows cast by the flames of his modest fire animated the frescoes, bestowing upon them a semblance of life, their movements an echo of Kabel's own heartbeat. Here, in the silence of the cave, surrounded by his bloodborne chronicles, Kabel experienced a communion with the strings of fate, connecting him to the cyclical nature of all existence.

His hand paused as his eyes traced the lineaments of every life he might have lived, the lives that would live on this wall, long after his wounds healed and he ventured forth once more.

As the azure curtain of night draped itself across the world outside, the sounds of the mythic wildlife grew more prominent—the hoots of nocturnal sky-dancers, the rustling whispers of the ground-walkers—all of it a natural symphony that cradled the cave in a blanket of primal wonder.

As the serenity of the cave cradled his body and the artistry of his bloodied hand crafted legacies upon the ancient wall, Kabel's mind began to wander through the corridors of memory. His consciousness drifted to a distant past, to the cold stone walls of the temple where he was molded into the harbinger he had become. This temple, hidden among the jagged peaks of a merciless range, was home to the Shadows of Achronos—an order of assassins whose name spread through the land like a whispered threat.

The halls of the temple were filled with the echoes of young initiates who lived by a blade's edge, schooled in the art of stealth, deception, and the delicate craft of death. There, a young Kabel found himself, not with a brush or quill in hand, but with his own lifeblood as his medium.

Even in his early years, he had felt the inexorable pull to express the stories within him, and as his blood dripped from wounds earned in relentless training, he used it to draw upon the temple's unforgiving walls.

His contemporaries, shrouded in the arrogance of youth and the zeal of their lethal tutelage, found amusement in his solemn ritual. They crowded around, hurling jibes and scorn with the same precision they were taught to aim their throwing stars.

"Painter of weaknesses," they taunted, the venom in their words more stinging than the wounds on Kabel's flesh. "What use are dreams in the heart of a killer?" Their laughter filled the temple, a cruel chorus that sought to dismantle the refuge of his imagination.

But their mockery did not go unnoticed. The temple's sensei, a figure as enigmatic as time itself, watched from the shadows, the creases in his weathered face deepening with thought. "Together, you may mock him," the sensei's voice sliced through the laughter, cold and sharp as the edge of a knife. "But together, you will also face him."

The sensei's command was absolute, and with a chilling silence, the temple's practice hall became an arena. Young Kabel stood alone, surrounded by a swarm of his peers, their jeers replaced by a focused intent to subdue the outcast among them.

The fight was a tempest, a maelstrom of fists, feet, and fury. Kabel moved with a dancer's grace and a warrior's brutality, each motion a brushstroke of defiance against overwhelming odds. But even the brightest flame may flicker under the smothering weight of a collective storm, and Kabel was eventually overpowered.

The battle's end found him bloodied and sprawled across the cool stone floor, his body a tapestry of bruises and gashes. The young assassins stood victorious, poised above him, their sneers a dark mimicry of their ignorant hearts.

The sensei dismissed them with a gesture, his unreadable gaze lingering on Kabel's fallen form. The temple grew still once more, the only sound Kabel's labored breath and the faint drip of his blood upon stone.

With strength drawn from the depths of his resolve, Kabel rose. His movements were labored, agony echoing in each step as he approached the wall once again. There, in the solitude of the temple's hall, he resumed his communion with the stones, his blood a testament to his spirit that no amount of mockery could quell.

He painted figures anew, each one a chapter of his journey, a silent vow that within these temple walls, a killer was forged, but a soul remained untarnished. The images of a multitude of lives stretched across the stone canvas: Kabel the Undaunted, the Survivor, the Dreamer, each outlined in the essence of his own vitality.

The sensei observed from the doorway, the flicker of something unspoken passing across his aged visage. Kabel's art spoke of resilience, of an inner life rich with facets unknown to his peers, a declaration that even in a sanctuary of darkness, the light of creativity could not be extinguished.

As the memory faded and the present reclaimed Kabel in the comforting darkness of the cave, a single tear mingled with the blood on his fingertips, an alchemy of pain and beauty forever captured on the stone.

He looked down at his finger, his face emotionless, he said, "What is this?"

[It is nothing. It means you need sleep, Kabel.]

"A tear.."

[You feel nothing, remember? When you feel, you lose. You were taught that.]

"I was."

In the amber-lit hollows of the ancient cave, Kabel turned from the haunting images, the frescoes of his blood now dry upon the stone. It was in this stark isolation, amidst the grandeur of the carved earth, that he set his mind upon the task of forging a body and spirit as enduring as the walls that surrounded him.

With a resoluteness etched into the lines of his face, Kabel rose to his feet, his every sinew taut with the ache of old battles and the promise of strength yet to be claimed. His gaze, sharp as a hawk's, found a blank piece of the cavern's expanse, and in that unmarred surface, he saw not stone, but potential.

A deep breath expanded his chest, steamy with the heat of his inner fire, as he began. At first, there was only the sound of his breathing—slow, measured, imbibing the silence of the earthen enclave before the tempest of his training.

Kabel flowed into his regimen, a seamless transition of postures and movements that conjured the dance of combat. Each muscle worked in symphony, tendons pulling with the precision of a master puppeteer's strings. A sheen of sweat began to coat his skin, the forge's fire within igniting a bodily glow that made his veins stand out against his flesh like the raised reliefs of a finely chiseled sculpture.

His feet shuffled softly across the ground, leaving ephemeral patterns in the cave's dust—the trailing signatures of a warrior honing his art. Fists cleaved the air, punching jabs that snapped with the ferocity of serpent strikes, his arms blurring in motion, his body a conduit of explosive energy.

Kabel moved to the wall, targeting areas of softness between the harder ridges of stone. With a powerful exhalation, he struck. The cave answered with thunderous claps as his knuckles met rock, small showers of debris tumbling from the point of impact. Each blow was a commitment, a testament to his unwavering discipline. His fists became hammers, his body a chisel, sculpting unseen foes and the rock alike with a focused blend of grace and aggression.

In the rhythmic ballet of his personal combat, Kabel interspersed lunges with curt pivots, his legs propelling and grounding him in equal measure. The pattern of his breath matched the tempo of his exertions, the cave air now thick with the odor of his sweat—tangy and warm with the musk of exertion.

As the assault on the stone continued, his hands grew raw—streaks of scarlet mingling with the salt of his sweat, painting the wall with fresh testament to his resolve. Yet Kabel persisted, the burn of his flesh an inconsequential whisper against the roaring focus of his meditative state.

Eventually, he paused, chest heaving, the echo of his impacts slowly fading as he sank into a deep squat, forearms resting upon his knees. Kabel closed his eyes, allowing the hammering of his heart to send reverberations through the cave, his pulse a drumbeat in communion with the earth's enduring depths.

Time passed, perhaps moments, perhaps hours; in the sanctity of his solitude, it held little sway. When Kabel finally opened his eyes, a tranquil clarity reflected within them, mirroring the stillness he had found within the tempest of his training.

As he rose, his silhouette was framed against the backdrop of the cave's naturally sculpted arches, a lone figure whose every line spoke of the raw power of the world around and the disciplined force within. Sweat dripped from his form, each droplet a liquid jewel of labor, falling to the sacred ground that had borne witness to the unwavering spirit of Kabel, the eternal student of life's unyielding crucible.

He clenched his fists, and as he turned around, the system window appeared in front of him again, and something was coming out of it.

A hand.

A subtle hand, then an arm lead behind it, a soft and subtle pale texture to the skin, the skin of a woman. A full body comes out, a naked woman with her long black hair with black and red vines in it, her dark red eyes, and her freckles on her cheeks were noticeable before Kabel's eyes.

It was Frejai.

"My dear..do not let yourself be tainted with horrible thoughts. Tears make you weak, and weakness won't get you back to your own realm. You kill, that's why you were created. You've never felt love..true passion…but you draw with your blood. Why?"

"…I don't know."

"Mm. Since you are active, I will reward you for your good work. A simple reminder, that I..Frejai, own you until all the false gods are slain. We shall bond in flesh as we have in spirit, when I gave you my power.",

Frejai, with fiery passion in her eyes, leads Kabel, the emotionless assassin, further into the dimly lit cave. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows on the rough stone walls, creating an air of mystery. Frejai's hands explore Kabel's chiseled body, tracing every contour as they move deeper into the darkness. Her touch ignites a longing within her, even though Kabel remains stoic and unmoved.

"You are mine…" Frejai whispered.

Frejai presses her body against Kabel's, feeling the heat radiate from his cold exterior. She teases him with gentle kisses, her lips tracing a path along his jawline, down his neck, and finally settling on his collarbone. Her fingers intertwine with his, guiding his hands to explore her own curves, relishing in the contrast of his impassive touch against her quivering skin. As they continue their intimate dance, Frejai takes the lead, pushing Kabel against the cave wall. She explores every inch of his body with her lips and tongue, leaving a trail of fiery kisses in her wake. Her hands roam freely, caressing his muscular chest and teasingly brushing across his abdomen. She revels in the power she holds over him, as his stoic demeanor remains unbroken.

"Everything you have is mine. We are one.."

Frejai's desire intensifies, and she takes Kabel's hand, guiding it to the depths of her own desire. She gasps at the touch, her body arching against his hand, seeking more. The cave echoes with their shared pleasure as Frejai's moans fill the air, contrasting with Kabel's unyielding silence. She moves with a fierce determination, allowing her desires to consume her completely, while Kabel remains an enigmatic figure in the shadows. The rhythmic motion continues, their bodies entwined in a primal dance of passion. Frejai's movements become more urgent, her breath quickens, and her nails dig into Kabel's back. She reaches the pinnacle of ecstasy, her body trembling with pleasure. Yet, Kabel remains unmoved, unyielding to the sensations that consume Frejai.

After, Frejai was holding Kabel in her bosom, smiling, "Now then…who are you?"

Kabel paused for a few seconds, then he said, "…Yours."