Anxiety

"Thank you, Eilif. Thank you for saving me from this nightmare," Althea whispered, her voice trembling with relief.

They broke the embrace, and Eilif searched her sister's face, looking for any trace of the creature that had consumed her moments ago. The shadows in the room slowly receded, their power waning as the last vestige of the demonic influence left Althea's body. "We must find a way to stop this madness," she said firmly, her gaze hardening with resolve.

[Bang]

The sound of the gunshot rang through the hallway like a tolling bell, signaling the end of something once noble and revered. Lady Althea's head was no longer attached to her body, a crimson mist painting the wall behind her in an obscene mockery of the once prestigious House crest.

Eilif stood there, her hand trembling, the silver blade of her dagger slick with her sister's blood. "Why?" she whispered to the empty room.

Her eyes searched the shadows, looking for the source of the gunfire. A figure emerged, cloaked in a crimson hue, the material of their garments shimmering like freshly spilled blood in the dim candlelight.

His crimson eyes stood out clearly against his pale skin. His hair was mottled black, a symbol of his corrupted soul. His features were sharp, chiseled by the hand of a sculptor obsessed with perfection, every line and curve a silent declaration of his dominance. His skin was unnaturally smooth, unblemished by the ravages of time, giving him an almost ethereal beauty that was as terrifying as it was mesmerizing. His mouth, a cruel red line, bore witness to his hunger for power, for control.

"Virgil Solis," he introduced himself, his voice a sibilant whisper that seemed to slither through the air like a serpent. "But I suspect you know me better by another name. The Baron, perhaps?"

Without a second thought, Eilif attacked him in a blur of silver and shadow. Her movements were a dance of rage and desperation, each strike fueled by the pain of her city's suffering. Her dagger sang a discordant melody as it sliced through the air, aimed at the heart of the monster who had claimed her sister's soul.

Virgil, however, remained unfazed, his smile never wavering as he effortlessly dodged her blows. His crimson eyes gleamed with a malicious amusement that sent a chill through Eilif's veins. "Ah, the fiery spirit of House Phainslill," he murmured, his voice a serpentine hiss.

....

On the moonlit streets of Helgarde, Lila and her comrades from the Hall of the Sword moved with swift efficiency. Screams pierced the air as they fought back waves of demonspawn that spilled from every alley and shadowy corner. The city had become a canvas of panic, painted with the dark strokes of the Baron's brush.

Their mission was clear: protect the fleeing citizens and lead them to safety. The cobblestone streets grew slick with the blood of both the innocent and the corrupted as they sprinted from one terrified group to another, fending off the demonic tide with their honed steel.

As they approached a burning house, the heat washed over them like a living wave. Through the window, Lila could make out two figures, their silhouettes outlined by the inferno within. Her heart hammered in her chest as she recognized them: two children, no more than ten years old, trapped in a prison of fire and smoke. Without hesitation, she dashed forward.

The heat grew intense, each step a battle against the flames that sought to consume her. The wooden door was almost aflame, the hinges groaning under the onslaught of the fire. With a grunt, Lila kicked it open, the wood shattering like glass. She dove into the smoke-filled room, her eyes streaming with tears.

The children's cries grew louder, guiding her through the fiery maze. She found them huddled under a fallen beam, their faces smudged with soot, their eyes wide with terror. The mother lay nearby, her body a crumpled mess of lifeless flesh and bone beneath a pile of debris. Lila's chest tightened as she took in the sight, her heart heavy with the weight of their loss.

With a snarl of determination, she scooped the children into her arms, ignoring the burning pain that seared her skin. She sprinted towards the window, her eyes locked on the children's terrified faces.

"Hold on tight!" she shouted above the roar of the flames.

The window shattered under the force of her leap, sending a shower of glass out into the night. The cold air was a shock to their seared lungs, but it brought with it the sweet scent of life, free of the acrid stench of burning flesh and charred wood. They tumbled to the ground, the children's cries muffled against her chest.

Lila took a moment to ensure they were both unharmed before setting them down gently. "Run," she urged them, pointing towards a group of figures huddled in the distant shadows. "In a moment, a carriage will come and take you away. Hide there with the others until then!"

The children nodded, their eyes wide with fear but also with a flicker of hope that had not yet been extinguished. They scurried away into the night, disappearing into the shadows as quickly as they had emerged from the flaming house. Lila watched them go, her breath ragged from the exertion and the smoke. Her skin stung where the flames had kissed it, but she felt a strange, cold resolve in her heart.

....

Aldwyn hid behind a wall. His breathing was frantic and uncontrolled. He had exhausted a lot of his energy and it was starting to take its toll.

He placed his hand over his bag and focused. He had to be careful, not to summon the wrong item in the heat of battle. The bag shivered at his touch, and with a silent plea, he called forth the potion of endurance. He could feel the warmth of the potion as it coalesced into reality within his grip.

With trembling hands, he uncorked the vial and took a deep breath. He threw it back, feeling the warmth spread from his throat to his fingertips. It was a potent brew, one that could only be crafted by an alchemist. The potion's warmth grew, filling his veins with a vitality that seemed to glow from within.

"I should be able to last longer with this!"

The monsters in the area grew restless, their hungry eyes peering into the shadows, searching for the warmth of living flesh. They sniffed the air, nostrils flaring with the scent of fear and desperation. Helgarde had become their hunting ground, and they reveled in the chaos. Their movements were jerky and erratic, like marionettes controlled by a mad puppeteer, their forms twisted and malformed, a perversion of the natural world.

Aldwyn's boots whispered against the slate roofs as he leaped from one to another. His silver eyes searched the alleyways below, his senses on high alert.

As he landed with a soft thud on the next rooftop, something clicked in his mind. The arrangement of the buildings, the distinctive smell of the alleyways. He knew this place. It was the district where he had first met Whisper.

„The thieves' guild? I should ask for their help, hopefully they haven't fled already." He thought to himself, as he surveyed the chaotic landscape.

Leaping into the alley below, Aldwyn sprinted towards the guild's secret entrance, his twin blades and revolver at the ready. The streets were a battleground of shadowy figures and monstrous abominations. The air was thick with the acrid stench of sulfur and the metallic scent of blood.

As he approached the guild's hidden door, his heart sank. The guild was now a grisly tableau of slaughter. Bodies lay strewn about, their forms twisted and unrecognizable, a grim testament to the power that had ravaged the place.

Whisper lay in the doorway, its once graceful movements now reduced to a painful crawl. He was matted with blood, and its breath came in shallow gasps. "Aldwyn..." it managed to croak out, its voice barely above a whisper.

Aldwyn experienced a deja-vu... He had experienced something like this before, this very scene. „I've seen this scene before.... In my vision that the scholar showed me...so it became reality..."

As he watched the very last of Whisper's strength leave him, he glanced at the other end of the large area.

At the other end, he saw a creature feasting on one of the corpses. It was a grotesque, humanoid creature about 2 meters tall. Its skin has a pale, almost translucent consistency that looks like torn masks from a mosaic of different human fragments. It wears an ancient, tattered cloak that conveys a sense of decay and oblivion.

The creature has no defined head. Instead of a face, ridiculous, pain-distorted features expressions of past victims are visible, at times whispering and pleading for help. It exudes a strong influence on its surroundings and its mere presence evokes fear and confusion in Aldwyn.

Aldwyn's senses screamed, as if telling him to leave immediately. But his body froze in fear.