Nameless

In a vast, ethereal space, a shimmering figure sits by a tranquil lake, her inhumanly beautiful features blurred, as if they belong to a being from another world. Her skin glows faintly, and though her form is reminiscent of an elf from ancient stories, her essence feels much older. She dips her delicate feet into the water, the ripples distorting her reflection, her face twisted with a mixture of boredom and longing. The vastness around her seems empty, but her gaze is fixated on something far away.

"David!" her voice echoes softly, but it vibrates with immense power, almost a plea. "I need you, David!" She reaches out into the void, her hands trembling slightly, as if searching for something or someone just out of reach.

The space around her shifts. She calls again, "David! My name is... sgfjksfg!" Her voice distorts as though reality itself doesn't want him to know her name.

In an instant, the vision distorts violently as if struck by an unseen force. Everything blurs, twists, and then—

David gasps awake.

He sits up, his chest heaving, eyes wide, disoriented by the fragments of his dream. His head throbs painfully, and he rubs his temples, trying to piece together what just happened. The glowing figure, her voice, the sense of urgency—it all seemed so real, yet it slipped away like sand through his fingers.

Quietly, careful not to disturb his teammates, David rises from his bed and steps to the window. The cool night air washes over him as he gazes out at the sky. His eyes are drawn to one star in particular, burning brighter than the rest, almost pulsating.

"What was that dream?" he murmurs to himself, his heartbeat slowly returning to normal, though the sense of unease lingers.

***

In the training grounds of the Black Temple, a haunting silence fell as Namaah, the Black Rose, walked among her "students." The atmosphere was thick with tension, the air almost crackling with the restrained power she exuded. Her steps were measured, almost lazy, as if she was taking a leisurely stroll, but every movement was laced with an underlying threat. The ground itself seemed to shrink away from her presence, the shadows lengthening and darkening around her.

Before her, Dog and his group stood in a tight formation, their expressions a mix of fear and determination. They knew what was coming. Namaah was not known for her mercy, especially not when it came to training. Her level was a staggering 382, far beyond anything they could hope to reach in the foreseeable future. Most of them were still in the early 20s, barely scratching the surface of their potential. But Namaah had expectations—high ones—and she had no qualms about crushing anyone who failed to meet them.

Without warning, Namaah's wand, the Soul Keeper, whipped through the air, cracking like a whip. The weapon was infamous, not just for its power but for the sheer humiliation it brought to those on the receiving end. This was no simple training session; it was a demonstration of dominance.

Dog barely had time to react as the wand slammed into his side, the force of the blow sending him sprawling to the ground. The others watched, frozen in place, as Namaah moved with inhuman speed, her agility far surpassing anything they could hope to match. Her movements were almost effortless, a testament to the centuries she had spent honing her body alongside her formidable magic.

She struck again and again, her attacks a blur of motion, yet she never once cast a spell. She didn't need to. Her physical prowess alone was enough to make her point clear. As Dog struggled to rise, his pride wounded more than his body, Namaah spoke, her voice a soft, venomous whisper that cut through the air like a blade.

"I invested a lot in you, my dear pets. Don't disappoint me," she purred, her tone laced with a sadistic glee. "Or I will show you what happens to those who fail me."

She snapped her fingers, and a black pentagram appeared, its edges glowing with an eerie light. Within the circle lay a half-dead zombie, its rotting flesh barely clinging to its bones. It was clear, even at a glance, that this was no ordinary undead. The creature's eyes, clouded with pain and madness, still held a flicker of humanity. It had once been a player, a fact that was not lost on the group.

Dog and the others held their breath, their hearts pounding in their chests as they watched Namaah raise her wand. The black flame that erupted from its tip was slow, excruciating, as it consumed the zombie. The creature's mouth opened in a silent scream, its tongue too decayed to form the words that might have begged for mercy.

But there was none.

The zombie's body disintegrated, its ashes scattering in the wind as the group watched in horrified silence. The message was clear. Namaah didn't tolerate weakness. She didn't just demand success; she demanded perfection. Anything less would result in a fate worse than death.

As the last of the ashes disappeared, Namaah turned her gaze back to Dog. Her eyes, dark and unforgiving, bore into his soul. "I don't like trash," she hissed, her voice dripping with contempt. "Don't be one. If I want, I can find others who will lick my feet just for the chance to serve me."

Dog, his pride and defiance shattered, fell to one knee, his head bowed low. Sweat dripped down his face, his body trembling from the aftermath of her assault. "My lord," he stammered, his voice thick with desperation. "Don't worry. I will not disappoint you."

Namaah studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she turned away, leaving the training ground. As she walked, she called over her shoulder, her voice cold and commanding. "Dog, the tournament... Show me all you can."

Her words hung in the air long after she disappeared into the shadows, a reminder of the stakes at hand. The group remained where they were, too stunned and terrified to move, the weight of Namaah's expectations pressing down on them like a suffocating blanket. They knew one thing for certain: failure was not an option.

And as Dog slowly rose to his feet, the determination in his eyes was clear. He would not fail. He could not afford to.