Emissary Of Darkness

Hope was completely unaware that in another realm—somewhere far beyond the reach of his consciousness, yet disturbingly close to the fabric of his soul—his fate had already been weighed, judged, and tested. Decisions were being made in his name, trials crafted with deliberate malice, and his resilience monitored like a caged beast poked with spears. But in this moment, none of that mattered. In this moment, he was just a boy slumped beneath a ruined sky, a soul caught between torment and rest.

His body had finally given out after the relentless three thousand strikes he had forced upon himself, an exercise of both discipline and defiance. His muscles no longer responded. His shoulders had trembled until they couldn't lift the blade anymore, and his legs had buckled under the weight of exhaustion. Pain laced every tendon and joint—his arms numb, his fingers curled involuntarily from fatigue, and his breath shallow, as though even air was reluctant to stay within him.

The cracked moon still hovered above like a fractured sentinel in the sky, its shattered fragments suspended in the heavens like celestial glass. It bathed the rocky landscape in a pale, deathly glow, illuminating the barren plains and jagged mountain teeth surrounding the cave like a silent audience. The world was still—almost reverent—as if it, too, recognized the torment he had just endured.

Hope groaned as he stirred, the stiffness in his spine warning him against even the slightest movement. Pain lanced through his head like a dagger, sharp and sudden, and he winced audibly. His face contorted into a grimace as he clutched his temples, waiting for the throbbing ache to subside into a dull throb.

His body screamed in protest, but with sheer will, he forced himself upright. A hiss escaped his lips as he shifted his weight onto legs that trembled like they belonged to a newborn fawn. One shaky step after another, he staggered into the cave—his temporary haven from the wasteland outside.

The interior was dim and cold, shadows clinging to the stone walls like ancient moss. The only sounds were the faint crackle of the wind outside and the soft, rhythmic breathing of the two unconscious figures laid out within.

Nefer and Massa were still where he had left them, though their condition seemed improved.

Hope's weary eyes scanned over them slowly. Their chests now rose and fell with a steadier rhythm. The unnerving pallor that had overtaken their skin earlier was retreating, replaced by faint tones of life. Nefer's chest moved steadily, though his brows were still furrowed, as if battling demons in his dreams. Beside him, Massa lay still, and Hope's gaze lingered longer on her.

She looked so… different.

Her once youthful visage had aged into a shadow of its former self. Deep lines had carved themselves into her skin like cracks on a shattered mask. Her hair, once green and vibrant, was now streaked entirely with gray. It wasn't just exhaustion—something had been drained from her, something that wouldn't return.

Hope's eyes narrowed. A theory had been budding in the back of his mind, formed from vague memories and quiet observation: perhaps her flaw—her price for power—was a draining of her life force with each spell she cast. But that didn't make complete sense. She'd used spells before and hadn't visibly aged then. Was this recent toll a result of pushing past her limits? Or… had something else triggered it?

He winced again as a spike of pain shot through the back of his head like a nail. "Tch," he muttered, reaching up to cradle his forehead. "Guess I'm overusing my brain."

With a sigh, he backed up and slumped down against the cave wall, letting its coolness press against his aching back. His eyes moved once more to the night sky visible from the cave's mouth, where that fractured moon hovered like a ghost. He didn't know if this world was real or just another twisted creation of The Veil, but he was growing used to not having answers. The only certainty was pain—and survival.

With a heavy breath, he exhaled and summoned his status overlay. It flickered faintly into existence before his eyes, a translucent, glowing pane of information etched in ghostly runes.

[Status]

Darkness Fragments: 80/ 5000

Soul Essence: 300 / 5000

Hope stared at the numbers for a long moment, then exhaled a shaky breath laced with a bitter chuckle. "Damn," he muttered, lips curling into a wry smile. "I really am drained."

The fight with the corrupted fiends had taken more than just energy—it had taken a part of him. And that should have been the end of it… until he was yanked straight from his barely conscious state into that nightmare realm where he faced something even more vicious. His flaw. His twisted reflection. The corrupted devil.

That fight was different—it hadn't just tested his strength, but his sanity. His will. Had he lost, he was sure it wouldn't have been just death—it would have been annihilation. A kind of erasure that went deeper than body and soul. But somehow, through pain and instinct and raw grit, he'd survived. He had won.

That realization settled over him like a blanket, bringing both pride and dread.

With a flick of thought, he dismissed his sword. The shimmering sword dissolved into particles of soft white light, drifting like falling ash until they vanished into his chest—his soul sea absorbing the weapon once more.

He let out a long, rattling breath. Every part of him wanted to stay awake—wanted to keep watch, to ensure no other abomination crawled from the shadows. But he was past his limits. His eyelids were heavy, his vision blurring at the edges. The cave spun slightly, the world softening like melting wax. He clenched his jaw, determined to resist… but resistance had its limits too.

He was afraid to sleep—not because of the pain, but because of what lay in the depths of his dreams. He feared the throne, the whispers, the twisted mirror of himself. That place where his thoughts were not his own and his battles seemed scripted by some higher cruelty.

But this time… he felt something different.

He didn't dream.

There was no throne. No mirror. No flaw. Just silence.

The moment his eyes fell shut, his body slipped into the kind of unconscious slumber it hadn't known in days. Not peace. Not comfort. Just stillness.

And for now, that was enough.