CHAPTER I

?

A single spark in the backdrop of a bottomless abyss.

Its dimmed illumination, restricted by its minute, shapeless silhouette, swayed along the unseen waves of the blackened depths. Spherical, then stretched and elongated, and then returning into its spherical form- the dance continued indefinitely for the lonely light.

It might sink and float forevermore, in this voiceless void- undisturbed and unintervened, purposeless and free; a true peace in a perfect damnation.

Days might pass, so might weeks and months, and then followed by years and eons- and yet, the little light kept on drifting away peacefully in this limbo-like state of existence and incorporeality.

It might remain contently in such state of negation for an eternity. Yet, this harmonious contradiction would never persist.

A legion of microscopic tendrils that were made of furious ember and diseased haze began to coil around the little blob of light. What began as disunited curls and worms, had now coalesced with one another, transforming themselves into terrible cracks and crevasses that latched themselves upon the insignificant form of the shapeless flicker.

Stretched all across its tiny form, these tentacular crevices were feeding off from the puny spark, mercilessly draining what pitiful amount of energy left from its little body. Their malicious intention of choking the life out from the tiny orb of light was tantamount, as they kept on sucking whatever remained in that formless sphere.

Gradually, the already weakened gleam were fading out into nothingness; slowly, but surely, the little oscillation was sinking into the blackness of its surrounding, as it started to lose its color. Helpless and aimless, the tiny spark was unceasingly assaulted by the parasitic tendrils of fire and plague; its suffering and pain were unimaginably terrible and cruel. Its doom was inevitable.

And yet, it too, was not to be the light's fate.

Insignificant in size and power, the weak glimmer should have capitulated to the deathly coils around its form. But, like a cornered animal, in its hopeless state- the light found strength to resist its assailants.

Years after years of idleness have atrophied its might; uncountable months of self-indulgence have dulled its mind, and its ceaseless pursuits of unrewarding pleasures have even broken its resolve. However, none of them are capable to halt its most basic instinct to survive, let alone tearing it apart.

Like a miracle, the dying spark immediately shone- the intensity of its brightness burned the shadows casted by the infinite chasm into a blinding white. The dreadful coils and cracks were quickly swallowed by the radiance. However, seemingly having the mind of its own, the parasitic fissures mustered all of the power they have accumulated to oppose being consumed by the brilliant explosion.

They were desperate- these malign tendrils and curls were on their last-gasp frenzy. Once, they were part of something dark, something impossibly powerful- and something evil. They were once on the very cusp of omnipotence; authority was their birthright, as domination was their inheritance. No avenue to power was ever denied to them, for it was their destiny to hold supreme dominion over the entire creation.

However, as they who were once a one being, were never the conductor of the orchestra of fate- their one eternal foe, their ultimate design was never meant to be, no matter how hard and how persistent they tried.

In the end, through the unlikeliest of outcomes, and by the hands of those they scoffed and scorned, their ambitions, their creations, and their eternity-worth of planning and preparations were simultaneously unraveled before them. Unseen and unwitnessed by their single eye, the singular blow that broke their colossal back fell unto them like a betrayer's blade. Nevertheless, it was enough to deliver them unto oblivion.

Whereas once they were powerful without compare, now they are stripped from most of their powers. Whereas once they were the rightful master of their realm, now they are the master in the dominion of none. Whereas once they were one in the terrible and beautiful form of a true conqueror, now they are fractured, separated and utterly humbled.

Whereas once they held the power over the life and death of millions souls in an iron fist, now each of them are clinging desperately to whatever life form they could drain and dominate- whatever they could reach with their diminished power to stave off their damnation, even if it only lasted momentarily.

And right now, their quest for survival brought them in this stalemate against the persistent little spark. Connected to their mutual pursuit of self-preservation, yet distinctly segregated by their struggle to assert dominance- the muted light and the parasites expended whatever power they have to be the sole victor. To relent is to die, and neither the host nor the leeches wished to perish; the struggle persisted with the shifting of balance between the blinding light and the overpowering shadowy constriction.

Both sought to win, and if victory was unassured, both would seek to deny one another from their objective.

Seconds, minutes, days, weeks, months, years, decades, centuries and milleniums- the concept of time were not applicable in this skirmish. The ever-shifting equilibrium in such conflict was endlessly perpetuated by the opposing forces- not by their will, but by their inequities.

This abstract and insignificant tug-of-war would endure indefinitely within the vast, empty depths of the void. However, this was also not to be so, as it has been dictated by the great music of the universe.

Through the unseen hands of an invisible author, an unexpected turn revealed itself, and with a single tug at the end of the twisted thread, the stunted progress was unmade- and thus, the stalemate was broken.

The blast of light that resulted in an expansion of luminance was suddenly sucked in into its progenitor. In this instantaneous implosion of radiance, a powerful center of gravity manifested itself within the iota of light; and in that instance, the pulling force has already stripped the darkly tendrils clean from their fester and fury, leaving them hollow and devoid of color.

The host itself was not spared, for its fading luster was also siphoned into its core. Now, constrained in a miniscule dot, the opposing energies were mixed and churned in an extremely limited space that was struggling to maintain its cohesion. Finally, with its breaking point unceasingly assailed from the war within, the receptacle of the conflicting polars finally broke apart.

The resulting phenomenon happened in a soundless, but magnificent explosion.

It was a supernova- the final flash of a doomed star, its last splendor before its inevitable demise. In the grand vastness of the boundless dark, the great explosion was nothing more than a glint in a great canvas of the void. However, it was sufficient to be a ripple in the great ocean of fate, a prelude of greater things to come.

The flash was over; in its wake was a crystalline egg restrained within a webbed shell of glass, slowly sinking deeper and deeper into the lightless muck- leaving a trail of ephemeral dusts of light upwards. As it fell, the surrounding of this odd object began to fade.

Finally, when everything turned into a blurry grey, a soul was awakened from his dream.

?

My eyes flapped wide open, and heavily, I retched an empty spew. It felt that my eyeballs had been spinning inside their sockets, and my brain shaken inside my skull; I could not find my balance in this tormenting delirium, and I could only act accordingly to my bodily reaction to counteract this pain.

In my constant, agony-filled spewing, I was made breathless to the lung- and instantaneously, I chokingly gasped for air. Clumsily like a newborn who took his first breath, I hungrily drank a lungful of air to slake this sudden thirst for a breath, despite of my constant hacking and wheezing. As the result, I was flipping on the ground like a fish taken out from water.

I was a mess with drools and other unmentionable substances oozing from my mouth; and yet I kept on drawing air into myself. As the pain and the dizziness gradually faded, my mind became less hazier, and I became a little bit less dumber; slightly less imbecilic to be competent enough to form a thought.

How was I in this suffering? I tried to remember anything that might correlate me with this unexpected experience- something that might explain how I was made into a pathetic mess right now. Unfortunately, no answer came to mind; my thoughts are fogged by the churning sense of pain and panic. Driven by instinctual drive to preserve the functionality of my body, I was paralyzed- robbed from the control of my own flesh, by my own flesh itself. Left alone in this cage of my own flesh, my next torments came from my own psyche.

Still with considerable heaviness persisting in my head, and consumed by fear and disorientation, I soon withered into a fetal position and shuddered like a tremor.

I did not know how I came to be like this- ached, frightened and confused. I couldn't explain what caused these jumbled, scary experiences in the first place. But I could only hope that whatever this was, it would come to pass.

I had been neglecting the state where I was, or most importantly, the place where I was. However, as my frantic inhalation started to loosen, and my pain gradually wasted away, my senses lost its hysteria, and I finally regained the complete authority of my body.

As slowly as I extended my head from its earthly cradle, I realized my surroundings. Grassy hills, verdant shrubs, and tall trees in the distance- I saw them all as I steadily brought myself up to my feet.

I realized that I was no longer in the familiar place that I remembered where I supposed to be.

I rose in a place I knew not, standing in uncertainty in this foreign land. Bathed in a glorious but gentle sunlight, and yet I could not feel its warmth and tenderness.

Anxiety gripped me tightly, as I realized that I have been displaced…to another place that I know not.

"This is no Kansas, Toto."

This alarming awareness was soon followed by a humane spontaneous reaction- a hand reaching for a head. Yet, even such small action was harshly rewarded by another unwanted surprise.

As my palm reached its destination, it was not greeted by the familiar soft, squishy sensation of skin meeting skin.

It was met with a clang- a hard sound of metal meeting metal, which was followed by the cold and rigid stroke of steel scraping with another steel.

"Wha-" My words died on the edge of my tongue when I brought both of my hand unto my vision.

The sight of my gauntleted fist shook me back into trepidation. Another spontaneous response kicked in, and my hands ran through my whole body; from head, to the back and to my entire frame- my fingers, rested within their terrifying claws, traveled them all. Slowly, I put my hands down, for the conclusion of my endeavor had produced an answer.

I was clad in a suit of armor- "I am armored!"

I brought my shrouded hands back to my sight, and I could only infer from my own gauntlets that my entire get-up would probably be similarly fashioned as they were.

Heavy and horrid, sharp and spiked, jagged and edged- the black armor set was a mixture of cloth, ring mails and plates. Deduced from its lack of motifs, its belligerent contour and its dull coloration, my grim protective shell was not only meant for preservation, but also for inspiring dread to whomever unfortunate enough to behold it.

Bringing my fingers to rummage my head once more, I found different things. Rested upon my crown and covering my entire head, was a tattered hood- complimented with a similarly battered cloak that streamed behind my back. Similarly fashioned as the rest of my body, my countenance was protected by a metallic half-mask that leaves my mouth exposed.

As my frantic mind rushed to formulate the shape of my current self, I instinctively raised my hand once more to reach upon the curious objects that popped out right behind my right shoulder. My fingers once again found the satisfying clink at their destination, for they had found the articles in question- the hilts of the two blades.

I pulled one from its scabbard; the sheath was strapped behind my back and partially covered beneath my cloak. It was a short blade… or a very big dagger; I brought the weapon into my sight, eager to inspect its shape and details. However, before I could inspect the dagger, a glinting trinket on the gripping hand robbed me from my attention.

It was a simple jewelry, a little band of gold, leashed around the index finger of my right hand. Affixed in its socket atop the precious little thing is a beautiful, gleaming amber; its brilliance seemingly reflected the furious blaze contained within the gem, as if a living fire was trapped inside the jewel.

It was an odd combination- a beautiful, precious little bauble adorning a dreadful set of armor. It looked so out of place, but it appeared to be very fitting. How could this ring be in my possession? And yet, here it was, equipped to myself along with the rest of these war gears.

Bewitching, tantalizing, and beautiful- the ring gave out an appearance of being the only and the most important item in my entire belongings. Truly, this ring was my-

Precious?

The dagger in my left hand fell with a thud unto the earth.

One hour later

?

"They run from me." I silently commented at the sight of parents scooping their children from the ground and into their arms, before turning away and rushing for their homes. Even the elderly and the infirm residents fled at the sight of me, scuttling back to their simple abodes, with or without the aid of their younger neighbors. "They are wary of me."

The sound of doors being bolted and the muted shriek of the women accompanied me along my path to the center of this little settlement, where the well that I spotted previously was located. Each step that I took brought me closer to the liquid that would assuage my thirst. However, it also brought me nearer and nearer to the means of revealing my own face to myself.

Moments before, I had spotted this village from a nearby hill; the rising trails of smoke coming from it made it easier for me to track its position. Located at a moderate distance from the place where I was first awakened, this particular little village offered me with a direction and an escape from my own thoughts- the two things I desperately needed.

With a direction, I was provided with an objective, even though it was a short-term one. With it, a sense of assurance and hope returned to me, filling my already darkened thoughts with a positive deliberation and radiant optimism. Surely, I could find a sliver of an answer in such a place; and even if such hope was to be dashed, at the very least I could find security within the company of fellow human beings.

"Ah, but that would be so, if I was a human being in the first place, wouldn't it?"

My personal reflection soured as I was reminded what I had discovered about myself, or more precisely, my 'current' self.

From the equipment that I currently owned and wore, I realized that this body was not mine to begin with. It was far too tall, too well-built, and too martial for a short and pudgy social outcast that I am. Furthermore, the visage that I currently wore was certainly not mine. I had tried to determine the outline of my face through my hands, and the result of such finding startled me. Gaunt cheeks taut with hard muscles, short and stubby nose, shapely and massive jaw, complete sets of sharpened teeth, and a pair of long, pointed ears; these are not the normal facial characteristics of a human being- but most importantly, this was not my face.

The thought of looking directly at my own face through the reflection provided by my blade was tempting. However, I did not know whether or not I would be able to maintain my composure and sanity after facing what I had become; the strain on my mental faculty had been trying, especially after being bombarded by swift and merciless understanding on my 'current' condition and self. I was fearful that another realization of how I really looked like would finally break me, and being a spineless coward that I am, I opted for a momentary escape from my own mind.

I had decided to run to the village, praying along the way that only the best awaited me there by the time I arrived at my destination. The farming commune is considerably remote, yet it did not take long for me to reach the place. I did not tire, nor did I become breathless for doing something so freakishly extraordinary. Ironically, this feat is unsurprising to me, particularly due to the fact that I already suspected who or what I truly am.

"Or so I thought."

The moment I arrived at the village, there was no warmth or acceptance to greet me. Instead, it was fear and apprehension that embraced me; and I feared that it won't be long before they all turned into hostilities. Nevertheless, every citizen in this little community seemed to avoid me; and having no other place to go to, I made my way to the little well of this village.

It was quite peculiar that I did not tire from my little unbroken sprinting over the distance, and yet I was infernally parched; after spotting the little water source, I was driven by my own desire to quench my thirst.

Quickly, I made my way into the mouth of the well, and noticed that the bucket was nowhere to be found. Naturally, I concluded that the container was already inside the water pit itself, and thus, I began to pull the rope attached to the pullie of the well. It was fortunate that my assumption was proven true when I managed to fish out a wooden bucket already filled with water to the surface.

An educated thought reasoned that no good would come from consuming the water taken from such unhygienic source. However, reason could hardly appease the excruciating drought in my throat- and thus, I threw the entire content of the bucket into my face like a madman.

One bucket followed by another, the series of dunking, pulling and throwing turned into a repetition- and yet, I kept doing it over and over again like a lunatic; it was as if I was trying to drain the water pit out. The well-water tasted great both in my mouth and on my body, and so I kept on soaking myself with it, until I was completely drenched from head to toe.

Finally feeling greatly refreshed and satisfied, I settled myself comfortably at the mouth of the well. Leaning at the stone wall, I weighed the decision on what my next move would be.

Should I try communicating with the villagers? Or should I wait for them to approach me? And should I attempt to see my own face now? Or should I not?

The strengths and weaknesses on each decision began to formulate within my head; all of them were waiting to be analyzed and judged accordingly. Nonetheless, none of it all mattered, as the doors on the houses around me began to unlock, and the inhabitants started to pour out. Most of them are men, and some of them are women; there are no children among this mob, but there are plenty of youths in it. Armed with the basic farming tools or kitchen utensils, the villagers marched before me.

Panic started to creep in, and my gutless personality screamed at me to flee from the vicinity. My own logic reasoned to me that I would only endanger myself by staying put; even my own brain formulated several escape plans from this hairy situation. However, somewhere deep inside of me, I wished to remain on my ground, and to see what came next.

It was a small and odd inner voice that I could easily label as a little box of insanity within my own personality. But, in the midst of dour and negative thoughts, it was the only one that was giddy and full with anticipation for things unknown- and somehow, I was strangely drawn to this uncanny temperament; it was as if this mad logic would yield the best outcome for me.

Thus, putting my chances to this mad rationality, I stood tall on my ground, crossed my hands and posed a menacing attitude. Driven by this strange positivity, I was fairly certain that no harm would befall upon me.

Besides, with all the armor and the weapons currently on me, surely these villagers would not dare to lay a finger on me, right?

….right?

Few minutes later.

?

I was right…from a very specific point of view.

The villagers did not lay a finger on me, yet- but they were far from being friendly.

They were shouting- angrily shouting. All of them were shouting at me in a language I was not familiar with. I knew not the message conveyed in their outcries, but from the tone they were using, and from the body language they displayed, I was positive that they were not inviting me for a friendly chat over a cup of tea and a slice of cake.

I should be in a nervous wreck, especially with all these angry people around me; I was always a socially inept, an awkwardly man who had difficulty in communicating with other people. But here I was, calm and confident, despite all the clamoring and the escalating tension that besieged me. Could this be caused by the body I currently inhabited, that it possesses a subconscious experience and innate knowledge as a warrior? Or could this be originated by something more sinister, but maliciously subtle in its execution?

Could this be happening because of this….ring?

"Whatever you're thinking right now, you are mistaken, my boy."

"What? Who are you?" I called out in my head with a sense of dread still echoing in my thoughts, and the lingering uncomfortable cold still plaguing inside of my spirit. Whatever it was that spoke to me right now had left an enduring a cold sense of vileness inside of me; as if such sensation of wrongness did not belong anywhere, especially inside of a living being. However, despite of such extremely perturbing feeling, it was not the thing that alarmed me the most.

It was to know there was someone or something sharing this body with me.

The knowledge of a dark, mysterious entity living inside of my mind was nerve wrecking; and it was rightfully so, especially with this flesh of a mysterious person that I currently inhabited, and this little band of gold that now rested around one of its index fingers. But funnily enough, any physical reaction to such horror was not shown in my posture- and I was certain that my face was equally unaffected.

In short, my body, including my face did not display the freaking-out that was happening inside my mind.

Then again, my countenance was already disguised under the half-mask, and it was given an extra concealment under the shadow of my tattered hood. If something was displayed on it, no one would ever notice about it.

This strange detachment of my 'expression' from my own thoughts, even though alarming, did not diminished my curiosity from searching for an answer- or if possible, an explanation from this mysterious entity.

Yet, despite of my wishes, any unnatural traces of this inscrutable being evaporated like morning dew- and instead of the reply from this parasitic presence, I found a response from the angry mob encircling me.

The crowd halted at a small distance before me; a small space stood between me and the aggressive natives. They were closer to me now than before, and most of them who were at the forefront were yelling loudly while striking threatening stances and poses. Some of them were even attempting to step forward and striking me on my blind spot. However, due to my ever swiveling head and my wild eyes that continued to glare them from left to right, none of these people ever managed to do so.

That was until courage, or the mob mentality suddenly filled them to do the unthinkable, though.

I already knew this would happen. I already let both of my hands out from their nestling place as I assumed a more vigilant pose. Slightly hunched with both hands at the front, I am anticipating the moment when the blow finally came. I was scared, and yet I was strangely lightheaded with excitement for the upcoming conflict.

One person, a burly, stubbled man armed with a club, stepped to the front and quickly strode unto me with all the lumbering speed that he could muster. His weapon was flying high above his head, ready to be brought down upon my head.

His enthusiasm for violence was infectious to his neighbors, and quickly his footsteps were followed by several of his friends. With their weapons raised high above their head, they rushed onto me while hollering their dissonant battle cries.

The gap between me and my assailants was promptly shattered when the cudgel of the big oaf descended unto me with a singular purpose. To its violent, single-minded and crowd-inspirited wielder, the weapon fell like a meteor- and surely this filthy stranger would not be able to evade from this powerful blow.

However, despite of his eagerness to knock me out in a single strike, the man was strangely and simply…too slow in my eyes. I once again presumed that this bizarre feat was attributed to the foreign body that I now possessed. Not only that oddity, I now also held a plethora of knowledge and experience from past battles and clashes that I never knew before- another quirk which were presumably attributed to this vessel of my spirit. Within a span of a few milliseconds, my battle-tested mind had already conceived a thousand ways to dodge and counter the oncoming attackers long before they could reach me.

It took an even shorter amount of time for me to choose the most viable route.

With a single side-stepping from me, the cudgel went straight into the empty air, leaving the big man overly ahead from his target and his back exposed for my retaliation. Followed with a forceful shove to his rear, the bulky bully was stumbling upon the little stone wall and quickly thrown into the water pit. His scream echoed out from the mouth of the well as he quickly dove into its watery bottom.

Another villager came at me with a sweeping strike from his simple wooden staff. The freckled youth wielding such weapon had expended his fury in his attack, as he let his weapon flying speedily downward to meet his quarry. However, it was all for naught, as the pole arrived in the welcoming embrace of my palm. Both of his grips were good, as demonstrated by his refusal to be disarmed despite of my best attempt to wrench the weapon away. This was to be expected from a farmer's hands, but unfortunately for him, it was not so for his footings. So focused with his weapons stuck in my grip, the youth failed to notice of me rushing to him- and when he did, it was far too late. His foot quickly buckled from the sweeping kick of my armored boot, and the youth was quickly seated on to the ground before my fist rushed directly unto his face and ushered him into unconsciousness.

An older man wielding a hoe charged along with his fork-wielding friend. Their throats hollered with unintelligible curses, and their hardened stares filled with anger, but none of them were capable to avenge their fallen neighbors. Already taking over the farming staff that once belonged to the unconscious youth, I chucked the simple tool like a javelin to the villager armed with a harrow. My aim was precise and my hurl was true; the staff went straight unto the center of his forehead with an audible crack. The raw kinetic force of the zooming rod sent the poor man falling backwards with his head reaching to the ground first.

The entire incident happened so fast and so astounding that it stunned the poor man's friend who witnessed the entire thing motionless- a mistake that I quickly capitalized. Grabbing the shaft of his two-handed tool-turned weapon, and pushing it down, I launched a mighty hook that landed squarely on his cheek. The villager's returning awareness could not withhold the vicious, blunt impact of my punch, and he too, joined his peers in their pain-driven slumber as he was bowled away by the brutal strength of my blow.

I was not supposed to be happy for punching people out cold; however this one case with the last villager is an exception. Witnessing his stunned face is exceptionally amusing, particularly with his slack-jawed, dumb-looking features. It was even more comical when my clenched fist met his face; his caved-in cheek, his lolling spit-coated tongue, and his rolled eyes were unexpectedly hilarious.

Another challenger stepped up to the brawl almost immediately. A middle-aged, unshaven peasant raised his cudgel high to meet me in a melee; either a brave man or an inebriated man, he appeared to be unaffected from the scene before him. Similarly to his friends, he sought to overcome me with an overhead strike and a boisterous cry; and like his friends, he was going to be put down temporarily.

The hand that held the club plunged unto my direction; but before it could form an arc, I already lunged at the man with my knee rushing to his chest. The collision and the pain that followed immediately after staggered the man to halt in its track; it gave me the chance and the time to grab his armed hand and twist it painfully for it to surrender the weapon. In one swift turn, the villager was quickly overcome with his twisted arm curved around his neck, and locked in my 'tender' grip; the middle-aged assailant has now become my hostage.

Shouting in pain, the suffering man managed to turn his fellow villagers to stop on their tracks and back away from me. This turn of event has transformed into an advantageous situation for me. This man could be my ticket to escape from this settlement. Moreover, the man seemed to be a person of some import in this community, judging from how the other villagers was looking at his suffering with distress on their faces, and how they hesitantly retreated when I apply a little bit of force in twisting my poor hostage's arm. Consequently, this hostage might prove becoming a valuable bargaining chip that I could use for my own interests.

"Since information is useless when I cannot understand whatever the hell they are saying, I could demand for provisions, or even coins in exchange for his life. Then I could escape this place for good."

"But is that what you truly want?" The bodiless voice returned with its entire dreadful and frosty vibes. "Is that what you truly desire right now?"

"What? You again?" I shouted internally; the adrenaline was still fresh in my vein, thus substantially numbing my disarrayed mind. "Who are you?"

"My identity is not an importance right now." The ghastly voice replied. "What important is what you always want to have."

"What are you talki-"

"Here let me show you how it is done." The impatient voice cut in before my sentence was completed, and with it, as if guided by an invisible, ethereal tether, my other hand- my free hand was led to the face of my hostage. Its open palm was ready to perch upon the exposed left cheek of my hostage.

No, rather than being led, it was more like I was encouraged, driven even, to put my open hand onto his face. It was no longer a surprise for me for what I was about to do with the poor man.

It was not a surprise for me because I was already familiar with what this deed would entail; it was not a surprise for me because I was not a stranger to the technicalities of this action.

It was never a surprise for me…because I already played this game before.

Thus, as my palm finally found its intended mark, I could only utter a short prayer to the hostage in my arm.

I could only hope that whatever I was about to do to the man, would not break him in the process.

?

I was pulled.

I was yanked into some sort of tunnel of speeding lights and shadows; a darker version of a wormhole, or a hyperspace if I could say so myself, but with more ghosts and wailings all along the way. As I dived into this haunted capillary, scenes and vistas from different memories, each from different moment of time, rushed and waned before my sight like apparitions.

"So this is how it feels." I wondered at the sight of wondrous and terrifying phenomenon before me. "This is how it feels to break into some one's head."

It was a surreal sensation, a bizarre sensation, and an uncomfortable one to boot. It feels unnatural, intrusive and vile. To forcefully penetrate an individual's mental barrier is a violent affair; it is to disregard the nature of a human as a breathing, living being. Instead, it is to forcefully impose the notion into the mind of the victim that he is nothing, but just a disposable object; a plaything to have its usefulness squandered until it was broken and ready to be thrown away. Such action is not only meant for searing the ideas of utter hopelessness and absolute helplessness upon the mind of the said victim; it is also meant for breaking, grinding and molding the thoughts of the unfortunate victim to suit every whim of his cruel 'master'. Enslavement and domination are the whips to enforce the master's will, while pain, humiliation and torturous visions are the barbs to silence the protests.

This unnatural and unkind power was meant to subdue and to control dark, beastly creatures that are bred for the singular purpose of ruination. Failing that, this power would tear down any mental structure of the soldier-creatures, leaving them thoroughly humiliated and insane. Such outcome would then lead to either a boon, or a curse; both results are as accursed as the action itself.

It was a violent method for controlling a violent inhuman race. To employ this ability upon a man would and should be unthinkable- and yet, here I was, in the mind of my assailant-turned hostage, who now suffered this same abominable technique. However, this time, this unfortunate peasant did not suffer it from the hand of an elf lord-turned wraith, or from the hand of a fallen gondorian ranger- he was suffering it from my own hand.

As I went deeper and deeper into his subconscious mind, until I finally fell into a pool of thoughts, my thought-form was dragged into the cold gelatinous substances. But instead of fear of drowning, I was experiencing joy and a sense of completeness, as knowledge and understanding on things I had not known before were siphoned into me. What previously started as undeciphered messages and bits of information, had now become more and more coherent and lucid. Scenes and moving pictures from the man's memories were now understandable to me, as more and more information and insight were absorbed into my own mind.

"…Eostia...Goddess incarnate….Seven princess knights….Seven Shields Alliance…..Queen of the dark elves…and also, the monsters…orcs… and demons." I absent-mindedly muttered in my thought-form while my mind was coping to sift through the amount of information that was continuously fed unto me. When I finally landed upon the floor of this ominous lake, another interesting piece of information was entered into my mind.

"The war hero of the black hound band of mercenaries….The champion of the people."

Interestingly, this man, a native of this strange land, apparently had an idol that he revered; and interestingly still, this was not the only thing that I found out in the depth of his psyche.

Along with the knowledge and information provided by my hostage, I could feel the man's innermost thoughts and emotions, which somehow flared up at the mentioning of those subjects. At first, there was a variety of benign emotions mixing with a few of negative thoughts; love, adoration, hate were some of these feelings. However, when the thoughts on those subjects kept on lingering, these sentiments began to fester and darken. What began as devotion had now turned into an obsessive hunger; what began as love had now turned into carnal desire.

What began as hate against the injustice had now turned into a freakish, unchained disgust that leaned toward abusive tendencies.

And strangely enough, these dark thoughts were somehow connected to the womanly images that swam around in the victim's subconscious mind.

"How banal." The darkly voice of the mysterious entity once again rang within the deep, shadowy cavern of my hostage's mind; this time however, there was a bored intonation in its deep, sonorous growls. "No matter the rank or the birth, mankind will always find itself back into the darkness."

"Why am I not surprised anymore…" I replied; the suspense on the sudden appearances of the mysterious voice belonging to an unknown dark entity had already lost its appeal to me. The curiosity and the uneasiness were still there, but they were already slightly eroded by dark voice's repeated occurrences, and my own speculation on the identity of this mysterious entity. "Can you PLEASE tell me who you are now?"

"…I already told you, my identity is not an importance right now." The voice sighed in retort; despite of the voice's grimness, no one could deny the tired, parent-like tone in it. It was similar on how a father, weary after a very demanding day in his workplace, ended an argument with his demanding child before it could escalate; it was both refreshing and horrifying at the same time, especially coming from this particularly sinister entity. "I could tell you all about it, but it will take all the time that you do not have."

"What do you mean by that? You have been hanging me-"

"Enough of this distraction!" The voice thundered before subsiding like one. "Your time is growing short and you have a goal that you yourself have already set. Besides, you have gained all that you need from this bore, and I wager he has nothing else to offer us."

"What do you mean by I already have everything I need from this man?" I inquired.

"You have information about this land, don't you?" The mysterious voice easily replied. "And isn't it the one thing that you have been craving all this time?"

"What information?" I scoffed. "Only bits and pieces of broken images. How can they be of use?"

"They are more than enough, and you will understand it soon enough." The voice assured in a dangerously calming tone. "Besides, I believe you have taken so much time from this poor man, and it is in his best interest that you let him go now."

"…Alright." I voiced my agreement, a slight distaste was evident in me; never in my life would I agree to this, this abomination that I suspected it to be. No matter how truthful it has been showing lately, if my suspicion was true, then this being would be the last thing that I could put my trust to.

"You know that I can hear your thoughts, don't you?" The voice chimed in like an annoying alarm clock. "We share one vessel after all."

"Drats." I cursed. A unsettling chuckling followed soon after; no doubt that the entity found my embarrassment amusing.

"As amusing to see you flustering about, it is now the time we leave the peasant's mind alone, lest we damage it irreparably with our intrusive presence."

"…Okay…but will he be alright?"

"I am very certain that he will, if we leave now."

"No, I mean- I mean if he is still his own after we left, that he is and will always be free."

Silence fell between us; both of us were invisible yet we can felt one another existing in this haunted grotto. In this realm of sentiments and thoughts, what could be simply be a span of a heartbeat in real world, now seemed to extend into an eternity- an eternity suffused to the brink with unsettling tension and uneasiness. The wailing wind that cried out in the background didn't help to ease the matter either.

"…He can be yours, if you so desired…" The mysterious voiced finally broke the silence.

"No! I don't want it!" I hurriedly and fearfully responded. The fear was not intended to the unseen specter, but at the prospect of enslaving a human being through a powerful mental yoke. "I don't want to make him mine! I…I don't want to brand him!"

"Is that so?" The voice drolly snorted, finding an amusement in my apprehension. The titillating growling that was finely intertwined with the silkiness of the voice, was always unsettling me. Interestingly enough, it felt like the voice was not laughing at my compassionate decision as something weak, but as something that was unusually entertaining. But, then again, it could just be a trick on the mind, or a subtle, yet sinister influence from my 'roomie'- an effect I feared that one day it might completely subsume me into its collection of conquest.

"An interesting thought." The voice cheekily piped in. "Now, shall we leave?"

Thus, with my mute acceptance to the offer, I was casted out from the depth of my hostage's mind. Like how an air-filled ball pushed out from the deepest part of a pool to the surface, I was returned to my own vessel.

Few minutes after holding the man hostage.

?

Once again, I returned to the realm of the living, only to be greeted by fearful and stupefied looks from the onlookers. Gasps and baited breath were traded with one another, increasing the atmosphere of dread that dwelled among them.

This was to be expected, especially when they had just witnessed blue lights coming out from the eyes and the gaping mouth of my hostage. Thankfully, said blue lights were gradually fading away, leaving only a weary, twitchy, and whimpering man who was barely able to stand on his own. He would have already been sprawling on the ground, if not for the grip of his captor that was still manhandling him.

I had expected that the onlookers would calm down- that they would be slightly relieved that there was nothing wrong befalling to their friend. Like usual, I was wrong.

First came a train of whispers- soft and stuttered; next came a flock of chattering- slow and scattered, but steadily growing, intensifying and blending. Finally came the shrieking and shouting- loud, angry and scared. The mood was already rich with dread when the clanging and thudding sound of kitchen apparatuses and farming tools being dropped to the ground finally came; together, they all mingled along with the crying and the yelling of the masses, thus creating a dissonant chorus of chaos and confusion. Some men and women were either concealing their mouths or clutching their hairs; tears welled in their eyes, and despair was etched on their faces. Some even bolted away from the premise while screeching madly into the sky. Their reptilian brain had dictated that their survival was paramount over anything else, and with such primary and primeval instinct now replaced their mob-driven valor, these rabble soon found their sense of unity splintered. The remaining few of the populace stood their ground, professing their bravery with their simple weapons in their hands, but none of them was brave enough to take a step forward.

These people might appear bravely and steadfast, but somehow I knew these were nothing but smoke and mirrors. The slight trembling of the hand, the shifting and nervous glances that were traded to one another, and the restlessness in the movement of the body- the feeble mental construct that these men and women had erected in their mind to support their façade was starting to break apart, piece by piece; and replacing them one by one were the prickly vines of terror. Slithering and piercing from within, I could see how the growing thorns of horror were torturing them, and ensnaring them in an uncertain disquietude.

Looking at their distress with a miserable man still trapped in my vicious hold, I was strangely and genuinely happy. I am not beyond my vices, and I do confess that sometimes I find an odd enjoyment in the suffering of others. However, in this current situation, such sensation was empowered, reinforced and intensified. A curl of the lips was cracked on my face as a reactionary expression that mirrored my current feelings. I was very, very much happy to see them gripped by panic and dread; I was equally thrilled to see them suffer.

I wanted to hear the shrieking of their women, and the lamenting pleas of their young and old; I imagined that their screams would be a wonderful music in my ears. I wanted to see these people be driven to the ground, and put unto their rightful place. With this body and this power that I currently possessed, such thing is a possibility. I can do this, I can-

"Control yourself." The voice exclaimed; its unsettling tone bore a message that anchored me back to my senses. "Remind yourself that you decided not to brand the man in your arm. Remind yourself what you felt at that time. Remember the disgust that you experienced at such thought!"

Immediately after the reproach from the unseen entity, I returned to the present moment, horrified and ashamed; horrified that I have such a craving inside of me- that I indulged in this despicable sort of ecstasy, and ashamed that I let myself be drowned by power that was not mine to begin with.

"You can leave the self-loathing for later." The voice sternly admonished; its tone was rumbling like a growing thunderstorm- a mighty impatience held back by an even more powerful self-control. "You have a hostage to be delivered, a quest to be fulfilled and an escape plan to be executed. So keep your head level, boy. You don't want anymore trouble in your already full plate, do you?"

"I…I…You're right." I replied as I recomposed myself. "I…we should-"

"H-h-have mercy, sir."

"Huh?"

"P-p-please, have mercy, sir." The man in my arms slurred out his plea once more, as he was struggling to form his words with a choked throat. "P-p-please, f-f-forgive me, sir, and have m-mercy on me."

…I could understand him…

"I can understand you…" My own thoughts poured into words, and they slipped out from my mouth almost automatically; it was not the voice that I was familiar with, especially with its deep, gravelly pitch that seemed to carry an everlasting bitterness and rage. It was clearly not a voice produced by a normal human physiology…or so I thought. Nevertheless, it was without a doubt the voice of the body that I currently inhabited along with the mysterious darkly entity; and deep inside in my thoughts, I knew that this heavy voice was going to be my own from this time on.

Regardless of my amazement with my own strange voice, I realized that I had failed to notice of my immediate grasp on the native tongue spoken by my hostage. Somehow, I could understand what he was saying, and reciprocally, I could speak in his language. Was this the effect from breaking into the poor man's mind? Was this what the mysterious voice had told me about previously?

"It is." The voice once again interrupted in its usual annoying and perturbing fashion, and I feared that this might become a norm in our future conversations. "I've told you so, haven't I? Now, look and listen carefully."

I took the advice, and set my sight and attention to the remaining crowd before me.

"Oh dear Goddess, what has he done to Padraig?" A freckled youth with a sun-kissed hair yelled in trepidation. "What bewitchment has he casted on him?"

"That is no man." His brown-haired compatriot cried out in similar manner; the staff in his hands was ready to fall at any given time. "That is a DEMON!"

"Goddess preserves us! What are we gonna' do?" A lanky, balding and snivelly-looking man whimpered while constantly swiveling his head from the front to the back, looking for a way for him to escape if the situation was no longer in his favor.

"Stand your ground, men! Don't let fear hold your heart, or this demon shall take your lives, your wives' and children's!" This time, it was an older, mustached man with a gallant features that roared out a rallying call. His voice carried a distinct air of authority that managed to marshal the cowardly peasants to remain steadfast in their position. His attitude was particularly fearless even when he was armed with a simple sickle; in his hand, the humble tool looked like a shining sword when it was raised high above his head.

Perhaps, he was or had been a military man of a considerable rank?

"Y-yeah, mister Thomas is right!" A balding, goofy-looking man carrying a three-pronged fork said, as he walked to the side of the bravely man. "We cannot let fear control us! Together, we can drive this monster out from our village! Together, we can save Padraig!"

One by one, words of assent were being raised from every single one of them, as their spirit was moved by the rousing words and actions of the bravely man. It was not long before they merged into a unified, mustering shout, and reformed their broken ranks, with the sickle-wielding stalwart man standing at the center and leading them all at the forefront.

"Alright, I do not expect this to happen." The mysterious entity voiced out its surprise- a sentiment that I too, shared with it. I had expected the villagers would at best, capitulate, and at worst, negotiate. I had not expected that there was a courageous man in this village to rally the peasantries in retaliation.

Fortunately for me, none of them seemed too eager to advance unto my position at the present, especially after witnessing what I had done to their friends; consequently, this uncertainty from the villager's part gave me a chance to adjust my plans. Unfortunately for me though, this moment of respite was dwindling quickly; this rabble had already stated their intention in liberating their friend in my captivity and driving me out by force. Led by such a valiant leader, I feared this reunified band of peasants might come for me to accomplish such goal.

When such conflict finally happened, I feared that I would be forced to opt for the most extreme measure, and I prayed that I would not need to take such path. It was not a secret that a timid and faint-hearted character such as I abhorred violence and conflict to a great deal, and despite of newly acquired taste and rather enjoyable experience in a one-sided hostility, I detested the possibility of spilling the blood of another human being. With fearsome arsenal and plethora of supernatural powers that I currently owned, as well as God-knows-how-long worth of battle tactics and experiences that were somehow stored in my head, overwhelming these hostile peasants would not be a problem; it was subduing them without fatally wounding them that might pose a difficulty for me, particularly when they are no longer a disjointed mob like before. I could only hope that such probability would not came into light.

However, simply wishing for the cessation of a conflict would not make such conflict or the possibility for it to disappear; only words and actions could do so- and failing that, the last measure of strength and arms, which I had hoped would never come to that. I needed to defuse the hostility between me and the villagers first, and I knew what I had to do.

"Are you sure? They don't seem open to the idea of parlay right now." The voice reasoned to me; its apprehension to my decision was palpable, even in its usual grim demeanor.

"I know." I replied. "But at least, I must try."

"Well, fair enough. You might as well try. But stay alert." It warned. "While their capability to hurt us is questionable, we never know what other surprises they keep in their pockets."

"I know…Thank you for reminding me."

The voice did not say anything in response, which silence I had taken as an acknowledgement of my gratitude, and I appreciated it. However, as I was about to attempt a negotiation with the rallied mob by calling out to their leader, an unforeseen situation rose to blindside every one of us in the vicinity.

A boy, who looked no older than twelve, was rushing from the road at the rear of the crowd- and bawling from the top of his lungs.

"RAIDERS!" He cried out, with his cheek moist from tears and perspiration. "ORC RAIDERS!"

And after that, all hell broke loose.

Few minutes after the raid alert.

?

He was a creature without a name; just another violent half-blood product begotten through slavery and violation. Molded from the same genetic cast that had shaped many of his brothers and half-brothers, he shared not only the same physical traits of his father, but also his degeneracy and his taste for carnage and plunder. Large and tall; muscular, yet freakishly bloated in his stomach; ugly and boar-like in his countenance; but most importantly, brutal and merciless- his matching physicality and personality rang true to the purpose of his existence: destruction and desolation. Born from the womb of a listless and mind-broken wife of an ealdorman, and raised by an old but cruel patriarch of the tribe, he had endured more than a dozen summers of intense pain and struggle in a dim, cavernous pit deep inside of a mountain where his kinsmen have made as their dwelling.

He never knew the face of his father, nor did he care to look for him; he was never even bothered with the well-being of the chained female whose womb he spawned from, and whose breast he once sucked for the nourishing milk. His only attachment was to his tribesmen and to his own self; it is his way of life among his people, as how it had been brutally taught to him by his savage caretaker. Like his brothers and half-brothers, he quickly took such teaching to heart- with a slight deviation from his part. In his mind, the only thing that mattered the most were his own survival first, and the glory of his tribe next; this was evident during the sixth day of the seventh spring of his life, when he and one of his brothers were on their journey back after a successful little 'raid' to a farm located at the outskirt of the mountain.

They had been triumphant in their self-imposed incursion; a young calf belonging to the bleeding elderly who they had left to die was the testament of their success. With their loot on the tow, the brothers expected a heroes' welcome for bringing such a fat feast to the tribe. However, a particular thought was dawned in him, and quickly he shared such thought to his own blood. He reasoned that should they bring the calf back to their kinsmen, they might not be rewarded as they had expected; they would certainly be praised, but there was a extremely high chance that the best and the fattiest cut might not be theirs. He even argued that they might not get any edible parts of the meat at all.

The juiciest meat always belongs to the shaman- the patriarch of the tribe, and to the champions- the great and minor leaders of the warband and the raiding parties. The lesser portions would then be given to the ever-greedy warriors of the tribe- the backbone of the tribe's martial force, and the symbol of its strength. Sometimes, the warriors might have a rare stroke of generosity, and on such rare occasions, they would share a little of their cut to their pet-beasts and slaves. Finally, the leanest of the bounty would later be given to the communal breeding sows as sustenance to prolong their miserable existence.

By then, what would be left to be given to the young 'heroes' of the tribe, who were nothing more than two prideful tykes that managed to score a lucky shot to a weak and decrepit peasant?

He and his brothers had been given only bones and morsels to feed themselves all the time; thus, forcing them to search for additional fare of rats and critters just to slake the pangs of hunger. Would it be different this time?

It was within a single breath that his sibling immediately agreed to conspire with him, that they would kill, roast and eat the fruit of their own labor all by themselves. Should their elders catch wind of this plot, they would be severely punished; oh yes, they would be punished harshly, but they won't sleep in their simple, dirty cots in empty stomach.

Thus, the brothers, resolved and merry in the heart, prepared the fire-pit, killed and skinned the young cow, and prepared the dead beast to be roasted. As the smoke rose to the sky, and the sweet, mouth-watering scent sprung from roasting pit, the brothers were waiting giddily for the moment when they could finally sink their teeth on the meat, and enjoy the every juices, bits and pieces of the roasted calf.

When the meat was ready for consumption however, there was only one young orc to enjoy it. With his bloodied hand, he tore the roasted flesh into his mouth blissfully, while his sibling was slumping on the bloodstained ground behind him- lifeless from a split skull.

It was the turning point in his life, which he learned how to lie and to cheat- and how greatly he was rewarded because of it. He would later be punched and kicked by the warriors, and later punished by the elders of the tribe- for they knew he had been feasting on his own; a small price to pay for his selfishness, but not his act of murder. No one ever found the body of his sibling, and he simply denied any knowledge about him.

It was a great day for him, with the juicy meat as the highlight of that day; it was the most scrumptious meal he had ever tasted. Unbeknownst to him, it was also the day when his mother finally breathed her last.

From there, he could only grow to be more and more sinister and ruthless. Taken as a foot soldier after he passed his twelve summers, his rite of coming of age was held in a raid to a human settlement. It was the perfect place for his ritualistic transition to adulthood, where he shed his old shell of a cave-dwelling rat, and took his place as one of the many warriors of the tribe. It was there he unleashed his lust for blood, ruin and plunder, and it was there he first tasted the joy of robbing the purity of many, many human females.

He served under an incompetent champion of a minor raiding party for nearly two decades- plundering and fornicating for half of his lifetime, and plotting and conspiring for the other half. Through series of deceptions, broken oaths and backstabbings, he had risen far in the hierarchy of his tribe; and through a whole lot of slaughter, pillaging and ravishing, he had proven himself worthy enough to lead a raiding party of his own, and to be the co-leader of the warband of the entire tribe. However, this too was not enough for him. Nothing was ever enough for him

He had yearned for the position of the great champion of the tribe, for he strongly believed that his power and cunning mind had eclipsed those of the current leader of his warband; and he was convinced that the time for him to lead the entire tribe, including its warband was close at hand. He had plotted for his eventual betrayal, and the latest raid to another pathetic human settlement had provided him a chance to enact his plan.

Through the dream-visions visited upon them by their enigmatic, but powerful master, the shamans of his tribe had chosen and ordered him to lead his war-host to an insignificant human settlement; there, he would do what he and his kind do best: destruction and despoliation. It was to be another campaign to further spread the dark influence of their furtive lord. However, it also presented him with an opportune turn to finalize his ascension. This little village could never pose any significant threat to him or his underlings; and while this aggression was to be another hardly satisfactory sport for his lackeys, he would certainly capitalize its inevitable outcome. With another victory to his tally, the warriors of the tribe would all render unto him; and with the spoils of his latest raid, he could sway the lesser champions into his pocket. When all said and done, he would easily topple the current great champion from his lacking rule and claim it as his own.

He could already imagine the glory, riches and carnal pleasures that would soon be available to him. He could already taste the greatness that he would bring upon his tribe. Before long, the scope of his power would not only be limited to his own tribe, but also to every other tribe out there and to the rest of the world; his people would speak his name in reverence, while the pathetic human slaves would whisper it in dread.

He would be an overlord that dominate the entire land, and then after that, he would oust their 'dark master', and seize his power and authority for his own; he would be an undisputed lord of the darkness, with power that rivaled the gods themselves.

He would be like a god.

Such was the glorious dream of a nameless megalomaniac orc; it was the future that he envisioned, while leading the charge into this pathetic human settlement.

Alas, unfortunately for him, such aspiration was never meant to be fulfilled, and all of his achievements were amounted to nothing in this cruel twist of fate. All of his plans and schemes were unraveled right before his eyes in a swift and unexpected turn of event, as he beheld upon his doom.

His unmaker, a pair of spectral green arrows, zoomed through the air, seeking their target as they flew almost soundlessly and flawlessly to convey the message of pain and death to the recipient.

He, the ambitious, nameless orc, could only blink when the arrows lodged themselves deep through his skull- and at that moment, his world turned eternally lightless.

Few minutes after the initial attack.

?

A great wooden club descended in a parabolic arc to meet my skull, while several primitive spears of wood and sharpened stone rushed to meet my side; none of them was able to reach their goals, for I had rolled out from the way, leaving only a green shadow behind. Unable to redirect their attacks, their crude weapons ran through the shadowy shape that quickly turned into smoke at the moment of impact, and thus leaving their wielders open for counter attack. Using this opportune moment that my enemies had provided me, I closed my distance to the club-wielding brute with a drawn blade, and drove its exceptionally sharp point through the creature's throat; the penetration produced a sickening, yet satisfying crunching sound of a very sharp metal running its course through bones, muscles and sinews.

There was little to no resistance offered when the blade gored through the neck of the green beast; black blood and a little bit of flesh trickled from the little openings of the wound. I set my eyes momentarily on the bloated creature's desperate and pitiful attempt to shut the perforation on its neck. Already on its knees and in its death throes, the creature was gargling a mouthful of black viscous liquid while tremblingly extending its clawed hand to reach me. However, before those bloodstained fingers could ever reach its destination, in one swift and fluid movement, I pulled the blade effortlessly from its throat, and swung it downward toward its nape. Matching the speed of the creature's descent, the blade of my longsword bit deep into the flesh of the greenskin's scruff; its edge of went easily from the back to the front of its neck, and in a matter of seconds, the head was already separated from the neck. The weight behind the slash was so heavy that it pushed the severed head high into the air, and let the still warm black blood from it to rain down upon me and nearby enemies.

Stunned at such quick display of butchery before their eyes, the fat humanoid beasts were momentarily frozen in their tracks. It was a mistake- their mistake which I capitalized for my own gain. Using the momentum from my previous strike, I spun myself to the nearby humanoid greenskin and sliced it across its bulging abdomen; the contents of its stomach poured out like a stream of viscera, and still the beast remained alive. Roaring in pain and struggling to keep his entrails from hanging out from the massive gash on its disemboweled belly, the creature failed to realize that the edge of my blade was already pushing down on his throat. With a single but forceful pull on the grip of my sword, the edge of my blade swiftly moved sideways, and in turn, the beast's gullet was cut wide open. Another stream of black blood ran out from such a hideous laceration like a grisly fountain, and like his comrade before him, the creature fell to its knees while desperately and pathetically stanching both open wounds with its own hands. Choking on his blood before finally succumbing to the blood loss, the creature slumped to the blood-soaked earth with a thud; its last moment was as painful as it was terrible.

I had not expected this conflict to happen; I had not even expected that there would be a raid from a pack of green-skinned creatures that the villagers have called as the 'orcs'. Massive, disgustingly portly, and ugly- these 'orcs' are far-cry to the uruks of the land of shadows and ashes. Covered in simple fur tunics and armed with crude wooden and stone weapons, these creatures, while evidently inhumane and savage, are undoubtedly incomparable to the superior denizens of Mordor. Nonetheless, judging on these greenskins' intention to visit pain and suffering to this little farming village, which its inhabitants are far more inferior to them, these 'orcs' are seemingly not lacking in cruelty and depravity.

I had not expected a raid to happen, nor had I wanted to fight the raiders. I have always been a sheltered and cowardly trash of the society, who has a knack in slinking away from trouble and problems; I truly disliked confrontations and conflicts, and I would always do my best to avoid one- no matter how terrible and horrible I would be mocked and ridiculed because of it. It has always been my number one rule in my petty and insignificant life.

But, right now, at this moment and place, I felt so connected with the distressing tension!

Instead of fear and anxiety, my body was trembling with the giddiness of anticipation. I should be disgusted with the prospect of spilling blood; instead, my heartbeat was accelerating with impatience, and my stomach was growing cold with eagerness. The uncomfortable restlessness in my mind churned like a furious cobra, while the prickling rage within my spirit blazed like a violent wildfire. All of these agony and discomfort were yearning for a release in the form of the clashing of arms and the dismemberment of limbs.

If not for the oddly disciplined state of mind that I currently had, I would already jump out to the oncoming enemies and drowned myself in battle frenzy. However, due to this bizarre and deeply ingrained self-control, my mind quickly tempered the unnatural rage within into a keen focus for the oncoming conflict, and redirected the volatile energy within my spirit into a driving force that would transform me into a storm of mist and blades.

And so, instead of using the chaotic moment to run away from the doomed settlement and letting the villagers to fend off themselves, I had opted to throw myself into the fray, and let the consequences be damned. This was not about being heroic, or standing up for the common folk who could not defend themselves. No matter the justifications conjured by my conscience, this was never about helping the people, or being compelled by some sort of noble cause.

This was only about me unleashing the storm within into a hurricane of death and destruction. This was only about me exploring the full might of the body that I currently inhabited. The mysterious voice did not impart any sound advice or any glancing comments to spur the moment- yet somehow, I could feel its dark sentiment blossoming inside my psyche. Had it been the reason for this intense hatred and blood lust that I was going through right now?

If so, shouldn't it be more appreciative toward these 'orcs', especially when they possessed the inherent potential as future minions and slaves?

"Bah! These refuse, orcs?" The voice finally blurted out its distaste. "The dung that the Olog Hais discharged are infinitely more terrifying than these bloated maggots! And their prospect as future minions…pagh, just slaughter them all for now."

Smiling at its answer, I threw myself into the incoming conflict with a glee; and being enabled by the knowledge that this 'orcs' are no human being, and equally hated by the mysterious entity inside of me, I had no qualms in spilling their blood and mutilating their flesh.

Without a moment to lose, I had dashed into the approaching pack of green-skinned brutes; both of my hands were itching to reach for the grip of either weapon that rested behind my back, and I was hankering to get up-close and personal with these orcs in a bloody melee. However, the hundred battles worth of experiences in my mind suggested a different approach, and I welcomed it out of curiosity. With the hostage no longer in my tender grip, I had summoned a spectral bow into my hand; and with its power, I claimed the first blood in this skirmish. Releasing two ghostly arrows in quick succession from the phantasmal weapon, I had taken a life of a grotesque humanoid, who were previously leading the charge. The twin fading shafts of greenish light that were stuck deep in its broad temple made sure that the creature would never rise again.

Even from a distance, the spectral arrows that were shot from my bow would never deviate from my aim- and it should be so, especially when the spectral bow itself is none other than Azkâr itself. Even though it is an echo of its true self, and has been completely suffused with profane curses and other corrupting dark powers of the Deceiver, the dwarven bow remains unmatched in its power; already being transformed from the instrument of light into one that dwells in the darkness, its magical enchantments are still functioning, if not slightly ameliorated by the dark powers that completely coat it.

The demonstration of the might of Azkâr would astound me, if not for the extensive lore of such weapon and the knowledge of using it being readily available in my mind. Additionally, there was also this ingrained familiarity of using such weapon in my senses, as if it was right for me to feel so accustomed with the spectral bow.

I could question how this knowledge was there inside me, but doing so would be pointless and foolish on my part. At this point, I should already accept the fact that any answer regarding any and all peculiarities in me would certainly lie in the same conclusion that had been repeating over and over again in my head.

After my initial attack had bore its bloody fruit, instead of relenting, I had phased myself into the midst of the raiding party, wreaking havoc to its participants left and right mercilessly. To the green-skinned invaders and the human onlookers, I was no longer a heavily armored and armed stranger with his face shrouded by the shadows of a ragged cowl. Instead, I was an otherworldly and malevolent force of smoke, shadows and blades- an evil given form to stalk the earth once more, and to hunt and murder everything that walks and breathes. No enemy that encountered me would remain unharmed, or remotely unscathed.

One of the orcs roared its battle cry furiously as he rushed for me from behind. The tusked, green-skinned degenerate sought to immobilize me by exploiting my blind side, and capitalizing its brute strength to clutch me in its strong arms. The creature's chance to do so arrive when I was still contending with a pair of spear-wielding twins, and the beastly humanoid was determined in pinning and restraining me down. However, instead of overpowering me in its hands, the orc only managed to hug a shapeless, shadowy cloud of green smoke, that quickly dispersed when the the creature's hands closed in around it. Dumbstruck by strange thing happening before its eyes, the orc's awareness only returned when the pain receptors around its neck were screaming agonizingly to the extreme stimulus of having a great portion of a blade jutting out from its throat. His suffering was short-lived, as I quickly retracted the blade and swiped it horizontally across its entire neck.

The grim fate of the spear-wielding twins was not far behind. After the beheading of their burly buddy, I immediately set my focus on them and summoned a sinister, spectral hammer into my off hand. With a single swipe of my transparent, wraithlike hammer, I conjured a powerful, bone-chilling gust that enveloped the two orcs in its grip. The effect was immediate; the orcs were trapped frozen in their own stances, standing still with their body covered in the webbings of hoarfrost. Unable to move, and unable to open their mouths, the unfortunate orcs could only look in terror and howl in muted scream, as my hammer descended onto each of their skulls- splitting them open like crushed watermelons.

The howls and grunts of pain; the snarling screams of anger; and the unnerving, yet somewhat delicate crunching sounds of bones being crushed and flesh being carved apart- All of these disunited noises filled the air like a dissonant and macabre orchestra. The atmosphere of the bloody killing ground was steeped in confusion, anger and fear- a perfect complement to this devilish ensemble. In the midst of them all was me, as the conductor of death- weaving and tearing through orcish flesh and bones alike in a mad, incomprehensible tempo. Drenched in black, fetid life liquid of the orcs, and feverish from the adrenaline rush, I never felt so alive in my entire life!

The dance of death continued as I kept on cutting down the orcs who were bold and stupid enough to test their fate. More and more body parts and chunks of flesh were sent flying away, as my longsword continued to slice, stab, and tear the invading creatures into ribbons. Normally, a regular and pristine sword is hardly capable in inflicting mortal wounds upon the burly creatures such as the orcs. The feat of mutilating or beheading an orc with a well-made blade is not unheard of, and injuring one with a normal sword is not impossible. However, to do such feat alone, and using only an ordinary, unaugmented sword requires a highly exceptional swordsmanship, and a tremendous amount of luck; and for those without such privileges, their hope of victory lies in quantity, for an orc can be slain with two or three blades sticking into its body.

This conclusion was not reached through simple observation, but through repeated experimentation to determine the most efficient way to cut through the natural protection of the orcs that lies within their thick skin and muscles. Normal, regular man-made swords may have a hard time in negating the orcs' innate physical resistance; however, the sword in my hand was not such a weapon. The double-edged weapon was a labor of the legendary elven ingenuity and craftsmanship; its ornamented cross-guard spread wide like the wings of eagle, while its beautifully layered handle extended long to house a two-handed grasp. Additionally, the skin-like material that covered the entire hilt is enchanted with a spell that enabled a perfect grip in its wielder hand. At the end of its haft was an embellished pommel shaped like a spade, and at its other end was the singular part that is the most definitive feature of this elven longsword. Even though it was slicked with the black blood of the orcs, the long blade still radiated with indescribable power. From the moment of its conception, the blade had been bathed in orcs blood; it has ended the lives of ambitious warlords and warlocks alike, and never once it goes dull from constant use. Reforged time and time again, this elven longsword embodies all the martial virtues of the elven kind, and even until its eventual fall into darkness, its power could only grow more powerful than before.

This longsword, like Azkâr, was no longer the gleaming and righteous instrument of justice that once wielded by a bright lord; it was now a terrible weapon of vengeance and retribution in the hands of a wraith. The blade may have lost its brilliance of the Eldar's light, but in the darkness, it was reborn, bearing the heat and the shadows of Udûn.

This is Urfael, the dark herald of vengeance- and these orcs shall rue this very day when they decided to cross its path.

While many orcs were brutally dispatched by my hammer and my blade, some of the green-skinned invaders with a lick of sense and brain power had understood that contending me with blades and arms head-on was a fool's errand, and doing so discreetly and stealthily would only yield the same terrible result for them. Thus, instead of trying to overwhelm the hazy hurricane of shades and blades that was me, they simply turned to the villagers while I was busy slaughtering their unfortunate kinsmen. Their scheme, although was met with resistance from the villagers, went relatively successful; a number of unfortunate peasants had become the casualties of the orcs' brutality as they were clubbed, stabbed and trampled to death by the savage invaders.

With some of their friends and relatives being brutalized by the greenskins, the rest of the armed peasants promptly rallied under the mustering call of the gallant-looking man wielding a simple sickle in his hand, who had immediately become the de-facto leader of these ragtag militiamen. With the looming threats on their own lives, the villagers quickly fell into order, and moved in unison and accordingly to the commands that their valorous leader had barked. Before long, the villagers managed to muster some sort of a resistance, with two to three villagers engaging an orc. With this strategy, these simple farmers-turned fighters managed to put down few orcs, despite of the steadily increasing number of casualties on their side.

While the tactic employed by the leader of the village defense was sound, the orcs that they currently struggled with were no pushover either, for some of them were veterans of a hundred raids, and all of them were no stranger in adapting with the ever shifting flow of combat. It was almost straightaway for the orcs to re-overwhelm the resistance with their martial prowess alone; and with sheer number on the greenskins' advantage, the remaining militiamen were forced to fight a losing battle.

The resistance, while courageous and staunch, was crumbling under the weight of the orcs' aggression. Their momentum of contention with the green tide was bogged down into a retreating battle, for many of them fell wounded in the melee while their enemies relentlessly bore down upon them. With their numbers quickly dwindling, many of the surviving militiamen, both young and old, were resigning to their fate. Grimly and defiantly, they stood together on what could be their last stand; with their past thoughts and regrets erased by the gloom acceptance on what might come next, these men and women braced for their inevitable end.

Previously, in their desperate battle to drive away the orcish raiders from their village, the militiamen had questioned their misfortune:

"Why won't this stranger help us? Why won't he help us when he's also fighting the orcs? We are dying here, why won't he help us? Why? Why? Why?"

Those many questions kept on repeating over and over again in the thoughts of these desperate men and women who were hopelessly trying to maintain the defensive line with their pitchforks and farming scythes. In this extremely trying time, as they were struggling not only to survive, but also to protect their homes and loved ones, these common people grew dour and resentful to their plight, to the stranger whom they had expected as their deliverer, and to their Goddess who had abandoned them in their time of need.

Though angry and bitter they had become, as their line of defense being progressively driven back, the militiamen finally found the despairing truth in their struggle for survival. In their forlorn state, a sudden realization had struck in their mind, and on that moment, they had understood that they were now on their own, and no one was coming to save them.

All that they could rely on right now were the simple tools in their hands, and their friends and neighbors on each of their sides.

Realizing such truth, the militiamen reluctantly made peace to their grievances and steeled themselves for the worse. Dragging their fallen friends and neighbors to the back of the line, the remaining militiamen rallied together as the final human cordon against the orcish raiders, who were now surrounding and leering them hungrily like a pack of wolves. Dirty, exhausted, bruised and torn- they now gritted their teeth, as they waited mutinously for the moment of their death. Should they die, they would die taking as many as these green-skinned bastards with them.

To hell with the Goddess and the stranger!

They would die standing against these beasts together; they would fight and hoped for the best- hoping that some of them might survive this encounter, and hoping that all their loved ones hiding in their homes would be spared from any cruelty that would soon befell upon them.

However, despite of their bitter acceptance to their fate, little did these militiamen know that their plight was not left unwitnessed. While I was busy shredding the orcs on my side, I managed to steal a glance or two on the rallying peasantries, and listen to their indistinctive clamor. From what I had seen and heard, I was compelled to alleviate their burden.

While initially I was doing what I was pleased to do, I felt responsible for the dead villagers that the orcs managed to slay. Trickling away from the slaughtering ground where I had been playing for a while, little by little, the tusked vermins of the raiding party had shifted their focus to much easier prey. As the result, the villagers were now paying the price for my callousness.

I might not be able to save the dead victims, but as I was already in the thick of the skirmish, I might as well help the living ones as best I could.

For that reason, I immediately channeled into the power and knowledge that were already existed deep inside of me, and in less than a second later, I let loose such power upon the besieging orcs.

Full with anticipation and still swimming in the haze of battle rush, I vanished from my current spot in an ephemeral darkly mist, and appeared a second later behind of an orc who was trying to choke the life out from an unfortunate peasant. This time, Urfael had already returned into its sheath; and in its place, was a miniature blade, shaped similiarly to the elven longsword. It was an assassin dagger, a grim instrument of furtive murder and concealed death. The spreader of terror and madness, this dagger has made many uruks warchiefs and overlords to always look behind their backs when they are under the black sky of the night. Forged from the pieces of a shattered blade that once belonged to a murdered son, and further refined and magically bolstered in elven craftsmanship and spellcrafting- this dagger is as deadly as its brother, the longsword Urfael.

Like all its other siblings, eventually this dagger was lost into the loving embrace of darkness- and from the abyss of Gorgoroth, it was remade. Now, ever dripping with the venom of Morgul, the dagger Acham would always hunger for more prey that it could sink into; and fortunately for the weapon, its hunger was about to be slaked.

Held in a backward position, the blade of Acham dove into back of a skull of an unsuspecting orc. It produced a muted and painful yelp when the blade was completely plunged into the creature's head. Tearing the dagger free in violent fashion, I squandered no moment in zipping myself from one orc to the other- visiting brutal death to each and every one of them.

The one that was about to trample a helpless man under its uncovered foot, had its eye-socket jammed with the pointy, pick-like protrusion at the back of my hammer's head; the eyeball within was punctured while the creature's throat was ripped open by Acham.

Another orc that was about to crush a militiaman's head in its strong hands, had one of its legs bisected by Urfael. Before it could reach the ground, its entire waist was already cleaved in two by the longsword; thus, separating the tusked menace's upper and lower body in gruesome manner.

Another orc that was about to impale an unwary youth with its crude stone spear had the special privilege of having its entire head be overloaded with dark energy. Clutching its ugly face tightly in my clawed grasp, the volatile dark energy that was transmitted from my hand into the orc's brain tormented the creature to no end. The orc's attempt to resist died on the spot when its nervous system was wracked and fried by the unstable dark powers that ran through all of them. The only measure of opposition that the orc managed to produce was a heart-rending roar of pain- and even so, it was short-lived. The greenskin's terrible howling was quickly silenced when its entire head popped out with a bang, which promptly followed by a lavish shower of blood and brain matter.

More and more greenskins were deprived of their limbs or other body parts, before they were deprived of their own lives. When the dark powers that enabled me to be a teleporting murderous specter of steel and smoke had finally expended, the numbers of the remaining raiders had drastically thinned, leaving only a handful of them in the vicinity. In an instant, the unfavorable odds of the losing militiamen were now turning to their favor. Acknowledging that such a rare chance had risen to their advantage, the leader of the militiamen quickly seized the momentum, and reformed his men back as a fighting force. With their numbers finally be in their edge against the invaders, the bruised and bloodied defenders of this little farming settlement charged into the remaining orcs with rage and fury fueling their weary flesh and bones.

What the orcs had previously seen as easy pickings, had now turned into a wholesome promise of death. Looking at their compatriots being torn apart by the claws and the fists of the frenzied, angry masses that had forgone their weapons, the sense of superiority of these orcs crumbled- and along with it, their deviant imitation of the concept of courage. Being treacherous creatures, these orcs are inherently cowardly, and rely heavily on their superior brute strength and sheer numbers to overwhelm any foes. When their sense of security in raw power and quantity was challenged and broken, these oversized vermins would not hesitate to leave their kinsmen to die and run away with their tails between their legs- and right now, these surviving orcs were doing just so.

Some of them had already thrown their primitive weapons away before turning back from the onrushing flock of angry men and women; some even tried to loot the dead villagers before wavering and joining their surviving kinsmen in retreat- yet none of them would live to see another sunrise, for their hunter was just a breath away from their neck.

Customarily, it was a hassle to track and hunt down any retreating uruks and ologs of Mordor; it was such a pointless chore that actually no one could be bothered to do so, especially when the said retreating minions of the dark lord were the nameless and insignificant cretins that scampered away when their captains were killed.

However, at this current moment, while looking at only a handful of them was left, I felt no compulsion for being indolent or merciful to these orcs.

Re-summoning Azkâr back in my hand, and aiming my shot with the shadowy bow, I looked upon the backs of the cowardly orcs and pulled its spectral string. Releasing the string back into its place, and sending two ghostly arrows to the direction of my target, I dispatched two more orcs into their early graves. Both of them suffered a dishonorable death, for they had been shot at the back of their head.

Another orc had its leg pinned down to the ground after I had expelled another arrow through its shin. His pleading roar died with it when the peasantries' wrathful fists, knives and spades descended upon it like a torrential rain. These angry men and women did not even care to stop even when their victim's head had already been pounded into a gruesome pulp, or when its chest had been torn open.

The last orc was close in making its escape, but before the greenskin could ever reach the entrance of the village, I already reached the creature's back. With my darkly hammer, I picked out its kneecap, and sent the brute tumbling down on its own weight. Brandishing Acham and jabbing it deep into one of its shoulder blades, I forced the orc to turn his body around to face me. Now standing on top of the brute, and looking directly at its beady eyes, I could only wonder how terrifying my current look was, especially with all the blood that plastered all over it. The revolting whimpering that came out from its stuttering lips did the orc no favor in stopping me from doing what I am about to do on him next.

In this situation, my predecessor would simply rain down a flurry of wraith-powered punches before slitting the throat of his unfortunate foe. But for me, instead of repeating the same thing, I just used my hammer.

Bending close to my fearful prey, I stabbed the orc's shoulder again, and quickly brought down my hammer to its face. The hammer's first descent produced a titillating crunching sound of a cheekbone shattered and being caved in by a powerful blunt object, which was followed by the orc's agonizing grunt. The second descent broke the orc's nose and its other cheek into a bloodied mess, while the third shattered its jaw and one of its tusks, and still the creature responded with a sound- even though it grew raspy and pathetic with every blow. Finally, at the seventh descent upon an unrecognizable, blood-soaked ruin of a face, the sound that the orc made stopped for good.

Stepping away from the corpse, I looked upon my handiwork and drank deeply into the intense sense of the gratification that the gory sight before me had engendered. No longer was an object of a certain shape, what previously was a head of an orc, now has turned into a heap of visceral mess on a patch of blood-stained dirt, with pieces of its brain, teeth and skull scattered all around it.

The rout was finally complete.

Few minutes after the conclusion of the massacre.

?

Breathing heavily from my mouth, and yet feeling no tiredness in my body, I looked at my surroundings to see if there were any stragglers that were fortunate enough to evade from my or the angry villagers' tender care; the adrenaline still ran hotly in my veins, and it would be a waste for disusing the blood-rush when there were enemies to be dispatched. However, as I suspected, there was no orc raider to be found, as evident from the villagers who had just finished dealing with their own quarries and now fully appreciating their own bloody craft. Some of them were repulsed with what they had done in their blind fury, while others tremblingly accepted the cruelty that they had performed upon their enemies.

In their state of being drained of their wrathful frenzy, and in their languor after seeing the corpse of their friends and relatives, the villagers finally looked upon me in my visceral and blood-soaked glory- standing ominously among the dismembered corpses and mutilated limbs. In an instance, they realized that I was still here, and the horror returned to them as they were reminded of the savagery, the brutality, and the otherworldly feats that I had displayed against their aggressors. The reaction of the surviving militiamen was mixed. Not a few of them fell upon their rears, sobbing in despair, while others simply stood their ground- tired, yet still angry and defiant. All of them knew full well that crossing blades with me would only mean courting death; but still they resist, for in their mind, to submit would damn not only themselves, but their families as well.

Picking up their tools-turned weapons, the surviving defenders of the village moved together as a human wall with their courageous leader leading in front of them. Not wanting to be one-upped by these brave men, I too, returned my dagger into its sheath, and took my longsword out. Hopefully, my current appearances, especially with my own blade being drawn out, would be enough to stop them from doing anything foolish. These villagers were anything but a challenge for me; however, I disliked the notion of having to kill them, particularly so after I had been fighting alongside of these men, and saving some of them in defense against the orcish raiding party.

I disliked the idea of fighting the people that I once helped, but in my current self, I would not shy away from conflict to defend myself. Yet, to my surprise once more, it was propitiously not happening.

The gallantly leader of the villagers ordered his men to stop, which they nervously obliged. Alone, the man approached me. His brown hair was unkempt, and his clothes were torn on some places, but none of them seemed to faze him. Bruised, exhausted and drenched in his sweat, his posture remained tall, and his eyes were still burning with purpose. With a blood-caked sickle in his hand, not once did the man display any signs of cowardice or weakness, despite of him still heaving muskily from his mouth.

"I am Thomas Allen-Landrey." The gallant-looking man politely introduced himself after he stopped in a small distance of few footsteps before me. Although a hint of weariness was discernable in his voice, the proud, authoritative tone in it did not waver. "The chief of this peacef- this settlement of Laudeshire. May I trouble you for telling me who you are, stranger?"

"Greetings, chief Allen-Landrey of Laudeshire." I greeted the man in a voice that is akin to the typical growls of the uruks of Mordor, though this time, it was tempered with humor and friendliness. "I am just a thirsty wanderer whom you have treated with your rather…unique courtesy."

"Ah." The village chief's rigid expression faintly melted as he chuckled; apparently, the sarcasm was not lost on him. His posture vaguely relaxed, although he still kept his arms crossed and his sickle tightly in his grip. "You'll have to forgive us about that, stranger. It is seldom for us to have an outsider visiting our rather dull village, especially a heavily armored and armed wanderer such as you. Surely, you understand, that we cannot be too careful when a stranger from Goddess-knows-where such as you come to our village."

"Yes, of course." I gleefully snickered, and somehow, it made the village chief to concur in an awkward and nervous laughter. "I can understand your concern and your logic. But…you can always talk to me first, like, you know, what normal people would do."

"Ah, then, again, I offer you our apology. May you find in your heart to forgive our…foolish action." The chief replied as he lowered his head courteously. "I would also like to thank you for your heroic action in rescuing our people and driving the orcs away from our village. Truly, you have saved this village and we are eternally grateful for it."

"I…your apology is accepted, chief Allen-Landrey." It was my turn to be uneasy; I was never been genuinely praised before, and I was not accustomed of getting one. "And please, you are selling yourself and your men short, o great chief. I did not do everything by myself, and if it was not for you and your men, the retreating orcs may wreak havoc elsewhere. All of you deserve some of the credit yourselves."

"Ah, but this is our duty after all, o honorable wanderer." The village chief humbly denied the praise. "It is the right thing to do for us to protect our homes, our families, and our people from any harm."

"On that, I completely agree, chief Landrey."

We exchanged a small friendly laughter after that little back-and-forth.

"However, as a wandering swordsman, surely you do not expect to be unrewarded for the great service that you have rendered to our village today." The village chief returned into his somber and serious tone.

"Excuse me?"

"Surely you want coins for your aid, right?"

"Well…coins would be good, bu-"

"Unfortunately, we are not a well-off village. As you can see, we are simple farmers, and we just have used all of our collective funds to purchase medicines for our children. Therefore, we cannot produce a fat bag of gold for you."

"Oh, okay. Bu-"

"But, if you can find patience and gentleness in your heart, then I beg you, o great warrior." The village chief interrupted me once again, but this time, he bent his knee to the ground- much to my and his men's dismay. "Please leave my people alone, and I shall give everything in my estate that has a worth in coins as restitution for your service."

"CHIEF!"

"MISTER THOMAS, SIR!"

"You cannot be serious, chief!"

"You cannot do that! We cannot let you do that!"

All the men that stood behind him were now protesting loudly at his rash decision. Clamoring boisterously and raising their weapons threateningly, these villagers, with grit and grime caked on their faces, were seemingly dead set in defending their beloved leader- although none of them truly took a step forward. Instead, all of them were exuding an imposing impression of being about to charge in if something wrong was about to befall on their leader.

This reaction from the common people just strengthened my opinion on the chief of this small farming settlement of Laudeshire; truly, he was a good man, and a good leader, who had no qualms in sacrificing himself for the good of his people and for the good of this village.

"Ah, but is it always the good thing, o you impressionable child?" The voice mocked me internally in its usual approach.

Annoyed by the mysterious voice's smugness, I was about to respond his derision. But before I could do so, the village chief once again stop me from doing what I am about to do, by making himself into the center of my attention.

"SHUT IT!" He shouted at his men without turning back to address his men; his authoritative tone returned to replace his much softer tone. "Shut it and stay put!"

"But chief!" The men simultaneously voiced their objection. "We-"

"No buts!" The village chief silenced their dissent with his roar. "Don't you see what this stranger can do to us? Have you forgotten what he has done to Oliver, Finlay and Padraig? Have you forgotten what he has done to those orcs, or have you all been suffering a memory loss? Do any of you think you can fight this stranger and live to tell the tale?"

The commotion turned into a muffled mumbling among the militiamen. The dissatisfaction was still there, but now the reason that the village chief had made his men to see, has successfully curbed their enthusiasm. Now, all of them were hanging their heads in bitter shame and dejection, as they reluctantly submitted to the fact that none of them stood any chance to stand against me- be it alone or in unison.

"Please forgive these people for their impertinence, o great warrior." The village chief now returned to address me in his kneeling state. "We are of the farmers sort, are ignorant bunch in propriety, and I implore you to not be slighted by our crude behavior."

"It's alright, kind chief." I reassured the village chief, yet judging from his reaction and his rejection to move from his current position and stance, it seemed that different message was conveyed to the man. It was both infuriating and annoying for it seemed that in his mind, I was portrayed as some sort of a sleazy and avaricious bully that would make his and his people's lives miserable if I was not dissuaded with some sort of payment. This sort of preconception was utterly vexing, and it was doubly so when the mysterious voice had found an amusement in my uneasiness and irritation.

"If it pleases you, give me a day or two to sell my belongings, so that I can prepare your coins." The village chief added in his dignified tone, even though I could already catch on the submissive mood in it. "In the mean time, we would like to invite you to enjoy our courtesy, even though it is not muc-."

"Oh, enough of this nonsense!" I exasperatedly growled at the kneeling man, while striding to his position and sheathing Urfael back into its place. His overly-polite speech was extremely grating on my nerves, and it only drove my vexation further in my mind. Right now, I no longer had the patience to stomach those overly-sweet eulogies heaped upon me, and I certainly could not stand his needless fear of me. My loud gruffly voice managed to convey my displeasure bluntly that it made the village chief to rear his head and directly see my face. "I did not come to your village to plunder your possessions or deflower your women. I just came here for a drink."

Clutching his stout arms firmly, I brought the village chief back to his feet; a feat that made his men jumpy, and the man himself to stare at me with a puzzled look.

"I did not know where I am and what this place was before you told me." I explained impatiently, letting out all the nagging thoughts. "I was thirsty in my wandering, and I just happened to spot your village from the distance. Therefore, I came here just for some water, and if possible, some information or direction."

"I…see." The village chief incredulously answered; he was still shell-shocked by my sudden action.

"As you already knew, there was a little miscommunication happening between us before the 'orcs' came knocking to your doorsteps. Then, all of sudden, those greenskins came attacking, and the rest was history, as you knew it."

"I..But…why?" The village chief stutteringly inquired, confusion was still plastered in his expression. "Why did you help us?"

"I…it is as you have said, noble chief." I lied; knowing nothing what to say, I copied the village chief's previous answer as my own. "It is the right thing to do after all, since we have no qualms with one another."

"I..I…I do not know what to say" The village chief said in cracked voice as he lowered his head. It was not long before he looked up once more- slightly snorting and sobbing, with his beady eyes now peering directly into the shadow of my hood. "I do not know what to say, but thank you, o generous stranger. Thank you so much for your kindness and your heroic action."

"Ah well, I only do the right thing to do." I uneasily growled while easing my grip from the man's arms. It was nice for him to thank me, but his humble and unnecessary reverence towards me was greatly discomforting. The mysterious voice did not help either, especially with its constant chuckling that still echoed in my head. "Other people would do the same thing as I do when placed in similar position."

"But, not all, o generous sir!" The village chief fervently responded as he clasped my free hand firmly in his grip. His farming tool had lain forgotten on the ground, and his face was downright beaming with gladness. "Not everyone would do as you would have done for us today! I have seen many, many men and women with great titles and positions attached on their names, but most of them would simply run away to save their own skins and pockets when being put at the same situation such as yours. Truly, you are a heaven-sent- No, you are a Goddess-sent savior! Our savior!"

"Uhhh, sure?" I dumbly responded as a reaction to my inability to comprehend the ridiculousness of this current condition that I put myself into. "But, I am not exactly what you think I am."

"Ah, but didn't you help us because it is the right to do?" The now happy-looking man countered my claim. "Did you not decline my humble offering because of the kindness and the nobility of your heart?"

"Goddammit." I cursed inwardly while trying my best to disregard the ever growing laughter that still reverberated in my mind.

"Well…okay, but I am not certain about me being your Goddess-sent hero, though."

"Such humility!" The village chief guffawed while placing his hand on my shoulder; all notion of hostility between us has melted away, and in its place, friendliness and acceptance. "Truly, you are a hero. Come wanderer! Come to my house, and we will talk more about you and everything else. You say you need information and direction, yes?"

"That's true. I do need more than a few explanations."

"Then, come to my house." The village chief graciously offered, as he pulled me for a walk back into the little settlement. "It is not big, but it is comfortable. Furthermore, I think my wife can whip up a few of her famous dishes. They may not be the lavish fare on the nobles' table, but you will like it- I guarantee it!"

I was speechless at the man's eagerness and candor for a stranger like me, but it should not be a surprise at how easily and readily the man to believe that I was their deity's grace personified. However, my silence was perceived differently by my grateful host, who quickly anticipated it.

"You may not need any reward, but at least, please let me show you our gratitude and what courtesy our village can truly provide you. Be our guest!"

"…Then, I will trouble you, master Allen-Landrey." I yielded after a sigh. It seemed that the man won't be budged from his decision.

The village chief finally laughed unreservedly, before addressing his men with his fist raised.

"Three cheers for the outsider!"

"HIP HIP HURRAH!" The men cheered out for me, finally convinced of my allegiance through the warm attitude of their leader upon me.

"Goddess be praised!" Another added in with their own words of jubilation. More and more joined in as I was paraded and hailed into the heart of the settlement. Sense of relief and joy quickly washed upon these masses, and infectiously did they spread to one another. Their past resentment and apprehension were still smoldering within their hearts and minds; but due to the mental and physical exhaustion, as well as the conforming jubilation that rapidly circulated around them, those negative thoughts were subdued for the time being. The people who previously looked upon me with fear and hostility, now scrambling to shake my hands; the fear was still there in them, but it was a different kind of fear. Some of the villagers have even gone their way to knock every door on every house, calling out to the people who barricaded inside that their village was saved a Goddess-sent savior and that savior was among them right now.

By then, all the people in this community, men and women, young and old, have come out to see for themselves the savior of their village; and as the consequence, I was besieged by an army of adoring villagers.

I felt like a celebrity with these people praising and revering me. This sensation was so bizarre and surreal; never have I been so lauded before, especially as some sort of a heroic figure that saved the day for everyone, and it was very overwhelming. This feeling was too much for me to handle, and I feared that I might be drowned in it- and yet, it oddly felt proper.

This overwhelming feeling of being extolled was strangely empowering. It made me to think that maybe I deserved all of these praises and adoration, that maybe it was right for these villagers to prostrate before me, that it was appropriate for them to love me, and that it was my right to be revered as a-

"Ah ah ah. Do winning a little victory and getting praises from these people make your head swollen now, eh little 'hero'?" The mysterious voice, who had been silent for a short while, finally spoke up in mocking tone. "Careful now, don't let these petty glory and false sense of superiority get into your head, lest it burst apart like the head of that poor…'orc' that you detonated earlier."

"I don't- I don't let…" I tried to defend myself, yet instead I was made aware of my error. I could simply ignored or deny what the mysterious voice has implied me to be; but alternately, I was taken aback by my comprehension on the message conveyed in its chastisement. In its own devious way, I was made to see the truth that lay behind its mockery.

This was not my body to begin with, and although I was not a stranger to the power that was contained with it, I was acting as it was my own. Swaggering with pride, and thinking myself greater than others, I had once again let my hubris to get the better of me, and it felt disgusting. Thankfully…and ironically, it was the mysterious entity that helped me to see my own budding arrogance and impudence. As the result, I was ashamed of my own self-adulation, and vanity; I was also mortified of my own juvenility and vulnerability to simple words of praises.

Yet, despite of all those things that I regretted, there was only one thing that I was truly ashamed of. It was the fact that it took the creature such as the mysterious entity to make me see my own vanity- it, of all the things in the world.

"Hm?" The mysterious voice cheekily resumed. "You don't have anything to say?"

"I…I am sorry. I should be more aware of myself, and more modest in my own thoughts." I reluctantly and contritely admitted my own mistake. I took me an even greater effort to acknowledge its part in deflating my ego. "Thank you."

"Good." The mysterious voice rumbled excitingly. "Do be more careful next time. Also, don't be so gullible towards flowery words and kindly actions, alright?"

"Alright, alright, I get it already." I grumbled internally, which elicited a vicious chuckle from the mysterious voice. Yet, despite of my displeasure toward the unseen entity living inside my own head, I was still curious about it- not in a way that I was curious about who or what it was, but in a way that I was confirming a suspicion and a theory that I have gathered in my thoughts.

"So…with the 'orcish' raid finally over, is it finally the right time for you to tell me who you are?" I inquired as I marched alongside my grateful host to his house.

"No, it is not." The voice flatly answered, refusing to bite the bait in spilling the truth about itself.

"Oh, come on! Enough with this secrecy already! You live inside my head, don't you? At least, you should have the manners of telling me who you are."

"I will tell you, but in due time. Presently, it is not such time."

"When then, will you tell me?"

"Again…in due time." At that moment, the mysterious voice could no longer hold back his laughter; it laughed wholeheartedly in its terrible pitch, while I was groaning at its usual answer. Apparently, the mysterious entity has been patiently waiting for this moment, and now it was enjoying its fruit at my own expense.

The unseen being behind such darkly voice is without a doubt, an asshole with a terrible sense of humor; but, who can blame it when I was so easily beguiled?

"Eheheheh…That was a good one." The mysterious voice contently huffed; its pent-up merriment had been expended from its system. "But seriously, I will tell you all about myself in due time. I would even answer your questions at that time as well. But now? Now is not that time. Besides, you have a party to enjoy and people to socialize with."

"But, I am no good with people."

"Then this is a good time for you to start acclimating yourself to." The mysterious voice cheerily and easily riposted, denying me from any chance to make more argument or excuses. "It will be a good learning experience, and a rare moment of peace and respite, which you should enjoy when such chance arises. We will never know if a similar chance could come in the future."

"What about you?" I asked.

"Worrying about me, aren't you? How considerate of you." The mysterious entity behind the voice chuckled, as it was particularly amused by my concern. "Don't trouble yourself about me. I'll be right here, in the back of your head, silently watching over you, and everything that you see."

"That's…creepy, to say the least."

"Hah, creepy? I'll tell you what creepy is, little man. It is to have someone or something keeping close tabs on us from behind our back, without us knowing who or where our little spy is, and it is still happening until this very moment!"

"What!? Where!?" I mentally screamed my question, as I instinctively reacted to the grim warning of the mysterious voice, and turned my head back to see who or what had been spying on us. My eyes went wild as I peered from side to side, and I reared my head back to see the afternoon's sky. But, aside from the adoring and fearful eyes of the villagers, I found nothing else.

However, as I was looking around, confused, and anxious, a rumbling laughter resonated in my mind. It was then dawned in my mind that I had been duped once again by the sinister and mischievous entity in my head.

"You are terrible, do you know that? Terrible."

"AHAHAHAHA, I can't breathe…AHAHAHA..And I…HAHAHA…don't even….HAHAHA…have a pair of…HAHAHA..lungs…HAHAHA!"

"You…you know what? Just enjoy it, I deserve that one."

"HAHAHA..And you enjoy..HAHAHA…your little party too..HAHAHA…o great 'hero'….HAHAHAHA!" The mysterious voice continued to laugh. "HAHAHAHA, you should see your own face..HAHAHA!"

The deranged laughter of the mysterious entity persisted even after my arrival to the humble abode of my host. Still steaming from being tricked by my 'roomie', I made a silent oath to be more conscious and careful on whatever it was going to say from now on.

I thought to myself that it was a good initiative; I even concluded that such measure was an excellent safeguard against the mysterious entity in my head, particularly when I knew full well what my nameless 'roomie' is capable to do. Being doubtful on whatever it said and claimed would be the least I could do to stop myself being manipulated by the master manipulator such as it.

However, little did I know that at that time, when it blurted out such dire claim in its foreboding tone, there was a measure of truth in it.

A moments later after the Massacre in the village of Laudeshire.

?

Somewhere, in an unknown fortress deep in the middle of an inky ocean of blackened trees…

An unknown individual stood alone before a peculiar object that was erected at the heart of a dimly-lighted cavernous chamber of stone.

Said chamber where the mysterious person now stood, was a rectangular cuboid in shape. Inside of the room were columns of great stone pillars, orderly arrayed at each of its left and right side, thus making such arrangement to resemble a massive ribcage of a gigantic beast. In similar fashion, the entire room appeared to be carved from within the stomach of a rock titan.

The inside of this chamber itself was not without any illumination at all. Affixed at the middle of the ceiling was a pair of double ring chandeliers that were lined up evenly and accordingly to the length of this extensive space. The outer ring of each chandelier could carry a dozen of enchanted candles, while the inner ring was capable of carrying half the number. Aside from the chandeliers, standing at one side of each pillar was a large brazier that kept on burning with magical fire.

However, despite of the many sources of illumination available in this great hall, and the resultant brightness that they mystically casted within it, this room was still poorly lit, as if the shadows inside were immune to their brilliance. Furthermore, the object that was erected at the center of the room seemed to attract more and more of these light-resistant shades inside. Utterly defiant and belligerent toward the luminance of the magical light, these shadows, gathered from every corner of this vast chamber, crept swiftly across its floor, its walls and its ceiling like a throng of hungry spirits. In no time, darkness soon poured into its massive interior, drowning every nook and cranny in its blackness, and inundating its entire space in gloom.

The illumination casted from the magical fire was not left untouched by the smothering shadows themselves. As soon as the darkness flooded into the chamber, the flame on the chandeliers and the conflagration on the braziers were doused by the shapeless dark, leaving only one source of illumination to stay unsullied in the center of the room, where the mysterious figure stood at its side.

Shimmering ominously at the center of the room, the object that the unknown individual had been peering closely was the only surviving source of light in the entire room; nevertheless, it was also the origin of the unnatural darkness that blanketed the entire chamber. The object in question was a black, glossy spherical object that seated atop of a jagged pedestal of night. The plinth itself was a work of art, for it was sculpted beautifully from a massive block of obsidian that was taken from an active volcano. Moderate in its height and adorned with menacing spikes and horns, it looked like a miniature tower- a replica of a terrible beacon that housed an artifact of tremendous power on its top- and such artifact was none other than the orb itself.

It was simple round thing- a beautiful thing that exuded power unimagined. A gleaming sphere as dark as the night, with its size no greater than a melon, its hardness was comparable to an onyx. Peering through the outer layer of the orb, one could see a swirling, converging mass of black clouds and shadows that churned around the center- concealing its sinister core within. Despite of the darkness that was contained within it, the orb was a beacon in the darkness, casting out a baleful light that spread infectiously across the room; but, instead of washing the darkness away, the evil luminescence interweaved with the shadows that gathered around it. As the result, the interior of this great chamber was adrift in a limbo of dark and light, while its dreadful atmosphere was significantly enhanced.

The shadow of the great chamber could not completely swallow such mysterious individual, for the baleful light that was projected by the object showered said person in its evil brilliance. From the sickly illumination that was casted by the orb, the outline of the unknown individual's form was discernable. Tall, slender, shapely and smooth- these feminine features suggested that the mysterious person was a female, and she was not without her raiment. Even under the blanket of shadows, the long tailed cloak that she wore was made distinguishable by the sinister luminescence provided by the orb.

Extending her open hand toward the orb and hovering above it, the graceful nailed fingers of this mysterious woman moved in a hypnotic sway that barely touch the globe. Behaving as if they have a life of their own, her fingers acted as a medium to both channel and balance the appropriate amount of magical energy needed to maintain the connection between her and the artifact.

With the orb flashing with wild greenish energy, the facial physiognomy of this woman was made visible, albeit temporarily. Exceptionally beautiful, with tanned complexion, and silky smooth long ebonite hair, as well as a pair of long pointed ears that extended from her lush mane; the mysterious woman was undoubtedly an elven-kind, or a particular descent from such exceptional breed. To further accentuate the hawkish and intelligent look on her face, she wore upon her head a jagged crown of silver that was decorated with precious jewels. Apart from being an accessory of beauty, the crown was nevertheless a symbol of authority, thus signifying its wearer as a sort of a ruler to a particular country or kingdom.

The she-elf was focusing intently to the orb with her eyes closed, gazing deep with her mind-sight into the void beyond. With the power of the strange artifact in her possession, her magical prowess was amplified, and no barrier in the fabrics of time and space was beyond her ability to pierce through. Easily, the women passed through the barricade of shadows and smokes and found herself in the veins of reality. Like cobwebs, each point of connecting lines was a broken vision of past, present and future simultaneously- a volatile juncture that ever changing to the ripples of fate. Carefully sifting through the many points and the visions that they shown, the elven woman finally found the vision that she was looking for.

It was a vision of carnage and blood, which she had expected. Before the ritual, on her authority, she had ordered for the condemnation of a simple human village as another blow to her foe's domain. She had done this many times before, and she would do so again. Under her command, hundreds have been ravished as toys for the degenerate pleasure of her inhuman minions; hundreds more have been displaced and starved, while the rest were put down mercilessly.

As more and more villages and towns torched and razed to the ground, her ambition and taste for cruelty grew even more depraved. It would not be long before she held the entire continent in her iron grip, and when that fateful day finally came, she would relish at the sight of her rival and her seven chosen sows being broken before her presence; she would enjoy the spectacle of them spreading their legs apart, and being unceasingly ravaged by the depraved men and orcs alike.

But before that day could arrive, the sight of another decimated village would have to make do.

However, although death and destruction was permeated from the scene where she had set her eyes upon, it was not the sight she had expected.

Instead of the shattered and mutilated corpses of villagers being strewn across the roads, she could only see those of her brutish minions- lifeless, mangled, and scattered all over the ground. Instead of the weeping women being brutally defiled by corpulent swine-men while screaming mercy to their defilers and pleading help to their dead lovers, she saw them dancing and gamboling with their loved ones in festive mood. Finally, instead of burning homes and ruins of a razed village that was devoid of all life, she found an opposite of such expectation: A bustling and lively community that were enjoying life in such a fanfare, and in the middle of them all, was an armored and cloaked individual, drenched from head to toe with blood and viscera.

Instead of victory, she only saw defeat- and it seemed that this mysterious man was the reason behind it.

This dirty stranger, an unknown warrior from who-knows-where, was the center of all the villagers' attention. Suited in a dark and sinister-looking set of protective plates, and draped in heavy and tattered cloak, this outsider, while looking out of place in the midst of the common folk surrounding him, was hailed like a heroic knight in shining armor. From the applause and other complimenting treatment that were heaped upon this warrior, as well as all the dirty black liquid and little chunks of flesh and entrails that smeared nearly all over his form, the she-elf was further convinced that this stranger was the cause of her minions' utter defeat, and in turn, became the savior of these insignificant community.

This finding was both baffling and infuriating; there are only a handful of fighters in the entire kingdom of her hated foe that are able to stand toe-to-toe against an orcish warrior, let alone thwarting an entire orcish raiding party. Illustrious heroes such as the Right Hand of the Goddess, the Mercenary Queen of Ur, and the Knight Princess of Feoh are few of these select individuals, and even so, the she-elf doubted that any of them could single-handedly stand against the sheer number of an entire band of ferocious swine-men. However, not only was this outsider able to fight a vicious inhuman brute on equal terms, but was also allegedly responsible in massacring a whole lot of them all by himself; the sinister weapons strapped on the stranger's back were probably the testament of such magnificent and terrible feat. Even more curiously, was the powerful dark aura that seeped from the armored stranger. Although the flow of power that emanated from his body was subdued to the point that it did not affect his surroundings, she could see it exuding like a blurred flare; and curiously still, she could feel it resonating with the energy contained within the orb.

This resonation somehow suggested that the faint aura the stranger emitted, and the sinister energy contained within the artifact were one of the same- that both of them emerged from the same source. Furthermore, when she first shifted her focus to this strange man, the considerable but relatively docile power that was contained within the dark artifact began to surge, as if it was awakened from its servility and started to have a mind of its own. It was a peculiar discovery for the she-elf, especially when her mystical senses detected a sort of yearning coming from the energy within the orb to return to this outsider.

Another series of theories and possibilities were dawned in the she-elf's analytical mind. Was this artifact- this powerful dark orb actually belonged this stranger? Was he its prior owner? Or was he its…creator, and therefore…the reason behind its remarkable magical power?

With her curiosity growing ever larger from feeding on her many questions, her desire to know more about this damned outsider was incited to the point of near obsession. Although she was still vexed by this unfactored nuisance in her master plan, the she-elf was so driven to discover and understand more about this outsider. Already tapping deeper into the dark and wild power stored within the font of power that was the spherical artifact, the elf drew her far-sight more intently on the object of her attention.

It was unusual for her to be so engrossed to a stranger, when she had been so indifferent on everything else- aside from advancing her own causes and power base. However, with her interest currently piqued, her ego had been triumphant in justifying this action as a means to find any weaknesses that she could exploit to exact her revenge.

Unfortunately for her, aside from what she already knew, the only thing that she managed to find out was that the stranger had a half-mask to further conceal his already hidden face. However, the she-elf was not known for being lax and a slacker in realizing her ambition, and she would not stop until she accomplished what she wished for, especially when she possessed the object of power that could help her in achieving everything. Consequently, she let more power of the artifact to run into her, intensifying her mental sight to even greater heights. Surely this time she would be able to peer through the stranger's magical barrier, and find out his secrets.

However, suddenly, the stranger jerked his head backwards, as if to see someone behind him; in that moment, a ghostly green apparition made of mist and shadow appeared in front of the stranger, with its otherworldly gaze stared directly into hers.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." The ethereal specter smilingly warned in a guttural voice that was laced with a soft-spoken tone. Its green, shimmering eyes were strongly fixed at her own, and its penetrating gaze bored deep into her mind- as if it was directly looking at her own soul. "You shouldn't be sniffing at places you are not supposed to be, little queen."

"Wha-" The she-elf words were left unfinished as she was violently and abruptly severed from her farsight by an unknown force; the power that cut her connection was terrifyingly potent that it blew her away from the dark orb, and sent her screaming and skidding on to the cold stony floor.

As that happened, the shadowy room detonated, and the darkness within was reduced into nothingness. In an instant, the light returned into the chamber, as the magical flame on the chandeliers and braziers reasserted themselves to life. With the shadows finally retreated into their corners and into the spots untouched by the light, the great twin wooden doors that were attached to the room swung wide open. Apparently, the she-elf's cry was not left unheard, and entered into the chamber was another elf- a young, spirited and anxious she-elf that was very concerned for the well-being of the occupant of the great chamber.

Slightly shorter than the sole occupant of the chamber and sharing the same complexion as her, the young elf has a shape of a warrioress- albeit slightly shapely on some of her feminine traits; these physical features were made even more prominent by the skimpy garment that she currently wore. With side tail of her pale yellowish hair billowed from her running, she hurriedly approached the fallen elf with a worried look on her prodigious-looking countenance.

"My Queen!" The young elf cried out as she braced her sovereign back onto her feet. "Are you alright? What happened?"

"Ah, Chloe." The black haired elf sighed in relief, while holding onto the arms of her subordinate to prop herself up. "I-I am alright. It was just a simple mistake in my incantation, which resulted in a harmless blowback."

"Are you sure my queen?" The young she-elf worriedly inquired. She knew that her queen has returned to her usual demeanor and tone, but the cracking in her voice before did not go unnoticed by her.

"I have said it already, Chloe. I am alright." The queen reassured her with a satisfied smile on her face, as she departed from the grasp of her most trusted and only adjutant and bodyguard. Despite of the jolly expression on her face, the elf queen thinly displayed her displeasure in her tone and body language.

"If you say so, my queen." The young elf relented, for she knew very well that her queen disliked repeating herself, and when it happened, the perpetrator would face a grave consequence.

However, despite of her acceptance to her queen's declaration and her knowledge to the price of displeasing her monarch, her distress on her liege's condition still remained strong. After finding that damned artifact, her queen, the great and indomitable Olga of the dark elves, ruler of the entire dark kingdom, has undoubtedly changed. The changes are subtle and unseen, but she could feel it- she could sense it. The queen before her was no longer the queen that saved her from her wretched life in bondage, and she knew that the cursed orb has to do with-

"You're upset, Chloe." Her queen interrupted her train of thought. "What's troubling you?"

"I-My queen, forgive me for my bluntness." The young warrioress painfully responded while kneeling before her master. "It's about the-"

"No need to finish it." The dark elf queen coldly cut her off, as she stared down at her subordinate's kneeling form with an icy stare; her attitude had turned sour for she already knew the cause of her servant's grief. "It is about the orb again, isn't it?"

"…Yes, my queen." The young elf nervously and sorrowfully confirmed before pleading to her sovereign. "I implore you my queen, please reconsi-"

"How many times do you need to nag me about this drivel again, Chloe?" The queen dangerously pronounced her thinly veiled vexation. "Didn't I tell you before about the orb? It is harmless to me, and if anything else, it only increases my power."

"But my queen, it changes you!" The young elf courageously asserted her thoughts to her benefactor. She would save her queen from any threats, within and without- and she would lay her life down for her if necessary, consequences be damned! "It really changes-"

"ENOUGH!" The queen shouted in a voice that was both hers and something else; a bestial roar that hid itself beneath her dainty voice thundered across the room, and it was more than enough to silence the young elf's protest. "Do not let me repeat myself ever again, Chloe. We will not speak about the artifact ever again, for this is what I have declared! Challenge me, and you shall incur my wrath!"

The young elf remained silent in her kneeling position, biting her lips to suppress her anger and disappointment.

"You've been my most able and loyal servant in my court, and you are the only person that I consider as my own family." The queen continued, satisfied with the silence of her defiant confidant. "But you have grown too bold and too arrogant in recent years. You are even audacious enough to openly display your insolence to me."

"My queen, I have always been loyal to-"

"Silence! You have forgotten your place, attendant." The queen snapped. "You will show me the respect that you are due to demonstrate, or suffer banishment from my kingdom!"

"…Please forgive me for my impertinence, my queen." The young elf tremblingly clenched her fists as she conformed to the queen's command; her significant effort to rein her temper was still holding, but not for her resolve. She was determined to make her queen aware of the danger she was currently in, but it was too no avail; her respect, love and fear of her benefactor got the best of her. "I would not dare to-"

"Enough! Your sweetened words cannot mitigate your transgression. However…"

The dark elf queen let out a blithesome chuckle that only pronounced her wickedness even further.

"Since I am a generous and merciful queen, I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself."

The young elf stayed on her spot silently, and awaited for her judgment expectantly.

"You shall go to the little village where the latest orcish raid should happen, but you won't find it razed or pillaged."

Now, that made the kneeling young elf curious. A village that was raided by the depraved greenskins, but it was not plundered or destroyed? How could that be? Did something happen there?

"There you will find a cloaked stranger in a black suit of armor. He's easily noticeable, and you won't find any difficulty in identifying him amongst the pathetic villagers. Your mission is to spy on him without him or anyone else in that insignificant village to notice you. Then, you are to report everything you have on that man back to me, and when I said everything, it means everything. Do you understand me?"

"I understand you, my queen." The young elf obediently replied.

"Good, now begone from my sight." The queen ordered, as she turned back to the black orb on the obsidian pedestal.

The young elf Chloe rose to her feet and was at loss for words as she turned for the exit. She tried her best to hold her tears back and kept her 'strong warrior' persona intact; however, such endeavor was starting to be difficult by the moment. The queen has always been her mother figure after she was rescued from slavery; although outwardly cruel and arrogant, she has always been thoughtful and kind. She may be ruthless and vengeful toward her enemies, but never once did she abandon her own people.

Nevertheless, it all changed on the day she got her hands on that accursed artifact. Sure, it increased her power a hundred fold, thus making her even more formidable than her already powerful self. But, such elevation required a sacrifice, and her queen had paid it with a part of herself.

After the discovery of the orb, while she had turned infinitely more powerful than before, her queen had turned colder, more callous, and insular. Instead of keeping connected to her own people, she now only associated herself with the sinister object; and instead of liberating the downtrodden dark elves, she was now so absorbed with expanding the scope of her power.

It's because of that damned orb that she started employing orcs and other kind of monstrosities to bolster her armies. It's because of that…evil thing that she began attacking and plundering towns and settlements indiscriminately with her armies of debased creatures.

It made her queen to be obsessed with victory and power grab, and also with itself. But above all, it made her queen to distance herself from her.

"One more thing, Chloe." The queen called, which made the young elf to turn her head back with an expectant look on her face. She dearly hoped that she was wrong, that her queen was not completely lost to her people, and most importantly, to her.

Unfortunately, instead of the kindly face of the queen with loving wishes for her success, she only found a cold, unturned back of her sovereign.

"Fail me, and never return." The queen dictated in indifferent tone, still not turning to her once trusted confidant. "I hope you understand the gravity of this mission for your own sake."

"…I understand." The young elf said in a cracked voice, as she quickly turned back for the exit. Her effort to stem back her tears finally crumbled, and the waterfall were now running freely across her cheeks. Truly, her queen has changed, and there is nothing else that the young she-elf can do to stop it. She could only hope that by accomplishing this mission flawlessly, her queen would be made aware that she has always been her loyal and faithful servant; and by then, she could only hope that the queen would finally see her own errors.

As for the queen herself, she felt triumphant; rebellious servants have to be reminded of their station after all, no matter how loyal and useful they might be for her. As for the change that such servant had claimed, the only change that she felt after acquiring the orb was her ever growing power. Soon, not even her rival would be a match for her, and by then she would already by the uncontested ruler of all the land of Eostia- beloved and feared by all.

Nonetheless, as two individuals were lost in their own thoughts- one in sorrow, while the other in grandeur, none of them were aware that there was a physical change on the queen of the dark elves.

There were several strands of white hair mingling in between the queen's lush and beautiful mane of black.

Lord of the Rings series (Books) belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.

Lord of the Rings series (Movies) belongs to Middle Earth Enterprises.

Shadow of Mordor, and Shadow of War belong to Warner Bros. Interactive Entertainment.

Kuroinu: Kedakaki Seijo wa Hakudaku ni Somaru belongs to Liquid.

Characters in Kuroinu: Kedakaki Seijo wa Hakudaku ni Somaru belong to Hikage Eiji.

Inspired by StaffSergeant's The Night Unfurls, and "Fires of War" (Composed by Nathan Grigg and Sung by Kelli Schaefer).