Author's Note: Apologies for any previous oversight regarding Obsidian's power-up. In this chapter, I'll make sure to address and provide further details about the power-up. Additionally, there's a surprise in store for you that goes beyond this, adding to the excitement of the narrative. Stay tuned for more!
But I assure you in this chapter, I'll delve into the mechanics of Obsidian's power boost, providing a comprehensive explanation to ensure clarity and immersion for the readers. The details will shed light on how this enhancement works, offering a deeper understanding of the story's dynamics and progression. Your feedback on this aspect will be incredibly valuable in refining and optimizing the explanation for maximum reader engagement.
On another note, I always get so excited when I see news of people following my story. I'm glad that you all are enjoying the story enough to follow it. I will also mention I'm going to touch a bit more on Obsidian's accent, he does have a cockney accent after all.
"Speech"
'Thoughts'
"Techniques"
THE DEVIL'S CAST
CHAPTER 5: The Dead Don't Die
Unlike most days, Obsidian found himself within the lively Fairy Tail guild hall, perched on a barstool. While he wasn't a member of the guild, the allure of a hot meal, a drink, and shelter for the day proved irresistible. Beside him, Luna, his faithful companion, was curled up, peacefully snoozing. The comforting ambiance of chatter and laughter provided a respite from the adventures he usually embarked upon.
As he delved into his meal, the sound of his name being called disrupted his quiet moment. "Obsidian," a familiar voice resonated through the hubbub. He looked up from his plate, offering a small, genuine smile as he recognized Laxus approaching. "Suppose you wan' a gree'in in re'urn aye? da 'ell are you doin 'ere anyway?" Obsidian quizzed, rising from his seat to meet Laxus and firmly shake his hand.
Laxus mirrored the smile, reciprocating the handshake, and shared his purpose for being at the guild. "I think a greeting of some kind would be nice," he chuckled, taking a seat beside Obsidian. "As much as I'd love to just sit and talk all day," he continued, "I've gotta start training for the Grand Magic Games."
The mention of the Grand Magic Games sparked a recollection in Obsidian's mind. In his travels, he had heard rumors about this event, akin to the Vytal Festival back in his homeland. It intrigued him, though he felt it was somewhat archaic compared to what he was familiar with. The Games comprised various challenges, races, and games, along with memorable battles in recent years. However, he knew that Fairy Tail had faced trials, losing their strongest members for seven years, a part of the story he lacked all the details about.
"Is that right?" Obsidian raised an intrigued brow, "You're gonna break someone's bottle and glass in this event, lad?" He chuckled at the thought, taking a large gulp of his ale. "Doesn't it seem like a waste of time?" he pondered, observing the fire in Laxus' eyes dim momentarily.
Laxus responded with a determined look, a glint of ambition shining through. "I'm sure you'll do well, mate, reminds me of my first tournament," Obsidian assured, reflecting on his own past experiences. Memories of his days at Shade Academy flooded his mind, the camaraderie, the victories, and the bonds they had forged.
Laxus, intrigued by Obsidian's mention of a festival, probed further. "Festival?" he inquired, a wry grin forming on his face. "I didn't take you for the competitive type, Obsidian."
The Huntsman hesitated, caught off guard by his slip. "Ah, the 'we' would be my team," he stammered, opting to shape the truth rather than dismiss it outright. "In my homeland, we have a festival every two years, a competition that centers around combat. It's team-based, and I had the fortune of working with a group that just clicked," he explained, skimming over the details.
Laxus, intrigued, dug deeper, questioning their victories and the festival's dynamics. Obsidian wove a tale, blending fiction with the truth, speaking of the challenging one-on-one battles and the varied terrains provided by lacrimas beneath the stages. He painted a vivid picture of the elemental diversity and the excitement that came with such a competition.
Amidst their conversation, Laxus noticed a subtle shift in Obsidian's demeanor. The typically reserved Huntsman seemed more at ease, open to discussion. Puzzled, Laxus remarked, "What's gotten into you today anyway? You just seem more open than you normally are."
Obsidian sighed, attempting to put his newfound feelings into words. "I just have this feeling," he said, his hand resting on his chest. "Like someone or something I needed to protect is safe now. I can't explain it, but it's like I don't have to worry at the moment. A weight's been lifted," he mused, his gaze distant, lost in the unexplainable tranquility that had settled upon him.
For the Vacuo-born Huntsman, this was a rare occurrence, a moment where his vigilant guard could be lowered. It was a peculiar sense, one driven by instinct, telling him that everything was alright, and he could momentarily let his guard down. As the conversation between the two friends continued, the guild hall buzzed with activity, stories, and laughter, encompassing Obsidian in a fleeting sense of belonging.
However, perhaps he would soon learn of what this feeling was but for now he should at least enjoy this moment of normalcy where he could get it in this foreign land. But for a young man that was currently haunting the back of Obsidian's mind life had gotten more complicated.
THE DEVIL'S CAST
A young man with white hair, resembling the pristine hue of freshly fallen snow, emerged from the river, his locks in a disheveled state. A single braid, carefully woven with a pink hair band, stood out amidst the unruly strands, a reminder of an attempt to tame the chaos. He was soaked, clinging to the ground, each breath laborious after enduring a harrowing journey down the river. The current had carried him far, depositing him in this mysterious town after a series of mishaps had separated him from Luna back in Hargeon.
Unbeknownst to him, his entrance into this new town did not go unnoticed. A wizard observed the young man, his sharp eyes gauging the situation, assessing the immediate need for aid. Acting swiftly and without hesitation, the wizard extended a helping hand, lifting the struggling youth from the river's grasp. "Are you okay?" he inquired, his voice gentle yet carrying a certain regal undertone. With a supportive hand placed behind the young man's back, he guided him into a more relaxed position. "We should get you to some sort of shelter; I'm sure you're freezing," he suggested, displaying concern though the notion of cold was foreign to him.
Crimson eyes blinked open, meeting the gaze of the kind-hearted wizard. The young man took in the features of his rescuer as he was carefully lifted into the mage's arms. This man, Lyon Vastia, was a captivating figure. Handsome and mature, Lyon possessed an athletic, lean build, highlighting his agility and strength. His hair, a deep shade of blue or indigo, was slicked back elegantly, revealing his forehead. His eyes, piercing and icy blue, reflected a determination that spoke of his magical prowess. Lyon's attire consisted of a sleeveless vest, left open to expose his upper torso, pants coordinated in color, cinched with a belt, and simple, closed-toe shoes providing functionality.
The boy's labored breathing began to ease, prompting a flicker of surprise in Lyon's eyes. "Hey! Don't worry, you're going to be okay!" Lyon reassured with urgency evident in his voice. He picked up his pace, carrying the young man swiftly within his arms. The boy appeared to be no older than fourteen or fifteen, and the weight of responsibility pressed heavily on Lyon as he raced to ensure the boy's safety. "Just hold on for me, okay…" Lyon murmured, grappling with a peculiar sensation, briefly considering a thought that seemed to dissipate as swiftly as it appeared—a fleeting thought of a tail.
In an abrupt and impassioned manner, Lyon burst into the Lamia Scale guild, his entrance catching the attention of the members. "SHERRIA, I NEED YOUR HELP NOW!" he exclaimed, his urgency palpable. The guild members shifted their focus from Lyon to the young man cradled in his arms. Lyon wasted no time in explanations, stressing the immediate need for aid for their newfound charge. The urgency in his voice emphasized the gravity of the situation, leaving no room for delay.
Sherria, a dedicated member of the guild, wasted no time bridging the gap between her guildmates and the young man in need. She swiftly joined the group surrounding him, concern etched across her features. "What happened to him?" she inquired, her urgency driving her to activate her magic, ready to help in any way possible. As her magic enveloped the boy, a glow radiated from his body, surprising her. She soon realized that the boy's aura, unbeknownst to them, was a natural defense, inhibiting their attempts to heal him. "I… something's blocking me from healing him?" she exclaimed, helplessness mingling with shock as his breathing grew more labored.
Frustration and concern etched into their expressions as they grappled with this unexpected obstacle. Sherria gently raised her hand, feeling the heat emanating from the boy's feverish head. "He's running a fever!" she reported, a note of urgency in her voice. Without a moment to spare, they swiftly moved the boy to the infirmary, a haven of healing nestled in the depths of their guildhall.
Within the infirmary, they began the preparations needed to tend to the ailing boy. However, their thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the boy's restless murmurs. "Obsidian..." he muttered, tossing and turning in his sleep. Sherria exchanged a puzzled glance with Lyon, attempting to make sense of the seemingly random mention of "Obsidian." A fleeting smile graced her lips at the sudden connection to igneous rock, acknowledging the unexpected twist.
Jura, a wise and thoughtful member of their guild, chimed in, intrigued by the boy's utterance. "Obsidian...?" he repeated, stroking his goatee in contemplation. "Perhaps he's not referring to a rock, but a person?" Jura offered, trying to unravel the mystery that had caught them all off guard. "I suggest we let the boy rest for now; we can figure out how he got here and what he means by 'Obsidian' later," he proposed, advocating for patience and understanding as they navigated this enigma. The guild members nodded in agreement, focusing on creating a peaceful environment for the boy to rest and recover, their curiosity and concern intermingling as they awaited further clarity.
THE DEVIL'S CAST
The young man, Kaseigan Hayabusa, gradually awakened from his slumber, grappling with the weight of fatigue that still lingered within his body. His eyelids felt heavy, and his muscles ached, making any attempt to sit up a struggle. He sighed in mild frustration, realizing he needed more time to regain his strength. As his gaze wandered around the room, it fell upon the familiar face of Lyon, the man who had rescued him earlier.
Lyon's smile was a reassuring sight, a beacon of kindness in the boy's hazy world. He inquired about Kaseigan's well-being in a gentle tone, offering assistance and comfort. Overwhelmed with gratitude and a hint of embarrassment, Kaseigan stammered, "I'm... I'm okay." His cheeks flushed as he met Lyon's gaze, captivated by the man's gentle demeanor and undeniable handsomeness. "Uhm... could... could I have some soup?" he asked shyly, hoping to soothe his weakened body.
Lyon chuckled at the adorable display of bashfulness, considering Kaseigan's request. He affectionately ruffled the young man's hair, assuring him, "Think nothing of it. I'll make sure you get some delicious soup." The warmth of Lyon's smile sent a flutter through Kaseigan's heart, though he lamented the age difference that seemed to separate them.
Kaseigan nodded eagerly, adding, "Please? Could... could I have some bread too?" He worried he might be asking for too much, but Lyon graciously agreed, deepening Kaseigan's gratitude. The boy murmured a heartfelt, "Thank you, sir."
Lyon corrected him gently, "It's not an issue. Please just call me Lyon." His smile had a magnetic quality, leaving Kaseigan almost entranced. Lyon pressed further, "Would you mind telling me your name?" The question caught Kaseigan off guard momentarily, but he managed to reveal his name, his voice trembling slightly. "My name is Kaseigan Hayabusa." He extended a trembling hand for a handshake, overcome with nerves. "It's nice to meet you, Lyon."
Lyon's heart warmed at the sincerity in Kaseigan's introduction. He shook the young man's hand, appreciating the vulnerability in his gesture. As Lyon moved to leave, Kaseigan mustered the courage to ask, "Can you stay with me for a bit longer?" His innocent plea was accompanied by the best puppy-dog eyes he could muster.
Lyon couldn't resist the charming request and took a seat beside the boy's bed. Kaseigan's gaze remained fixated on him, prompting Lyon to inquire, "Is something the matter?" He gently checked Kaseigan's forehead for any signs of fever, relieved to feel the temperature dropping. He ruffled the boy's hair again, expressing his happiness at the evident improvement in Kaseigan's health.
Unbeknownst to Lyon, Kaseigan was enchanted by the soothing motion of his fingers through his hair. A gentle thumping emerged from beneath the blanket, revealing Kaseigan's secret—a wolf's tail. Lyon discovered the surprising revelation, unfazed by the discovery. He chuckled softly, realizing the tail was the mysterious sensation he had felt while carrying Kaseigan earlier. The enchantment of the moment remained, Lyon's gentle demeanor prevailing as he continued to comfort and care for the young man.
Lyon's gentle fingers ceased their soothing motion through Kaseigan's hair, and he rose from his spot with a comforting assurance. "I'm gonna get you that meal, okay?" he offered, appreciating Kaseigan's respectful demeanor. Lyon felt a sense of intrigue and concern about this young man who had appeared so suddenly in their guild. "And if you wouldn't mind, I have a few questions for you afterward if you're feeling up to it." With that, he exited the room, making his way to the guild's kitchen to prepare the requested soup.
As Lyon left the room, Kaseigan's gaze fell, his cheeks still tinged with a rosy hue. His mind was racing, seeking answers to the questions that weighed on him. Where was he? How could he find his elder brother, Obsidian, the one he had set out to locate? He was unworried about their father; to Kaseigan, his dad was invincible, a figure of unparalleled strength.
The young man's contemplation was disrupted as he heard the entrance of a man and a girl. The man, Jura Neekis, bore an olive complexion and stood tall, almost as towering as Kaseigan's elder brother. The girl, Sherria Blendy, was closer to his own height, possibly an inch or two taller. They offered warm smiles and words of welcome as they introduced themselves. "We are glad to see you have awoken," Jura stated, extending a welcoming invitation to Kaseigan. The boy hesitated before sharing his name, the simple introduction yielding an encouraging smile from the two mages.
Sherria leaned in, her hand touching Kaseigan's forehead. "Your body fought that fever rather quickly," she remarked. "I tried healing you, but something blocked my magic from doing it." Their attention shifted to Kaseigan's distinctive tail, which swayed with a sense of curiosity.
Jura nodded thoughtfully, appreciating Kaseigan's uniqueness. "Whatever ability you displayed was quite unique," he mused. The mage's interest piqued, and he continued, "Kaseigan, would you happen to have a surname? You didn't mention one." He left the question open, offering Kaseigan a chance to provide more information.
Kaseigan, less aware of the situation than his elder brother, responded promptly, "Hayabusa. Kaseigan Hayabusa." With his full name shared, he embraced the identity he carried.
Their conversation was interrupted by Lyon's return to the room, a tray of food in hand. He raised a curious brow, prompting everyone's attention to shift back to Kaseigan. Lyon's eyes met the boy's, and the familiar thumping beneath the blanket resumed as Kaseigan greeted him with a wide smile. "Hi Lyon~" he chirped, gratitude and a hint of infatuation evident in his gaze. "Thank you for the meal!" Kaseigan's affections were not lost on Sherria, who struggled to suppress her laughter at the budding attraction.
Lyon's warm smile remained as he settled on the edge of Kaseigan's bed and placed the tray on the young man's lap. He inquired about Kaseigan's elation, which had only intensified. With a spoon held out, Lyon reminded him of their previous conversation. Kaseigan nodded, and Lyon placed the spoon in the bowl for him. However, when Lyon inquired about the mention of "Obsidian," Kaseigan's mood shifted, and his eyes darkened. "Obsidian's my elder brother, and I've been looking for him," he explained, his gaze fixed on the bowl of chicken soup. "Mom had sent Obsidian to find our father who'd been missing for a few months." Kaseigan's voice grew heavy with emotion as he recounted the events that had brought him to this unfamiliar world. "Once Obsidian went, he never came back. After a few months, I decided to go to where he had gone, and then I woke up in Hargeon." He lifted his eyes to meet Lyon's, a mixture of determination and uncertainty in his gaze. "One minute I'm in the heart of Vacuo, the next I'm in some town I've never heard of on Remnant..."
Kaseigan met Lyon's kind smile and the comforting motion of fingers through his hair, which seemed to have a calming effect on him. The mention of "Vacuo" caught Lyon's attention, and his smile remained gentle as he considered the significance of the name. "Vacuo?" he pondered thoughtfully. "Hey, it sounds like you're from the outer continents." He sought to reassure Kaseigan, his voice warm and comforting. "I'm sure with some help, we can find Obsidian."
Kaseigan found solace in Lyon's words and the reassuring touch. The offer that followed sparked a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Lyon's idea of a trip and a change of scenery seemed like a lifeline for Kaseigan, a way to temporarily escape the weight of his concerns. "A trip?" Kaseigan's interest was piqued, and a small smile crept across his face as Lyon continued, "We've got to train for the Grand Magic Games, and I'd hate for you to be bored, stuck here with no idea where to go."
The prospect of a journey and the chance to accompany Lyon provided a sense of excitement for Kaseigan. His earlier worries began to dissipate, replaced by a spark of anticipation. "A trip sounds great," he responded, his voice laced with newfound enthusiasm. "I'd love to join you, Lyon." The offer had not only provided Kaseigan with hope of finding his brother but also a sense of belonging and a temporary escape from the unknown world in which he had found himself.
Lyon's features softened, and a gentle smile graced his face as he responded to the young boy's trust. "That sounds splendid, Kaseigan," he said, his hand gently patting the boy's head in a reassuring manner. His words carried a promise and an unwavering determination that seemed to emanate from the very depths of his being.
"Don't worry, after the grand magic games, we'll find your brother and your father," Lyon affirmed with unwavering confidence, the flames of determination burning brightly in his eyes. His commitment to this quest was palpable, and Kaseigan couldn't help but be inspired by the older wizard's resolve.
Kaseigan, his admiration for Lyon growing with every word, responded with a heartfelt, "Whatever you say, Lyon..." His voice carried a sense of trust and gratitude as he wholeheartedly embraced the support and mentorship he had found in the seasoned mage.
With these words, a bond between Lyon and Kaseigan was forged, rooted in a shared goal and the unshakable belief that they could overcome any obstacle to reunite Kaseigan with his missing family members. The journey ahead would undoubtedly be challenging, but with Lyon's guidance and Kaseigan's unwavering determination, they were prepared to face it head-on.
THE DEVIL'S CAST
The two young Hayabusa's, having finally found their place in this world after wrestling with doubt, stood at the precipice of a destiny they had embraced. Yet, one of them, Pyrrhos, had an intimate understanding of his place in this world. He was not just a participant in the grand tapestry of life, but an instrument of war, a harbinger of death. He was truly fear incarnate, a living nightmare, a force of nature against which there was no defense.
Amidst the chaos and agony, the bloodied mercenary fell to the ground, his body colliding with the unforgiving bathroom wall. His eyes widened in sheer shock as his comrade, a guild mate he had fought beside, was reduced to a lifeless husk before him. He had seen the transformation from a living, breathing warrior to a mere shell of existence, the grim testament to the brutality of this man before them.
Trembling in terror, the remaining guild mate, now paralyzed with fear, could only watch as a warm liquid trickled down his legs, filling the air with the pungent scent of urine. He was unable to muster even the slightest movement as the relentless assailant advanced, his features twisted by a cold, emotionless determination.
"N-no... please... please don't…" Tears welled up in his eyes, glistening with a blend of terror and despair. The mercenary had tried to fight, to strike back against their merciless adversary, but it seemed utterly futile. His opponent continued to advance, seemingly impervious to the injuries and exhaustion that marked his body—a bloody, bruised testament to the relentless struggle they had engaged in.
In a desperate attempt to salvage his dignity and pride, the mercenary clamped his eyes shut, his hands covering his ears to block out the grotesque sounds that filled the air—the sickening crunches of bone and flesh. When he finally looked back, he saw the lifeless body of his fallen comrade, his face forever contorted in a shocked expression, serving as a grim reminder of the brutality they had encountered.
Summoning every ounce of courage he could muster, the surviving mercenary spoke, his voice laced with bravado despite the impending doom that hovered over him. "D-do you even know who we are, you old fool?!" he shouted, his voice trembling, "You have no idea how much you've messed up. We'll take your life, your family, your village! You have no idea of the bodies we'll leave on your conscience before we take you last!"
Slowly, he began to rise, his back scraping against the unforgiving wall, his defiant words punctuated by the clenching of his fists. But before he could issue another threat, the assailant struck him with terrifying precision, punching him in the throat. The words were stolen from him as he gasped for breath, clutching at his injured throat.
"Son, you don't know me," the man began, his voice calm and hauntingly steady as he placed his hand against the mercenary's head, pinning him against the wall. His eyes, piercing and red, bore into the mercenary's brown eyes. "You couldn't even begin to fathom the lost voices that follow me, screaming with each step I take towards my victims. They beg for me to let you run, can't you hear them, son?"
As he spoke, the assailant activated his semblance, and the bathroom transformed into a nightmarish realm. The mercenary saw the faces and voices of those he had taken, their bodies decomposed and reaching out to grasp him, the sensation of their touch sending shivers down his spine. "But son, I'm fresh out of mercy, and a man like you reminds me of myself," he continued, shaking his head slowly. "And I can't allow someone like me, with ill intentions, to be running around here, ya hear?"
With a step back, the assailant disengaged from the terrified mercenary, who clung to the wall, still gasping for breath. "W-who are you...?" he managed to stammer in his last moments, his fear intensifying with each passing second.
"Pyrrhos Hayabusa," the ominous name was the last thing the mercenary heard before his screams filled the tavern. The patrons, including the bartender, were strewn across the floor, their once-vibrant lives extinguished in an instant. The bar had become a grim and silent graveyard of lost voices, each one adding to the chilling symphony of dreams that would never come to fruition.
The world had been touched by a force that was beyond mortal comprehension. Pyrrhos Hayabusa had left his mark—a mark drenched in fear, darkness, and unending sorrow. This was the legacy of the harbinger of death, and his presence was a haunting reminder that there were realms of existence beyond the understanding of mere mortals.
The scene in Ogata's Tavern was one of utter devastation. Patrons, once lively and carefree, now lay scattered across the floor like discarded remnants of a forgotten past. The bartender, who had been the heart and soul of the establishment, had joined the unfortunate congregation of the fallen. The bar, once a place of merriment and camaraderie, had transformed into a somber graveyard, where lost voices echoed through the silence, haunting the very air.
The symphony that now enveloped the tavern was not one of music or celebration but a macabre composition of despair and finality. It was the lament of dreams forever unrealized, the melancholy of lives extinguished too soon. The patrons, in their final moments, had become unwitting performers in this grim concerto, and their voices, silenced by the cruel hand of fate, now resonated in the chamber of memories.
Some among the unfortunate souls still clung to life, their bodies bearing the painful wounds inflicted upon them. Each agonizing breath they drew served as a reminder of the brutality that had unfolded within the once-hospitable confines of the tavern. In their last moments, they experienced a vivid and agonizing farewell to a world that had been forever altered, their pain etched into the very walls that had witnessed their joy and sorrow.
Ogata's Tavern, once a sanctuary for laughter and camaraderie, had become a testament to the capricious nature of existence, a place where the living and the dead coexisted, their stories forever intertwined. The symphony of dead dreams, composed of the souls who had sought solace within its walls, would continue to play on, a haunting reminder of the fragility of life and the darkness that lurked in the uncharted corners of the human soul.
As the doors to the tavern creaked open, the legendary Huntsman emerged from the once lively establishment, which had now been reduced to a grim graveyard. He cast his steely gaze across the desolation that surrounded him, taking in the grim aftermath of his encounter. The streets, once bustling with life, now bore the weight of death and despair.
His footsteps echoed with purpose as he strode towards a group of trembling men, women, and children who huddled together, seeking solace in their shared fear of what the Huntsman might do next. His presence alone seemed to cast a shadow over them, a harbinger of both salvation and doom.
The Huntsman's unwavering gaze fixed on the oldest man in the group, and with a commanding tone, he ordered, "Old timer, y'all get on outta here." The urgency in his voice left no room for argument as he turned to assess the ominous trail of dust that heralded the approach of potential reinforcements.
His eyes flickered briefly back to the tavern, his instincts alerting him to the imminent threat. "One of them weaselly sum bitches must've called for some backup," he muttered, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. He knew that the battle was far from over, and he stood ready to face the remaining members of the mercenary guild.
The freed slaves, filled with a mixture of gratitude and fear, didn't need a second warning. They scrambled to distance themselves from the tavern, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and terror as they retreated. As they put a considerable distance between themselves and the battleground, the sounds of screams, the clashing of steel, and the desperate shouts of combat echoed behind them. Their savior, a formidable figure, had become the guardian of their newfound freedom.
A curious and innocent voice broke through the chaos. "Pop pop…" a little girl called out, looking up at her grandfather with wide, inquisitive eyes. "Who was that?"
The old man, his face etched with the wisdom of age, gently pulled the child along as they continued their escape. "A fallen angel," he replied, his voice carrying a mixture of awe and reverence, "who still has some form of mercy left in his cold heart." As they embarked on their journey to the closest town they could reach, they carried with them the memory of the enigmatic Huntsman who had descended like a force of nature to deliver them from the abyss, a living testament to the complexity of the human spirit and the enduring power of mercy.
THE DEVIL'S CAST
Author's Note: My sincerest apologies for the one-day delay in delivering this chapter. Life threw me a curveball last week, and I had to tackle some unexpected hurdles. But I must express my immense gratitude to each and every one of you for your unwavering support and patience.
This chapter brought some exciting new characters into the mix, and I couldn't be more thrilled to introduce not only Pyrrhos but Kaseigan as well. I felt Kaseigan's vivacious spirit was a perfect fit for the lively bunch at Lamia Scale, while Pyrrhos' lone wolf persona adds a unique layer to the story. And yes, I know Pyrrhos might appear a tad edgy at first, but trust me, as you delve deeper into his character, you'll discover a complexity that rivals even Obsidian's.
Join us for the next chapter, Bruised and Bloodied.
