The aftermath of the collision was a silent explosion.
Debris rained from the sky. The trees shivered. The forest trembled as the impact sent shockwaves across the ground. The earth itself split — a massive gouge etched into the terrain, carved by the blade’s path.
Oru’Zek sword shattered, its fragments embedded in the torn soil like broken fangs.
And Oru’Zek lay there...
Or what was left of him.
His body was mangled — the entire right side gone, sheared clean from shoulder to hip. What remained twitched faintly, blood oozing onto the cracked ground in dark, bubbling pools. His massive frame, once a wall of strength and fury, now lay slumped and broken, gasping for breath that no longer had purpose.
Across from him stood Dirga.
His hoodie had been vaporized in the blast — now just shredded cloth flapping from one arm. His sweatpants had been torn to the knee, scorched black and frayed. A quarter of his right ear was missing, blood dripping down his cheek.
But even that began to close.
His skin shimmered faintly. Threads of flesh pulled together — regeneration kicking in, fast and efficient.
Dirga exhaled, steadying his breath as he looked down at his fallen opponent.
"Damn," he muttered. "You were strong."
Oru’Zek’s one remaining eye stared up at him. Wide. Disbelieving.
Then, slowly... a rasping, wheezing laugh.
"Heh... heh... You’re not just strong..."
His voice cracked, gurgling blood. "What... are you, kid? A devil? A god?"
The laugh turned to coughing.
Oru’Zek had faced monsters. Fought kings. Eaten champions. He was Oru’Zek the Crimson One — the butcher of manyrealms, the terror in the Dusk.
With one final exhale, the light in Oru’Zek’s eyes dimmed. His body slumped fully into the dirt. No more breath. No more strength.
Dirga stood still, muscles tense, heart thundering in his ears.
The night wind brushed past him, cool against his skin, carrying with it the faint crackle of dying energy.
In the distance, he could still sense them — the girls. Faint gravity signatures far ahead.
"Right," he muttered, rolling his neck.
"I need to catch up."
He cracked his knuckles. Crimson Core pulsed faintly in his hand, ready to shift again.
The forest swallowed his form — and the legend of Oru’Zek was buried in silence.
The massive structure loomed above them — black stone and twisted spires piercing the night like fangs. The closer they got, the heavier the air became, as if the castle exhaled dread with every breath.
Saelari’s glowing skin flickered slightly, panic seeping into her voice.
"D-Do we really have to enter this castle?" she asked, glancing back at the forest they’d fled from.
Theryn didn’t look back. Her hands were stained with sap and blood — vines writhing around her wrists like living whips.
"We don’t have a choice," she said sharply. "There’s too many. I’ve already taken down six, but they just keep coming."
She lashed a branch toward the treeline — another goblin screamed as thorns tore through its throat.
But more emerged from the shadows.
Saelari’s breathing quickened. The runes on her hands glowed brighter — she readied another defensive spell.
Meanwhile, Kaela stood still.
Her golden irises were glowing — not just glowing... pulsing. A second ring flickered in them, spinning slowly like a clock’s hand. She stared at the castle’s towering gates.
There was something inside.
She felt it. If they entered without permission...
"Kaela—Kaela!" Saelari’s voice rose.
She grabbed her wrist, shaking her back into reality.
Kaela gasped, blinking rapidly. Her hand instinctively clutched Saelari’s.
"They know we’re here," she whispered. "We don’t belong. This place—it’s alive."
Another screech from behind.
Theryn spun, launching thorny vines that wrapped around another goblin mid-leap and crushed its spine.
"There’s no more time!"
"Go!" Saelari yelled, gripping Kaela tighter.
The three girls rushed forward together, boots pounding the cracked forest soil. Their shadows stretched long in the moonlight as they reached the foot of the castle. The gates loomed like the jaws of some abyssal beast — and with every step closer, the sound of battle seemed to fade behind them, swallowed by the castle’s presence.
The path leading to the gates was paved with uneven obsidian stones, slick with moss and moonlight. Statues of cloaked figures lined either side, their eyes hollow, watching. Or maybe just waiting. A feeling of pressure wrapped around their chests, heavier than fear — more like being remembered by something that shouldn’t remember you.
Dirga followed the trail — one soaked in blood and desperation.
He passed the corpses of goblins — some freshly fallen, others still twitching.
But none slowed him down.
Crimson Core pulsed in his hand, shifting form effortlessly — a blade, a spear, even claws when he needed them.
He didn’t even have to use gravity.
By the time he reached the clearing, twelve bodies lay behind him — silent, broken, and cooling.
It rose like a wound on the land — vast, jagged, and wrong.
It reminded him of something out of an old gothic novel. Like Dracula’s keep — if Dracula was a god of death.
Sharp towers stabbed into the sky.
The stone was black, not just painted black — but black that swallowed light.
Stained-glass windows shimmered in fractured color, like shattered dreams frozen in time.
Gargoyle statues lined the ledges, mouths agape, wings poised as if ready to lunge at intruders.
And at the heart of it all... twin gates, carved with symbols that hurt to look at for too long.
Dirga exhaled slowly.
"I really hope they didn’t touch anything."
Boots crunched over gravel. The wind here didn’t howl — it whispered. Faint voices. Secrets he couldn’t understand.
He passed the statues flanking the gates, and for just a second, he could swear their heads turned. Only slightly. Just enough to make him wonder if they’d always been facing that way. His fingers tightened around the Crimson Core. "Not the weirdest thing I’ve seen today," he muttered.
He tightened his grip on the Crimson Core.
The gates groaned open.
Not because someone opened them.
Dirga paused — instincts screaming. But he pushed forward, jaw tight.