The Lord of Veins | Shadow Slave

Before him was a towering being that seemed to be pulled from the darkest depths of utter darkness, a being of incomprehensible horror that defied all logic and reason. Its sheer presence was an offense to every sense. Countless eyes glimmering with shadowy purples, the amorphous mass also emitted a steam, that fell like liquid darkness.

The bulk of its grotesque form bore resemblance to a gigantic, malformed squid, yet no natural creature could evoke such a feeling of terror. Then from its heaving body sprouted an unending supply of writhing tentacles—hundreds, perhaps thousands.

Besides the fear that crippled him, a strange familiarity clawed at the edges of his consciousness. The dreamworld. Yes, Zerin recalled that he had unleashed a being similar to this into the Fractured Peaks.

Just underneath that horrible dread, question after question proposed itself.

But now… he wasn't in the dreamworld. Was he? Where was he? Was he dead?

Before he could even attempt to answer these questions, the creature's innumerable eyes fixed on him. The sheer intensity of its gaze shocked through him.

Without warning, the creature's writhing tentacles attacked him in a storm of motion. 

He staggered back, every instinct in his body screaming at him to flee. The tendrils approached closer, their intentions unmistakable. Complete and utter annihilation through consumption.

But as they reached ensnare him a blinding golden light erupted from within Zerin. The creature recoiled violently, its countless tendrils thrashing in pain and frustration. Its many eyes squinted and slammed shut against the radiant light.

Zerin's eyes widened as he could see the aura of light that surrounded his body. But this reprieve from the creature's clutches was only temporary. 

With a guttural shrill, that shook the space around him, the creature retaliated. From the churning depths of its mass, it launched a single monstrous, jagged barb. It moved with terrifying speed, a blur that pierced through the golden light. 

The barb struck true, piercing Zerin's skull with a sickening crack. 

A raw scream tore from Zerin's throat, but the abyss continued, attempting to devour him whole. Pain scourged his skull, an agony that only grew, that blurred his vision and sent his body crumpling under its weight. His limbs fell slack, powerless, as an oppressive darkness seeped into him, snaking into his very soul. 

Then the voices came. 

Hundreds. Thousands. An unending cacophony of screams erupted in his mind, a deafening symphony of anguish and despair. They tangled and overlapped, threatening to drive him to the brink of madness. Horrific images assaulted his mind—faces, contorted and twisted, burned themselves into his memory. Men and women, children and elders, good and evil, divine and profane—all twisted into grotesque forms, their agony eternal.

The visions did not relent. They pushed deeper, to drag him down further. Zerin's breath came in shallow, panicked gasp as his trembling hands reached for the barb embedded in his skull. Something within him urged him to fight, he grasped the barb and yanked it free.

A silent scream tore through his mind as blood and darkness poured from the wound. His body crumpled, falling deeper into the abyss. The torrent of screams began to fade, leaving his mind eerily silent.

He understood. This was reality. Nightmares don't cease with death; they only begin. The end of all things could only possibly be assimilation---absolute and inescapable, a fate as certain as death itself.

[You have received an attribute.]

[You have received an attribute.]

[You have received an Aspect Legacy: Sealed Desires.]

Under his closed eyelids, light converged. A sudden jolt shook him awake.
Zerin's eyes flew open, and the world around him snapped into focus. His awakening was abrupt and jarring. A man he had never seen before loomed over him, shaking his shoulder, his expression a mixture of anger and bewilderment.

Zerin's knees sank into the snow, his body trembling uncontrollably. And, a deep ache radiated from his skull and his stomach felt as if it was going to burst. The metallic tang of blood coated his tongue. He coughed, blood spilling from his lips. 

"What the hell are you doing?!" the man barked, his voice was filled with disbelief.

Zerin was stunned, his face contorting to other confusion. His brows furrowed, his lips parted as to speak, but no words came. He simply stared.

The man's anger faltered, giving way to confusion. He exhaled sharply, his voice strained. "I need your help. My friends are hurt, and I can't carry them both."

Zerin's gaze dropped to the man's arm, which hung limply at his side, clearly dislocated or broken. Blood trickled from the gash at the corner of his eye, he squinted against the pain. In his one good hand, he gripped a war hammer.

Wha—" Zerin's voice cracked. He spat out a chunk of gore.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling the sticky warmth of blood smear across the back of his hand. He stared at it for a moment, his breath shallow.

"What happened?" Zerin pushed himself to his feet, his body springing into action. 

But despite his lively energy, his clothes hung in tatters, shredded beyond repair, but he hardly noticed. He wasn't cold; on the contrary, his blood felt like it was boiling.

"You took care of it," the man replied, his tone matter-of-fact, his face filled with disgust. "It doesn't matter."

Despite his injuries, his movements were steady. With another wince, he straightened and turned back to Zerin. "Carry the other one, please," he said, nodding his head toward the second unconscious figure nearby. There's a cave not too far from here—an hour or two on foot. We've got supplies there."

He was certain he had an idea of what happened, yet the details were not clear. He stared at the carnage around him. "Did I do this?"

The man's expression unreadable. "You killed the Nightmare creature," he said flatly. "Saved my ass—and theirs." He gestured with a nod toward the two injured girls lying motionless in the snow.

A chill of unease crept over Zerin, tightening his chest. If he wasn't aware of what he'd done, what force had been guiding his actions? What had judged and decided for him? 

The man crouched with a groan, lifting one of the unconscious figures onto his good shoulder. Zerin approached the other girl, her blonde hair soaked with blood, her delicate features eerily familiar. His breath caught in his throat as he crouched beside her.

It was familiar. Hauntingly so.

His heart faltered, then thundered in his chest. She looked just like her back then. The resemblance was uncanny---the same deliccate features, the same golden hair. Yet, she was not the same. Wisteria's hair had been longer then. She had stood taller, her presence was different as well. But the blood... The blood was identical---it was just as warm.

A lump rose in his throat as his hands began to tremble uncontrollably. Slowly, he knelt beside her, his movements stiff and mechanical. He slipped his arms beneath her fragile frame, cradling her with care, and lifted her into his arms. 

She was light, but she held the weight of his memories and the crushing guilt of his past. 

When he looked up, the man was watching him, his gaze sharp and wary. "You okay?" the man asked, his tone riddled with distrust. 

Zerin's mouth felt parched. The suspicion in the man's eyes was apparent, and Zerin couldn't blame him. At this moment, he could hardly trust himself.

"I'm fine," Zerin replied, though the word rang hollow between the two. 

Adjusting his hold to carry the girl, he took a step forward, his boots crunching softly against the snow. The man gave him a lingering look but said nothing, turning to lead the way back to his shelter. Zerin followed in silence, his thoughts a tangled mess.