Vel'Zareth:The Last Red Moon

The old woman led Kael'Vorn through the ashen ruins of what once might have been a proud city of Dour-Elheim. Shadows clung to the crumbled walls and twisted roots broke through the streets like veins of death itself. Kael'Vorn said nothing, allowing the old woman to take the lead. Surprisingly, the heart of the village wasn't far.

His crimson eyes widened—though only slightly—as he finally saw the truth.

The entire village was rotting. Not just the buildings, but the people. They were still alive—if one could call it that—but emaciated, gray-skinned, and hollow-eyed. Their skin sagged, their breath shallow, their limbs bent unnaturally. It was as if their very souls were being devoured slowly, purposefully.

Their eyes met his, but there was no hope in them. Only indifference. As if they had seen many like him come and go—heroes, knights, fools—none of them able to lift the curse. None of them alive now.

A man, crawling on the dirt, his feet reduced to bone and rot, dragged himself toward Kael'Vorn using hands more bone than flesh.

"I don't care who you are," the man wept. "We've already lost everything. Hope… is a lie. We've accepted that no one can save us. But please, I beg you… if you can't save us, end it."

Tears ran down his skeletal face as he pointed a shaking hand to a child nearby—a girl lying on the ground. Skinless. Eyeless. Yet breathing. Her face was a bone mask of agony, a single tear trailing down the side of her skull.

Kael'Vorn's gaze lingered on her—then scanned the others.

It was the children.

They decayed faster than the elders.

That's when he saw the truth.

The curse wasn't just death—it was torment. The older ones were made to watch as their children withered first. Some dragged middle-aged corpses behind them. Some held little ones in their arms, crumbling like sand. It was no ordinary curse. It was hatred. Vengeance. Malice forged into a spell.

Only an Azurhein could wield such terrifying mastery.

But even then… Azurhein witches did not act of their own volition. They were bound to serve. Powerful, yes—godlike even—but their spells served the blood of Vel'Zareth.

For an Azuhein to defy that?, No they cant defy that.

This wasn't just about the Azurhein or withc in the rumors. It was something deeper.

Darker.

Kael'Vorn clenched his fist. His voice dropped to a whisper, his tone cold enough to still the wind.

"Velmorith."

The shadows around him pulsed. A deep, chilling voice responded from the void:

"My liege?"

"Can they be cured?"

The voice paused. Then:

"No. These people are already dead. Their bodies remain through a curse—unable to die, yet never able to heal. The pain never ends."

Kael'Vorn's eyes blazed crimson, brighter than before.

Undeath. Not the kind raised by necromancers. This was something worse—undeath designed to torment. To trap souls in agony.

There was only one mercy left.

He turned to the villagers, his voice calm but sharp as steel. "You all… wish to die, yes?"

None answered, but all nodded. Silent. Resolute.

Kael'Vorn whispered one word:

"Orr'kalos."

From nothing, a blade materialized into his hand—a thin, long-handled sword, its edge etched with runes that flickered like dying stars. A cursebreaker. A weapon of finality.

Kael'Vorn raised the sword.

"Then beg me," he said softly, his voice colder than frost, "to kill you."

Then, like thunder breaking, the cries came.

"Kill me!"

"My child! End her suffering!"

"Please—end it! End it!"

The air split with their pleas—not for life, but for release.

Kael'Vorn granted it.

He moved like a shadow of death—silent, precise. One by one, he severed their cursed existence. There was no hesitation in his eyes. No pity. Just a crimson glow as his sword moved through the dark. Again and again. Until…

Silence.

Even the wind held its breath.

No birds. No insects. No whispers from the trees. The village was finally quiet.

Kael'Vorn stood alone amidst the fallen, drenched in blood, his dark cloak soaked and heavy. He stripped it off—showing the armor bearing the sigil of Vel'Zareth—and let them fall beside the dead.

He held the blade at his side.

Then turned.

"There's more to this curse," he muttered. "This reeks not of chaos… but vengeance."

And with sword in hand, Kael'Vorn walked deeper into the decayed village—into the unknown.

To find the truth.