Vel'Zareth:The Last Red Moon

Kael walked the dark-red land, his sigil of Val'Zareth gleaming faintly in the ash-stained wind. In his right hand, he held the Curse Lifter, its blade humming softly like a whisper of judgment.

He felt it.

Something… angry… was about to reveal itself.

Because of what he did—granting the condemned freedom—something ancient stirred. The land itself pulsed, almost in protest.

Then the earth cracked open.

A tree—a towering, dead thing as tall as giants—erupted from the ground, its roots dragging corpses and ruins with it. Beneath its rotting canopy stood a woman. Cloaked in deep violet, she wore a thin, flowing dress that clung to her pale, slender frame. Her face remained hidden beneath the shadows of her hood.

"You dare…" she hissed, her voice a low growl laced with venom.

"You dare grant freedom to the sinners?"

She shouted now, voice echoing like a curse through the landscape. "I do not care if you are of the Is'Mira household—or even an Arkansa."

Her words made the very world decay.

Buildings melted into sludge. Corpses shriveled and collapsed into dust. The sky darkened.

But Kael'Vorn stood unmoved, like a monument of silence in the chaos. Inwardly, he studied her.

She was not an Azurhein. Not even a witch. She was… human. And yet—

He could feel it.

The presence of an Azurhein surrounded her like an echo. But no human could wield Azurhein power and survive. It would crush them.

Then he saw it—

A necklace. Red, glowing like a blood moon.

Kael's eyes narrowed.

"…It's dead," he whispered to himself. "The Azurhein… it's already dead. She's using its remains… its memory… to control its power."

Rage burned behind Kael's eyes. His aura thickened, oppressive and sharp. The very weight of his presence disrupted the balance of the land. The necklace reacted, halting its flow of power, as if the remnant within recognized the one who stood before it.

But the woman's hatred only deepened. She snarled through clenched teeth, casting a dark incantation. The corpses around them twitched—

—then rose.

Soldiers. Villagers. Men, women, children.

Their forms twisted, bloated, reshaped—until nothing human remained. Horned beasts with bone-masks, blackened claws, and eyes like empty holes.

Thousands.

They screamed and charged.

Kael whispered, "Orr'Kalos, my spear."

A thin spear appeared in his left hand.

In his right, the Curse Lifter still glinted like a sliver of moonlight.

As the monsters descended, Kael muttered coldly, "Spear, grow."

SHAAAM—

The spear elongated—taller, larger, until it reached the heavens. Still thin as a reed, but dense with divine weight. With a single swing, Kael cleaved through dozens—some from the blade, others from the sheer force of wind that followed.

He spun again.

Blood and black fluid rained down.

Then—CRACK.

The sword vanished from his hand—

—and reappeared impaled into the woman's chest.

The Curse Lifter had struck true.

But Kael froze.

"It's not her," he whispered. "The curse isn't hers. It's the necklace. The remnant."

The dead tree behind her began to shift.

Its bark twisted into faces—horrified, tortured faces. The branches stretched higher, wider. More trees burst from the earth, each with bodies dangling from them—rich men, warriors, nobles—mangled beyond recognition. The forest of rage was growing.

The woman shrieked as her body healed in seconds. The red necklace pulsed with every heartbeat.

Kael narrowed his eyes.

"How can a human bear the wrath of a fallen Azurhein?"

The air around him darkened. He noticed the trees weren't just dead—they were fueled by agony. Her grief. Her hate.

A forest of suffering.

Her aura surged, pressure thickening. Yet Kael'Vorn did not budge.

He took one step forward.

And raised his sword once more.

Kael'Vorn stood tall, the air heavy with silent dread. In one hand, he held the Spear of Vraxion, humming with the pulse of starlit metal. In the other, the long anti-curse blade—etched in forgotten tongues. His cold, emotionless voice cut through the eerie stillness.

"I will carve truth from your silence. Even if I must peel it from your bones… slowly."

The witch's eyes widened, but before fear could take root, Kael vanished. The very wind staggered in his absence—only for him to reappear a breath later before her. His sword swung, faster than light's shadow. The massive blackened tree behind her split cleanly, glowing with crimson veins and flaring sparks, but as if mocking him, the tree reknit itself in seconds.

She remained unharmed—untouched, like a phantom anchored to cursed soil.

Then it emerged.

From the cursed land, a monstrous colossus birthed from the remains of dead soldiers—twisted limbs, shattered helms, and moaning jaws—threw a massive arm at Kael. It struck.

Kael was launched into the air, crashing through stone and roots—but when the dust settled, he rose, unscathed. His armor, forged from the divine steel of Aetharion, shimmered like dusk itself.

He stared at the beast. Without a word, he hurled his spear with divine precision. It pierced the monster's upper mass, a burst of crimson tearing through the sky. But for each one fallen, a thousand more rose, like echoes of war unforgotten.

Kael plunged his blade into the blood-soaked ground. His voice dropped into a whisper—ancient, poetic, and resolute:

"O blade born of Orr'kalos,

Curse-eater, oath-binder,

Let thy edge drink sorrow,

And return light to the dead who wander…"

The earth trembled.

Light erupted from the sword—brighter than a twin sun—and one by one, the monstrous forms crumbled into dust. The cursed battlefield, once suffocating in darkness, bloomed into unnatural daylight. Trees ignited into ash and faded like smoke… all except the one. The tree where the witch stood—rooted like a god's wound in the world—remained.

The woman gritted her teeth. Her chants faltered. Her voice cracked in rage and desperation.

"W-who the hell are you?! No Arkansa should wield such light! You're not meant to be anything but ruin!"

Kael turned toward her, his gaze colder than death's promise. The blade in his hand now resembled a sun-chained relic of heaven's wrath.

"I am no Arkansa.

I am not here to be a hero.

I am the wrath of the forgotten, and I walk with vengeance in my veins."

He disappeared again.

The world held its breath.

In a single blinding arc, Kael cleaved the great tree. As it split, the sky above fractured in beams of light—searing, divine. The woman screamed as her curses scattered, unable to root in this new purity.

She collapsed to her knees, powerless. Kael stepped forward, unshaken. He reached out the Azurhein pendant from her neck,

The cursed necklace dimmed in his hand, trembling… as if it too feared what Kael'Vorn had become.