World of Terror

A man stood guard, shifting uneasily as a rustling came from the bushes nearby. He turned to look, his hand instinctively reaching for his weapon, but before he could react, his head fell to the ground. Silent and swift, a hooded hunter stepped out from the shadows, his blade gleaming in the dim light.

"Check the entrance and ready the cannon," a voice whispered from the darkness.

Another figure, tall and imposing, emerged from the trees. It was Roswell. His sharp gaze fell on the lifeless guard, his expression unreadable. "Confirm his identity," he ordered calmly. "And take your positions."

The silence was shattered by a sudden scream. "Enemy attack!"

Roswell's eyes narrowed as his expression darkened. "The alarm," he muttered, his irritation barely contained. Without waiting, he turned sharply to his men. "Cannon team, get moving! Charge and fire!"

With a deafening roar, the cannons unleashed their payload. Explosions rocked the cave entrance, sending stones and dirt raining down. Smoke billowed out, obscuring the view as the ground trembled under the relentless barrage.

"Advance!" an officer shouted, spurring the soldiers forward.

Roswell stayed back momentarily, assessing the scene. The order was to surround the area, bombard the mines with a barrage of cannonballs, and advance to intercept anyone attempting to escape. It was an unusual and unfamiliar tactic for him as a warrior.

Then, from within the swirling smoke, shapes began to emerge. At first, they seemed human. But as the figures drew closer, the truth revealed itself. Blackened, twisted bodies with sinewy muscles and blood-soaked faces stepped into the clearing. Their eyes gleamed with malice, and their claws glistened like sharpened steel.

"Demons!" a knight bellowed, raising his shield.

One of the creatures lunged forward, its claws scraping against the knight's armor with a screech that sent chills down spines.

Roswell frowned, his grip on his sword tightening. "Hold the line!"

...

Meanwhile, in the dead of night at a secluded, crumbling building on the outskirts of the city, a well-dressed man paced nervously, agitation flickering in his eyes as he fumbled with the communication device.

"Damn it! I can't reach the other bases either," he muttered under his breath, frustration tightening his voice.

He slammed the device onto a nearby table and said angrily, "I need to report this immediately."

"Ivan! Ivan!?" he shouted.

The door creaked open slowly, and the man looked back, expecting his servant. Instead, a tall man with jet-black hair stepped in, his armor stained with blood. In his right hand, he casually held a severed head by the hair.

Luke's eyes narrowed as he smiled coldly. "So this is Ivan," he said with a casual menace, tossing the severed head across the room.

The man froze, his eyes wide with shock. "Wh- How did you get in?" he demanded, his voice trembling with both anger and fear.

Luke smirked. "We sneaked in," he said, and with a sudden burst of speed, he lunged forward, his sword slashing toward the man.

The man stumbled back, narrowly dodging the blow, though the blade left a slight gash on his chest. His expression darkened and became serious as he muttered, "I'm going to kill you! Blood Aspect."

Steam hissed and rose from his body as his muscles bulged grotesquely, veins turning an ominous red while his wounds began to heal.

Count Luke grinned, taking a firm stance, his right hand gripping his sword while his left rested behind him. The blade started to emanate a bluish ominous aura.

"Now that's more like it," Luke said, his tone amused yet focused.

The transformed man charged forward with explosive speed. Count Luke met him head-on, delivering a powerful slash. The man raised his arm to block, but the blade cut through with ease, severing his limb. Undeterred, the man countered with a ferocious punch, completely ignoring his lost arm.

The blow struck Luke's aura shield, creating a shock wave that shattered nearby furniture and cracked the walls. The man was pushed back, spitting blood as he steadied himself.

The man, still steaming and unrelenting, charged again, his movements relentless. As he neared, his severed arm on the floor suddenly gripped Luke's leg and forced him to defend.

With a roar, the man delivered a devastating punch. Luke's aura sword absorbed most of the impact, but the sheer force hurled him into the wall. Dust and debris filled the air as Luke coughed up blood, while the man laughed arrogantly.

Count Luke straightened, his eyes narrowing. "Annoying demon."

He stood firm once more, his expression became serious and focused. Taking a deep breath, the floor beneath him shattered as he vanished in an instant.

The charging man suddenly halted, his arm severed and his torso split open, spilling blood and entrails. Half of the building was left in ruins, torn apart by the immense force of the attack.

Despite the grievous injury, the upper half of the man's body began to move, his wounds steaming and starting to heal once more.

Suddenly he smashed his severed arm into the ground, cracking the floor beneath him. Using the last of his strength, he launched himself forward in a desperate leap, his eyes burning with fury.

"I'll kill you," he snarled, swinging his fist wildly at Luke's head.

Luke sidestepped with ease, the blow crashing into a wall and sending more debris tumbling.

Luke sighed, walking cautiously toward the opponent, his sword still raised. "You still alive?" he muttered.

Slowly plunging his sword into the man's heart, Luke waited as the blood around the body began to shift, merging with flesh and bones. A blackish-red, stone-like core started to emerge.

Luke frowned, gripping the core tightly. He infused it with his aura, unleashing a destructive force strong enough to obliterate it.

"Finally," Luke muttered, pulling his sword free as he glanced at the ruined building and the growing commotion in the street. "I should have held back more."

"I guess I can still make it," he muttered, stepping quickly over the debris toward his knights. Behind him, his fading aura vanished into the silence.

...

At the venue, children around my age were running around, enjoying the event with their parents and guardians. The atmosphere was lively, with an area set up for shows and games, and tables with food for the younger guests. For the adults, a well-stocked bar offered a space to socialize while keeping an eye on their children. Everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time, especially my sister, who was happily eating and laughing with the other children, while I stood beside my mother, assisting her as she greeted the guests.

Mr. George and Lady Mary arrived dressed in formal and elegant attire. They waved warmly as they approached us, their smiles bright.

"Congratulations, Lucian," they said in unison, their tone genuinely warm.

"Thank you," I replied, returning their smiles. It was comforting to see familiar faces.

We chatted briefly before they were guided to their table, ensuring they were comfortable. Most of the guests were merchants from Linberg, well acquainted with my family, along with a few nobles who had traveled the difficult mountain roads to attend.

Suddenly, a servant near the door hurried forward, standing nervously as he announced loudly, "The Duke of the East, Lukas Von Lockewood, has arrived!"

The room fell silent as the announcement startled the guests. Many quickly rushed to the entrance, bowing deeply and ready to greet the duke.

"Uncle?" I murmured, glancing at Mother, who looked surprised but pleased.

Through the doorway stepped a man who bore a striking resemblance to my father, though he was noticeably taller and broader, exuding a commanding presence that made the air feel heavier. His sharp eyes swept over the room, and his aura alone was enough to make the crowd uneasy. A boy around my age followed casually behind him.

Mother stepped forward and bowed respectfully. "Welcome, Duke Lukas. Thank you for visiting our small land."

"No need for formalities, Arian. We are family," the Duke replied, his deep voice resonating through the room. He glanced at her keenly. "Is my brother treating you well?"

Arian smiled politely and said, "Yes, we are doing well."

He then gestured to the boy beside him. "This is Ceil Von Lockewood, my son." Turning to me, he added, "And you must be Lucian. I have heard a great deal about you."

I nodded and said, "It is an honor to meet you both."

Ceil barely spared me a glance, clearly uninterested, and just walked away as if I were not even there.

The door opened again, and my father stepped in, his armor stained with blood. He scanned the room before his eyes settled on the Duke. "Did my brother cause any trouble here?" he asked, his tone calm but pointed.

The Duke's expression grew serious as he approached. "And if I did? What would you do?" he replied, a faint challenge in his voice.

The room fell silent, the air heavy with tension as the two brothers seemed on the verge of clashing.