Groaning villagers huddled together, their voices a low, worried murmur that swirled around the acrid scent of smoke. "Those damned bandits..." one muttered, shaking his head.
"Heard old man put up a fight, though," another rasped. "Said he wouldn't let them touch the young'un."
"A woman sighed, 'Poor kid, left alone in this cruel world.'"
Smoke stung kid's eyes, blurring the world around him. He stood numbly, a fifteen-year-old boy staring at the smoldering remains of what was once his home. The charred beams creaked and groaned in the dying embers, a haunting melody of loss.
The world had turned its clock three times since then, each tick a silent reminder of the passage of time.
A dense green forest stretches endlessly in all directions. Towering trees with gnarled branches block out most of the sunlight. A lone house in the middle of the forest on a high tree.
A lone figure lay on the floor, sleeping.
Consciousness flickered, a slow bloom behind eyelids like dust motes awakening in a sunbeam. He wasn't sure how long he'd been like this, a hollow shell adrift in a sea of oblivion.
He opened his eyes, revealing pupils dilated in lifelessness. the world blurry at first, a watercolor painting bleeding into focus. The room, a simple cabin interior, was bathed in the warm glow of morning sunlight filtering through the window. Outside, the sounds of the forest pulsed with life - birdsong, the rustle of leaves, the distant murmur of a stream. It was a symphony in stark contrast to the emptiness within him.
He sat up, the movement stiff and unfamiliar. His body felt like a borrowed coat, ill-fitting and worn. Yet, with a deliberate slowness, he rose. He dressed methodically in the simple, unadorned clothes folded on a nearby chair. They felt a bit small for his build.
Finally, he picked up a fishing rod, Stepping out from the house, The world was vibrant, teeming with life, a stark counterpoint to the hollowness that gnawed at him.
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he trudged towards the familiar clearing by the lake. He sighed, the weight of his worn fishing rod a familiar comfort.
With practiced ease, he cast the line, the lure tracing a perfect arc before disappearing into the depths. A moment of stillness, then a tug – a fish! A grin split his face as he reeled it in, the water spraying diamonds in the sunlight.
Suddenly, a colossal shadow engulfed him. The water erupted in a monstrous frenzy, a creature unlike anything he'd ever seen rising from the depths. Its glistening scales shimmered, teeth the size of daggers lined its gaping maw, and it lunged for his prize.
But the man didn't flinch. In a single, fluid motion, he swung his fishing rod upwards. A metallic hum sliced through the air. Thousands of slashes appeared in the blink of an eye. The creature met its end in a spray of blood, its enormous body falling back into the lake in a thousand glistening pieces.
The man landed his catch, a plump fish dangling from the now-sheathed blade. He sighed, a flicker of sadness in his eyes. "There goes my prized fishing rod," he muttered, carefully placing the fish in his creel.
The aroma of sizzling fish filled the air. Smoke curled from a crackling fire where a figure carefully tended a skewered fish.
After a few moments, The fish was done. Pulling it from the fire, he took a moment to appreciate the delicious smell before taking a hearty bite.The flaky flesh tasted fresh and perfectly cooked, a delightful reward for his efforts.
He slipped into the dark cloak, and a crimson mask transformed him into a shadow, ready to disappear into the unknown.
[Adventurer Guild - Deepwoods]
“So you’re saying they hit Old Man Jebediah’s farm last night? Took everything?” Finn asked, wiping sweat from his brow.
Rory grunted. “Worse.” He paused, wiping a hand across his brow. “Took Jebediah too. Poor fella. Wife found him trussed up in the barn, cold as a winter’s night.”
“Blacktalons, right? Heard they’ve been getting bolder.”
Rory snorted. “Blacktalons, Red Talons, what’s the difference? Bunch of rotten apples the lot of ’em. Forget about it. Another round, Finn? Celebrate surviving that goblin ambush.”
Finn chuckled. “More like celebrate you turning them into pincushions with your arrows. My heart nearly thumped out of my chest.”
The Guild door creaked open, and a figure cloaked in midnight black entered with a predatory grace. A crimson mask, shaped like a snarling demon, hid their face. The air crackled with a sudden stillness. Every head in the room swiveled towards the man.
Finn thought about approaching the figure. “Should I go recruit him?”
“Finn, are you daft?” Rory hissed, a frantic edge to his voice. “That’s the Black Demon! No one in their right mind would approach him, let alone recruit him. Everyone thought he’d vanished for good, disappeared without a trace six months ago. Who would’ve thought he’d return?”
“That’s him, but Captain Vargus said we needed the best, and who’s better than a demon?” Finn countered, ignoring Rory’s outburst.
“You really don’t know about the rumors surrounding him, do you?” Rory pressed.
“Rumors? What’s that?”
“They say he’s a murderer, that he killed a comrade while on a quest.” Rory lowered his voice.
“But he seems harmless enough, just a rabbit in a cloak.”
Finn ignored him again. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Finn marched towards the shadowed figure.
Before Finn could react, the crimson cloak shifted, revealing a pair of eyes that glowed like embers in the dim light.
"Lost Origin" is a story that unfolds simultaneously through the perspectives of two characters: the First God, a being betrayed by his own creations, and a young boy named Cassian, a lone survivor of a demon's brutality, finds his will to live extinguished. Yet, whispers of something unknown flicker in the void, struggling for survival in a world overrun by monsters.
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