1 Day Later

Kael left the village under the cover of night, not saying a word to anyone, not even to Elara. The weight of the decision pressed against him, heavy and suffocating. He swore to himself as he passed the familiar gate that he wouldn't look back. The village, his friends, his life there—it was all too dangerous to keep. Not with the power of the Crystal of Creation inside him, always lurking, always tempting. But it wasn't just the crystal's power that haunted him—it was him. The Voice.

"I can't use it," Kael whispered into the cold night air as he tightened his grip on the sword strapped to his back. "I won't use it. Not unless I absolutely have to." He reached inside of his head pulling the Crystal of Creation out putting it into a pouch.

The first few days in the forest were uneventful, save for the biting wind and the endless, gnawing hunger that clawed at his stomach. But it wasn't long before the beasts came. He had chosen the most dangerous path—the route toward the Demonic Continent. A place where only the strongest survived, and where he hoped the darkness of the crystal would remain hidden.

Kael stalked through the thick underbrush, his breath steady, but his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. He heard the snarl before he saw the creature. A black-furred beast, all muscle and teeth, burst from the trees, its eyes glowing with hunger and rage. It was a Vargwolf, twice the size of a normal wolf, with matted fur and claws sharp enough to tear through armor. Its growl sent a shiver down Kael's spine.

"Perfect," Kael muttered to himself, unsheathing his sword. He had spent months crafting the blade, using everything he learned from his time in the village. It wasn't magical, but it was sharp, and it would have to be enough.

The Vargwolf lunged, teeth bared, but Kael was ready. He rolled to the side, avoiding the snapping jaws by mere inches. In one fluid motion, he swung his sword, aiming for the beast's neck. The blade connected, slicing through thick fur and muscle. Blood sprayed into the air, but the creature didn't fall. It snarled, spinning on its haunches, and swiped a massive paw at Kael. He barely had time to raise his blade, the force of the blow sending him stumbling backward.

"Stay focused," he growled to himself. "No crystal. I don't need it."

The Vargwolf lunged again, but this time Kael was faster. He ducked beneath the attack and drove his sword deep into its side. The creature howled in agony, collapsing to the ground. Kael yanked the blade free and delivered the final blow, his breathing ragged as he stood over the lifeless body.

Days passed, and the deeper Kael ventured into the wild, the more dangerous the creatures became. He hadn't slept properly in weeks, his body aching from the constant strain. But still, he refused to use the crystal's power. It would only draw him closer. The Voice was always there, waiting, watching, and Kael wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Another day, another fight. Kael crouched beside a creek, his hands cupped, drinking the cold water when he felt the earth rumble beneath him. He shot up, his eyes scanning the treeline. Then, with a thunderous roar, a Horned Brute burst through the trees. It was a hulking monstrosity of muscle and bone, standing over ten feet tall, with gnarled horns curving from its skull like twisted branches. Its skin was thick, almost stone-like, and its fists were the size of Kael's torso.

"I really need a break," Kael muttered, gripping his sword tightly as the creature barreled toward him.

The Horned Brute swung a massive fist, aiming to crush Kael into the ground. He dodged just in time, feeling the shockwave as the fist connected with the earth, sending debris flying. Kael sprinted around the brute, slashing at its legs, but the creature's hide was too tough. His blade barely scratched the surface.

The brute roared again, swiping at Kael with its massive arm. He leaped backward, but the sheer force of the blow knocked him off his feet. He hit the ground hard, the wind knocked from his lungs.

"Damn it!" he cursed, struggling to get back to his feet. The brute was coming for him again, slow but unstoppable.

For a moment, his hand drifted to the pouch where the crystal lay hidden. Just a touch, just enough power to kill this thing and move on. But no. He yanked his hand away. "No crystal."

The brute raised both arms to crush him, and Kael took a deep breath. Timing was everything. Just as the fists came crashing down, he rolled to the side, his body screaming in protest. He leaped to his feet, his sword flashing in the dim light. With a powerful swing, he struck at the back of the brute's knee, where the skin was thinner. His blade sank deep, and the brute let out a bellow of pain, collapsing onto one leg.

Kael didn't waste time. He scrambled onto the brute's back, driving his sword into its neck with all his strength. The creature thrashed, trying to throw him off, but Kael held on, twisting the blade until the beast finally collapsed in a heap. He stood over its corpse, breathing heavily, covered in its blood.

"I don't need the crystal," he whispered to himself again, though he was beginning to doubt his own words.

The days turned into weeks, and Kael fought battle after battle. From shadow beasts that lurked in the dense fog of the forest to winged demons that descended upon him from the skies, each fight pushed him closer to the edge of exhaustion. His sword grew duller with every encounter, and his body bore the scars of every battle, but still, he refused to give in.

One night, deep in the wilderness, Kael faced a pack of nightstalkers—sleek, black-furred creatures with glowing red eyes and razor-sharp fangs. They moved silently through the underbrush, surrounding him from all sides.

"I'm not dying here," Kael growled, his grip tightening on the hilt of his blade.

The first one lunged, its fangs bared. Kael dodged to the side, slashing at its throat. His blade cut deep, and the nightstalker fell with a gurgling growl. But the others were already on him. One sank its teeth into his arm, and Kael cried out in pain. He spun, driving his sword into its chest, but another one leaped onto his back, clawing at his flesh.

"Damn it, get off!" Kael roared, slamming the creature into a tree, feeling its ribs crack under the impact. He swung his sword wildly, cutting through fur and flesh, until the last of the nightstalkers lay dead at his feet.

Panting, covered in blood—both his own and the beasts'—Kael dropped to his knees. His hand drifted to the pouch where the crystal rested, as it had done so many times before. But he didn't touch it. He wouldn't.

"I don't need it." The words felt hollow now. He was tired. So tired.