The Broken Breath

Three years had passed.

Since the village, Lucas hadn't crossed cities. No names. No faces.

He buried himself in a forgotten land — dead forests, broken mountains — where the world seemed to have given up on existing.

There, he silenced his own existence.

There, he believed time might forgive him.

A foolish mistake.

The Abyss whispered lazily.

"Look at you... thinking you could hide from what you are? Cute. Really."

Lucas ignored it.

Until the wind changed.

The First Sign

Lucas felt it before he saw it.

A cold, cutting presence scraping down his spine like a blade being sharpened.

His eyes lifted.

At the top of a dead tree, a figure watched him.

A black cloak rippling.

Light armor, designed to kill — not to protect.

Dark hair, long, tied in a careless knot.

A pale face, hard as stone polished by war.

Golden eyes that didn't shine... they burned.

Zathiel, the Blade Without Lament.

And the black katana on his back seemed to breathe with him.

Zathiel descended.

Without sound.

Without hurry.

He stepped onto the ground as if the world itself gave way under his feet.

He smiled, but without joy.

"So this is where the future Demon King came to die?"

Lucas didn't answer. The air between them crackled, ready to snap.

The First Bite

The shadows rose like starving spears.

The darkness ripped the ground beneath their feet.

Lucas crossed the distance in half a second, his fist soaked in darkness aiming for the assassin's throat.

The black katana sang.

In a single move, Zathiel parried the blow, shattering the shadows into dark sparks.

Lucas attacked again.

And again.

And again.

Each strike was like the collapse of an entire world.

But Zathiel flowed.

Like a dance of blade and silence.

His feet didn't break twigs.

His sword didn't hiss — it bit.

Lucas tried to crush him with a wall of darkness.

Zathiel cut the air.

The shadows bled like living flesh.

And before Lucas realized, the blade slid, slicing his side.

Hot blood stained the cold earth.

Zathiel's smile widened.

"Expected more from the man who defeated the dragon knights."

The Hunt

Zathiel advanced.

Now it was his turn.

Each movement was a deadly dance.

The katana drew invisible cuts, opening wounds in the air — and in Lucas's body.

Lucas's arm was cut.

His shoulder.

His thigh.

Small wounds, but precise.

Zathiel was toying with him.

"What's wrong, king? Lost your throne? Lost your courage?"

Lucas answered with fury.

The void tore the earth in a brutal ring.

Zathiel spun in the air, slicing the darkness into pieces as if it were paper.

The ground shook.

Stones shattered.

The scent of blood began to dominate the forest.

The Feast of the Condemned

Lucas retreated, panting.

Blood bubbled.

The katana sucked his essence, slow and cruel.

The Abyss, silent until now, slithered out of his chest.

Like a nightmare peeling itself from his ribs.

Black tentacles, mouths laughing where they shouldn't exist, cracked eyes boiling with hatred.

But this time, it didn't stop there.

The Abyss coiled around Lucas like a living armor.

Tentacles plunged into his wounds.

Ripped the flesh.

Stitched him from the inside.

Lucas screamed — a roar trapped between pain and ecstasy.

When it ended, Lucas was covered.

A living shell of darkness, pulsing, breathing with him.

The Abyss growled, "Ahhh, now we're ready for the party, little puppet!"

Zathiel held his gaze, unflinching.

The Abyss laughed, its voice rumbling, "Let's set the table..."

Tentacles of shadow sank into the ground.

In a spasm, reality cracked.

The forest faded.

Everything became a black hole.

Thousands of eyes opened in the dead sky.

Eyes that didn't blink.

Eyes that never slept.

Beneath Zathiel's feet, the ground rotted.

Roots broke.

And souls began to emerge.

Mutilated souls.

Fallen warriors.

Forgotten civilians.

Dead children.

All staring at him.

Without screaming.

Without speaking.

Just waiting.

The air froze.

Zathiel slowly turned his katana.

His gaze analyzed.

Not with fear.

But with strategy.

He looked at Lucas and the Abyss together.

A small smile crept onto his face.

"We'll finish this."

He spun his body and, with a sharp step, disappeared into the shadows.

The Voice of the Abyss

Lucas remained kneeling, gasping.

The Abyss spun around him, euphoric.

"Did you see? DID YOU SEE HIS FACE?"

"Even the dead don't like to play with me, HAHAHAHAHA!"

Lucas spat blood and stood.

The world around him trembled.

The forest, the air, the time.

The Abyss growled, licking his mind, "Time to start the banquet, little puppet..."

"Let's throw a party at the castle, what do you say?"

"A last supper. With them... on the plate."

"The world will remember your name... by the scream."

Lucas rose.

The decision was made.

He would return.

To the kingdom.

To the king.

This time, the world would have nowhere to hide.