Under the nocturnal lights of nightfall, the dark sky grew ablaze. Crimson flames erupted from the world below, and the remains of what was once a magnificent castle stood in ruins. Its ivory walls were cracked, and its once imposing structure had been deformed by the chaos, great stones split open by heat and fury.
The agonised screams that originated from its city drowned beneath the thunderous roar of the flames, swallowed by the inferno as ash drifted through the air like dying snow.
What had they done to deserve this? Most asked themselves.
Who had angered the gods?
These were the inconsequential thoughts that passed through their pitiful minds before meeting their demise.
But they had been right to think—
Who had angered the gods? Or rather… What had the gods angered?
Deep within the ravenous flames, a dark silhouette stood, back faced from the suffering that plagued the world around it. The flames illuminated the figure, bringing his physique into light. A tall and imposing stature with broad shoulders and lean muscles that almost made him look slender; raven black hair that fell to his shoulders, and emerald green eyes that reflected the rampaging chaos.
He was shrouded in a dull silver armour, highlighted with a touch of forest green around its edges, the metal dimly glowing beneath the firelight. A long sword hung leisurely on his waist, its hilt darkened by soot and time.
His emerald gaze parted through smoke and flame to land on a group of seven, the soft glow of their skin providing a warmth that only made him sick.
A deep fury burned from the depths of his soul as he recalled where it had all began—all the pain he had endured, all the suffering he had burdened, and the anguish of countless defeats that filled his heart had led to this moment.
'If the gods were alive, damn them!'
'Fate could choke on a dying rat for all he cared.'
All that mattered now was that at the end of all this carnage, either he murdered them all… or they killed him first.
A small maniacal laugh escaped from his lips, carried briefly by the hot wind of the burning city.
"Never thought I'd come this far. Every other encounter was another brush with death's cold hands. Well… let's get on with it."
With his last words, he drew his long sword and faced the seven, his emerald eyes piercing and resolved as the flames raged behind him.
***
"That'd be ten coppers for each tooth," a sly merchant said, a crooked smile hooked on his lips as he rolled one of the jagged teeth between his fingers.
"Ten?...I sold these for fifteen two days ago."
A defiant voice argued back.
"That was two days ago, boy. Things change. Either take the copper or find another buyer," the merchant responded.
The owner of the voice, a frail boy with dirty black hair, with skin stretched along thin bone, frowned.
"Thirteen for each," he said, attempting to strike another bargain.
"..."
The merchant didn't respond. His malicious eyes flashed with greed and his crooked smile grew into a full, cruel grin that revealed a single golden tooth.
"Eleven."
The frail boy clenched his fists. His piercing emerald eyes grew distant as he weighed his options. He knew he was getting the shorter end of the stick, but this was the only merchant that bought his goods. He had nearly died in an attempt to get each tooth from a dead abomination, the memory of its rotting stench and twisted corpse still fresh in his mind, but since he wasn't a registered adventurer he couldn't sell for their normal price value.
"Fine."
The word came out through gritted teeth. He had no other option but to agree.
"That's why I've always liked you, Aster. You're a smart boy. Nice doing business with you," the merchant replied, a dark glee in his eyes as the coins clinked softly against the wooden counter.
A few moments later, Aster walked through the town's busy streets, aged stone infrastructures built meticulously, their walls worn smooth by years of footsteps and trade. The murmur of merchants, the creak of carts, and the distant clang of a blacksmith's hammer drifted through the air.
He was dressed in garments so unique that only one word could do them justice.
'Rags.'
But that wasn't what was on his mind. Honestly, he couldn't care less about how he looked. He was rather taking mental notes on how best he could spend his small wealth before it ran out and he had to risk his life again.
He unconsciously shuddered as the thought of facing another abomination resurfaced in his mind. Even though he only scouted for the dead ones, those also came with their risks.
'Dead abominations attract living abominations.'
He had learnt that the hard way.
He was currently headed home. Well… if an abandoned, run-down shack could be called one? Then yes, that was his destination.
Branching off into an alley created by two looming stone structures, where sunlight barely reached the ground and the smell of damp stone lingered in the air, he heard a voice call out behind him.
Loud, arrogant, and mocking.
His expression grew dark, his fist instinctively clutching the small leather pouch as his eyebrows creased together.
"If it isn't the green-eyed bastard," the person had said.
Aster didn't need to turn. He already knew who it was. He cursed under his breath and blamed his rotten luck that got him here before speaking.
"Thorne…"