The commander and Zay came to an abrupt halt, their feet skidding to a stop on the wet forest floor. The air was thick with the stench of blood and something far more sinister. In the midst of the trees, barely visible in the dense fog, stood a creature that made the very earth tremble beneath its massive weight.
It was a towering figure, draped in black and blood-red wings that were torn at the edges, their once majestic span now fragmented like shattered glass. The wings glowed faintly, pulsing with an unnatural, ominous light. Its body was a grotesque fusion of what could only be described as demon and angelic features—muscular, with sharp claws at the end of elongated limbs, while its face bore an eerie beauty, a hollow expression of both suffering and malice. Its eyes were hollow, pools of pure darkness that seemed to absorb any light that dared to touch them.
The creature's skin shimmered with an ethereal, almost translucent glow—white, yet marred by jagged scars of darkened black energy that twisted like veins beneath its surface. Two enormous, twisted horns that arced out from either side of its head, their edges serrated and gleaming. It stood tall, well over fifteen feet, its posture a blend of both regal and monstrous—its very presence exuding a chilling aura of dominance.
It exhaled a gust of breath, a mixture of darkness and frost that froze the nearby trees, their bark cracking with the sudden cold. Slowly, it tilted its head towards Zay and the commander, its hollow eyes locking onto them with an unsettling awareness.
"Are you... the ones who dare challenge me?" it growled, its voice a low, guttural sound, like grinding stone against metal. The ground beneath its feet began to crack, sending ripples through the earth.
The commander gripped his greatsword tighter, emerald green aura coiling around the blade. Zay unsheathed his katana, violet aura swirling around it as his gaze locked onto the creature before them.
Zay's voice was low, his gaze unwavering as he stared up at the creature. "It's a Warden."
The commander's grip on his greatsword tightened, eyes narrowing as he scanned the beast. "A Warden? What does that even mean?"
Zay swallowed hard, his amethyst eyes never leaving the creature. "A Warden... it's a birth between a god of pure intent and one of malicious intent. A hybrid, born to maintain balance through destruction. They're very rare... and strong as hell too... though, they're not very smart."
The Warden stared down at the humans and spoke again.
"Erebros, Warden of Dusk."
The Warden's massive claws flexed, and the air around them seemed to shift.
Its broken wings flapped, and a gust formed. A violent stream of wind surged toward the two.
Zay and the commander split in different directions as the stream of wind tore forward, slicing into the earth, ripping it apart as trees collapsed. The Warden's hollow eyes locked onto Zay.
It began to glow white. A sword of pure divine energy materialized in the sky. It swung in a horizontal arc, crashing into a tree—then vanished. But the tree vanished too, completely erased.
The Warden roared and forced its broken wings to flap, lifting its massive body into the sky. Blood dripped from the broken wings as it suddenly plummeted, crashing into the ground below.
Seizing the moment, both Zay and the commander rushed in, slashing into the Warden.
The commander drew his greatsword back. His emerald aura deepened into a dark forest green as a resonance echo activated.
[Forest's Slash]
It wasn't a fancy name—but the moment it triggered, the greatsword grew in weight and size. With a single brutal swing, the blade cleaved through the Warden's flesh, cutting cleanly through its massive body in one strike.
Zay and the commander stared down at the creature in confusion.
"What the hell? I thought you said these... things are strong?" the commander asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice.
"...They should be. From what I kn—I mean, from what I read about," Zay replied, uncertainty creeping into his tone as he knelt and touched the Warden's lifeless form.
After a moment, he stood back up, brushing his fingers off on his coat. They both stepped in front of the corpse.
"So... what the hell just happened?"
"Honestly?" Zay muttered. "It shouldn't have died... that easily."
They exchanged a glance before turning away, steps light but cautious. Just as the silence of the forest returned, a surge of aura erupted into the sky—a beam of white, crimson, and black fused together and shot upward, shaking the ground and the sky.
The Warden stood once more.
Light consumed its body as armor manifested. Black leggings, etched with blood-red runes, materialized through the glow. A chestpiece—pure white, crafted from unknown divine material—radiated the protective aura of a forgotten god. Its arms were clad in black and white armor, and atop its head formed a helmet brimming with the dark blessing of a god of destruction.
A massive sword forged from entwined white and black light appeared in its grasp.
Its body fully regenerated. The broken wings unfurled—vast, black, and laced with blood-red veins—spanning twenty feet wide as it ascended into the storm-dark sky. Bolts of white and black lightning cracked downward, blasting the earth. Then, time seemed to still.
The rain halted in midair.
Its eyes now glowed with blinding white, ringed in crimson. They locked onto Zay and the commander as they turned back.
Zay unsheathed his katana. The commander's grip tightened on his greatsword.
"Is this what you meant by 'strong as hell'?" the commander asked, never looking away from the Warden.
"...This is much more like what I read about," Zay replied, violet aura spiraling around him like a storm.
Dark forest green burst from the commander in response, both of them staring into the sky as the Warden hovered above—reborn and wrathful.
—
Pren closed the journal and slid the candle back to the center of the table. All three exhaled, the silence heavy.
"So this thing circling the lake," Malik said, his voice low, "it doesn't have a real name. But the person who wrote this called it The Pale Flood."
He leaned forward, hands braced on the stone table.
"Says it can control water like breathing. And we're standing in the middle of a fucking lake." He let out a slow, bitter sigh. "How the hell are we supposed to kill this bitch?"
"Safe to assume... the person who wrote this never figured it out," Pren muttered, his eyes lingering on the empty chair, the bones and tattered leather rags still resting in it.
"I guess he died sitting down," Malik added, his tone flat. "I'd say at least a hundred years ago… maybe sooner, maybe later. Not sure."
Renzo exhaled sharply and turned his gaze up to the ceiling. "Was there anything about this person fighting the Pale Flood?"
Pren let out a long sigh, looking up from the journal. "Well, there was that one page... It mentions making it bleed, but the sword he used—blessed by a priest, forged from obsidian by elves, with enchantments from the forest—barely left a mark. The bastard took the sword with him after, and he never saw the blade since. Who the hell knows where it is."
Renzo's gaze swept the room, a flicker of realization flashing across his face. "All our weapons... they're missing," he muttered.
Malik and Pren glanced down at their waists. The weight of their longswords, once securely strapped, was gone. They slammed their fists into the stone table in frustration.
"Well, shit," Malik groaned, slumping back into his chair. "What can we possibly do now? Bare fists? Do we even know where we are?"
"No damn clue," Renzo replied, his tone flat, but his mind racing. "But... best guess? We're somewhere on that island we docked at."
Malik and Pren exchanged a confused look before both turned to face Renzo.
"Huh? What island?" they asked in unison.
Renzo's eyes widened, but he quickly recovered, faking a cough. "Nothing... I was just thinking of... a dream I had."
'What the hell?' Renzo thought, his mind swirling. Why don't they remember the island? He shook the thought away, forcing his expression to remain calm. 'Where are we really?'
Trying to shake off the unsettling feeling, Renzo stood, walked to the door, and slid it open just enough to step outside. The silence was overwhelming. The water of the lake lay completely still, almost unnaturally calm.
He crouched down at the edge, peering at the glass-like surface. Carefully, he extended a finger and dipped it into the water, expecting the creature below to stir.
There was no shift, not even a movement. The lake remained unnervingly still, save for the faint ripple that spread out across the surface from where his finger made contact and the five figures that stood on the other side of the lake that looked like fog.
Renzo stood up fully, his gaze sweeping around the area. His eyes passed the five figures of fog but his brain didn't process it. The large trees loomed ominously around him as the rain began to pour down. He looked up, expecting to see the typical storm clouds, but there wasn't a single one in sight.
'What the fuck?'
Stars littered the sky, the rain continued to fall, but as Renzo's eyes drifted back to the lake, he froze. The water was no longer liquid—it was ice. His eyes narrowed in confusion, and when he blinked, the ice vanished, replaced by lush grass beneath his feet. Another blink, and the grass was gone, the ground now rippling with water once more.
The sky twisted above him. The clouds shifted—these weren't your typical grey or white, but a strange fusion of pink and red, bleeding together without blending. The rain turned to snow as a single star began to fall from the unnaturally colored sky.
His heart raced. Something was wrong. In a panic, he turned back to the hut and rushed inside. He slammed the door behind him and looked around—only to freeze in horror.
Malik and Pren were no longer sitting at the table. Instead, their bones lay slumped in the chairs, hollow remnants of the men who'd sat there just moments ago.
A young man, no older than twenty, now sat in one of the chairs. His clothes were made of silk, and his short brown hair framed his green eyes as he furiously drew something on a piece of parchment.
"Ay, get the hell over here, rookie. We have to map out the flight direction for AL1-P," he said, his voice casual as if nothing was strange.
Renzo turned sharply. The wall opposite him twisted into a window, and beyond it, he saw a place he didn't recognize—a vast runway stretching before him, large metal structures sitting at its end. He squinted. Inside the glass windows, he saw people moving about, the silhouettes of what looked like massive machines standing as tall as small dragons.
But before he could take in more details, everything vanished. The metal runway, the people, the machines—gone. Instead, the lake returned, as still as it was when he first went out.
Renzo stumbled backward and spun on his heel, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He turned to the table. Malik and Pren were sitting there now, looking just as they had before, alive and well.
"So, how exactly do we get off this damn lake?" Pren asked, flipping through the journal with a sigh.
Renzo's eyes widened, his heart racing as he felt the crushing weight of confusion. 'What the hell is going on here?'