The air grew thicker, as if every breath carried the scent of an ancient death. As the squad advanced into the cave, wild howls echoed through the darkness.
"Sir, is it really wise to keep going this way? Everything here feels dangerous and unsettling."
"What are you afraid of, man? That root stole what was supposed to be mine. I've waited a full year with no trace of it. Now that it's appeared, I'll take back what's mine, even if it's buried in its bones."
"If you can't find it directly, use an advanced detection spell. We'll locate it."
"Fine. But if the signs of deadly mist appear, you must retreat immediately. Your safety comes first."
The detection spell the guard leader cast began to form threads of deep red light on the ground, like living veins. But then those threads started to move on their own, curling around the soldiers' feet slowly, as if tasting their presence.
At first, no one noticed—until a sharp scream tore through the cave, as if a soul itself had split.
"Sir! My body… it's disappearing!" The scream came from one of the rear guards. His voice cracked as he stared at his trembling hands—they were turning transparent. His bones showed through, and his blood was turning into red vapor, drifting toward the walls and vanishing into the darkness.
The soldiers stepped back in fear, but more of them started collapsing the same way. Screams filled the air, bodies dissolving without a trace, and the cave was flooded with the smell of burning flesh.
The guard leader raised his hand, forming a barrier of red runes—but the runes themselves began to bleed. Blood flowed from the symbols, merging with the ground to draw new ones—symbols that no one had spoken.
He whispered, his voice trembling for the first time, "This isn't an aura… it's a predation field. He left behind a soul-feeding domain!"
"What kind of being are we facing? It's impossible that the weakling from last year caused all this!"
The soldiers retreated in panic. Some struck the ground with their weapons, others tried to activate spiritual defenses, but nothing worked. Their souls were being devoured silently, as if something hungry in the void was licking away their existence piece by piece.
The young man didn't move. His eyes followed the scene with cold fascination, like someone watching an abstract performance. The smile on his face didn't fade—it widened slightly.
"A force that destroys the soul without touching the body… Do you hear that, guard leader? This isn't ordinary magic—it's living blood will! If I can obtain it… I'll become immortal. Nothing—no man, not even death—will defeat me."
The leader stared at him with frozen eyes. "Sir, this isn't power to be owned. It's a curse. Even the earth refuses to absorb the blood here."
But the young man ignored him. His eyes glowed with a demonic gleam, as if something inside him was awakening too.
Outside the cave, the forest began to change.
With every step Ashen took, nature twisted behind him. The trees' trunks turned black, their branches coiling like arms searching for prey. The air grew heavier, and the light dimmed even in daylight. Ground plants crept across the soil, their flowers oozing crimson liquid that looked more like blood than nectar.
The wild intent inside him reacted with everything around. The forest became a mirror of him—untamed, lost, cold, and feral.
Strange shadows flickered in his eyes. Sometimes human, sometimes beastly, sometimes vast eyes that belonged to no known creature. Each breath made the earth tremble slightly; each time he raised his head, the creatures around fell silent.
Voices began whispering in his mind—not thoughts, but pulses of blood itself:
"Blood calls to blood… return us to the slaughter… to the blood… to the killing… vessel…"
Ashen stopped. His eyes gleamed, and cold sweat slid down his neck. "I… am not your vessel."
But his voice came out doubled, as if another spoke through him.
The whispers faded, but the wind grew sharper. Beneath his feet, the ground split, and arms made of fossilized roots reached out before shattering. The blood on his clothes stirred lightly, as if answering an unseen command.
He lifted his head toward the horizon. He smelled the air—and knew. Someone was tracking him.
Hundreds of meters behind, through the now-living forest, the squad advanced. But they didn't realize—the forest itself had awakened. The trees moved, their trunks twisting into grotesque shapes, and their falling leaves looked like fleshy red tears.
The beasts of the forest—the weak creatures of before—had changed. Their bones bulged, their skin tore, and their eyes darkened. Everything alive turned savage.
"Sir! The forest is moving!" shouted a soldier as he crushed a creature that had been a rabbit moments ago—now a huge beast biting the soil in rage.
The guard leader readied defensive spells. "It's his will. He's tainting everything. He fused blood with spirit and air… even nature itself has become his weapon."
The young man raised his spear with a fearless grin. "Then let him attack with all of nature—I'll show him the true meaning of fear."
But the forest didn't wait. From every direction, hundreds of crazed creatures charged. One-eyed beasts, trees with wooden teeth, birds tearing out human eyes with precise strikes. The battle exploded—blood, bones, and flesh filled the air.
The soldiers fought madly, but the forest wasn't attacking to win—it was attacking to erase. Every beast they killed gave birth to a stronger one, as if life itself had become an endless disease.
Despite the chaos, the young man stood firm. Anyone who got close was destroyed by his "Blood Distortion" spell, which made an enemy's blood explode from within. But it didn't last. The aura surrounding the battlefield began swallowing the spells themselves, erasing them from existence.
The leader realized then—this wasn't a battle against creatures. It was a battle against will.
When the noise finally faded for a moment, they heard footsteps behind them.
Slow. Heavy. Not human.
From the shadows, Ashen appeared.
His face was half-transparent, as if his body no longer fully belonged to this world. The air around him dripped with blood, and light bent away from him. Everyone who looked at him felt something inside them crack—not from fear, but from the understanding that what they saw could not be comprehended.
His eyes were deep and dark, glowing with the reflections of countless souls.
He spoke in a voice that was both whisper and thunder: "Who are you… and why are you following me?"
His voice wasn't a question. It was a sentence.
The air froze. Everyone who heard it felt as if they were drowning in an ocean of blood, unable to breathe. The young man raised his hand quickly. "Kill him!"
Hundreds of blood spells were unleashed. Red runes ignited in the sky, and spiritual weapons filled the air with fire and blood. But Ashen slowly lifted his hand.
With a single motion, the feral intent in the air surged. Every spell vanished. Weapons melted, the soldiers' blood dried in their veins, and the air went completely still. In an instant, the hunters became prey.
The feral intent surrounding him began devouring minds. The soldiers screamed, turning on each other—biting, clawing, killing—without magic, without thought, pure madness. Their eyes were empty. Nothing remained but insanity itself.