"Get your ass off the couch, Erlen," Leora's voice echoed faintly in the background before she stormed off. Her irritation rolled off him like mist on stone.
He didn't reply. Just a lazy, "Yeah, yeah…" escaped his lips.
The penthouse was quiet now — save for the faint hum of the city below. Erlen dragged himself to his room, shut the door behind him, and let out a tired sigh. His hair, still uneven from Leora's last "touch-up," hung over his eyes. He crouched and reached beneath the bed, pulling out the long black case that pulsed faintly with red lines.
The forbidden sword.
President Rimon's gift. Or curse.
He flipped the latches open. The air immediately thickened — like a lungful of smoke pressing against his chest.
"Let's see what you really are," he muttered.
The moment his fingers brushed the blade's hilt, the world fell away.
Not darkness — not silence — just… an ocean.
An ocean of blood, stretching endlessly beneath a sky painted in bruised black and dull crimson. The moon above wasn't silver — it was obsidian, bleeding dark tears into the sea below.
Erlen stood on its surface as if gravity had forgotten him. Waves rose and fell without sound.
In the middle of that endless red expanse stood a lone house. Wooden. Fragile. Flickering lanterns hung from the porch, swaying though there was no wind.
Erlen didn't hesitate. He walked. Every step left faint ripples that glowed faintly before vanishing.
Inside the house, the stench hit him first. Rot. Rust. Death.
Corpses lined the walls — some sitting, some sprawled, others hanging as if the house itself refused to let them fall. They were already decomposing, skin turned gray, lips split open in silent screams.
He looked around with a bored glance. He had seen worse. The memories of him killing his loved one were far more horrifying than this. Still, his instincts were sharp — something was breathing in here.
There.
A small trapdoor, half-concealed under a rug of dried crimson moss.
He opened it. The wood creaked.
A staircase led down, lit by candles that never melted. The air grew colder with each step, the stench stronger, the silence heavier.
And then he saw her.
A woman sat on a chair carved from bones, her back straight, her skin pale as moonlight. She had long hair the color of ink — dripping wet as if freshly washed in the same bloody ocean above. Her lips curved into a faint smile when she saw him.
"Where have you been?" she said softly, her voice both tender and broken. "I've been waiting for you, darling."
Erlen stopped two steps away. "Nowhere." His tone was dry, cautious but unimpressed.
She stood up slowly, every motion too graceful to belong to something alive. "Why couldn't you save me?" Her smile cracked into fury. "Why didn't you come back for me— why?!"
The sudden burst of rage warped the air. Her eyes turned black, mouth opening far too wide — rows of jagged teeth shining. She lunged, trying to sink her fangs into his throat.
Crack.
Her teeth shattered on impact. She fell back, shrieking in pain.
Erlen tilted his head, smirking slightly. "You don't seem to know that I can create illusions too… only mine are stronger — and real."
The ground trembled as his mana pressure surged outward, crushing the illusionary woman like glass underfoot. Her body broke apart, dissolving into a mist of black smoke.
He waited. The house shook once, twice — then it was gone.
Everything faded into white.
A blank room — vast and empty, like reality had been wiped clean.
At its center sat a one-eyed figure, cross-legged. Neither human nor beast. Its skin was rough and cracked, gray as ash, and its single eye glowed faintly red. It smiled when it saw him.
"So… Mr. Limitless," it rasped, voice echoing from every direction, "what can you offer me?"
Erlen crossed his arms. "Are you the sword's heart?"
"Maybe," the entity said, grinning wider. "Or maybe not. Depends on your answer."
He raised an eyebrow. "Fine. What do you want then?"
"Eternal life," it replied simply. "Grant me eternity."
Erlen's lips twitched into a half-smile. "Eternal life? Sounds boring."
The creature's eye narrowed. "Boring?"
"Yeah," he said. "You'd just drift through space when everything's gone. No one to talk to. No one to kill. Nothing to feel. You wouldn't live — you'd just exist."
The being paused. Its grin faltered slightly. For the first time, it looked uncertain.
Erlen continued, his tone low, calm — but carrying weight. "Even I'd rather die than live like that."
Silence.
Then the creature chuckled — a dry, hollow sound. "Heh… fair enough, boy. Then I'll take something else. Not your death… but your life."
Erlen's brows furrowed slightly. "Meaning?"
"Make me your companion. Not a servant, not a weapon. An equal. You wield me — and I lend you my soul."
"Seems fine," Erlen said with a shrug. "I don't do master-servant stuff anyway."
The one-eyed being laughed, deep and echoing. "Then it's settled."
The room burst with light. White fractured into black, and black bled into crimson. The creature's body disintegrated into streams of glowing energy — crimson lines that wrapped around Erlen's arm, crawling like veins.
Then — impact.
The world snapped back. He gasped softly, realizing he was back in his room, sitting on the floor with the sword resting across his lap. The blade glowed faintly, pulsing with life — no longer cold metal, but something aware.
The air around it shimmered. For a second, he heard a whisper — a male voice, calm and deep.
"You can call me Veyr."
Erlen smirked. "Guess we're partners now, huh?"
The sword's core pulsed once, like a heartbeat.
He leaned back, stretching his neck. His room looked the same — the unmade bed, the messy desk, Leora's hair clip left on his shelf — but something in the atmosphere had changed. The air felt charged. Lively.
He stood and looked out the window. The city lights glittered, reflected faintly in the blade. He could almost feel the sword's silent curiosity, its gaze following his thoughts.
"Your past was ugly," Erlen murmured. "Your people killed, your wife gone. Guess I can understand why you wanted eternity."
A faint hum echoed in his mind — acknowledgment.
He looked down at the sword again. "I'll make you a deal, Veyr. You lend me your strength, and I'll make sure your name isn't forgotten. But…" He paused, smirking again. "If you start whispering creepy things at night, I'm burying you in concrete."
The sword pulsed twice — almost like laughter.
Erlen chuckled. "Good."
He slid the blade into its sheath and leaned it against the wall. Then, with his usual lack of urgency, he threw himself on the bed, hands behind his head, eyes half-open.
The blood-ocean, the corpses, the illusions — they'd all been real, in their own way. But they didn't shake him. Not anymore. He had seen worlds fall, friends die, people turn to monsters. Compared to that, a cursed sword with attitude was just… another Tuesday.
He closed his eyes.
The hum of the city outside mixed with a faint rhythmic pulse — the sword's "heartbeat." And somewhere, in the faintest corners of his mind, Veyr's voice whispered again, softer this time.
"We're one now, Erlen. Sleep… while I dream."
Erlen smirked faintly before drifting off. "You dream, I'll handle the waking world."
The sword glowed once, then dimmed — quiet, alive, and waiting.