The ancient forest loomed like a living shroud, its gnarled branches clawing at a sky swollen with bruised, purple-black clouds that churned with restless menace. Moonlight, frail and fractured, fought to pierce the thick canopy, where moss hung in heavy, dripping curtains, casting the forest floor in a patchwork of inky shadow and ghostly silver. The air pressed down, humid and oppressive, thick with the rich, loamy scent of wet earth, the musty rot of decaying leaves, and a sharp, electric tang of ozone that stung the nostrils—a harbinger of the storm's imminent wrath. Somewhere deep in the woods, a lone owl unleashed a mournful hoot, its cry swallowed by the whispering wind that slithered through the trees, rustling leaves like the breath of some unseen giant. A silence reigned—dense, watchful, alive with the weight of hidden eyes and the faint rustle of unseen movement stalking the dark.
Then, a scream—raw, jagged, and desperate—tore through the stillness, shattering it like brittle glass.
A man stumbled forward, his boots sinking into the sodden earth, one hand pressed hard against his left side where a dark, glistening stain spread across his roughspun tunic, the fabric clinging wetly to his skin. His shoulder slammed into the trunk of a gnarled oak, its bark rough and cold beneath his shaking fingers, scraping his palm raw as he fought to steady himself. Fitful moonlight spilled across his face, illuminating a grimace of torment—sweat-slicked skin taut over sharp cheekbones, eyes wide with pain and a creeping, icy resignation. His breath rasped in shallow, uneven bursts, each exhale a faint plume in the chill air, as he lifted his head. His gaze, already clouding with exhaustion, locked onto two crimson embers glowing in the encroaching gloom—twin fires that burned with a malevolent hunger.
"Cerberans," he rasped, the word trembling on his lips, frail as a dying ember carried off by the wind. Legends surged unbidden into his mind—tales whispered around guttering campfires of hell's guardians, freed from their molten chains, their maws bristling with needle-sharp teeth, their eyes ablaze with infernal light. Wherever they prowled, they left only silence, broken bodies, and the reeking stench of death.
With a groan, he shoved himself away from the tree, his knees quaking violently, threatening to betray him with every faltering step. The lead Cerberan's shadow glided nearer, its movements fluid and silent, a predator's grace that sent a shiver racing down his spine, colder than the wind slicing through his torn clothes. Behind it, the pack stirred, their silhouettes shifting in the dark, a low growl rumbling from their throats—a guttural chorus that vibrated in the air like distant thunder. The wet, grating scrape of teeth gnashing against teeth filled his ears, a sound that promised agony and oblivion. Drool oozed from their jagged fangs, thick and viscous, catching the moonlight in silvery threads that pooled on the forest floor.
Lightning ripped the sky apart, a jagged scar of blinding white that bled into crimson as it struck. A bolt of raw, searing energy crashed into the earth mere yards away, its heat scorching the man's cheeks, the shockwave thrumming through his bones like a drumbeat. The ground shuddered, roots groaning beneath the soil, and trees flared in sudden, violent bursts of flame—leaves curling into blackened husks, their sharp, acrid smoke clawing at his throat.
And there, framed in the heart of that flickering, incandescent chaos, he emerged.
Jiiku.
The red lightning coiled around him like a living thing, a writhing aura that snapped and hissed, bathing his form in a stark, otherworldly glow. Tiny sparks flared along his bare arms, skittering like fireflies, casting jagged shadows that danced in sync with his every motion, blurring the boundary between flesh and energy. His tunic and trousers, woven from some dark, weathered fabric, hung in tatters—scorched edges and rents whispering of battles survived, the faint scent of burnt cloth lingering about him. He stepped forward, his boots crunching over charred leaves, his breathing deep and deliberate—a steady rhythm against the wounded man's panicked wheeze. Power pulsed within him, a storm's heartbeat echoing in his veins, familiar and intoxicating.
The lead Cerberan lunged, a streak of midnight fur and sinew, its jaws gaping wide to reveal rows of glinting, dagger-like teeth. Jiiku didn't hesitate. He surged to meet it, his right fist igniting with a condensed blaze of red energy, the air around it crackling with heat. His strike landed with a sickening crunch—the beast's skull fracturing under the blow, bone splintering like dry wood, followed by the wet rip of flesh as its head snapped back. It crumpled to the ground, a twitching ruin, dark blood—near black in the dim light—spilling from its maw to soak Jiiku's boots, the leather glistening wetly under the fading storm glow.
The pack erupted into motion, circling with feral precision, their hisses and growls swelling into a frenzied, bloodthirsty symphony. Their claws scraped the earth, kicking up clumps of damp soil, their eyes burning like coals in the dark. Jiiku pivoted, his stance low and fluid, his gaze icy and unyielding as he tracked their darting forms. Faster than the last pack. Stronger. The thought cut through his mind, not fear but a cold, clinical measure of their threat. A second Cerberan sprang, its neck exposed in mid-leap—Jiiku's fist met it with a flash of lightning, the energy searing through fur and muscle, leaving behind the sharp, bitter reek of charred flesh and singed hair. The beast's gurgling cry choked off as its neck twisted at a grotesque angle, collapsing in a heap, steam rising from its ruined form.
Two more attacked in unison, a coordinated assault meant to overwhelm, their claws slashing through the air with lethal intent. Jiiku dropped low, his knees bending as he pressed a hand to the earth, fingers splaying against the cool, damp soil. He felt the forest's raw energy surge into him—a wild, untamed current—and unleashed it. The ground buckled, a visible ripple of force bursting outward, hurling the Cerberans skyward like ragdolls caught in a tempest. They slammed into the thick trunks of ancient oaks with a chorus of splintering cracks, their bodies crumpling upon impact, bones snapping audibly as they fell in twisted, lifeless heaps, fur matted with blood and dirt.
Another crept behind him, its stealth betrayed by the faintest shift in the air—a ripple in the energy field he'd honed to sense. Jiiku spun, his features hardening, a predatory glint flashing in his eyes. He thrust both arms forward, and crimson lightning lashed out, snaring the beast mid-step. It hung suspended, writhing in the air, a grotesque marionette caught in crackling tendrils of power. The stench of burning fur thickened, stinging his lungs as the creature's muscles spasmed, its jaws snapping uselessly before it stilled—eyes wide and glassy, reflecting the storm's dying light as it dropped, a smoldering husk.
The final Cerberan charged, its roar a defiant bellow that shook the leaves overhead, its massive frame hurtling forward in a blur of rage. Jiiku stood rooted, unshaken, his presence a pillar of unyielding force amid the chaos. The beast leaped, fangs bared, its hot, fetid breath washing over his face, close enough to graze his skin with its heat. He raised a hand—a calm, almost casual motion—and a single, searing bolt of crimson lightning erupted from his palm. The Cerberan disintegrated in a blinding flash, its form consumed entirely, leaving only a faint wisp of smoke and the lingering bite of ozone on Jiiku's tongue, sharp and metallic.
Silence crashed down, heavy and unbroken, swallowing the echoes of violence. The forest floor lay scarred—blood pooling in dark, glossy patches, soaking into the earth, mingling with the scent of burnt wood and flesh. Faint embers flickered in the sky, their glow mirrored by the dim shimmer of scattered remains, casting an eerie light over the carnage. The air hummed faintly, the storm's residual energy fading into the night.
Jiiku turned, his expression a mask of stone, his eyes dark and fathomless as obsidian. He approached the wounded man with measured steps, boots crunching softly over the debris. The man peered up at him, his vision blurring, his trembling body barely clinging to consciousness. Blood seeped steadily from his side, staining the soil a deep, ominous crimson, its iron tang thick in the air.
"Bloodbold," he murmured, his voice a fragile wisp, nearly lost beneath the rustling leaves. His gaze fixed on the faint sparks still skittering across Jiiku's skin, a mesmerizing dance of power that held his fading sight. "You're… real."
Jiiku tilted his head, a subtle acknowledgment, his lips pressing into a thin line. Another who knows the name. The thought flickered briefly, a spark in the recesses of his mind.
"The rumors…" the man gasped, his words dissolving into a weak cough, blood flecking his lips. His eyes, clouded with pain and the shadow of death, fluttered shut. His head slumped to the side, his chest stilling as the forest reclaimed its silence, wrapping him in its eternal embrace.
The crimson lightning's afterimage lingered in Jiiku's vision, painting his eyes with a feral, predatory sheen. The forest exhaled—a slow, shuddering breath—and held its quiet vigil over the scene.