Nicolas stood at the base of the hill, the vast expanse of Demacles spreading before him. The land was harsh and unyielding, a barren wasteland marred by centuries of battle and decay. Cracked, lifeless ground stretched to the horizon, where jagged mountains rose like scars against the dim, overcast sky. The air was heavy with the scent of iron and ash, and the distant sound of howling wind served as a constant reminder of the desolation that surrounded him.
The subcontinent seemed frozen in time, devoid of the cycles of life and renewal. Dead trees, their twisted limbs reaching skyward like the fingers of the damned, dotted the landscape. Pools of stagnant water lay scattered across the cracked earth, their surfaces black and unreflective. This was no place for the weak. It was a realm that demanded strength and survival, and Nicolas knew he had to adapt.
He glanced at his trembling hands, still grappling with the enormity of his loss. His parents' deaths felt like a wound that would never heal, but he forced himself to push the grief aside. "If I'm going to survive, if I'm going to honor them… I need to master this power," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind.
He turned toward the edge of the forest, where the skeletal remains of trees gave way to thicker, darker woods. Nicolas gripped his makeshift staff—a branch stripped of bark and sharpened at one end—and stepped into the shadows.
The forest was eerily quiet, the oppressive silence broken only by the occasional creak of brittle branches swaying in the faint wind. The ground beneath his feet was littered with fallen leaves and dry twigs, their crunching underfoot a stark contrast to the stillness around him. Nicolas's heart pounded as he scanned the area for any sign of movement. He wasn't eager to fight anything dangerous—just small prey to test the magic he'd been given.
Hours passed, and frustration began to creep in. The forest offered no easy targets, only the gnawing sense that something unseen was watching. Then, ahead, he saw them.
Two goblins.
They were grotesque creatures, no taller than a small child but far more menacing. Their wiry frames were draped in moldy cloths that barely hid their emaciated bodies. Their greenish-gray skin seemed slick with grime, and patches of black hair clung stubbornly to their nearly bald heads. They were armed with jagged blades, their edges dulled by time but still dangerous.
Nicolas crouched low, his breath caught in his throat. "This isn't what I wanted," he thought, his pulse quickening. He had hoped to avoid anything this dangerous. Slowly, he began to back away, but his movement stirred the air around him.
The goblins froze, their nostrils flaring as they sniffed the faint scent he left behind. In unison, their yellow eyes locked onto him.
Panic surged through Nicolas as the goblins let out guttural snarls and charged toward him, their blades gleaming faintly in the dim light.
He stumbled backward, gripping his staff tightly. The first goblin lunged at him, slashing wildly. Nicolas raised his weapon, barely deflecting the blow, but the force sent him off balance. He fell hard onto the ground, the impact knocking the wind from his lungs.
Desperation overtook him. His mind raced, grasping for the knowledge of how to summon his Void Magic. It was new, unfamiliar, and dangerous. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to focus.
With a shaky hand, Nicolas extended his palm and visualized the swirling darkness described in his system's knowledge. The energy felt like a storm brewing inside him, wild and uncontrollable. He pushed through the fear and let it out.
A surge of power erupted from within him, and a swirling black void materialized before his outstretched hand. The first goblin hesitated, its grotesque face twisting in confusion and fear.
The void expanded, pulling at everything around it. Leaves, debris, and even the goblin itself were drawn into its dark embrace. The creature let out a final shriek before it was consumed, leaving behind only silence.
But Nicolas's relief was short-lived. The second goblin took advantage of his distraction, rushing him from the side. Its blade slashed through the air, and before Nicolas could react, pain exploded in his arm.
He screamed, clutching at the jagged wound where his left arm had been. Blood poured freely, staining the ground beneath him. His vision blurred as the goblin loomed over him, its jagged teeth bared in a triumphant snarl.
Summoning the last of his strength, Nicolas swung his staff wildly with his remaining hand, striking the goblin across the face. It stumbled back, hissing in pain, but Nicolas knew it wouldn't stop.
Tears streaming down his face, he focused on the void once more. His body screamed in protest, but his will pushed through the pain. The swirling darkness erupted again, engulfing the goblin before it could land another blow.
As the void vanished, Nicolas collapsed to his knees, clutching the stump of his arm. The forest was silent once more, save for the sound of his ragged breathing.
He stared at the ground, his thoughts a chaotic swirl of pain, fear, and determination. He had survived—but at a terrible cost.
"I'll get stronger," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I have to. For them… and for me."
In the heart of the Demacles subcontinent, beneath the shadow of its lifeless trees, Nicolas made a vow. He would master the Void Magic, no matter the cost.
Nicolas knelt in the dirt, his body trembling from pain and exhaustion. Blood still seeped from the stump of his arm, the sharp throbbing a cruel reminder of his brush with death. He tried to steady his breathing, but his mind reeled with questions. What was this place? Why had he been thrust into this unforgiving world?
The wind whispered through the skeletal trees, but its eerie song was soon interrupted by the soft crunch of leaves beneath deliberate steps. Nicolas looked up, squinting through the haze of pain, and saw a figure approaching.
The man seemed almost out of place amidst the desolation. He was tall and lean, his posture relaxed as though he hadn't a care in the world. His fiery red hair fell lazily over his forehead, and his crimson eyes gleamed like embers, both dispassionate and piercing. He carried a spear slung over his shoulder, its polished tip catching the faint light in a way that seemed almost otherworldly.
The man stopped a few paces away, tilting his head slightly as he regarded Nicolas with faint amusement. "Well, this is unexpected," he said, his voice smooth but devoid of warmth. His gaze lingered on Nicolas for a moment before he gave a small, bemused smile. "You shouldn't be here. An invader, are you?"
Nicolas struggled to process his words, confusion and fear etched across his bloodied face. "What… what do you mean?" he rasped, his voice barely audible.
The man let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as if disappointed by the question. "It doesn't matter," he said at last. His tone was indifferent, as though he were explaining something trivial to a child. "I have a pact with the Purist Cult. They're not exactly fond of outsiders, and frankly, neither am I. You're just another complication I'll deal with swiftly."
Nicolas's heart sank, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of the situation. "Purist Cult? Pact? What is he talking about?" But before he could utter another word, the man's hand snapped up, gripping his spear with casual precision.
In one fluid motion, the spear shot forward.
The tip struck Nicolas squarely in the center of his forehead. The force of the impact sent his head snapping back violently, his wide eyes filled with a mixture of shock and terror. Blood spilled down his face in dark rivulets, pooling on the dirt beneath him.
His body slumped lifelessly to the ground; the spear still embedded in his skull. His final expression was a grotesque mask of confusion and agony, his features frozen in the moment of his death.
The red-haired man strode forward, pulling his spear free with a practiced motion. He looked down at Nicolas's corpse, his expression as impassive as ever. "Another fool who doesn't understand the rules of this world," he murmured, almost to himself.
As he turned to leave, the air behind him shimmered and rippled, a portal materializing out of thin air. Its edges glowed faintly with an ethereal light, swirling with hues of violet and gold. The man spared it only a brief glance before stepping through, disappearing as though he had never been there.
The portal closed with a faint hum, leaving the forest silent once more.