Sigmund's breath came in ragged gasps as he sprinted through the forest, his heart pounding in his chest. Behind him, a rising fog pursued him, shadows twisting and writhing into serpentine shapes. The very land seemed to tremble, great thuds and crashes echoing through the night, a distant battle that resonated with power and fury. The moon, veiled in mist, cast an eerie glow, its light fractured and haunting as if nature itself was dying.
The village loomed ahead, shrouded in fog, its familiar outlines now twisted and obscured. Sigmund's footsteps echoed on the cobblestone streets, the distant sounds of worried villagers a faint murmur in the dark. A distant howl, mournful and chilling, sent a shiver down his spine, a harbinger of doom that lingered in the air.
Valerie emerged from the shadows, her eyes wide with concern, her voice trembling. "Sigmund, where have you been? What happened to Ravian?" she demanded, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sigmund's eyes were wild, his face pale. "Ravian... he was attacked by monster wolves," he stammered, his voice cracking. "He fought them off, protected me. Told me to run to the village, to warn of the monsters." His words tumbled out in a rush, the terror of the night still clinging to him.
Valerie's face paled, her eyes reflecting the fear in Sigmund's. The night seemed to close in around them, the fog thickening, the shadows deepening. The world had shifted, transformed into something dark and foreboding, a place where nightmares walked and terror lurked in every corner.
The distant screams and roars grew louder, a cacophony of terror that sent a chill down Sigmund's spine. Shadows moved within the translucent fog, elusive and menacing. The sound of shattering glass rang through the night as lanterns were dropped, their oil igniting in bright, dangerous flames that danced and threatened to consume the surrounding buildings.
Sigmund and Valerie's breaths came in short, panicked gasps, their bodies unconsciously moving closer together until they bumped into each other. Their eyes met, wide with fear, as the monstrous calls and growls echoed through the village.
A villager, one of the hunters, stumbled upon them, his face etched with terror. "To the adventurer's guild!" he gasped. "Most of the civilians are there, bunkering together. Hurry!"
The journey was a blur, the fog thickening, the night closing in around them. Every sound, every shadow seemed to pulse with menace. And then, without warning, a monstrous creature leaped from a nearby building, a twisted fusion of rat and wolf, its fur matted and eyes glowing with malevolence. Debris flew through the air as it landed, separating Sigmund and Valerie with a snarl.
Sigmund's heart pounded in his chest as he faced the creature, its fangs bared, its body a grotesque parody of nature. The world had become a place of nightmares, the village transformed into a labyrinth of fear and danger.
Valerie's scream cut through the night, a sharp, piercing cry that resonated with the terror of the moment. The creature advanced, its movements sinuous and predatory, its eyes fixed on its prey. Its twisted form, a grotesque fusion of rat and wolf, seemed to writhe and contort as it stalked forward, its matted fur bristling, its fangs dripping with malice.
With the path to safety closed off, Valerie's mind raced, her instincts taking over. The village was a trap, infested and drawing more monsters into its darkened streets. The forest, she realized, might be emptier, safer. And Ravian might be there, hurt or in danger. Without a second thought, she turned and ran towards the shadowy trees, her heart pounding, the creature's snarls echoing in her ears.
Sigmund, meanwhile, sprinted towards the fortified guild, the monstrous abomination hot on his heels. Its claws scraped the ground, its growls a constant, terrifying reminder of its pursuit. He darted through the wooden houses, barely losing sight of the creature as he ran past hastily assembled sharpened wooden barricades and walls.
A hunter, his face pale and eyes wide, spotted Sigmund and rushed to assist him. "This way!" he shouted, his voice cracking with fear. "Inside the adventurer's guild! Hurry!"
Sigmund didn't need to be told twice. He followed the hunter, his breath ragged, his mind a whirl of panic and confusion. The village had become a nightmare, a place of shadows and monsters, where safety was an illusion and death lurked around every corner.
Though shaken and full of adrenaline, Sigmund managed to swallow his shock as he approached the receptionist's desk. His hands trembled as he handed over the wax seal, his voice barely above a whisper. "The reward," he stammered, his eyes darting towards the sounds of chaos outside.
The receptionist, her face pale but her eyes determined, took the seal. "I'm glad you're safe," she said, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. She looked at him, her gaze firm. "Go upstairs to the second floor."
Sigmund's mind was still reeling, but her words cut through the fog of terror. "There's a weapons room," she continued, her voice carrying a sense of urgency. "Arm yourself, and bring as many weapons as you can. We need to distribute them."
He was about to turn and run when she spoke again, her voice unwavering. "I'll count this as a pre-rank mission for your help," she declared. "We need all the assistance we can get."
He nodded, his heart pounding, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. The guild had become a fortress, a last bastion against the nightmarish creatures that now roamed the village. He hurried up the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the corridor, the sounds of battle growing fainter as he made his way to the weapons room.
The door creaked open, revealing rows of swords, axes, and bows, all neatly arranged and waiting to be used. Sigmund's eyes widened as he took in the arsenal, a glimmer of hope igniting within him. "I know what I have to do," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible in the silence of the room. With a newfound determination, he set to work, grabbing weapons and preparing to fight back.
Just as he opened the door, a chilling sound reached his ears. Screams and sounds of destruction echoed from downstairs, each cry a haunting reminder of the terror that had befallen the village. He hurriedly entered the room and closed the door, his heart pounding in his chest. The weapons gleamed in the dim light, a silent promise of defense.
He moved quickly, his hands trembling as he tried out multiple weapons. "Range," he muttered, his mind racing. "I need something with range." He settled on a spear, its sharp point gleaming ominously. "Just hit it right," he told himself, his voice filled with grim resolve.
Then, a sudden screech filled the air, followed by the sound of claws scraping against wood. Sigmund's blood ran cold as he realized a monster was attempting to break in. He gripped the spear tightly, his knuckles white, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The door shuddered under the relentless assault, and he knew that he had to be ready to face whatever nightmare awaited him on the other side.
A familiar screech pierced the air, sending a shiver down Sigmund's spine. It was the same wolf-like creature that had chased him earlier, its twisted form a grotesque blend of fur and scales. The door splintered and burst open, and the creature lunged forward, its eyes wild with fury. Sigmund's spear found its mark, sinking into the creature's flesh with a satisfying thud.
"It worked," he gasped, a fleeting moment of triumph in his eyes. But the creature screeched and jerked back, its movements frantic and desperate. Sigmund swiftly grabbed the spear, pulling it free with a wet, sucking sound. He speared the monster again as it turned back, his movements fueled by adrenaline and fear.
The creature's agility caught him off guard, and he missed his next strike. "No!" he cried out, his voice tinged with panic. The creature leaped to the wall, its claws scraping against the stone, and Sigmund lost his balance. He stumbled, his heart pounding, the room spinning around him.
He tried to spear the creature again, his movements desperate and uncoordinated. The spear hit, but the creature's powerful, muscular tail lashed out, flinging him across the room. He lost his grip on the spear, his body slamming against the wall. Pain shot through him, and he struggled to his feet, knowing that the battle was far from over.
Sigmund crashed into a pile of wooden crates laid inside the attic, the impact resonating through his bones. "Where is it?" he muttered, his voice trembling as he scanned the dark corners of the attic. His eyes caught a glimpse of something dripping, and he realized it was his own blood, trickling down his face. The sight sent a chill down his spine, and he wiped it away, his hand coming away slick and red.
The pain in his head was growing, a throbbing ache that threatened to overwhelm him. "I have to keep moving," he whispered to himself, clutching his head to stop the bleeding. But the blood continued to spill, warm and sticky, between his fingers. His legs felt weak, the attack's effects still lingering, but he forced himself to stand, his body trembling with effort.
His breath came in ragged gasps, and he could hear the creature's movements, a soft rustling that sent shivers down his spine. "Come on, Sigmund, you can do this," he told himself, his voice barely above a whisper. He picked up a fallen sword, its blade glinting in the dim light, and readied himself for the next attack. The room was silent, the tension palpable, as he waited for the creature to strike again.
A chilling thought crept into his mind, and he couldn't shake it off. "This is it, I am going to die," he thought, the words echoing in his head like a haunting melody. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt a cold sweat break out on his brow. The room seemed to close in on him, and he fought to keep his composure.
Images of his past began to flash before his eyes, each one a vivid memory that tugged at his heartstrings. "An orphan boy on the streets," he recalled, the memory bitter and painful. "Growing up in different homes," he continued, each word a reminder of his lonely journey. "Reading to escape the cruel world," he whispered, the words a balm to his wounded soul.
A sense of surrender began to wash over him, a calm acceptance of his fate. "I'm going to die," he thought, the realization settling in like a heavy weight. But even in the face of death, he felt a strange serenity, a peace he hadn't felt in years. The room seemed to fade away, and he was alone with his thoughts.
Then, without warning, a pain so intense it dwarfed the agony of his bleeding injuries struck him. It felt as though his head was being cut molecule by molecule, torn apart by some freak force of nature. "What is happening to me?" he gasped, his voice filled with confusion and terror. The pain was unbearable, a crushing force that threatened to consume him.
Amidst the crushing pain, new memories began to rush into his head. He braced himself, fully expecting the memories of his robed self, but instead found a lonely man. "Who is this?" he wondered, his mind reeling from the onslaught of unfamiliar images. The memories were vivid and real, yet they were not his own, and he struggled to make sense of what he was seeing.