In the depths of the red haze he found him self, Varis suddenly awoke to a strage scene, he found himself stood in a grand room subtly illuminated by the glow of strage torches that glowed with a a green light.
At the heart of this room, a dark figure sat regally upon a grotesque but strangly beautiful throne composed of bone and blood. This veiled figure possessed an otherworldly allure, their beauty veiled in mystery.
The seated woman exuded an aura of a ruler, her form an exquisite enigma veiled in darkness. Her lithe figure was graced with a sensual allure that seemed otherworldly, making it difficult for Varis to look away from her captivating presence.
Her silhouette was a study in contrasts, simultaneously ethereal and commanding. She wore a flowing, obsidian-black gown that clung to her every curve, its fabric a fluid extension of her graceful form.
The gown featured a plunging neckline that exposed the pale expanse of her neck and the tops of her huge breasts, creating a striking contrast against the rich, inky fabric.
Around her waist, a wide, ebony belt cinched the dress, accentuating her slender figure and drawing attention to her feminine allure. Hanging from the belt were a seemingly random assortment of trinkets and charms, each imbued with a subtle luminescence that hinted at hidden power.
Her arms were bare, the skin as pale as alabaster and adorned with arcane tattoos that glowed with an eerie crimson hue. The markings seemed to writhe beneath her skin, resembling serpents or intricate runes, and they pulsed in time with the cadence of her words.
Long, flowing tendrils of raven-black hair cascaded down her back, their glossy strands shimmering with an unnatural luster. Her hair framed a visage that defied the boundaries of human beauty—an oval face with high, sculpted cheekbones and a delicately pointed chin.
Veiling her face was a sheer, gossamer veil that added an air of mystery to her appearance. It was as though a thin shroud separated her from the world, further obscuring her features and intensifying her mystique. Through the veil, Varis could discern the faintest hint of a beguiling smile, plump red lips that drew his eye.
As Varis observed this ethereal scene, the woman spoke with silky tone voice that seemed to reverberate through the very essence of the world. Her words were not meant for him but for an unseen entity concealed within the shadows.
"The return of one of the Sins," she whispered, her voice a haunting melody, tinged with both anticipation and dread. "A rare occurrence, a harbinger of change—the world teeters on the precipice."
Straining to catch a glimpse of the hidden figure she addressed, Varis was met only with shifting shadows. The woman continued her cryptic narrative, captivating and tantalizing.
"The Rift, the catalyst of this existence—the mist that is invading all the realms. The barriers weaken, worlds poised for transformation once more. As the Sins awaken, so too shall the realms tremble."
The mere mention of the Rift summoned memories of the cataclysmic event that had introduced the mist and its monstrous offspring onto the Earth.
"The world shall descend into chaos," the veiled woman intoned, her gaze unwaveringly fixed on the unseen presence. "A long-anticipated cycle begins, and the insatiable hunger for change awakens. The realms shall convulse, dominions crumble."
Varis felt a shiver of unease coursing through him. The woman's words alluded to something far beyond the understanding of a poor street rat.
As the woman concluded her enigmatic speech, she turned her gaze toward Varis. Though he existed merely as a spectator in this spectral place, her vieled eyes seemed to pierce into his, sudden glowing blue meeting his steely silver.
With a coy smile and a voice dripping with temptation, the veiled woman on the throne of bone and blood whispered to Varis, her words dripping an unspoken sensious promise that sent a thrill through his senses and his blood to run south.
"Now, my univited wanderer, it's time for you to return to the waking world. But remember, the Mist never truly sleeps, and I'll be watching. Waiting for you. Don't keep me waiting."
Her glowing blue eyes held his for a tantalizing moment before the vision dissolved, leaving Varis with a lingering sense of...loss?
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Varis's mind once again came to, filled with a fog of confusion as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Passing in out of consiousness will do that to you apprently. Who knew?
The vision of the woman on the throne, veiled and beautiful, lingered in his thoughts like a haunting melody. Her presence had been both enigmatic and alluring, her words a cryptic riddle that echoed in his mind.
He struggled to remember the specifics of the vision, but all that remained were fragmented glimpses—the silhouette of her figure, the seductive sway of her form, and her final words, laced with veiled intent. It was as though he had glimpsed a forgotten memory, a sensation of familiarity mixed with a profound sense of loss.
A throbbing headache pulsed in his temples, the ache a steady rhythm that matched the beat of his heart. He groaned, the sound low and pained, as he struggled to push himself into a sitting position. His body protested each movement, his muscles stiff and sore. But this pain was different from the last—he wasn't broken and battered from battle and the fall. This felt like the aftermath of an intense workout, the burn of exhaustion and exertion.
As his senses slowly sharpened, Varis's first taste was a metallic tang on his tongue—an acrid flavor that twisted his stomach. His vision cleared in fits and starts, and he blinked against the harsh light that seemed to pierce his skull.
The sight that greeted him was one of horror—a landscape littered with the mangled corpses of mistborn monsters. Most in the form of small green humonoids, clothed in just a disgusting brown loincloth and covered in filth.
They lay torn apart, their bodies ravaged beyond recognition. Bite marks marred their flesh, throats torn out, and their innards strewn across the ground in a grotesque display.
Varis's stomach churned in revulsion, a wave of nausea sweeping over him. He gagged, his body convulsing, and then he was retching—retching until all that came up was red bits of meat and blood.
The sight before him was too much. Only hours before, he had been in the city, he had seen many dark things but not like this. Nothing close to this. Now, he sat amidst a bloodbath, surrounded by the aftermath of pure violence and cruelty.
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, his heart hurt as he knew. He knew deep in soul that he had done this.
This—this massacre—was his doing. His hands were covered in blood, in gore and other unspeakable fluids. He stared at his trembling fingers, he could feel the sheer amount of blood and viscera that clung to his skin.
It was a cruel revelation—a bitter twist of fate that had transformed him from an orphaned outcast to a creature of bloodlust and violence. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his chest heaving as he struggled to steady his breath.
His mind reeled, emotions warring within him. Disbelief, horror, and guilt warred with a newfound sense of power and while not as strong as before...he was still hungry.
He rose unsteadily to his feet, his legs wobbly and uncertain beneath him. He took a shuddering breath, steeling himself as he surveyed the carnage he had wrought. His mind churned with emotion but he pushed it down. He could have a panic attack later, after he no longer tasted blood. When he no longer had flesh between his teeth.
He had to get home, to clean himself, and to figure out what exactly was happening to him.
The stench of death clung to him, a foul odor that seemed to seep into his very pores. With each step, the ground squelched beneath his boots, the remnants of his rampage mingling with the earth.
As he walked, he realized that something was different about him. He stood taller, his frame more muscular. It wasn't a drastic change, but it was there—a subtle shift in his physicality that he couldn't ignore. He didn't look so much like the skinny malnorished street rat that came into this forest.
He glanced down at himself, his clothes stained and tattered, his body altered in ways that he couldn't fully comprehend. He could do a proper inspection of his body later. Time to get out of this hellish place.
A familiar blinking rune appeared in the corner of his vision once more. It pulsed with an eerie glow, drawing his attention. His mind instinctively reached out, "clicking" on the rune mentally. Instantly, a status display materialized before his eyes, the words and numbers stark against the backdrop of his vision.
Strength: 14 (+2)
Dexterity: 14
Endurance: 16 (+3)
Luck: 6
Intelligence: 15
Charisma: 8
His heart skipped a beat as he absorbed the information. His stats had increased, specifically strength and endurance. The system had granted him power. The only explanation he had was that his abilities had improved in the wake of the massacre he had enacted while in the state of GLUTTONY.
His gaze lingered on the status display, his thoughts a tumultuous whirl. He felt a mix of awe and apprehension—the system was undeniably powerful, but he was so scared about the cost. The very name "Devourer System" sent shivers down his spine. What if he lost his mind again and attacked those few he cared about. The thought of Esme, her body broken with bloddied bite marks flashed in his mind.
Shaking that image from his thoughts, he read the notice that appeared beneath his stats—a chilling reminder of the price he had to pay for this newfound power. The countdown after his mindless state had reset, giving him forty-eight hours to kill before the next descent into the beastly state.
*System Notice*
[Congratulations, Host!]
You have devored 15 weak Goblins. Your combat skills and endurance have improved significantly.
Stat Boost:
Strength +2
Endurance +3
GLUTTONY countdown reset to 48 hours. Devour to keep your hunger at bay.
The realization hit him with a wave of shock. His hunch was correct. The system was both a blessing and a curse, a double-edged sword that granted strength but demanded a heavy toll. Varis grappled with his conflicting emotions, unsure of how to feel about this twisted gift.
Time was ticking, and he had to act quickly. He had to figure out where he was, if possible find the herb he had heard about, return home, and figure out his next move. Avoid going mad and eating random people. He typical days work he chuckled to himself darkly. He was so fucked.
Varis once again pushed down the bile that threatened to escape his throat. He looked around his location. Deciding on a random direction he bagan walking. His steps still unsteady but his senses alert to every sound and movement. He couldn't shake the weight of what he had done, the brutality of his actions.
As he walked he glanced around at the dense Mistwood Forest that surrounded him. The towering trees, shrouded in the ethereal mist. The forest had nearly claimed him once, but now, with newfound abilities and a hunger he couldnt control, he set off once again.
As he moved deeper into the Mistwood, his senses sharpened. Every rustling leaf, every distant sound, seemed to resonate with a heightened clarity. The system had changed him and he was only beginning to comprehend just how much. He really hoped this was a good thing.
Varis knew that he needed to find answers. What was the true nature of the Devourer System? How had it connected to the vision of the veiled woman on the throne? And how did all connect to the Mist?
Unbeknownst to him, as he moved through the forest, a humanoid shadow observed him from above. Glowing purple eyes peered from beneath the depths of a deep green robe, the figure hovering in the sky. The enigmatic presence watched as Varis ventured forth, the glint of curiosity and interest evident in its gaze.