Oliver slung his pack over his shoulder and stepped out of the crumbling library, the journal pressed against his back like a shield. The rain had intensified, cascading in heavy sheets that turned the debris-strewn streets into slick, treacherous paths. He pulled his hood tighter against the downpour, his senses sharp as he scanned his surroundings. The city seemed alive with whispers carried on the wind, the sound of dripping water, and the occasional groan of unstable structures.
Each step felt heavier than the last as his boots splashed through puddles, but the journal's revelations churned in his mind, reigniting his purpose. The unnamed warrior's meticulous notes had been a lifeline—a bridge between his fractured present and the potential for survival. He knew he couldn't squander the knowledge he'd stumbled upon. If anything, the journal's existence was proof that others had fought this battle before and won, at least for a time.
The afternoon was fading into a dim twilight when Oliver heard it—a low, guttural growl that seemed to reverberate through the wet air. He froze, his pulse quickening. The sound came from ahead, where the street narrowed into an alley flanked by two toppled buses. His fingers brushed the hilt of his dagger, a cold, reassuring weight against his palm.
The growl came again, louder this time, and a pair of glowing yellow eyes pierced the shadows of the alley. A wolf-like creature, its fur matted and its body unnaturally elongated, slinked into view. Its movements were jerky, almost insectile, as if it were struggling to control its limbs. This was no ordinary predator—it was one of the corrupted beasts, twisted by the same dark forces that had unleashed the jotnar and the mare.
Oliver's breath hitched, and his mind raced. The journal's entries on these creatures had been sparse but clear: they were fast, ruthless, and nearly impossible to kill without exploiting their weaknesses. Lightning surged faintly at his fingertips, an instinctive reaction, but he quickly suppressed it. He couldn't afford to waste energy recklessly, especially with his control still so tenuous.
The creature let out a chilling snarl and lunged. Oliver dodged to the side, his boots skidding on the wet pavement. The wolf's claws scraped against the ground where he'd stood, sparks flying as if the beast itself carried an electric charge. Oliver's hand shot out, the dagger finding its mark in the creature's side, but the blade barely seemed to faze it. The wolf turned, its jaws snapping inches from his arm.
He rolled backward, his mind cycling through the journal's advice. *Aim for the core. The corruption festers there.* But where was the core? The wolf circled him, its glowing eyes filled with malevolent intelligence, as if it knew he was calculating his next move.
The rain slicked his hair to his forehead as Oliver rose to his feet, his gaze locking with the beast's. Then, almost instinctively, he extended his hand, summoning a flicker of lightning. It wasn't much—just a faint spark that danced between his fingers—but it was enough to make the wolf hesitate, its movements faltering as if it recognized the power.
Oliver took the chance, focusing on the creature's chest. The journal had mentioned that the corrupted beasts often carried their "cores" near their hearts—a pulsating, vulnerable spot that fueled their twisted existence. He let the spark grow, feeling the electricity hum through his veins, before releasing a single, concentrated bolt.
The lightning struck true, hitting the wolf square in the chest. The creature let out a blood-curdling howl, its body convulsing as the bolt seemed to sear through its flesh. For a moment, Oliver thought it might recover, but then it collapsed in a heap, smoke rising from the blackened fur around its chest.
Panting, Oliver stepped closer, his dagger still at the ready. The wolf's yellow eyes had dimmed, its body lifeless. He nudged it with his foot, ensuring it wasn't faking death, before letting out a shaky breath. The rain washed away the blood pooling beneath the beast, leaving only the acrid smell of burnt flesh.
He crouched beside the wolf, inspecting its chest where his lightning had struck. There, embedded deep in its charred flesh, was a small, crystalline shard glowing faintly with an eerie light. Carefully, he used the tip of his dagger to pry it loose. The shard was warm to the touch, pulsating faintly as if alive. He placed it into a small pouch on his belt, remembering the journal's note: *These shards are fragments of the darkness. Collect them. They are both a danger and a key.*
Oliver straightened, his muscles aching from the encounter. The rain showed no sign of letting up, and the streets were growing darker by the minute. He needed to find shelter again, someplace defensible where he could study the shard and the journal further. His mind buzzed with questions: What could the shard unlock? How could he use it to strengthen his powers? And, most pressing of all, how many more creatures like this one were out there?
He pressed onward, his pace quickening as the storm intensified. The city seemed to close in around him, the buildings looming like ancient ruins, their jagged edges silhouetted against the darkening sky. Eventually, he spotted a small convenience store, its neon sign long extinguished but its structure relatively intact. He slipped inside, barricading the door with an overturned shelf before collapsing onto the floor.
His hands trembled as he pulled the shard from his pouch, holding it up to the dim light filtering through the broken windows. The faint glow seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat, mesmerizing and unsettling all at once. He placed it on the floor beside him, then retrieved the journal, flipping through its pages until he found a section on the shards.
*"The fragments of corruption are both a curse and a boon. When purified, they can enhance one's abilities, but without proper preparation, they risk amplifying the darkness within."*
Oliver's brow furrowed. He had no idea how to purify the shard, but he couldn't deny the allure of its potential. If it could help him control his lightning, even a fraction more, it might be worth the risk.
Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, but his mind refused to rest. He leaned back against the wall, the shard glowing faintly at his side, and resolved to press forward. The storm outside was unrelenting, but so was he. Alone, armed with fragments of forgotten knowledge and the flickering spark of hope, Oliver prepared himself for whatever lay ahead.