Mark reclined on the roof of the apartment complex, the hard, uneven surface beneath him a stark contrast to the softness of his thoughts. He had chosen this secluded vantage point for its tranquil isolation, away from the chaos that often engulfed his life. His eyes, a vivid blue that seemed to capture the essence of the night sky, were fixed on the expansive celestial canvas above. Stars scattered across the heavens sparkled like distant, enigmatic gems, each one a silent custodian of cosmic secrets and untold mysteries. The tranquil beauty of the night sky was a rare gift, offering him a fleeting moment of serenity amidst the relentless turmoil of his existence.
Below, the city thrummed with an undercurrent of frenetic energy. Streets teemed with life, their movement a constant ebb and flow, punctuated by the sharp, bright lights of streetlamps. A group of local hunters passed by, their presence a marked contrast to the ordinary bustle of city life. The hunters, draped in their distinctive uniforms, gleamed with an almost otherworldly radiance under the streetlights. The fabric of their uniforms shimmered as though woven from threads of moonlight, their polished armor reflecting the light in a dazzling display of silver and gold. Established fifty years ago, the Hunter Association had transformed these individuals into living legends, their valor against the monstrous threats that plagued the world earning them a pedestal of public adoration. Children gazed up at them with wide eyes, dreaming of one day following in their footsteps, while adults spoke of them in reverent tones.
For Mark, however, the sight of these vaunted figures was far from inspiring. To him, they represented nothing more than a superficial veneer of heroism, their fame and accolades masking a fundamental arrogance. Their proud strut and self-congratulatory air were grating, a distraction from the deeper, more insidious dangers that lurked in the shadows of society. He regarded their flamboyant display with a mixture of disdain and annoyance, finding their bravado both tiresome and trivial.
The last message he had received from his father had come from a place of desolation an area designated as the ruins. The ruins were a no-man's land, a stark and inhospitable wasteland born from a fierce battle with monstrous invaders. The site had been condemned, its soil tainted by the remnants of the conflict and the residual mana that permeated the ground. Though the hunters had succeeded in driving off the immediate threat, the area remained off-limits, deemed too dangerous for any sort of habitation or exploration. Mark knew that gaining access to this forsaken zone was crucial to uncovering the truth behind his father's last communication. The thought of infiltrating the ruins weighed heavily on him, and he was acutely aware that conventional means such as acquiring a hunter's license were not viable. Joining their ranks was a concept he found repugnant, their superficial heroism and self-importance a jarring contrast to the genuine danger he sought to understand.
As he lay there contemplating his options, an alternative plan took shape in his mind. He could bypass the authorities and the cumbersome process of obtaining a hunter's license by utilizing his unique abilities. His pitch-black wings, which will conceal him from view, would serve as his means of discreet entry. Mark had always possessed the rare gift of flight, his wings a manifestation of his celestial heritage. They were as dark as the void, blending seamlessly with the night sky. With a resolve born of necessity, he spread his wings wide, their surface absorbing the ambient light as he prepared for his ascent.
Mark launched himself from the rooftop, his wings beating with a rhythmic, powerful grace that sent him soaring into the night. The city lights below dwindled into a distant constellation as he climbed higher and higher, the chill of the high altitude a stark contrast to the warmth of the city. The darkness enveloped him like a cloak, rendering him virtually invisible to anyone looking up from below. He ascended with deliberate speed, his keen blue eyes scanning the sprawling landscape for any signs of the ruins.
The flight was exhilarating, the sensation of slicing through the night air a reminder of the freedom and power his wings afforded him. Within moments, he reached the outskirts of the ruins, a forbidding expanse of decay and desolation. The area was marked by the skeletal remains of once-mighty structures, now reduced to crumbling edifices and jagged shards of concrete. The air was thick with an oppressive, palpable mana that emanated from the ground, a dark and dangerous force that could obliterate an unprepared individual. Mark's heightened senses detected the raw, potent energy seeping from the ruins, a stark reminder of the perilous environment he was about to enter.
As he descended into the ruins, he carefully retracted his wings, folding them against his back with practiced ease. His landing was silent and precise, the soft thud of his feet hitting the ground barely perceptible. The ruins stretched out before him like a desolate labyrinth, the broken remnants of buildings casting long, eerie shadows under the pale light of the moon. Mark began his search, moving with a cautious determination through the wreckage. He was acutely aware of the dangerous mana lingering in the air, its presence a constant reminder of the hazards that lay ahead.
As he navigated the crumbling landscape, Mark sensed the presence of multiple entities nearby. Four distinct signatures of mana, interspersed with the powerful aura of a formidable monster, registered in his perception. The monster's signature was unmistakable it was a Minotaur, a beast of considerable strength and malevolence. Despite the ongoing conflict, Mark's focus remained on his primary goal: uncovering any clues about his father's fate.
Ignoring the ongoing battle between the hunters and the Minotaur, Mark continued to sift through the debris, his mind racing with questions and concerns. The intensity of the combat drew closer, and he found himself narrowly avoiding the skirmish as the hunters' attacks inadvertently collided with nearby ruins. The cacophony of clashing steel and magical incantations filled the air, creating a chaotic symphony of battle.
Mark observed the hunters with a mixture of detached interest and frustration. There were four of them, each wielding their unique skills and equipment in the struggle against the Minotaur. The lead hunter was a young woman, no older than twenty-five, with striking blond hair tied back in a tight ponytail. Her hunter's uniform clung to her athletic frame, and she wielded a long sword with practiced ease. The sword, a gleaming blade of exceptional craftsmanship, cut through the air with precision as she engaged the Minotaur in a fierce duel.
Her companions included two mages, they also wore
hunter uniforms. They worked in tandem, using binding spells and elemental magic to weaken the creature. One mage, with a staff crackling with arcane energy, unleashed a series of binding spells that restricted the Minotaur's movements, while the other mage summoned torrents of fire and lightning to further assault the beast. The coordination between the mages and the swordswoman was impressive, though their efforts were marred by the chaotic nature of the battle.
The fourth hunter, a man wielding a sword slightly smaller than the woman's, engaged the Minotaur with a combination of brute strength and skill. Despite his efforts, it was evident that the woman and her mage partner were the primary contributors to the Minotaur's defeat. As Mark observed, the hunters' battle strategy became clear: the group had split into two teams, each focusing on one of the Minotaurs. The swordswoman and her mage partner managed to incapacitate their target, with the mage's binding spell providing a crucial window for the woman to deliver a decisive strike.
The other team faced a similar challenge. The mage of the pair used a fireball to distract the second Minotaur, creating an opening for the swordsman to strike from behind. The battle was fierce and intense, with the hunters displaying a level of skill and coordination that was both impressive and somewhat begrudgingly admirable in Mark's eyes. Eventually, both Minotaurs fell, their monstrous forms collapsing to the ground as the hunters took a moment to catch their breath.
Mark's curiosity about their presence in the ruins remained unanswered as the hunters regrouped and prepared to leave. He resumed his search, driven by the hope of uncovering any traces of his father. As he delved deeper into the ruins, he stumbled across a group of hunters discussing a recent battle of monumental scale. Their conversation centered around a confrontation between a demon and an extraordinarily powerful man. The hunters recounted the devastation wrought by the battle, describing the destruction left in its wake. They spoke in hushed tones about a legendary sword that had been left behind a weapon so imbued with destructive power that it burned anything it touched, rendering it impossible for anyone to wield.
Intrigued and hopeful, Mark followed the directions provided by the hunters to the location of the battle. The scene before him was a stark contrast to the chaotic remnants of the earlier skirmish. Amidst the debris, partially buried in the rubble, lay the sword—a long, sleek blade of obsidian black. The sword's surface gleamed with a strange, almost supernatural sheen, as though it were forged from shadows and starlight. The weapon's dark luster seemed to absorb the surrounding light, creating an aura of eerie mystery.
Mark approached the sword with a mix of reverence and trepidation. The blade lay there, a silent testament to a battle fought and a mystery yet unresolved. He reached out, his fingers brushing the hilt, and felt a shiver run down his spine. The sword seemed to hum with latent power, a dark energy that resonated with the remnants of the battle. As he picked up the sword, he couldn't help but question
the fate of his father. Was he dead? Captured? The answers seemed to lie within the enigmatic blade, yet the mystery only deepened with each passing moment.
Mark's thoughts were a tumult of uncertainty and determination as he surveyed the ruins once more, the weight of the sword in his hand a tangible reminder of the journey ahead. The night sky above remained a silent witness to his quest, the stars continuing their eternal vigil over the unfolding drama of his life.
capable of obliterating an ordinary individual. Mark folded his wings, dropping gracefully to the ground and landing silently. The ruins stretched out before him, a labyrinth of decay and danger. As he began his search, the presence of four hunters and a formidable monster registered in his senses. The distinctive mana signature of the creature identified it as a Minotaur.
Ignoring the hunters' struggle with the Minotaur, Mark continued his quest for clues about his father. However, the intensity of the combat nearly drew him into harm's way, forcing him to observe from a distance. He watched with a mixture of skepticism and intrigue as the hunters engaged in a fierce battle with the Minotaur. The group consisted of four individuals: a young woman, no older than twenty-five, with blond hair pulled into a tight ponytail, wielding a longsword; two mages who supplemented their efforts with binding spells and elemental magic; and another swordsman who fought alongside them.
The woman and her mage partner proved the most effective, with the mage's binding spell immobilizing the Minotaur long enough for the woman to close in, as she imbued mana into her sword and managed to cut off the head of the Minotaur. The other pair of hunters faced the second Minotaur, using a combination of fire and steel to subdue the beast. The mage distracted the second Minotaur with a fireball which gave the other a chance to stab the creature from behind. As the two monsters fell, the hunters took a brief respite before departing, leaving Mark slightly impressed by their competence.
Continuing his search, Mark encountered hunters discussing a cataclysmic clash between a powerful demon and a formidable warrior. They spoke of a sword left behind, a weapon so imbued with destructive power that it incinerated anything it touched. Intrigued and hopeful, Mark proceeded to the reported location of the battle. There, among the ruins, he saw it, a long, obsidian blade with an almost supernatural luster. His father's weapon lay amidst the wreckage, a silent testament to a battle fought and a mystery still unsolved. Mark's mind raced with questions: Was his father dead? Captured? The sword, now in his grasp, seemed to hold the key to these unanswered questions, yet only deepened the enigma surrounding his father's fate.