The battlefield was silent now, except for the soft drip of blood falling from his sword. He stood motionless, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath, his body slick with the blood of those he had just slain. Around him lay the broken bodies of the villains, their twisted forms a testament to the brutality of the fight.
He didn't flinch as the warm blood ran down his face, stinging his eyes. His grip tightened on his weapon, knuckles white beneath the gore. The weight of what he had done pressed on him, but there was no regret, only the cold, sharp satisfaction of victory.
The wind howled across the battlefield, sweeping through the carnage, but the hero barely noticed. His mind was still locked in the fight, replaying every blow, every cry, and the final, satisfying silence as his enemies fell before him.
His heart pounded, not from fear or exhaustion, but from the raw power that surged through his veins. It was over. They were all dead.
He stood there, blood dripping from his clothes, pooling at his feet, as the weight of his actions settled over him like a heavy cloak. For a moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes, feeling the sticky warmth on his skin, breathing in the scent of death that filled the air. His muscles ached, but it was a small price to pay.
Opening his eyes, he surveyed the aftermath of his wrath. The world around him felt distant, as if he were looking through a fog. It had been a massacre. Bodies were strewn in every diran, some still, others twitching with the las this, and there was no ts of life. He had done to stop him.
He exhaled slowly, lowering his sword, the blood-soaked blade glinting in the faint light. Victory had come, but it was hollow, like a distant echo in a vast, empty chamber.
There was a movement at the edge of his vision. He turned slowly, not with fear, but with the awareness of someone who had faced too many battles. The shadows shifted, revealing a figure standing at a distance, watching him.
It was not an enemy. It was her, the cursed soul who had followed him through every fight, her ghostly form pale against the carnage. She drifted toward him silently, her gaze fixed on his bloodied form.
He stared back at her, his face unreadable. There were no words between them. She had seen him like this before, countless times. The blood, the destruction, the aftermath of his rage. And still, she remained.
His voice, when it came, was low and rough, barely audible over the wind. "It's done."
She didn't reply, but he could feel her presence beside him, cold and unwavering. He didn't know if it was comfort or a reminder of the price he paid for his power. Maybe both.
He wiped the blood from his face with a tired hand, glancing once more at the bodies that littered the ground. There was no joy in his victory, no relief. Only the silence of death, and the knowledge that this was far from over
He stood alone on the edge of the cliff, the wind howling in his ears. Below him, the sea crashed violently against the rocks, echoing the turmoil inside him. His wife and child were gone—ripped from him in the cruelest way imaginable. He could still hear their laughter, their voices, faint but haunting, like echoes from a dream.
His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, fists clenching the dirt. His cursed powers, once a source of strength and control, now felt like chains, binding him to a world that had taken everything from him. Memories of his wife's smile and his child's innocent eyes tore through him like daggers, each one deeper than the last.
"They deserved more," his whispered, his voice cracking. He had failed them. All his power, his might—it was useless in the face of their absence.
The rage, the sorrow, the emptiness—it consumed him, threatening to drown him in despair. His loyal mind assistant reached out, but Ren ignored it. What was the point? There was no fight worth winning, no power worth having, if they were not by his side.
Tears finally fell, and for the first time in his life, he felt powerless.
Then he started going back towards his home and the path to his house went through a dense forest.His sword was soaked in blood. He was walking towards his home carrying his sword with him. Tears were falling from his eyes remembering his wife and child.He had reached the middle of the forest, but now he did not feel like living at all. The voices of his wife and child were still echoing in his ears.
Now he had decided that he cannot live without his wife and child even though he has earned a lot in his life. But without his wife and child, all his earnings were wasted. Now he took up his sword and separated his head from his body and died there itself.As soon as his neck got separated from his body, blood started flowing on his neck. His sword was still clutched in his hand. His body had now fallen on the ground. As soon as his body fell on the ground, there was a loud sound and the ground started shaking.
He held so much power inside his body that after his death the whole earth started shaking. Sounds started coming from the sky. As if some important part of the earth had been separated from it?
That energy sword was so strong that no one could pick it up from where it went and after thousand years a "Crucible of Aegis" has been built at this location.That is why the energy sword has been kept in place. Inside the "Crucible of Aegis", it is still waiting for its real owner who will be worthy of it.
The battlefield lay silent, shrouded in an eerie stillness that followed the chaos of war. Shadows danced across the ground, illuminated only by the flickering flames that consumed the remnants of the conflict. A once-mighty warrior, his body battered and broken, lay lifeless among the fallen. He had fought fiercely, but even the strongest of heroes could not escape the inevitable grip of death.