"Haha, I never thought... I would... get t-this far..."
The words escaped in ragged gasps from a body more wound than flesh. Gashes, deep and angry, crisscrossed the figure's form like a grotesque tapestry of pain. Each movement sent fresh rivulets of crimson cascading over torn skin. Yet still, he crawled.
He had done everything in his power to hold back the ghastly beast, but in the end, his trusty pole had shattered like a brittle twig. The sound of its breaking still echoed in his ears, a death knell for hope. Still, he crawled.
The earth beneath him trembled, each vibration a harbinger of doom. Footsteps, impossibly heavy, drew nearer with agonizing slowness. The beast could have ended this chase at any moment, yet it chose to walk - a predator toying with its prey. And still, he crawled.
Through the haze of pain and encroaching darkness, a stone temple materialized before his fading vision. Atop its weathered facade, a strange rod rested upon a human figure carved from ancient stone, standing sentinel over a forest of granite pillars. His bloodied fingers clawed at the earth, propelling him forward. He crawled.
The cold stone beneath his palms offered no comfort, yet he pressed on. The thing behind him drew ever closer, its presence an oppressive weight on his failing senses. He crawled.
At the heart of the crumbling cathedral lay an altar, untouched by time's ravages. Cut from pristine white marble, it seemed to glow with an inner light, a beacon in the gloom. With the last vestiges of his strength, he hauled himself onto its smooth surface.
Blood, his blood, painted macabre patterns across the once-immaculate stone as he lay gasping, each breath a battle hard-won. His vision, blurred and red-tinged, tracked the abomination's approach. It was a nightmare given form - a yeti-like creature covered not in fur but in matted feathers, its bulbous eyes oozing a viscous fluid the color of rotting oranges.
"Ha...ha... fuck." The laugh that escaped him was hollow, devoid of mirth.
'I don't want to die. This is bullshit.'
He bit down on his bottom lip, teeth breaking the skin. The melancholy that had driven him to this point evaporated, replaced by something primal and searing. Rage. Bitter, all-consuming rage at his own helplessness in the face of this monstrous fate.
Blood trickled down his chin as his teeth pierced deeper. His brow furrowed, eyes wide and feral. The crazed look of a cornered animal facing its end.
'I don't want to die! I DON'T WANT TO DIE!' His mind screamed what his voice could not. With a final, desperate surge of defiance, he raised a hand to ward off the approaching horror. The beast's massive paw swatted it aside like a gnat, the sickening crunch of bone lost beneath his agonized scream.
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Darkness enveloped him, then parted like a curtain. He found himself suspended in a vast lake of living shadows, their inky depths seeming to pulse with malevolent life. A ripple disturbed the obsidian surface, drawing his gaze. At its epicenter stood a pole. Atop it crouched a figure of pure shadow.
The shadow nodded, a gesture both solemn and knowing. It approached, its movements liquid and graceful. He tried to retreat, to put distance between himself and this spectral apparition, but found himself paralyzed. Here, in this realm of darkness, he was bodiless, powerless - a mote of consciousness at the mercy of forces beyond his comprehension.
From behind its back, the shadow produced a mask. Even in this lightless place, he could make out every detail of its wooden surface. It reeked of death, an odor so potent he could almost taste it. As the mask drew closer, panic clawed at him. He struggled against invisible bonds, his non-existent heart racing. This was it. This was death. This was—
[...You have received The Pole.]
[...You have started your Trilogy.]
_________________________________________
Reality slammed back into focus with jarring abruptness. He scrambled to his feet, adrenaline surging through his veins. Something hard struck his spine, eliciting a yelp of surprise and pain.
"Ow."
He whirled around, only to be struck again, this time on the head. Reaching behind his neck, his fingers encountered a wooden object. He grasped it, pulling it around to examine it. A mask stared back at him, its features demonic yet... strangely indistinct. The longer he looked, the more its details seemed to shift and blur.
'Why is it blurry?'
His surroundings slowly came into focus - a cave, its stone walls slick with moisture, the air heavy with the scent of earth and decay. Cold seeped into his bones, a stark reminder of his isolation.
'Wait, hold on. Did I hear something about starting my Trilogy?'
As the thought formed, he became acutely aware of a new sensation. The world's energy seemed to flow through him, a current of power just beneath his skin. Concentrating, he peered into his soul, expecting to see the ethereal domains depicted in movies - sweeping vistas of celestial bodies and otherworldly landscapes.
Instead, he found himself once more facing the sea of shadows. The familiar pole stood sentinel, the mask hanging from it like some macabre trophy.
With a sigh, he dismissed the vision. The cold, sullen reality of the cave reasserted itself. Moonlight filtered through cracks in the stone, though something about its quality seemed... off. Not quite natural.
'Strange.'
He pressed forward, navigating the twisting passages of the cave. As he progressed, more fissures appeared in the rock, bathing him in an ever-increasing glow of pseudo-moonlight.
WHAM
The thunderous impact reverberated through the stone, stopping him in his tracks.
Cautiously, he peered around a corner, finding himself at the threshold of a vast cavern. In its center stood a young man, his fist still extended from the blow that had felled some unseen opponent.
The stranger's appearance was striking - white hair streaked with blue, tied back in a style too short to be a true ponytail. His eyes, cold and dispassionate, surveyed the chamber with bored indifference. He wore a black tunic cinched at the waist with a white cloth band.
"Oh, what a relief, hey—"
The words had barely left his lips when the white-haired man exploded into motion. A blade materialized in his hand, its edge cleaving the air with lethal intent. He barely managed to dodge, the whisper of steel grazing his cheek.
'Why is he attacking me? Oh... is it because of the mask?'
He had donned the mask earlier, finding that it somehow enhanced his vision. Now, it seemed, it had marked him as a target.
"Wait, wait! I'm human!" he cried out, desperation coloring his voice.
His pleas fell on deaf ears. The swordsman pressed his assault, his blade singing through the air. Occasionally, it caught the strange moonlight, but the mask seemed to negate any blinding effect.
"This fucker..." he muttered, frustration mounting. 'I'm not even armed! What do I do?'
As if in answer to his unspoken question, an idea crystallized in his mind.
The swordsman lunged, his blade a silver streak in the dim light. But this time, instead of dodging, he sidestepped and thrust out his hand. In his mind, he called out to The Pole he had seen in that shadow realm.
To his amazement and relief, it answered.
The familiar weight materialized in his grasp, solid and reassuring. A grin spread across his face, hidden behind the mask. "Ah, finally. Home sweet home."
Wood met metal with a resounding clash, sending shockwaves through the cavern. The two combatants moved in a deadly dance, their forms blurring with speed. The Pole, far from being a crude weapon, proved to be a perfect counterpoint to the sword's lethal edge. It deflected and parried with uncanny precision, as if it were an extension of his very will.
The young swordsman's eyes flashed, and suddenly his form was wreathed in blue flames. His speed and strength seemed to double in an instant, turning an already formidable opponent into a veritable force of nature.
The Pole whipped around, striking the swordsman's temple with a satisfying crack. But the victory was short-lived - a burning line of pain blossomed across his shoulder, the sword having found its mark.
They traded blows with increasing ferocity. The sword opened a gash across his chest, but not before The Pole repaid the debt with the sickening crunch of fractured ribs.
Their graceful duel devolved into something more primal, more desperate. Blood and sweat mingled on the stone floor, their labored breathing echoing off the cavern walls.
And then... something changed.
A gust of wind, carrying with it the stench of decay and otherworldly malice, heralded a new arrival. From a fissure in the ceiling, a pale-skinned giant plummeted to the cavern floor. Its massive form, easily twice the height of a man, sported four arms, each ending in wickedly curved claws. Its face, if it could be called such, was a nightmare of symmetry - no mouth, no nose, just six eyes arranged in perfect hexagonal formation. Eyes that, despite their lack of pupils or irises, radiated an intelligence as alien as it was malevolent.
The two bloodied combatants ceased their battle, turning as one to face this new, greater threat. Their eyes met, and in that moment, a silent understanding passed between them. Whatever their differences, they paled in comparison to the horror that now stood before them.
With a nod, they shifted stance, presenting a united front against the monstrous intruder.
The swordsman's blade glowed with ethereal fire, while The Pole hummed with newfound power in his grasp.
As the giant took its first thunderous step towards them, they charged forward, no longer enemies but allies bound by the most primal of instincts - survival.