The sky was painted a vivid shade of blood red, as dark crimson clouds churned in a tumultuous, never-ending storm that created an unsettling sense of foreboding. Jagged mountains arose in the distance, their sharp peaks puncturing the sky like the teeth of some dormant beast. From these towering forms, a thick, black, viscous goo poured down relentlessly, crawling down their rocky faces in a way that reminded one of a slow-moving plague, leaving a sinister trail behind. The air was thick and heavy, imbued with a tangible weight of dark energy that felt like it carried the burden of eternity itself.

In this surreal realm, free from the confines of time and space, where moments blended seamlessly like colors on an artist's palette, and death hovered like a faint whisper in the air, a man sat alone on the coarse, red sand, his back turned to the horizon. His brown hair, damp with sweat, clung to his forehead, the heat of the desolate landscape making thought itself a struggle.

He gazed into the gaping void before him, an immense expanse of nothingness stretching out endlessly, infinite and indifferent to the chaos swirling around him. It felt as if an eternity had passed within the confines of this abyss, yet he wrestled with the concept of time—how could one truly grasp what eternity felt like? The stillness was haunting, and within that silence, the weight of his existence felt both profound and trivial.

His body resembled a battered relic, with every muscle aching from memories of strain and exhaustion. The stiffness in his limbs made simple movements feel like a challenge, each shift sparking jolts of discomfort that echoed battles long since fought. But it was the dull, persistent pain in his neck that truly commanded his attention—a constant, throbbing reminder of a wound that should have sealed his fate yet instead left him in this fragile state of existence. He was alive...Or so he believed.

 The uncertainty gnawed at him, leaving him questioning his very being.

The air around him felt unnervingly cold, a chilling presence that seemed to seep into his bones and make his skin crawl. It was a stark contrast to the warmth that had once surrounded him, an unwelcome sign that something was wrong. A shiver ran down his spine, not just from the frigid temperature but from an instinctive feeling that he was not alone. It was as if an unseen figure was lurking in the shadows, watching him with an intensity that sent chills through his core.

Then, breaking the heavy silence, a voice emerged—harsh and rasping, like gravel crunching underfoot. It didn't just fill the air; it slithered into his mind, wrapping around his thoughts like a serpent. He recognized that voice, having endured its whisper many times before. It was a chilling echo that lingered at the edge of his awareness, a dark shadow that clung to him with relentless persistence, following him like a malevolent spirit wherever he went.

"You're wasting your time, Son of Ymir..."

The man stood firm, his eyes fixed on the vast, barren horizon that stretched endlessly before him, a seamless blend of muted colors and shadows. The voice echoing was one he had come to know all too well, a haunting whisper that stirred emotions he had tried to bury deep within. Yet, despite its closeness, he refused to flinch, determined to keep his composure. His fingers twitched slightly, a reflex from the chaotic life he had once led—an existence shaped by violence and struggle, where being ready for conflict was second nature. He wouldn't give the voice the satisfaction of seeing any sign of distress or acknowledgment.

"What the hell is this?" he muttered under his breath, his voice gravelly and rough, a stark contrast to the silence surrounding him. The words escaped like a confession, more for his own sanity than a genuine question.

"The coordinate, dear friend," the voice mocked, its tone dripping with condescension, now feeling unnervingly close, as if it were right behind him, breathing down his neck like a chilling breeze. "We are all connected by its paths." A shiver ran down his spine as the words settled in, each syllable tinged with a sinister edge. "You are everything you despise, every fractured part of yourself made flesh. You are part of me, now."

A rush of conflicting emotions surged within him—a blend of anger, fear, and a reluctant understanding that the voice spoke a twisted truth he couldn't ignore. His heart raced as memories of past battles flashed through his mind, each one leaving scars both visible and hidden.

"Tell me what's happening!" he barked, his voice echoing through the oppressive stillness of the room. The urgency in his tone matched the rapid rise and fall of his chest, his breath quickening as a chilling dread settled over him. The darkness around him felt suffocating, almost sentient, creeping along his skin like a malevolent presence determined to pull him under.

"You're dead, Ryan," the voice said, its tone as cold and unyielding as the sounds of war howling outside. Each word carried an unsettling calmness, the kind that could extinguish even the brightest spark of hope. "This place is a reflection. A realm suspended outside the limits of time itself. You are neither truly here nor eternally there. You've already tasted death once, remember? And soon, you will face it again. But this time, it's not your choice. It will only happen when I allow it."

Ryan swallowed hard, his heart pounding violently against his ribcage, as if it were trying to escape. Dead? The realization crashed over him like a wave, leaving him gasping, struggling to grasp the surreal weight of the words. His mind raced to understand the implications of this new, terrifying reality.

He shook his head, anger mixing with confusion. "Dead? Damn it, I was just about to die, I... I saw us gaining the upper hand! The Alliance..."

"You know the truth, Ryan. Everything is set in stone." The voice deepened, growing more insistent. "What you don't grasp is that your death was necessary. It had to happen. You, like all the others, are merely a pawn in this larger game."

A bitter laugh escaped Ryan's lips as he clenched his fists. "Pawn? You expect me to accept this as fate? That I'm just a piece to be moved in your little game?" He spat, his voice rising with anger. "What about my friends? What about all the men you had killed... all those lives—your hands are stained with their blood!"

A low, disembodied chuckle echoed through the air. The shadows around him shifted, as if the very landscape had come to life. "I had no obligation to explain myself to you. But I will, nonetheless. Their time was over. It was always destined to be this way. And now, the Skeld II... well, it too has fulfilled its purpose. All that remains is the aftermath. The pieces are scattered, and it is time for you to assume your role."

Ryan's vision darkened as the weight of the voice's words settled in. The Skeld II, the crew, all of them—had it been a trap from the very beginning? Did everything lead to this moment? Betrayal, tragedy, and loss had fueled his journey to this point. But why? Why had the Dark One allowed him to survive everything just to bring him here?

"You're insane," Ryan spat, his fists trembling with rage. "You were the one who destroyed everything, who caused the fall of the Skeld II. You—"

"You still fail to grasp the bigger picture, Ryan," the voice interrupted, dark and final. "The destruction of the Skeld II was merely the beginning. You're still here because you're needed, whether you like it or not. You are the key to what comes next."

Ryan's breath came in shallow bursts. His eyes were wild with defiance, and his knuckles were white from gripping the hilt of his weapon so tightly. "Needed?" he spat, voice thick with hatred. "I'll never help you. Not after everything you've done."

"You will," the voice said, the finality of it cutting through the air like a blade. "You will, because you have no choice."

Ryan's breath came in quick, shallow gasps. His eyes blazed with defiance, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the hilt of his weapon tightly. "Needed?" he spat, his voice thick with loathing. "I'll never help you. Not after everything you've done."

"You will," the voice replied, its finality slicing through the air like a knife. "You will, because you have no choice."

A surge of rage coursed through Ryan, his heart pounding in his ears. His legs ached with the urge to move, to strike, to do anything. But something held him back. A power. An unseen force in the darkness wrapped around him like chains. He strained against it, pulling with every ounce of strength he had.

Ryan sliced his palm, instantly feeling the immense pulse of energy that throbbed through his veins. But in this place, it was meaningless. Just a tool in the hands of a force far beyond his comprehension.

The voice chuckled again. "You think The Nightfall will save you here? This is my domain, and you're trying to wield my power... You are the powerless one here, you always have been. You can't escape me."

Ryan's heart sank. The Nightfall, his last remaining power... no, weapon, the one tool capable of destroying The Dark One... it wouldn't save him here.

He lowered his head, breath coming in ragged gasps as the crushing weight of the realization slammed into him like a freight train. The Dark One was right. This place—this dark domain—had him trapped. And there was no way out.

The moment stretched on, feeling like an eternity. Ryan battled the pressure building inside him, resisting the creeping pull of defeat that threatened to consume him. But deep within, something stirred. He wasn't finished yet. He refused to be. There was still a path ahead—he could sense it, a flicker of a spark, a shard of defiance. Even if he was just a pawn, even if everything was predetermined, he wasn't ready to lie down and let fate dictate his life.

"I won't join you," Ryan growled, each word laced with bitterness.

"Then you will die," the voice warned.

"Go to hell!" Ryan shouted, his tone filled with fury.

"I've already been in a hell of my own making for over 20,000 fucking years..." the voice boomed. "And I need your help to end it."

The shadows began to close in around Ryan, and in that moment, he realized this was only the beginning of the end...