There was only one thing awaiting Alan in the end… pain and suffering. But not just a little. No, it was going to be endless.
The world around him was chaos. Blades clanged, arrows zipped through the air, and the sickening sound of metal biting into flesh rang out over the battlefield.
Alan felt the impacts of swords and axes hitting him with brutal force, each blow stripping away more of his strength.
His body was battered, blood soaking through his robe, and his limbs felt like they were made of lead.
He could barely move. He screamed — loud, raw screams that tore at his throat — but they didn't stop the pain.
He tried to raise his sword, but it was shattered, its pieces scattered several meters away from him, useless.
The weapon had been his lifeline, the last reminder of his strength, but now it was nothing but broken fragments.
Alan's vision blurred as more arrows pierced his body. With each one that lodged itself in his flesh, the life drained from him just a little bit more.
He gasped for air, but his lungs felt heavy, like they were filling with concrete. His throat was raw from shouting, but he had no energy left to scream.
His limbs felt numb, the weight of everything pushing him down. What could he do? He was powerless now.
The dark energy he had once been able to summon had completely fizzled out. It was nothing more than a spark, a tiny flame of what it once had been. Alan's heart sank. It wasn't enough. He wasn't enough.
And his beast, the Nighthound, his partner and protector, wasn't enough either.
Alan turned his head slowly to look at it. The sight twisted something inside him. His beast was a giant, formidable creature, its massive form sprawled on the ground, struggling to breathe.
The two swords embedded in the Nighthound's back were cruel reminders of the battle they had fought and lost. Alan felt his heart ache with guilt. The Nighthound had been fighting for him, protecting him, and now it was dying.
"I'm really going to die, aren't I?" The thought came unbidden, but it was so clear, so certain.
Alan's world was narrowing to a single point — the blackness that was slowly swallowing him whole.
He dragged himself forward, inch by painful inch, desperate to reach his beast one last time. If he had to die, if there was no way out, then at least he would die beside the only thing that had ever truly mattered to him.
His body trembled with exhaustion, but he refused to stop. He could feel the blood contract between them — the bond that had once given him strength — slipping away.
The power that had surged through him as the Nighthound fought for its life was fading, fading with each passing second. As the beast weakened, so did Alan.
The pain was unbearable now, a constant, gnawing ache that drained him further with every breath.
He couldn't stop himself from collapsing to the ground, his hand scraping against the dirt as he tried to reach the Nighthound.
It wasn't enough. The gap between them felt like miles. Alan's vision wavered as his strength slipped away, the bond between them weakening further with each breath.
It was then that he saw it. A goblin, towering over the Nighthound, its grotesque form almost blocking the dim light from the battlefield.
Alan's heart skipped a beat as he recognized it — the goblin was the one the Nighthound had bitten earlier. The beast had been wounded, but it had fought with all its might, hoping to turn the tide.
Now, the goblin loomed over them both, its red eyes glowing with a malevolent gleam. Alan could feel the dark energy around it, swirling and growing stronger.
It wasn't just a goblin anymore — it was something more, something fueled by the crimson energy that hung heavy in the air.
The goblin's strength was growing with each passing second, and there was nothing Alan could do to stop it. The beast was dying. Alan was dying. And the goblin would finish them both off in a cruel, final strike.
"No!" Alan gasped, struggling to pull himself closer, the ground slipping beneath him.
His hands were shaking, his body trembling with the effort, but he couldn't stop. His eyes locked onto the goblin's raised sword, and a wave of panic surged through him.
The blade gleamed in the dim light, descending with terrible speed toward the Nighthound's heart. It would kill his beast, and that would be the end.
But there was no time. Alan's vision blurred, and his thoughts felt like they were slipping away.
All he had left was the will to protect his beast. But would that be enough? Would it ever be enough?
Suddenly, the world around him seemed to collapse into darkness. His heart pounded in his chest as everything faded away.
Then, something strange happened. A cold, numbing sensation washed over him, a sensation that felt both alien and familiar.
It wasn't pain, but it wasn't comfort either. It was… different. Something was pulling him in, surrounding him.
The voice was soft, distant, yet clear in his mind. Alan's thoughts were sluggish, heavy from exhaustion, but the words still reached him.
Power? What did that mean? What choice did he have? The last remnants of his consciousness clung to the voice, desperate for any answer.
"Yes," he whispered, the word leaving his mouth before he could even fully understand it.
His voice felt thin, like it didn't belong to him anymore.
The moment he spoke, something surged inside him. A rush of energy, dark and raw, flooded through his veins. It burned — painfully so — but there was power, real power, coursing through him, restoring what had been lost.
His vision cleared, and the world snapped back into focus. His body, broken and battered, was mending at an astonishing rate.
The numbness faded, replaced by strength he didn't remember having.
The goblin's sword was still descending, but Alan was no longer the same man who had been crawling on the battlefield moments ago.
He stood, or rather, he rose from the ground, every fiber of his being alight with the dark energy he had just embraced.
The power was overwhelming, but it was his. And with it, Alan wasn't going to let his beast die. Not today.