The witch's strength waned, and I seized the opportunity to strike. With swift precision, I attacked, my dagger glinting in the faint light. But just as I was about to deliver the fatal blow, a dark, unknown force struck me with incredible power.
The witch's eyes widened in agony as she pulled her hair and succumbed to madness. "NO!" she pleaded, her voice echoing through the air. Falling to her knees, she cried out again, "Help me, Father!"
In an instant, the witch's body began to contort and twist, her eyes turning a deep, foreboding black. She cried out in anguish, tears of dark, viscous liquid streaming down her face. Her mouth opened wide, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth, as if she was trying to devour her own flesh.
Jagged, disfigured blades burst forth from her body, slicing through the air with deadly precision. The blades attacked from all sides, making it nearly impossible for me to dodge. I stumbled backward, desperately trying to avoid the deadly onslaught.
Everywhere I moved, there was one blade after another. The witch continued to cry out, her voice growing more desperate. "FATHER!!" she screamed. I wondered who this Father was, the one she seemed to call out to in her moment of need.
I summoned the wind magic, feeling its power course through my veins like liquid fire. I darted forward, my dagger flashing in the dim light. "A dagger to the heart," I thought, "it's the only way." As I fought, I caught sight of the elves watching from outside the barrier, their faces twisted with concern.
The witch's counterattack caught me off guard, and I felt a searing pain as her blade sliced through my abdomen. I stumbled backward, my vision blurring. "Crap," I muttered beneath my breath. How could she be this powerful? Hadn't she been weakened?
As the spikes continued to attack aimlessly, I noticed that whatever was happening to her was consuming her. Dark and mysterious veins began covering her whole body; she no longer seemed human... no, she was some kind of mindless beast now.
This had gone on too far. I summoned every last ounce of strength, remembering my father's words. I ran straight into the fire, intending to end it. The closer I got, the more painful it got. I could feel the blades cutting into my flesh, and yet every atom in my existence told me to keep charging on.
My vision was blurred; I could hardly see. As soon as I got close to what I assumed was the corpse of the witch, I stabbed her straight through the heart. And then it all went black.
When I came to, I found myself in a strange, ethereal realm, a place of dreams and nightmares, of shadows and darkness. The air was thick with an otherworldly energy, and I could feel the weight of the unknown pressing down upon me.
A low, rumbling voice called out to me, "Einar Stonbrol." I opened my eyes to find myself in a clear and blue void. A sense of peace filled me; the atmosphere here made me feel safe, at peace with myself, beaming with life and beauty.
"Einar Stonbrol," the voice called out once more. I turned to my left to see who it was, and I simply couldn't believe my eyes. Before me stood the four cardinal spirits of nature: Fire, Water, Earth, and Air.
The spirit of Fire appeared as a flame floating in the air, too bright to look at and yet just bright enough to gaze upon. It was hot and deadly, a truly eternal fire. The spirit of Water appeared as a ball of water floating in the air, calmly and mysteriously, yet beautiful and reassuring—a source of both life and death held in the balance.
The spirit of Earth appeared as a floating rock, odd in shape and structure but clearly unbreakable and definite in creation—a mother and father of all things living. And finally, the spirit of Air appeared as a small wind surrounded by leaves circulating in a clockwise pattern. It was gentle and threatening at the same time, truly marvelous.
As I looked at the four spirits, I could feel the heavy atmosphere they created. And finally, they spoke. "Einar Stonbrol, you have defied the laws of nature and killed its servant. For your actions, you are to be punished." The Fire spirit spoke, its voice like thunder.
Just as I tried to speak and justify my actions, another presence appeared. It was far different from the four. It felt ominous and dark, like the very presence of death and woe. A cloaked figure appeared behind the four spirits, its face unclear and its motives even more so.
With every step it took, I could feel the air getting colder and heavier. The beauty surrounding us began to die. From the bright beauty of nature, it turned to a dark and
The beauty surrounding us began to wither and perish, like autumn leaves crumbling to the ground. The vibrant hues of nature faded, replaced by a dark and foreboding landscape that seemed to stretch on forever. The sky transformed into a deep, blood-red color, and the once-lush plants and vegetation withered and died.
As the figure drew closer, its presence seemed to fill the air with an unspeakable horror. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to flee, to escape the clutches of this monstrous entity. Yet, another part of me whispered that it was futile, that I would succumb to its power regardless of my actions.
The figure's voice was like a cold breeze on a winter's night, sending shivers down my spine. "Einar... Ston... brol," it called out, its words dripping with malevolence. As it spoke, I felt my very soul being drained of its life force.
The four spirits, who had been watching with interest, attempted to intervene. However, the figure merely snapped its fingers, and they vanished into thin air. I was left alone, facing this monstrous entity.
The figure's words cut through me like a knife. "The spirits have forsaken you and plan to put a curse on you... And even though... they claim you have killed their servant... In reality, it is my servant which you have stolen."
The figure's long, bony finger pointed at me, and I felt a surge of fear course through my veins. "For stealing my servant, you are cursed to be a vessel of shadows... You who now walk and speak with the dead will never find true salvation... From this moment, you are neither alive nor dead, human nor monster, but a whisperer of the dead, a vessel of darkness."
As the figure began to fade away, its laughter echoed through the desolate landscape, sending chills down my spine. The environment around me began to shift and change, like the pages of a book turning. The scene transformed into a graveyard, complete with dark clouds, fog, and a thick mist that shrouded everything.
I later found myself waking up to the faces of two elves, who were tending to my wounds. As soon as they saw I was awake, one of them rushed out to summon the Elf king and princess.
"You're finally awake, Einar. I'm so glad," one of the elves said, a look of relief etched on their face.
"Thank you," I replied, my voice weak but grateful.
Zuria, the elf princess, was overjoyed to see me recover, and the king, though silent, seemed to share her sentiment. After the initial commotion had died down, the king ordered everyone to leave the room.
It was then that the Elf king did something that took me by surprise. He got down on his knees and thanked me for saving his kingdom, and more importantly, his beloved granddaughter. His eyes welled up with tears as he expressed his gratitude.
After the king had left, I was left to rest and recover. As I lay there, I noticed a strange marking on my wrist. It was ring-shaped and adorned with ancient writings that I couldn't decipher.
As I drifted off to sleep, I heard a voice call out to me. "Hello there, boy..." I turned to see who it was, and my blood ran cold. The witch, or rather, her ghost, stood beside my bedside, a cheerful grin spreading across her face.
"Didn't... didn't I kill you?" I asked, my voice shaking with fear.
The witch's ghost burst into a fit of giggles, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Of course you did. What you see now is a ghost.
Welcome to the world of shadows and the undead."