"Die..." a powerful voice rang out.The figure of Lord Malkor, the man known as the "Demon King of Oakhaven", stood in the middle of a sea of blood, with eyes as red as embers, teeth as sharp as a blade, his face disfigured by countless Deep scars, like the scratches of a wild animal. His skin was gray, almost rotten, his hair was long, black, and tangled like the roots of an ancient tree.
Lord Malkor raised his blood-stained sword high, with a horrifying cruelty, enjoying the pain of his enemy, laughing happily, his savage laughter echoing in the space. Blood splattered on his face, accentuating the ultimate ferocity and brutality.
Lord Malkor turned his eyes to Elias, his voice hoarse, full of contempt:
"Weak! You are just a puppet, Elias! Enjoy the joy of killing, as I taught you!"
He swung the sword, a cold murderous aura emitted, as if it wanted to tear Elias apart on the spot.
"Father... Please stop..." he uttered, his voice choking.
Elias struggled in his dream, trying to fight back but in vain. He found himself helpless, caught in a whirlwind of brutality, his hands stained with blood, unable to stop. He screamed, but his screams were drowned out by the other victims' desperate cries for help.
Elias woke up with a start, cold sweat drenching the back of his shirt.
"Damned!" he silently cursed.
Every strand of hair seemed frozen with fear. His breathing was rapid and heaving in his chest, as if he had just run a life-and-death race. The image of the battlefield still haunts him to this day, the cracked land, tinged with crimson blood, corpses lying around, deformed bodies, covered in blood, under the cold moonlight, creating a scene of hell on earth.
"No… no… don't…" he whispered, trying to banish the horrifying images.
The strong smell of blood, mixed with the smell of wet earth and burning fire smoke, still haunted his sense of smell, even though he knew it was just a nightmare. But these are not ordinary dreams.
"They… they're so scary real…" He groaned.
Elias felt like he was drowning in a sea of blood, his hands were stained red with guilt, he felt the weight of each sword, each drop of hot blood splattered on his face, heard the pitiful screams beside him ears, the sound of broken bones, the sound of clashing weapons, all were clear.
"This is…?" he whispered, a cold fear seeping into every cell in his body.
The flickering light of the oil lamp on the table was not enough to dispel the darkness that was covering his mind. He knew that nightmares weren't just nightmares anymore. It is becoming a reality. A horrifying reality, full of blood and death - always present in those horrifying dreams, like a haunting ghost, whispering ghostly curses.
He gasped, trying to dispel the horrible images by clutching his head tightly, his nails digging into his skin, leaving scratches.
"You have to be calm… you have to be really calm…" he told himself, but his voice was trembling miserably.
The flickering light of the oil lamp on the table was not enough to dispel the darkness that was covering his mind. On the wall, shadowy ghosts kept flashing, as if mocking his fear.
"They are laughing at me…" he muttered.
Elias stood up, his legs shaking, walked to the ancient wooden box placed on the bookshelf, a cold feeling spread from the box to his whole body.
"What… is this?" he asked himself, his voice trembling.
This box, the only remaining relic of his mother, has always kept an incomprehensible mystery, a dark secret that he has never dared to touch, until tonight.
"I have to know… I have to know the truth…" he thought to himself, an uneasy feeling, a bad premonition, urged him to open it.
His hands trembled, as if he was touching something sacred but no less mysterious, Elias immediately opened the box.
Inside the wooden box, lying neatly on top of black velvet that has faded over time, is a book.
"A diary perhaps?" he exclaimed, his voice full of surprise.
Not parchment, not ordinary ink, but rough pages, turned brown by time, the words written in dark red liquid, like... frozen dried blood. again.
"Blood… this is blood…" he whispered.
The smell of old blood, dark and strong, wafted into his nose, making him frown in discomfort. This bloody smell, even if only in his subconscious, made him unable to forget, reminding him of the death, the death of the mother he had never met.
At that moment...
He remembered the words of the village elders that on the night he was born, a pack of ferocious wolves attacked his house. His mother, with the weak strength of a woman about to give birth, fought to protect her baby from the clutches of a pack of hungry wolves. And his father, at that time, was still in love with his mistress and was forever addicted to the pinnacle of power, abandoning his wife and children.
The wolf's claws dug deep into the woman's skin, blood from the wounds on her body continuously flowed out, dyeing the whole house red. Before she breathed her last breath, in extreme pain, she still tried to breastfeed her child, which was the last sip of milk, the milk of sacred motherhood before the separation of yin and yang. That blood was his mother's blood, the words recording the curse and prophecy were written in her own blood before she died, she died in pain and anger. By a miracle of motherly love, he survived in his mother's arms, until the villagers rescued him, took him away, and raised him until today.
He was trembling...Bitter salty tears flowed from the corners of her eyes, cold and resentful, in the weak oil lamp light reflected dark, mysterious words, like whispers of the past, echoing from the underworld.
He slowly turned the pages of the book, the weak light of the oil lamp reflecting the dark, mysterious words.
"Is this… a prophecy?" He read each word, his voice increasingly trembling.
Those words told of a terrifying prophecy, written in an ancient, incomprehensible language. He read softly:
"When the blood moon dyes Oakhaven red, the devil's child will awaken, bringing destruction or salvation."
Elias read the prophecy over and over again, his heart pounding in his chest, each beat like an urging drum, signaling something was about to happen.
"Child of the devil… Could that be me?" he asked himself, his voice filled with panic.
Elias quickly closed the book because he didn't have the courage to face reality.
At the same time, outside, a bone-chilling wind blew, carrying with it the smell of mold and blood. Oakhaven was covered by a strange black mist, coming from nothingness, so thick that it obscured the moonlight. The pitiful screams and cries for help echoed in the night, making the air heavy and gloomy to the point of suffocation. A fear kept pouring in, as if waiting to devour a soul that was about to collapse, a bad premonition was creeping into every cell in Elias's body. A truth that he had never dared to think about was gradually being revealed.
The next morning, the bad news spread quickly throughout the Oakhaven area. Mr. Thomas, the respected old blacksmith, suddenly disappeared without a trace. On the forged anvil, there was only a silver ring, engraved with the image of a snake, grabbing a pearl, inside the pearl contained a drop of crimson blood.
"The ring..." Elias panicked and immediately realized it was the ring he had seen in his horrifying dream, the ring that Lord Malkor - His father often wore on his finger.
He looked down at his hands, his fingers with unusually sharp claws, he felt an electric current spreading enchantingly, that mysterious source of power surging extremely strongly, from deep within. A wild animal after a deep sleep, a forgotten child...
"Where does this power… come from?" he wondered, a mixture of curiosity and fear. A power he had never known, a power full of promise and danger.
He knows, nightmares are not just nightmares anymore. It is becoming a reality. The curse has awakened.