The night started , Nero wore his black robe and tied his polished daggers to his back and then he puts on his mask.He was determined to start his vengeance with the false priest of Bathsheba .
It was just the beginning of his wild path,He was sure to change the night into something that wasn't foreseen.
Nero reaches the temple where Arcadius resided and sneaks past the other robed men into the temple ,All these years he waited for the perfect moment to strike ,His trust on his blades and years of his sleepless night brought the courage in him to face off against the shadows.
Arcadius stood at the altar, wrapped in his elaborate obsidian cloak, his countenance a mask of confidence.
"Come forth, spirit of vengeance," he proclaimed for Nero's surprise, before he even knew Nero had entered. "Shall you dare face the darkness you once fled?"
Nero wasting no slim chances launched from the shadows, daggers ready, the ghost of the dead ones urging him onward. The clash was fierce, echoing through the desolate temple, a dance of life and death. Arcadius unleashed waves of dark magic, but they were no match for the raw rage that fueled Nero. He dodged and struck, a symphony of steel against despair.
With each slash, dark memories surfaced, "You've made human sacrifices, casted dark spells, planted false hope and claimed dominion over the people of this land",Nero says in a frustrated tone."This ends now", says Nero.
The power of vengeance surged through him, focusing into a single resolve.
Parrying a fierce blow, Nero pressed, lunging forward and finally meeting Arcadius with a dagger drawn at his throat, the glow of magic flickering out of the priest's hand. "You took everything from this land," he hissed, breath unsteady.
"Did I?" Arcadius sneered, blood trickling down his ragged robe. "Or did you give it willingly to the shadows? You were always weak, hidden beneath these people."
Weakness, he thought. As he plunged the dagger deep into the priest's heart, a shudder traversed the altar, and heat surged through him. The darkness stirred, clutching at the edges of his consciousness, but he held firm. "I am stronger than you know."
With a final growl, Nero withdrew the blade, severing the dark tendrils that had enshrouded him for too long. Arcadius crumbled to the ground, lifeblood pooling on the stone, the spell of torment lifting with his last breath.
As dawn broke over Bathsheba , bathed in blood, Nero stood alone amidst the ruins of the temple he had come to hate. The other robed men bore withness and saw the terror of a masked butcher near Arcadius dead site,before they could reach the masked assailant, Nero escapes.
The time for his browsing heart was over; vengeance had replaced despair, and he also had found the strength of his friends within himself.
He was no longer the timid boy born in Eden's commoners land , he was forged anew — not just as the Night Butcher, but as a guardian for those who suffered like he once did. And as he stepped back into the world, he knew only one truth: darkness could thrive, but so could his spirit, as long as he remembered.
The news of Arcadius death spread through the land of Bathsheba,along with his sinister plots . This man, once a beacon of hope in the town, had been revealed as one of the corrupted, a false prophet who had turned to the dark arts.
Some people believed his death was a new beginning to Bathsheba and some people blinded by his charm mourned.
At that day Nero became a shadow that danced in the night. His skills grew to be legendary, not just within the confines of Bathsheba , but in the whispers that carried through the lands., The tales of Arcadius the false priest of Bathsheba being hunted down and killed by the masked butcher spread like wildfire.
Nero's blade danced with the grace of an avenging angel, and his cunning was that of a creature born in darkness.
Days passed,A whisper here, a shadow there—the butcher in the night who snuffed out lives like candle flames. Those who served the false priest began to disappear under the cloak of darkness, taken by a force they could not comprehend. The rumours spread like wildfire; Also the townsfolk of other lands spoke of a wraith who wore a mask, slaughtering those who sacrificed integrity for the sake of power.
The cobblestone streets were quiet, the townsfolk having retreated into their homes when night falls , fearful of the malevolent presence that had claimed their sanctum. The air was thick with the stench of fear and despair.
The name "The Masked Butcher" began to resonate with fear among the corrupt clergy.Nero became a symbol to those who knew the taste of wickedness, the bridges of blood woven in shadows forming a tapestry of fear.
He had become the very thing he had feared, a creature of the night, born of the same darkness that had claimed his friends.