Arcia awoke to a chill in the air, her vision greeted by a desolate, grim beach. The once serene and picturesque scenery had turned into a landscape of despair. Dark clouds loomed overhead, casting oppressive shadows that seemed to reflect her own turbulent psyche. The waves lapped against the shore in a slow, menacing rhythm, their once calming sound now eerie.
Arcia sat up, her heart heavy. The world saw was exactly how she imagined the predatory island, how unfortunate she grumbled, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face. Her inside voice, once confident, now felt shaken by the trials they had endured. She never imagined the mist, the ship, or the trials that had come before even reaching the island. For a moment, she acknowledged Bram's role in their survival. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't have made it this far.
She turned her gaze, spotting Bram, Orden, and Solveig about ten meters ahead, still unconscious. Relief washed over her at the sight of their still forms, but it was fleeting. The surrounding beach felt wrong, they had come uncomfortably close to death before even stepping foot on the island so the island itself must be inexplicably more dangerous , atmosphere heavy with unspoken danger. Arcia began making her way toward them, her sharp eyes scanning the surroundings for any threats.
Arcia's breath hitched as bubbles starting to rise furiously , humanoid creatures rose from the shallow shore , creatures which looked atmost like sea horses emerged fully from the bubbling surf. Their translucent bodies shimmered with an eerie, unnatural glow, revealing their internal organs pulsing and shifting beneath gelatinous flesh. Their webbed feet slapped against the wet sand as they advanced, boneless arms flailing wildly, each movement a grotesque parody of humanity.
One of the creatures let out a high-pitched screech, and the others followed suit. Before Arcia could process what was happening, sharp jets of water shot toward her, slicing through the air like liquid daggers. She threw herself to the side, the projectiles narrowly missing her and slicing deep grooves into the sand where she had just stood.
The monsters moved with an unsettling, jerky rhythm, their arms snapping like whips as they continued to hurl their aquatic assaults. Arcia gritted her teeth, her mind racing. She couldn't afford to be on the defensive. A single mistake could mean death—not just for her, but for her still-unconscious companions.
" The best defense is a powerful offence" muttered arcia, Steeling herself, she extended her hand. "Cursed Blaze!" Her voice was firm, commanding. Twin fireballs erupted from her palms, their heat scorching the air around her. She hurled the first at the nearest monster, watching as it exploded into a searing inferno. The creature's translucent body bubbled and melted, its screech cutting off abruptly as it collapsed into the surf.
The second fireball hit another creature, its gelatinous body blistering and warping from the intense heat. It shrieked in pain, stumbling back into the shallows but refusing to fall.
Arcia didn't wait to see the outcome. She sprinted toward Bram, Solveig, and Orden, her feet digging into the wet sand as she moved with practiced agility. A flurry of water projectiles rained down behind her, narrowly missing as she weaved through their chaotic assault. She slid to a stop beside her companions, immediately raising her hands again.
"Cursed Wall!" she shouted.
A faintly glowing barrier shimmered into existence, encasing her and the unconscious group. The sea horse monsters screeched in frustration, their attacks splashing harmlessly against the ghostly shield.
Arcia glanced over her shoulder, her chest heaving. The barrier wouldn't hold forever. She clenched her fists, her gaze hardening. These creatures were nothing compared to what she'd endured in the past. She would not falter.
Turning back to her enemies, she extended her hand once more. "Cursed Gale!"
Her dagger tattoo flared to life, the magical artifact responding to her call. Wind coalesced around her blade, its edges glowing with a faint green light as it hummed with lethal energy. With a practiced motion, she hurled the weapon.
The dagger spun through the air like a blur, propelled by the cutting winds. The first monster had no chance—the blade sliced cleanly through its neck, severing its head in an instant. The second fell just as swiftly, its body collapsing into the surf with a muted splash.
The remaining creatures shrieked in panic, attempting to retreat, but the blade pursued them with relentless precision. One by one, their gelatinous forms were torn apart until the final monster crumpled into the waves, its glow fading as it dissolved into the churning sea.
Arcia caught the blade as it returned to her hand, her chest heaving with exhaustion. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the rhythmic crash of the waves. She lowered her weapon, her expression blank as she surveyed the carnage.
"Hopefully no other monsters attack me," she murmured, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. The faint shimmer of her dagger tattoo dimmed, its magic spent for the day. She cast a wary glance at her unconscious companions, her relief tempered by the knowledge of how close they had come to death. The precision she showed was no fluke, this was practiced countless times for the exact purpose of killing. But it had never been out of desire. She had only learned the cruelty of life four years ago—when her house, her family, and everything she held dear was ripped away.
The lands of the Ravencroft Duchy were hailed as one of the most beautiful places in the known world. Its serene waterfalls tumbled down emerald cliffs, feeding rivers that wound through vibrant meadows bursting with wildflowers. The air was crisp, filled with the melodies of birds and the hum of nature. Beneath this idyllic surface lay veins of priceless gems, the largest mines in the continent hidden within the Ravencroft mountains.
This duchy was not only rich in resources but steeped in history. It was founded by one of the first eleven pioneers, legendary figures who had shaped the world's order. Their legacy had granted the Ravencroft family immense respect and power.
But no amount of beauty or legacy could shield Arcia Ravencroft from the horrors to come.
Arcia's earliest memory of true joy was her twelfth birthday. The grand hall was radiant, its chandeliers casting a golden glow over the polished floors and ornate decorations. Guests from across the duchy attended, their fine silks and jewels dazzling under the light. As Arcia descended the grand staircase in her sapphire gown, she was the picture of elegance.
At the base of the stairs, her parents waited, pride shining in their eyes.
"I will end any boy who dares to dance with my daughter," growled Morsten Ravencroft, his deep voice carrying a quiet menace. His imposing frame and cold gaze made it clear that he wasn't joking.
"Let her enjoy her party, Morsten," her mother chided softly. She was a vision, her brown hair cascading in soft waves, her ocean-blue eyes as radiant as her daughter's. Despite her simple origins as a baron's daughter, she carried herself with a grace that matched her husband's nobility.
Their love story was whispered about with admiration. Morsten, a young duke, had stumbled upon her bathing in a secluded spring during a hunting trip. Her beauty had struck him so profoundly that he pursued her despite her lower station. Their bond, forged in defiance of societal norms, was unbreakable. Their love for each other was only rivaled by their love for their daughter.
But this joy was fleeting. A month later, Arcia's mother fell gravely ill. What began as a minor fever turned into something far worse. Day by day, her vitality waned. The duchy's finest doctors were summoned, yet none could find a cure. Her father spent fortunes in vain, desperately seeking any solution.
Arcia watched helplessly as her mother's once-radiant form grew frail. Her voice, once warm and full of life, became a whisper. One cold night, her mother held Arcia's hand with trembling fingers, her lips forming a weak smile.
"You are my brightest jewel, Arcia," she said softly, before closing her eyes for the last time.
Her death shattered Morsten. The once-proud duke descended into a pit of despair. He locked himself away, neglecting his duties and his daughter. The lands began to fall into disrepair, the people whispered of his failure, and Arcia found herself growing up alone.
Months later, a strange man visited the estate. Cloaked in shadows and exuding an unsettling aura, he requested a private meeting with Morsten. Afterward, her father emerged transformed. He seemed rejuvenated, his energy and confidence restored. Yet there was something off about him—his eyes held a manic glint, and he drank more heavily than ever.
Then came the night Arcia could never forget.
She woke to find herself bound, her wrists tied tightly with coarse rope. She was shoved into a dark corner of a chamber she didn't recognize. The walls were painted with blood, strange symbols etched into the stone. In the center of the room lay her mother's lifeless body, surrounded by candles.
The mysterious man stood over her, chanting in a guttural, unearthly language. Her father knelt beside him, his wrists slit, blood dripping into the sigils on the floor. But instead of pain, his face was alight with joy.
"Soon," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "Soon, my love."
Arcia watched in horror as her mother's body twitched, then convulsed violently. Her mouth opened in a scream that seemed to pierce the air itself. Slowly, impossibly, her eyes opened. They were alive. Radiant.
"M-Mother?" Arcia whispered, her voice trembling with hope despite her terror.
Her father stepped forward, tears streaming down his face. "Darling, it's you!"
He moved to embrace the revived corpse. But as his arms wrapped around her, the creature drove its hand through his chest. Blood sprayed across the room as her father gasped, his expression shifting from joy to agony.
The corpse pulled his heart from his chest and devoured it in one savage bite.
Arcia's breath caught in her throat. She wanted to scream, but the sound wouldn't come.
The creature turned toward her, its face a twisted mockery of her mother's beauty. Its arms stretched out, as if asking for a hug.
Before it could reach her, a blade of light severed its outstretched arm.
A man burst into the room, short in stature but exuding an aura of command. He wore the mark of a royal pioneer, his dark hair slicked back, and his hands gripped a long sword and dagger.
"Get back!" he shouted, his blade glowing as he struck at the creature again, driving it away from Arcia.
Behind him, a towering woman with fiery red hair entered, her presence like a storm. She raised her arm, and a massive hammer of light materialized in her hand. With a battle cry, she brought it crashing down on the creature, forcing it back further.
"Hold it off!" a third figure called out. He was an elderly man with white hair, his hands raised as he summoned a bow of pure energy. Lightning crackled around him, coalescing into a single, blinding arrow.
The creature roared, its body convulsing as it fought back with unnatural strength. It lunged at the woman, its muscles tearing and bleeding as it pushed against the hammer of light. The man with the swords moved like a blur, slicing at its limbs with precision, but the creature's regeneration was unnerving.
"Now!" the elderly man shouted.
He released the arrow, and it struck the creature in the chest. The force of the impact lit up the room, the lightning charring its flesh and reducing it to ash.
Arcia sat frozen, her wide eyes taking in every horrifying detail.
When it was over, the silence was deafening.
The Ravencroft family was branded as devil worshippers. Their lands were seized, their name disgraced. Arcia, now a child with nothing, the world , accompanied by her loyal knight orden who was the only knight who didn't flee the Dutchy, Luckily she would soon gained a master, the red haired pioneer who helped killed the devil who taught her how to survive, how to kill.
As the hallucination shattered, Arcia's chest heaved. Her dagger had saved her, breaking the illusion when it summoned the cursed gale—a power she couldn't have used twice within a day.
Rage burned within her. She forced herself awake, her willpower unmatched. Whatever had made her relive that nightmare would pay.
The air around her rippled, the temperature dropping as a faint, ghostly glow began to form in her palm. The dagger materialized slowly, its blade glinting with an ominous light as the magic coalesced. Just when arcia was about to give into her anger bram hissed " Stop arcia, i have a better plan"