On the far side of Zenora, away from the looming ship and Grak's hunt for Sol, another nightmare was unfolding. The mangled bodies of scavengers lay scattered, torn apart like rag dolls, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles. The air was thick with scent of death.
In the center of the carnage stood an old man, wearing a long black suit that looked absurdly clean against the blood-soaked ground. His polished black boots crunched over debris as he took slow, deliberate steps forward, his gaze locked on the man cowering in the dirt.
Zel, one of Zenora's self-proclaimed lords and the only one brazen enough to oppose Grak, had never felt this kind of fear before. He wasn't a fighter, not like Grak. He was clever, always using his sharp mind to manipulate others, to survive. A chameleon who could change his colors at will, sacrificing anyone necessary to stay on top. He had once been part of Grak's gang, but that was before he thought he could outsmart him. Zel had believed that, with the right push, Grak could be used, controlled and the entire island who be his.
But now, standing before this mysterious stranger who had torn apart his plans in the blink of an eye, Zel realized how wrong he had been.
Where did this man come from? What did he want?
Panic raced through his mind as the questions tumbled one after another. He had never seen anything like this - power, so raw and absolute. He had seen many horrors on this island, many killers - but this man was something far more dangerous.
The old man stopped, standing over Zel, his shadow looming like death itself. His eyes, cold and empty, bore into Zel's soul.
"Where is he?"
Zel blinked, his mind sluggish from the terror that gripped him. Who? Who is he taking about?
He stammered, struggling to respond. "Wh-What ? Who are you talking about?" His voice cracked, barely audible.
The old man's expression didn't change. His eyes narrowed, just slightly.
I'll only ask one more. Where is 'Grakasik'?
The name sent a cold spike of confusion through Zel's chest. Grakasik? What in the hell is that? The word was unfamiliar, but it stirred something deep in his mind.
Could he mean .... Grak?
Realization hit like a punch to the gut. Grak's true name... it has to be. This man knows Grak.
Zel's throat was dry. His hand trembled as he raised it, pointing feebly towards the distant hideout where Grak held court. "H-He's there....Grak....He's....there," he croaked, hoping-praying-that this would satisfy the stranger.
For a long moment, the old man's gaze followed Zel's pointing finger, as though confirming the direction with a slow, deliberate calculation. Then, his eyes returned to Zel, cold and pitiless.
"Thanks."
The words were simple, but the weight of them was like a death sentence.
Zel let out a shaky breath, his entire body trembling. I did it. I survived. Relief washed over him. The old man was after Grak, not him. Grak was about to face the storm, and for once, Zel had escape the crossfire.
He allowed himself a small , bitter smile. Grak's done for, and I'm still alive.
But just as he began to exhale, his breath caught in his throat. The old man's eyes had begun to glow and eerie, unnatural light, golden and shimmering. It flickered and grew brighter, radiating out from his pupils like molten gold.
Zel's heart seized in his chest. Wh-What is that?
Before he could react, a golden energy surged from the old man's hand, coiling and twisting around his arm like a living thing. The air crackled with its power as it solidified into the shape of a gleaming, razor-sharp blade, humming with deadly intent.
Zel's mouth went dry. Panic clawed at his throat. He had seen power before, but this... this was something else. Something otherworldly. His mind screamed in denial, grasping at anything, any explanation.
"You...you're one of them, aren't you?" Zel whispered, voice trembling. "You're ... one....one of them. The ones who....."
But the old man didn't let him finish.
In the blur of movement, faster than Zel's eyes could track, the golden blade swung downward. Zel didn't even feel the pain at first. All he felt was the sudden, terrifying stillness as his world split in half.
He looked down in disbelief. No...no, no, no---
But it was too late. The blade had cut him cleanly into two, and before he could take another breath, his body crumpled to the ground.
The old man stood over Zel's remains, watching impassively as the life drained from the once-ambitious lord. The golden glow in his eyes faded, replaced by the cold, detached stare he'd worn from the start. His blade dissolved into the air, the energy dissipating like smoke on the wind.
He turned, his focus shifting back to Grak's hideout. His voice, filled with an ominous finality, drifted across the wasteland.
"Grakasik...your past has finally caught up with you."
With that, the old man resumed his march, leaving behind nothing but death and broken bodies in his wake. Zenora, an island already teetering on the edge of chaos, was about to face something far worse.