Chapter 1: Born from Death
Blood and ash. That was the only smell left in New Shire, a city that had once laughed, thrived, and danced under the sun. Now it was a broken skeleton, its bones jutting skyward like a plea to gods who had long abandoned this world. The bitter stench of decay hung in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of rust, a grim symphony of death.
The sun rose over the ruins, its golden light slicing through the dense, ashen clouds like a blade. It cast a sickly glow on the skeletal remains of a city that had once thrived with life. The faint sound of crumbling debris broke the stillness. This was not a city anymore; it was a graveyard, a monument to a world that had turned its back on humanity.
Among the rubble, I scavenged with trembling hands. My skeletal frame moved with grim determination, though every muscle screamed in protest. My ashen skin clung tightly to my bones, stretched thin over ribs that jutted out like broken branches. Matted black hair clung to my gaunt face, streaked with grease and dirt. My hands, cracked and bleeding, sifted through the rusted dumpster with desperate urgency. Finally, I found my prize: dried, moldy bread crumbs. My lips parted, jagged teeth aching with anticipation as saliva pooled in my mouth. Shaking hands brought the scraps to my lips, and I devoured them like a starving animal, savoring every wretched bite as though it were a king's feast.
This was survival, if one could call it that. The dump was the last refuge for those forgotten by the Dominion, the fractured remnants of society that had risen from the ashes of the Fracture. Six months ago, the world had torn itself apart. In the chaos that followed, the Dominion had emerged, led by a figure whispered to be more god than man. The new order, a society built solely on power and wealth, left no room for the weak. Those at the bottom were slaves, crushed under the boots of the strong. But even they had a place, a purpose. I did not. I was an anomaly, not owned, not protected, not wanted. A ghost drifting through a world that refused to acknowledge my existence.
I paused for a moment, my hands hovering over the rubble. The air here felt heavier, charged with something I couldn't name. A shiver ran down my spine, but I pushed the thought aside. Survival didn't allow for distractions.
As I crouched low behind the dumpster, gnawing on the last of the crumbs, a sound cut through the silence. A shrill, guttural shriek. My body tensed instinctively. Goblins. Their voices echoed through the desolate streets, shrill and gleeful. Then came a scream, high-pitched, frantic, and unmistakably human. My muscles froze, my breath catching in my throat. Run, my instincts screamed. Run and don't look back. But something held me there, rooted to the spot. Fear? No. That was an old, forgotten luxury. This was something darker. A sick, morbid curiosity.
Memories clawed their way to the surface, memories I had buried so deep they felt like fragments of someone else's life. My mother's voice, trembling with desperation, calling my name. The helpless cries of my sister as she was dragged into the darkness. My father's broken body crumpled on the floor. Each memory struck like a hammer, driving fresh cracks into my fragile psyche. My nails, long and jagged, dug into my palms as I forced myself to crawl over the rubble. I needed to see, needed to know.
Peering over a jagged slab of concrete, I saw them. Three goblins, their hunched forms bouncing with manic energy. Their sickly green skin gleamed in the pale sunlight as they cackled and screeched, their crude weapons glinting ominously. At their center loomed a hobgoblin, its grotesque form towering over the others. Thick cords of muscle and fat rippled beneath its scarred skin, and it held a crude spear in one hand, its pointed tip stained dark with dried blood.
The source of the scream was a woman, her back pressed against a crumbling wall. Her face, streaked with tears and grime, was a mask of terror. "Please," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the goblins' shrieks. "Someone, help me!" Her cry grew louder, more frantic, as the hobgoblin closed in, its snarling mouth twisted into a grotesque grin. "Please! Someone!"
My body trembled. Not with fear, but with anger. A cold, calculated anger that burned deep within my hollow chest. I had seen this scene before. Too many times. I knew how it would end.
The woman flailed as the hobgoblin's massive hand closed around her head. Her screams rose to a fever pitch, only to be silenced with a sickening crunch as her skull met the jagged wall behind her. Blood spattered across the concrete, a crimson smear that glistened in the sunlight. The goblins' laughter grew louder as the hobgoblin dragged her limp body away, leaving a trail of red across the cracked pavement.
I crawled forward, drawn to the blood like a moth to a flame. I pressed my palm into the warm, sticky puddle, feeling its viscous texture against my skin. For a moment, I was transfixed, staring at my reflection in the crimson pool. A hollow face stared back at me, its eyes empty and unrecognizable. I wasn't sure if it was the blood or my own reflection that unsettled me more.
A strange sensation washed over me then, an eerie calm that whispered of inevitability. What did it matter? This world was built on blood and screams. My own life had long since become a part of that brutal symphony.
I stumbled back to my shelter, a precarious cave formed by the collapsed ruins. Inside, I collapsed onto my makeshift bed, a thin, tattered blanket spread over cold stone. The air was suffocating, thick with dust and decay. I lay still, my mind replaying the scene I had just witnessed. It wasn't the woman's death that haunted me. It was the familiarity of it all. Her blood-streaked face blurred with the faces of my family, the screams blending into a chorus of memories that I couldn't escape. My nails clawed at my face, drawing fresh lines of blood as I tried in vain to silence the voices in my head.
Sleep came eventually, but it brought no peace. The distant howls of dire wolves jolted me awake. Panic gripped me as I scrambled out of the cave. In the distance, five wolves stood silhouetted against the horizon, their glowing eyes locked onto me. Low growls rumbled in their throats, and in an instant, they began to charge.
Their growls rumbled like thunder, and I could feel the vibration in my chest. The stench of decay filled the air as they closed the distance, their glowing eyes burning holes into my soul. My frail legs carried me as far as they could, but it wasn't enough. I tripped over a jagged stone, my body crumpling to the ground. Blood poured from a gash on my forehead as I struggled to free my leg, pinned beneath a slab of concrete. The wolves were almost upon me when a sudden darkness engulfed them. Their bodies convulsed, twisting and breaking in grotesque ways. Bones snapped, flesh tore, and blood sprayed in every direction. In the chaos, my eyes fell upon a crystalline shard embedded in a crater. It pulsed with a dark, purple glow, calling to me.
Ignoring the pain, I clawed my way toward it. My bloodied fingers dug into the ground as I dragged myself forward. When I finally reached the shard, I grasped it with trembling hands. The sharp edges bit into my palms, but I didn't care. A translucent screen flickered before my eyes, its text glowing faintly against the darkness:
[Obtained Crypted Fragment of Death]
[Details: Death is no more. You become undead, never-ending, unable to ever die.]
[Accept: Y/N]
I stared at the words, my mind a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. This was my chance to rest, to finally end the torment. But something deeper stirred within me, something darker. A hunger. A desire to make the world pay for what it had done to me. My fingers moved almost of their own accord, pressing "Y."
As the darkness consumed me, a single thought lingered in my mind: if peace was forever out of my grasp… then something else would take its place.