The storm howled like a beast unleashed, its winds tearing through the heavens and twisting into a massive vortex that consumed the sky. Black lightning slashed through the clouds, jagged and venomous, each strike tearing the air apart with a deafening roar. The thunder that followed didn't just echo—it crashed, relentless and brutal, shaking the plateau beneath Karan's feet.

The air reeked of sulfur, heavy and suffocating, clinging to his lungs like smoke. Every breath was a struggle. Every rumble of thunder sent shivers through the ground, as if the earth itself recoiled in fear.

At the plateau's center stood the altar, a black and ancient monolith that seemed to defy the storm around it. Twelve stone pillars encircled it, their surfaces engraved with twisted runes that shimmered faint crimson, shifting like restless shadows in the flickering light.

But it was the blade that held Karan's attention.

It stood at the altar's center, fractured and silent, its surface cracked and pulsing with a faint red glow. The glow felt alive, deliberate, pressing against his chest with an unrelenting weight. It wasn't just a weapon—it was something more. Something waiting. His hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms. The fire inside him burned hotter with every step closer.

The runic chains clinked against the stone as they dragged him forward. Each scrape sent a sharp, grating echo through the storm, but it wasn't just the sound that twisted his gut—it was the whispers.

Low and fragmented, the whispers seemed to rise from the very air around him, crawling into his thoughts. He tried to block them out, but they pulled at the edges of his mind, relentless.

He lifted his gaze to the blade again, and the thought came unbidden: Do they really believe this will save them? Their prayers, their chants—will it close the Rift? Or is this just another lie? Another sacrifice to feed their fear?

Karan's chest tightened as his eyes swept over the figures kneeling around the altar. Faces he had known his entire life, faces that had smiled at him, taught him, carried him when he was small. Now, those same faces stared at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes.

And then, there was her.

His mother stood apart from the others, her head bowed low, her shoulders stiff. Her hands hung at her sides, trembling faintly, clenching and unclenching. For a moment, one hand twitched, as if she wanted to reach for him—but then she stopped, curling her fingers into a fist.

"For this?" Karan's voice broke through the chanting, raw and sharp. "For this lie?"

She flinched.

"You're throwing me away?" His voice rose, cracking under the weight of his fury. "I'm your son! How can you—how could you do this?"

Her nails dug into her palms, and for a moment, she said nothing. When she finally spoke, her voice was so quiet he almost didn't hear it.

"Karan… we don't have a choice."

"No choice?" He froze. The words hit him like a blow, the fire in his chest sputtering as something cold and hollow took its place. He searched her face for something—hesitation, guilt, regret—but there was nothing. Just the trembling of her fists and the rain falling between them.

And it wasn't enough.

"Then you should all be ready to pay the price." His voice dropped to a growl, low and venomous. She flinched again, but this time, he didn't care.

The elder stepped forward, his ceremonial dagger glinting in the crimson light. He moved slowly, deliberately, ignoring Karan's words.

The blade sank into Karan's palm, and pain flared white-hot, shooting up his arm. Blood dripped from the wound, thick and slow, pooling along the etched grooves of the altar. The runes drank it greedily, their glow intensifying until the entire altar blazed with crimson light.

The air twisted, warped, as though the fabric of reality itself was unraveling.

And then it broke.

A crack split the altar with a thunderous roar, black mist spilling out like a flood. The mist crawled along the stone like living tendrils, hissing where it touched, leaving scorched trails in its wake. From deep within the Rift came a sound—low, sharp, and broken. It wasn't a voice. It wasn't a scream. It was a thousand curses whispered in a language too old to name.

And then, the first creature emerged.

Its body was slick and black, its scales glistening like oil under the flickering light. Bone spikes jutted from its joints, each one as sharp as a blade. Three crimson eyes glared at Karan, burning with predatory hunger. It opened its maw, jagged teeth gleaming as it unleashed a piercing scream.

The sound struck Karan like a blow, burying itself deep in his skull. He fell to his knees, blood from his palm pooling on the rain-slick stone.

But his eyes never left the blade.

The Chaos Blade glowed brighter now, its red light pulsing like a heartbeat. And then, it spoke.

"You call for me, mortal." The voice was low and cold, a rumble that resonated in his chest more than his ears. "But are you truly prepared to pay the price?"

Karan gritted his teeth, his body trembling as he tore himself free of the chains and lunged forward. His hand closed around the blade's hilt.

The moment his fingers touched it, power surged into him, cold and searing all at once. Black veins spread across his skin, burning like fire as his scream tore through the storm. His eyes turned pitch-black, faint crimson lights flickering in their depths.

The rage inside him exploded. With a roar, Karan raised the Chaos Blade high and brought it down in a sweeping arc. A torrent of black energy erupted from the blade, tearing through the creatures, the mist, the very earth beneath him. The ground cracked, deep and endless, as the Rift trembled under his strike.

But the power clawed at him too, dragging at his body and mind, threatening to consume him.

And then, Nytheron appeared.

An ethereal blue silhouette rose from the Chaos Blade, coiling above him like a serpent of storms. Its eyes glowed with cold, piercing light, and its voice was sharp and unyielding.

"I am Nytheron, the will of Chaos." The words were like thunder. "Prove your worth, or be devoured."

Karan gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stand. His legs shook, but his grip on the blade never faltered.

"No matter the cost," he whispered, his voice trembling but resolute, "I will master this power."