Zen stared, dumbfounded.
A man stood in front of him, his back turned, cloaked in shifting black mist. His stance was relaxed—one hand in his pocket, the other gripping a dagger that pulsed with a purplish-black glow. Something about that dagger felt... familiar.
Where have I seen that before?
HUMAN DO YOU CHALLENGE ME? I MUST KILL YOU AND THEN I WILL KILL THE KID
Can I get a break... I can't even move, what fun that'd be
The Grim let out a roar, shaking the ground beneath them. A challenge. A demand for battle.
But the man didn't flinch. Instead, he spoke—his voice deep, commanding, like a lion claiming its territory.
I, The Son Of Dark Mist
Shadows That Follow My Fist
Voices Drift As Silence Grows
Astral Projection: Shifting Shadows
Zen blinked. Poetry? Really?
Then—it began.
The man transformed—his body stretching, expanding, until he was three times his original size. The black mist consumed him, twisting and morphing until he became a dense, living shadow.
And with a single burst, the world went dark.
The sky, the trees, the ground—all swallowed by an abyss of pure black. The only thing Zen could see was chalk-white outlines—the shapes of trees, rocks, and the Grim as if the world had turned into a cave painting.
But the man? He had vanished. No outline. No form. Just shadow.
Zen swallowed hard. His breath came in short gasps.
"Astral Projection...? Shadow...? What the f*ck is this?! Where the hell am I?!"
Then, out of nowhere, a single white line appeared in the darkness—thin, precise, floating midair.
It moved.
First, a horizontal slash.
Then, a vertical stroke to the right.
A diagonal cut toward the sky.
Zen's breath hitched.
What… am I looking at?
More lines materialized, dancing through the void. One slashed straight through the Grim's outline. Then another. And another. The strokes multiplied, carving through the monster's form as if someone was sketching reality itself—each cut shaping its doom.
The Grim screamed. A horrible, guttural wail that made Zen's chest tighten. The earth trembled beneath him, cracks forming as if the very land itself feared what was happening.
Zen could barely process it.
"What kind of monster fights like this?"
The scream vanished.
Silence took over, heavy and absolute.
Then—in an instant—the world snapped back to color. The eerie darkness lifted, replaced by the familiar hues of the forest. The wind howled through the trees, carrying the last echoes of the battle. The ground still trembled slightly from the aftermath. It must have been just a moment but felt like an eternity to Zen.
Zen gulped, his heartbeat still racing.
And then, the man turned towards him.
The black cloak still fluttered from the lingering force of his power, his layered clothes giving him an almost regal aura. His face was hidden behind a sleek black mask, its surface smooth and unyielding.
Zen squinted.
What is this guy's obsession with black?
A shiver ran down his spine. The fight was over, but something about the man's presence made Zen uneasy. What if he was next? What if he just took out the Grim for fun and decided to finish off the weakling next?
Zen tensed.
The man took a step forward.
Zen braced himself.
Then, in a deep, almost amused voice, the man simply said—
"Saved your ass."
Before Zen could even react, a gloved hand ruffled his hair like he was some kid who just tripped on the street.
"Who are you?" Zen questioned
"Well," the man said
"I am someone who is so ahead of time that my flashbacks are your future," he said.
Zen stood there, frozen, his brain short-circuiting, and he had a blank face.
What the f*ck?
Without another word, the man casually flipped his dagger into the air—and as it reached its peak—
Poof.
He was gone.
Zen blinked. Then blinked again.
He looked up at the empty sky and then back at where the man had stood just seconds before.
"...What the hell just happened?"
For a long moment, he just stood there, hands on his hips, processing the sheer weirdness of it all.
Then, with a sigh, he shook his head.
"What a weird guy."
Zen took a deep breath and looked around, trying to make sense of whatever the hell had just happened. His eyes landed on the remains of the Grim. Or rather—what was left of it.
A puddle of thick, black goo spread across the forest floor, reeking of rotting wood. It had the consistency of honey, except way more disgusting.
And right in the center of that mess lay a huge obsidian-like stone.
The Core.
Zen swallowed.
This thing is supposed to be worth a fortune?
It definitely looked important—the way it pulsed with a dark mist, the same kind that surrounded that weird guy from before.
Zen hesitated before stepping closer, staring at the goo with the kind of horror reserved for stepping in something wet while wearing socks.
With a deep sigh and a heavy heart for his only good pair of clothes, he trudged forward.
The moment his fingers brushed against the Core, he expected it to be dense, maybe even unbearably heavy.
Instead—
Huh?
It was light.
Like… feather-light.
Zen lifted it effortlessly, staring at it in confusion. How was this thing even valuable? It looked important, sure, but it felt so fragile that he was pretty sure if he threw it hard enough, it would just shatter like cheap glass.
For a brief, terrifying second—his intrusive thoughts kicked in.
What if I just… dropped it?
What would happen? Would it explode? Would something come out of it?
His grip tightened.
Nope. Bad idea.
Shaking his head to rid himself of that very stupid temptation, Zen sighed and started his journey home.
The forest was bathed in warm orange hues as the sun dipped lower. Shadows stretched long across the ground, and the air turned crisp.
He glanced at the sky.
If he didn't hurry, he'd be stuck in the woods at night.
And worse—his father would be pissed.
Zen groaned.
"Great. Escaped death just to die at home."
With the Core tucked under his arm, he picked up the pace.
Zen ran, his heart pounding against his ribs. No powers. No special abilities. Just pure, dumb luck and stubborn determination had gotten him through the hunt.
But he had done it.
He had the Core.
A grin stretched across his face as he clutched the obsidian-like stone to his chest.
This is it. This is our way out.
With a Core this size, the town wouldn't just survive—they would thrive. No more scraping by. No more fear. They could finally be free.
The thought carried him all the way home.
As he approached his house, his father sat under the old tree out front, the dim glow of a lantern swaying above him. Shadows flickered across his tired face.
Zen didn't slow down.
"Father, I'm back!" he called out, grinning ear to ear.
His father looked up. Relief washed over him for a split second—before he saw the Core.
Zen, still breathless from running, lifted it up proudly. "Look what I got us!"
The change in his father was instant. His face drained of all color. His body stiffened, and in that moment, he looked like he had aged ten years.
Fear.
Pure, undiluted fear.
Zen barely had time to register it before—
WHACK.
A sharp crack echoed through the night.
Pain exploded across Zen's face as his father's hand met his cheek with brutal force.
The world tilted. His ears rang. Zen hit the ground.
The Core rolled from his grasp, landing in the dirt.
For a moment, there was silence.
The distant chatter of people walking home from work. The creak of the lantern swaying in the night breeze.
And the heavy, shaking breath of his father.
Zen blinked, stunned.