The Predator's Smile
The tattooed man crouched on the broken arch, watching Ashen like a predator studying prey.
— You run well for a dead man.
His voice was calm, almost amused, but something in his tone sent a chill down Ashen's spine. He wasn't afraid. Unlike the others.
The Hunting Dogs stopped at the sound of his voice, suddenly retreating. Their animalistic rage faded, replaced by a deeper fear.
Who was this man?
Ashen didn't answer. His body was tense, ready to strike. Yet he knew something was wrong.
This stranger didn't see him as a threat.
The man sighed and straightened. He lifted his hand, and with a golden flash, an Essence Mark appeared on his palm. Unlike Ashen's, fractured and incomplete, this one was perfect, carved with divine precision.
— You really don't remember anything, do you?
His gaze locked onto Ashen's, studying his reaction. He was testing something.
— Who are you? Ashen growled.
The man smiled.
— Me? I'm the one who can give you an answer. Just one. But every answer has a price, and this one… is higher than you think.
A shiver ran through Ashen. He could smell the lie in the man's voice, yet there was also a truth he couldn't ignore.
The man snapped his fingers.
The ground beneath Ashen collapsed.
He fell.
Into the void.
Into the abyss of Vaal'Rin.
And the Executioner's voice echoed in the air.
— Survive, Ashen Valdris. Prove to me you deserve the truth.