Achem's breath came in heavy bursts, his heartbeat thundering in his ears as he raced through the dense, shadowy forest. The scent of damp earth and blood mixed with the thick, oppressive air around him. Each step sent fallen leaves and twigs snapping underfoot, their noise only amplifying the rising tension. The summoner was near—he could feel it, the faint pull of dark magic that twisted the air. The eerie chant still echoed in the distance, a haunting melody that set a chill down his spine.
Behind him, chaos reigned. Garron and the mercenaries held their ground, battling the summoned beasts with ferocity. The clash of weapons and the warriors' battle cries filled the forest, but Achem knew the tide would not turn in their favor until the summoner was dealt with. Time was slipping away. He gritted his teeth, pushing forward despite the burn in his muscles, his mind racing with plans and calculations.
Then, a break in the trees—a clearing bathed in an unsettling blue glow.
Achem stopped dead in his tracks, crouching low behind a thick tree. The summoner stood in the center, cloaked in shadows, their hands raised high as tendrils of dark magic snaked around their fingers. They were smaller than expected, barely concealed in tattered robes that shimmered faintly with the outline of enchanted armor beneath. Their aura crackled with dark power.
Achem's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene. The figure was focused, one hand weaving intricate spells while the other grasped a small, gleaming object. A relic, perhaps? A tool of power?
He didn't rush. A direct attack would be suicidal against a spellcaster like this. Instead, he studied, searching for an opening. His instincts, sharpened by years of survival in hostile environments, told him to bait the summoner into a mistake. He needed them to overextend.
Without hesitation, Achem bent down and grabbed a loose stone from the forest floor. He hurled it to the far side of the clearing, the sharp crack of its impact against the underbrush enough to draw the summoner's attention. The figure flinched, head snapping toward the disturbance.
That was all Achem needed.
He exploded from his hiding place, his feet pounding the ground as he surged forward. Three strides, and his blade was already slicing toward the summoner's midsection. The strike was swift and precise, a deadly blow meant to end the fight before it even began.
But the summoner was faster.
With an almost unnatural fluidity, they twisted, their body bending in ways that defied reason. The blade hit something solid—a barrier of dark energy that crackled and shimmered with power. Sparks flew as Achem's sword ground against the magical shield, the force of impact shooting a jolt of pain through his arms.
The summoner smiled, their violet eyes glowing with a cold amusement. "Persistent," they said, their voice smooth like velvet. "But you are nothing without Rogar's strength."
Achem's mind froze for a split second, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. How did they know? He hadn't spoken of Rogar's origins—not even a hint of his true identity. His very existence in this world should have been a mystery. Yet, the summoner knew.
The doubt lingered, an unsettling whisper in his mind. Was his presence here truly unknown to everyone? Or had he already been marked?
The summoner seemed to sense his hesitation. Without warning, tendrils of shadow erupted from the earth, lashing out with a terrifying speed, snapping toward Achem like living creatures. He reacted instinctively, diving to the side and rolling across the ground just as the shadows struck with lethal force, gouging deep, smoldering furrows in the soil where he had stood.
He didn't hesitate. His body surged forward, his blade a blur as it cut toward the summoner's ribs. Again, the barrier flared to life, deflecting the blow with a violent explosion of black sparks.
The summoner chuckled, that same unsettling smile playing on their lips. "Stronger than I expected," they purred. "But strength alone will not save you."
Achem's jaw tightened. "I don't need saving," he growled, his voice sharp as steel. "I need answers."
The summoner's smile widened into something cruel. "Then come and take them."
Achem's rage boiled over. He lunged again, but this time, the summoner didn't attempt to defend. Instead, they raised both hands, their fingers weaving a dark incantation. The shadows around them coiled and twisted with unnatural life, and a chilling howl echoed from the depths of the forest. The temperature plummeted, sending a shiver down Achem's spine.
From the darkness emerged hulking, twisted figures—monstrous wolves, corrupted by the summoner's magic. Their eyes glowed a sickly green, their massive bodies rippling with dark power. These weren't the summoned beasts from before. These were predators, creatures of the forest now bound to the summoner's will.
One of the wolves lunged, teeth bared.
Achem barely had time to react. He threw himself sideways, the massive jaws snapping shut just inches from his face. He slashed with his sword, the blade cutting through the beast's flank, but the creature barely reacted. It twisted with unnatural speed, its movements jerky and distorted as it readied for another strike.
Achem knew he couldn't afford to fight both the summoner and these beasts. He had to end this quickly.
With a primal roar, Achem surged forward, ignoring the pain in his muscles, ignoring the panic rising in his chest. He wouldn't let the summoner escape. He couldn't. His sword came down in a deadly arc—but at the last moment, the summoner's wrist flicked, and a pulse of dark energy erupted outward, throwing Achem backward with a force that left him breathless.
His back slammed into a tree, pain exploding through his body. His sword skittered from his grasp, just beyond his reach.
The summoner advanced, their footsteps silent against the damp earth. They crouched beside Achem, their violet eyes boring into his. "You are not Rogar," they whispered, their voice soft and sinister. "And yet, you wear his face."
Achem struggled to rise, his breath ragged. "What… do you know?"
The summoner tilted their head, their gaze predatory. "More than you realize."
Before Achem could react, the summoner's hand pressed against his forehead. Achem's vision blurred as a torrent of memories flooded his mind—Rogar's memories. Battles, victories, betrayals. Faces he should not have known, but somehow did. The weight of a life not his own threatened to crush him.
He gasped, body convulsing as the images overwhelmed him. The summoner's voice was distant, almost mocking. "So much confusion. So much pain."
Achem fought to maintain control, forcing himself to break free from the flood of foreign memories. With a sudden surge of strength, he grabbed the summoner's wrist and twisted it violently, breaking their hold. They yelped, but Achem didn't hesitate. He shoved them away, staggering to his feet, chest heaving.
The summoner was still smiling, but it was a twisted, defeated grin. "You think you understand," they whispered, "but you know nothing."
Achem grabbed his sword and advanced, fury clouding his thoughts. His strikes were calculated, precise. The summoner barely had time to react before they were on the ground, bloodied and broken. Achem didn't wait for their final breath. He pressed them for answers, his rage making his voice cold, unyielding.
And the summoner spoke, broken and gasping, his words confirming Achem's worst fear: he was being watched, his arrival in this world no accident. He wasn't the only one.
The battle had ended, but Achem's fury hadn't. The summoner lay before him, blood trickling from his lips. But in those dark eyes, there was still defiance.
Achem crouched beside the broken figure, fury turning to cold calculation. "You knew I wasn't Rogar. How?"
The summoner spat blood, chuckling weakly. "You don't belong here."
Achem's grip tightened, his patience gone. He slammed the summoner back onto the earth, his knee digging into their ribs. "Talk."
The summoner grimaced, but refused to answer. Achem sighed, drawing a dagger from his belt. He traced it across the summoner's fingers, the tip sharp and cold. "You see, I don't have time for games. Talk. Or I'll make you."
The summoner sneered. "You wouldn't—"
Achem didn't hesitate. The blade slid easily into the man's palm, twisting deep. The scream that followed was visceral, primal. Achem's face remained unreadable, the dagger coming free as blood spilled across the dirt.
"Try again," Achem said, his voice chilling. "Who am I? How do you know?"
The summoner gasped, their body writhing with pain. "I… I felt it. Your soul… it doesn't belong. Rogar's memories are there, but the essence…" He coughed, trembling. "It's… it's foreign."
Achem's mind raced. He wasn't just inhabiting Rogar's body. There was something far deeper, far more sinister at play.
"Who else knows?" Achem demanded, his voice dark.
The summoner hesitated, and Achem drove the blade deeper into the man's shoulder. The howl of pain was savage. "No one! No one else!" the summoner swore.
Achem studied him, eyes narrowed. He didn't trust the answer, but the summoner's broken form spoke volumes. He wiped the dagger clean, his expression unreadable.
Lysara stepped forward, her tone unyielding. "We should kill him. If he escapes…"
Achem's gaze flickered to her, weighing the options. His instinct told him to end it, to silence the threat once and for all. But something held him back. The reality of what he'd just done… the brutality. He hadn't intended this, but in this world, survival demanded it.
"No," Achem said firmly, though his voice was edged with weariness. "We need him alive—for now. But he won't run again."
He moved swiftly, his dagger striking the summoner's kneecap with brutal precision. The sickening crunch echoed through the clearing, and the summoner screamed, writhing in agony.
Achem stepped back, his gaze fixed on the broken figure before him. The weight of what he had done settled into his bones, but there was no turning back now. He had secured his position, and perhaps—just perhaps—he had taken another step toward understanding why he was here.
"Now," Achem said, his voice steady. "Let's move."
As the group gathered around him, their faces grim, Achem realized something had shifted. They were no longer mere companions. They were his followers now. His to lead. His to command.
And yet, a gnawing unease lingered in the pit of his stomach. The summoner's words haunted him. Someone had sensed the truth about him.
He wasn't alone.
And time was running out.