Darkness pressed in from all sides, thick and suffocating.
Somewhere in the distance, water dripped, each drop echoing through the silence in a slow, steady rhythm.
Chains rattled softly as Raven shifted, the cold metal biting into his skin. He sat slumped against the stone wall, locked up in the heart of a freezing, lightless cell.
Why was he here?
Because he killed his commander—or rather, his slaver.
Raven was a war slave, taken at the fragile age of four. He had known nothing but the battlefield, forced into one brutal conflict after another, even as a child. Slavery was all he had ever known. Until, one day, he simply decided he had enough.
Killing his commander had not been difficult. The man was just ordinary fool, nothing like those blessed. A flicker of whim, a moment of cold clarity, and it was over. No grand plan, no desperate escape attempt. He had done it because he felt like it. And now, he was here.
Locked away beneath the capital of the North—Vaelgard. He had expected death. A swift execution, a blade to the throat. But it seemed they had other plans for him.
The chains rattled as he shifted again, this time pushing himself to his feet. He took a step toward the wall, only to be stopped short as the chain pulled taut. A sigh escaped his lips, he really felt like a dog on a leash.
Reaching as far as he could, he pressed his fingertips against the cold stone and tapped lightly. His hoarse voice broke the silence.
"Tillia… are you awake?"
A bright, almost musical voice answered, unbothered by their grim surroundings. "Yeah, I am! Is something up?"
Tillia. His neighboring cellmate, the only other voice in this abyss. She was the one who had given him the name Raven, after he mentioned his black hair. He didn't know much about her, only that she was always cheerful—or at least sounded like it.
He exhaled slowly, leaning back against the wall. "No. I just wanted to talk to you."
A pause. Then, a delighted hum. "Oh my, my little Raven actually wants to talk to me? But sadly, I don't think we have time."
Before he could ask why, the harsh scrape of metal against stone rang through the hall. A flash of flickering light followed, stretching long across the damp walls.
A guard stood in the doorway, lantern raised high. Chainmail draped over his frame. A sword hung at his hip, its hilt worn from use, while a dagger rested beside it. His iron helmet cast a shadow over his face.
Boots thudded against the cold stone floor, the flickering lantern casting shadows across the walls as he passed through the hallway. He came to a halt before Raven's cell, the light slipping through the bars. Raven lifted a hand, shielding his eyes from the glare.
Tillia chuckled, her voice light. "Good morning, mister guard." Her chains rattled, creaking as if straining under some unseen pressure.
The guard ignored her, pretending like she didn't exist. Stepping closer to Raven's cell, he reached for a key, the metal scraping softly as he inserted it into the lock. The gate creaked open. Raven remained still, his cold gaze locked onto the guard as the man strode toward the wall where the chains were secured.
Blue eyes flickered toward him, scanning the prisoner slumped against the wall. Raven didn't look his best, but even now, in tattered rags, he exuded an imposing presence. The worn fabric barely concealed the hard muscle beneath, his frame powerful despite clear signs of malnourishment. His black, soot-covered hair hung messily over his face, partially obscuring the sharp green eyes watching with eerie calm.
"We're moving," the guard announced. Without hesitation, he drew his sword and struck, severing the chains in a single motion. The broken chain clattered to the floor, but Raven remained still.
The guard's voice hardened. "Didn't you hear me? I said we're moving."
Raven met his gaze, unreadable, before slowly pushing himself to his feet. The guard took an involuntary step back. Now standing at his full height, Raven loomed over him—a solid two meters tall, dwarfing the man who reached 1.80 meters. The moment of hesitation was brief, but Raven noticed.
Tillia's voice cut through the silence. "Good luck, Raven. Don't forget about me, alright?"
What the hell is she talking about? Raven thought. I don't even know what's happening.
He decided to ignore her and stepped forward, chains dragging behind him, their dull clinking the only sound in the air. The guard followed close, his gaze drilling into the back of Raven's head. For a brief moment, Raven considered killing him. Now that he wasn't shackled to the wall, it would be possible. But the idea passed just as quickly. He was weakened, outmatched in equipment, and even if he succeeded, more guards would descend upon him within moments. Besides he had too little information, his opponent could be a blessed for all he knew.
Not that i haven't killed any of those. Raven thought as he strode towards the doorway.
A second guard stood waiting, scanning the dimly lit hallway. "Stop." His voice was firm, authoritative. Raven halted as the first guard moved to gather the trailing chains.
"Put your arms forward."
Raven let out a quiet sigh, eyeing the heavy iron links before reluctantly complying. The second guard wrapped the chains tightly around his arms, pulling them snug until they dug into his skin. The restraints forced his arms against his torso, binding him in place like some crude straightjacket*.*
If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already. The thought flickered through Raven's mind, but he kept it to himself. His expression unreadable.
Satisfied, the frontmost guard took the loose ends of the chains and gave a sharp tug, dragging Raven forward. The other followed closely behind. They ascended flight after flight of stone staircases, the only sounds the rhythmic clinking of chains and the occasional distant scream echoing through the corridors. The air grew warmer as they climbed, the scent of damp stone pulling away.
Finally, they stopped before a door—lavish compared to the cold, barren halls it stood in. Dark wood polished to a high sheen, intricate carvings lining its frame. Expensive by any standard. The guards kept silent as they pushed it open.
Beyond lay a pristine white chamber, its walls immaculate, its floor covered in a lush red carpet. A chandelier hung overhead, its soft glow casting a golden hue across the room. To the side stood a luxurious crimson couch.
Seated upon it was a man with a dozen guards standing behind him.
He wore pristine white garments—an intricately embroidered doublet with silver threading, a high collar framing his sharp jawline, and a flowing cloak lined with soft white fur. His breeches were of the finest linen, tucked neatly into knee-high boots polished to perfection.
He radiated arrogance.
Golden-blond hair, immaculately combed back, caught the candlelight, its sheen almost unnatural. His piercing blue eyes regarded Raven with cool detachment—the gaze of a collector examining a rare specimen. A single white glove adorned his right hand, while the other remained bare, fingers lazily tapping against the armrest of the couch.
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, a slow, measured smile curled his lips. He clapped his hands together and rose from his seat.
"You're finally here."
His cold gaze flicked toward the guards before settling on Raven. "I'm sure Dealer will be pleased with him."
What? Raven thought, expression unreadable. If that were true, I would have been blessed long ago, you idiot.
The noble barely paused before gesturing toward the far side of the room. "Come on, get it over with already. Everything's set up."
Raven's gaze followed the noble's outstretched hand, landing on the intricate symbols scrawled across the floor in a perfect circle. His pupils contracted. Something clicked in his mind, the realization settling like a stone in his gut.
And then, he chuckled. A low, dry sound, hoarse from disuse.
"So that's how it is."
The noble looked over with amusement. "You've already figured it out?"
Raven looked at the noble with a dangerous glean in his eyes.
"Yeah i think i have."
Across the world, there were those known as the blessed—people who wielded supernatural power, their bodies enhanced beyond human limits. Their strength was ranked from Level 1 to 9, with whispered rumors of an elusive tenth level that none had ever attained.
Raven had encountered them often on the battlefield, though never beyond Level 1 or the rare, terrifying Level 2. They were monsters in human skin, forces of nature. The standing rule among soldiers was simple: Run. Not because they were invincible, but because fighting one almost always meant heavy casualties.
These abilities were said to be a divine gift, granted by an entity known as Dealer. Some called him a god. Others weren't so sure. Regardless, his power was undeniable—those chosen by him would draw a card, and with it, they would be reborn.
For years, Raven had believed the lie that was fed to the masses—that becoming blessed was a matter of fate, of luck, of being chosen.
It seemed there was a far simpler way.
All it took… was a sacrifice.
The noble scoffed. "You should be honored to be my final offering to Dealer. You'll help me become blessed."
The guards tightened their grip, dragging Raven toward the ritual circle. His gaze flicked to the noble.
"Final?"
The noble met his eyes with a smug smile. "I've already said more than a slave like you is worthy of knowing."
I'm killing this bastard.
The thought was immediate, absolute. And Raven acted on it without hesitation.
He wrenched his chains free from the guard's grip, surging forward. In a split second, he closed the distance, his leg snapping up in a brutal kick aimed straight for the noble's face.
But before the blow could land, a crushing weight slammed into him. A dozen guards piled on, forcing him to the ground. Cold steel pressed against his throat—swords, daggers, too many to fight off in his current state.
The noble stood there, momentarily stunned, before clicking his tongue in irritation. He adjusted his collar with slow, deliberate movements and strode forward, his amusement returning.
"Are you stupid?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, I suppose a final struggle is only natural."
He flicked a hand toward the circle. "Drag him in."
The guards obeyed without question. Chains clanked as Raven was hauled across the cold stone floor, his body dragged into the heart of the ritual.
One by one, they unraveled the chains, only to redistribute them—half a dozen men gripping one side each. With a sharp yank, Raven's arms were wrenched apart, his muscles straining, joints screaming in protest. The cold iron bit into his skin, pressing deep enough to draw blood.
The noble approached with slow, deliberate steps, grabbing a leather-bound book from the table. His lips curled into a smirk. "Don't worry. It'll be over soon."
He traced a gloved finger across the worn pages and began to chant. The words, guttural and ancient, slithered through the air like something alive. The moment the final syllable left his lips, the runes inscribed in the stone ignited with a ghostly glow.
Something clenched around Raven's heart.
A crushing, invisible force tightened in his chest, suffocating him from the inside. He yanked against the chains, muscles bulging, but the guards held firm. Blood welled at the corners of his eyes, slipping down his face in dark crimson trails before seeping into the ground below.
Blood spewed from his mouth as a raw, guttural scream tore from his throat. His body writhed against the restraints. It felt like something was ripping him apart from the inside, pulling at his very being.
Through the haze of pain, he heard the noble laugh.
"Ah, finally!"
Raven's body sagged, his head lolling forward. The tension in his limbs vanished, leaving him limp in the chains grasp. His lifeless eyes stared at nothing, blood pooling beneath him.
The guards hesitated before slowly releasing their hold. His body crumpled to the ground with a dull thud.
And then… nothing.
No surge of power. No divine intervention.
Nothing changed.
The noble frowned. Confusion flickered across his face, quickly twisting into irritation. He took a step forward. "What? Why didn't it work?" He edged closer to the circle, his expression darkening. "Hey, you worthless bastard. You were supposed to be the final sacrifice!"
Silence.
Sneering, the noble strode into the circle, boots smearing blood across the stone. "You can't even die properly," he spat, lifting a foot to kick the motionless corpse—
Raven's eyes suddenly blinked.
A slow, wicked grin spread across his bloodstained face.
"Idiot."
Before the noble could react, Raven lunged. His hand clamped around the noble's ankle, yanking him off balance. The world tilted—then the noble hit the ground hard, a gasp of shock escaping his lips.
The guards barely had time to register what was happening before Raven's hands were already on their master's head.
Crack.
A sickening snap echoed through the chamber as Raven twisted the noble's neck a full 180 degrees. The life drained from his wide, disbelieving eyes, his body convulsing for a brief moment before going completely still.
Blood rapidly poured from his orifices sinking into the ground. His skin shriveled as if something had been stolen from him in an instant.
The runes flared once more, flooding the room with blinding light.
When the glow faded…
Raven was gone.