Northern scanned his surrounding, he wasnât sure what was what anymore. He gazed down on his blood-stained hands.
âWhat am I even doingâŠ?â
His mind was foggy and unasked questions digger deeper into oblivion.
He gazed down from the heaps of corpses as monsters chained what was left of their foes, condemning them to slaves⊠miners.
He was like that too onceâŠ
Was he though?
He had always been a general⊠a war general, one that fought only for the kingdom of Red Mines, heralding ruthless victories.
Hailed as a hero⊠to monsters.
And yet nothing felt wrong about it.
His eyes dimmed, its living sparks disappearing. The blue hue of his pupils, dull and fading. All that was left of him was emptiness.
He picked up the onyx blade and jumped down from the heap of corpse, walking behind the column of monsters that hurled away their captives with chains.
Mr Fluffy behind him, almost reaching his waist, the little mutt was now a vicious grey wolf with eyes that seem to embody the very entity of darkness.
Its canines were slowly curving out of its maw, the rest of its sharp teeth, set in a perfect array of piquancy.
Taking slow and somber steps behind its master. Eyes lost and tired.
They crossed several landscapes, ignoring their crudeness, and soon they arrived at their homeâŠthe kingdom of Red Mine.
While the monsters jubilated with yet another massive crab looking monster, Northern walked up the tower and fell on his bed.
Slowly falling into the embrace of sweet sleep⊠or death.
It was hard to tell this from that this days.
Sometimes it was like he didnât care.
He was losing himself and he didnât seem to care⊠or perhaps he had even lost himself.
The days of war were far from over, and every time, Northern marched forward with no question asked and led the army to unmatched victory.
His passion for bloodshed only grew worse and nothing was able to satisfy it.
Killing seemed to be more and more unsatisfying⊠at times easy.
With each monster that fell from his sound, he gained strength and although he was oblivious to its level.
Northern had become far stronger than he was when he initially entered the rift.
Several nights passed, several battles won, several souls extinguished, yet Northern still managed to live through it all.
Proving himself to be an ultimate killing machine.
On a particular night after a long war with the muscular creaturesâthat happens to be the strongest of the three races of monsters they would usually faceâNorthern sat on his bed, lost in his gaze.
His eyes was glued to the curtained window, looking at nothing in particular.
His pale skin was smeared with recent blood and healing scars. His eyes now were lifeless than ever before.
Letting a tired sigh, Northern dropped the Mortal Blade gently beside him and plopped to the bed, he stared to the broken ceiling.
Stared for a long time⊠he couldnât tell what he was looking at but there was a torn portrait there⊠of a blonde lady, with sea blue eyesâŠ
A part of the face was ripped off but he could tell from the little that was left, the sparkling jewelleries that adorned her features, her radiant smile and glamorous dress⊠she was undoubtedly a princess⊠or a queenâŠ
âBut whatâs a princess? What is a queen?â
Thinking was really hard for Northern.
He had become a monster for most part⊠even his mannerism which was the little bit of sanity he could hold onto, looked like theyâd soon be lost too.
In this nightmare, lost and alone, Northern had no one to beckon onto⊠no one to find him.
His eyes, heavy, began to close⊠soon he was asleep again.
Shrouded in a cold darkness, he heard a distant voice call a strange name:
âNorthâŠâ
âNorthâŠâ
No matter how much the voice called, the embrace of the darkness was too overwhelming to break free from.
Unable to recognize his own name⊠or his motherâs voice, Northern slept peacefully in the comfort offered to him by a serene and ruthless madness.
Northernâs eyes snapped open as searing pain lanced through his leg. He jolted upright, eyes widening at the sight of a polearm impaling his thigh.
His gaze traveled up the shaft to the vicious creature gripping it â a familiar terror, yet⊠unfamiliar at the same time.
Four malevolent eyes burned with cold madness, set in a fur-
matted visage. Tightly coiled muscles rippled beneath, framing the intense, powerful form of a horror Northern knew all too well, albeit long forgotten. freeÏebnovÄl.cà«Šm
His brows furrowed, shadows veiling his expression â this was probably the most emotion he had shown in ages.
With a callous glare, the vicious Terror wrenched the polearm free, crimson spraying across Northernâs bed.
As it drove the spear down again, Northern rolled away, hitting the ground with a pained grunt.
He pushed upright, favoring his left leg as agony lanced through the right.
Northernâs pale, sweat-beaded face hardened as he stared at the terror in tense silence.
The cloying scent of his own blood mingled with the chill breeze fluttering the curtains, pervading the chamber with unpleasantness.
His sword lay at the creatureâs feet, leaving him unarmed and too lost to summon a fresh weapon or to know that he should summon one.
After all, the brutal spirit of war had driven him to utter madness, lost in the darkness of his own soul.
The vicious Terror closed the distance in a single, fluid step. It hurled the spear with frightening speed.
Northernâs eyes flew wide, but he managed to twist aside as it plunged into the wall behind him.
He leapt over the bed, rolling to where the Terror had stood moments before.
Slowly, Northern bent and retrieved his sword, leveling the blade as his eyes burned with bloodlust.
Both vicious creatures forged by the wicked flames of war glared coldly at each other, the terror wrenched out the spear from the wall and suddenly looked like it had an evil grin on its horrible face.
Northernâs brow twitched and his eyes rolled to the entrance as another of the same creature stomped into his room.
