The night was thick, an impenetrable blanket that suffocated the village in an almost tangible darkness. The air, heavy with the metallic smell of blood, weighed on the lungs of the villagers like a curse. There was no moon, no stars, only blackness and the sound of heart-rending screams mixed with a disturbing, high-pitched, unhinged laugh that echoed from the shadows. It was a laugh that did not belong in this world, a laugh that froze the blood and made even the bravest of men feel their legs give way under the weight of terror.
At the center of the chaos, standing like a nightmare spectre, was He. A tall, disproportionate figure, with black horns that twisted skyward like the branches of a cursed tree. His silhouette was barely visible, but his eyes glowed red, like glowing embers in the darkness. He was not human, that was obvious. He had possessed a body, yes, but that body was now nothing more than a grotesque puppet, an empty shell that housed something ancient, something hungry.
The desperate villagers gathered in small circles, brandishing swords, bows and shields in trembling hands. Their faces were pale, their voices cracked with fear, but they fought on. They knew it was useless, but the instinct for survival kept them going.
"Stay together!" shouted one of them, an older man with a scar across his face. But his words were lost in the air, drowned out by another burst of that demonic laughter.
Suddenly, the horned creature raised a hand, and the shadows came to life. The nearby houses, once shelters for families now torn apart, seemed to breathe, exhaling something dark and malevolent. From the walls, from the floor, from every corner where the light could not reach, black thorns emerged, long and sharp as blades. They moved like snakes, fast and deadly, piercing everything in their path. A young man trying to flee was impaled by one of them, the black tip emerging from his chest before his body was lifted off the ground like a broken doll. His scream was cut off abruptly, and his body fell to the ground with a wet sound.
"No! No!" a woman screamed, running towards the young man, but before she could reach him, another thorn emerged from the shadow of a nearby house, piercing her neck. Her head rolled to the ground, her eyes still open, full of terror. Blood gushed out like a fountain, soaking the already red-soaked earth.
The horned creature moved slowly forward, enjoying every moment. With a casual gesture, it ripped the arm off of a villager who tried to lunge at it with a sword. The man fell to his knees, staring in horror at the bleeding stump where his limb once was. The creature looked at him, laughing, before tossing the arm aside like it was a broken toy.
"Run!" someone shouted, but there was nowhere to go. The shadows surrounded them, alive, hungry.
A group of archers tried to fight back, unleashing a shower of arrows at the creature. But the shadows rose up like a wall, absorbing the bolts before they could reach it. The horned creature laughed again, and with a wave of his hand, the shadows sent the arrows back, multiplying in number and speed. The archers fell one after another, their bodies turned into bloody spikes.
The slaughter continued, relentless. A boy hiding behind a barrel was discovered by one of the thorns, who lifted him into the air as if he were a trophy before throwing him against a wall. The sound of his body crashing against the wood echoed like thunder in the night. A mother, seeing the scene, ran towards the horned being with a knife in her hand, but was stopped short by a thorn that pierced her stomach. She fell to the ground, choking on her own blood, while the being leaned over her, laughing.
The few who remained alive tried to retreat, but the shadows surrounded them, cornering them. The horned creature walked among the corpses, stepping in pools of blood as if it were a king on his throne. Its laughter was now a constant echo, a sound that resonated in the ears of the survivors like a curse.
"Why?" one of them muttered, a young man holding a broken shield. "Why are you doing this to us?"
The being paused, tilting its head as if considering the question. Then, in a voice that sounded like the creaking of old bones, it replied:
"Because I can."
And with that, the shadows closed in on the last of the villagers, their screams drowned out by the darkness. When everything finally fell silent, the horned being stood amidst the destruction, surrounded by mangled bodies and collapsed houses. The village was no more. Only the smell of blood remained, the echo of demonic laughter, and the certainty that somewhere, sometime, this would happen again.
The horned creature stood amidst the devastation, its breathing heavy and raspy, like the sound of bellows in a hellish forge. Its red eyes gleamed with a mixture of satisfaction and contempt as it surveyed the corpses strewn at its feet. Blood pooled in dark puddles, reflecting its grotesque figure, and the air was so thick with death that even the shadows seemed to recoil at its presence.
Suddenly, he broke the silence with a deep, raspy voice, as if the words came from an unfathomable abyss.
"Pathetic," he muttered, kicking the lifeless body of a villager lying at his feet.
"All this... just to hunt trash." His laughter, now more contained but just as disturbing, echoed through the night.
"While I'm here, slaying these vile worms, in the realm of the elves... ah, in the realm of the elves! Great beings clashed hours ago. Titans. Monsters that would make even the gods tremble. And I... I wasn't there."
Her voice rose, filled with anger and frustration, as she clenched her fists so hard that the claws of the creature she possessed dug into her own flesh, dropping drops of a dark, thick liquid that was not blood, but something far more ancient and corrupt.
"I should have been there! I should have been the one to face those colossi, to drink from their power, to reduce them to ashes!" His cry echoed through the desolate village, making the remains of the collapsed houses tremble.
With a sudden movement, he grabbed one of the nearby corpses, lifting it up as if it were a worthless trophy. He shook it furiously, as if the lifeless body was responsible for his frustration.
"Look at them! These human remains ! This is what they let me hunt! Trash! Weak, brittle flesh!"
He threw the body against a wall with such force that the bones cracked and the structure partially collapsed, sending a cloud of dust and debris into the air. The horned creature began to walk through the remains of the village, disdainfully stepping on the bodies in its path.
"Do you think this satisfies me?" he asked, although there was no one alive to answer.
"Do you think I enjoy squashing ants while others fight giants?" His voice was a roar now, filled with rage and envy.
"No! It's not fair! I should be there, in the middle of that battle, not here, wasting my time with this... this scum!"
Suddenly, he stopped, leaning over the mutilated body of a villager who still held a broken sword in his hand. With a swift movement, he ripped the weapon from the corpse and examined it with contempt.
"Is this what they use to defend themselves?" he said, laughing bitterly.
"Rusty iron and rotten wood! They don't even deserve to be called prey!" He threw the sword aside, and it stuck into the ground with a metallic clang. The horned creature raised its head towards the dark sky, as if it were challenging the gods themselves.
"Listen to me, those who sent me here! I am no scumbag hunter! I am no worm-slayer! I am more than this! Much more!" His voice was thunder, a challenge hurled into the void. But there was no answer, only the silence of the night and the smell of death that permeated everything. Finally, with a sigh that sounded more like a growl, the horned being turned back to the shadows.
"It doesn't matter," he muttered, his voice now calmer but still filled with resentment.
"If you won't let me join the real battle, then I will bring the battle to myself." His eyes flashed with a sinister light as he spread his arms, and the shadows around him began to stir, as if they were alive.
"If I cannot be in the elven kingdom, then I will make the elven kingdom come to me."
With one last glance at the destroyed village, the horned creature stepped into the shadows, disappearing as if it had never been there. But its laughter, that deranged, hate-filled laughter, lingered in the air, a reminder that even though it was gone, its presence still hung over the world like a curse. And somewhere far away, the elves could feel a chill run down their spines, as if they knew something dark and terrible was coming.
The night was still heavy, as if the sky itself had bent down to press down on the earth. The wind, once absent, began to blow with a cold whisper, carrying with it the smell of blood and death. The village, now a graveyard of collapsed houses and mutilated bodies, lay in deathly silence. Only the occasional creak of burning wood or the thud of a tile falling from a broken roof broke the stillness. But even those sounds seemed muffled, as if the darkness itself had swallowed up every trace of life.
Two hours after the horned being disappeared into the shadows, a figure emerged at the edge of the village. It was a woman, tall and slender, wrapped in a white robe that shimmered with a faint light, as if the fabric itself repelled the darkness. Her face was covered by a white mask, smooth and featureless, revealing only two deep, serene eyes, like wells of ancient knowledge. In her right hand she held a wooden staff, simple but carved with almost imperceptible runes that seemed to pulse with a subtle energy. Each step she took was careful, calculated, as if she were walking on sacred ground… or cursed.
The woman stood in the middle of the village, her gaze scanning the horror around her. Bodies lay scattered, some mutilated, others pierced by the black thorns that still jutted out of their bodies as if they were part of them. Houses, once homes filled with life, were now nothing more than skeletons of wood and stone, their elongated shadows projecting across the ground like claws ready to grab anyone who dared to approach. The air was charged with a heavy energy, a residue of something dark and ancient that did not belong in this world.
She tilted her head slightly, as if she were listening to something only she could hear. Then, she extended her free hand, and a soft light emanated from her palm, briefly illuminating the area. The light revealed something the ordinary eye couldn't see: tiny traces of dark energy, like threads of black smoke, twisting around the corpses and ruins. They were faint, almost imperceptible, but they were there, pulsing with a malevolence that made even the air seem poisoned.
"This is no ordinary creature's work," the woman murmured, her voice soft but full of authority.
"This… this is something older, more dangerous." Her eyes fell on one of the black thorns sticking out of the ground. She slowly approached it, crouching down to examine it more closely. With a careful movement, she reached out her hand towards the thorn, but before she could touch it, it disintegrated into a cloud of black dust that dispersed into the air. The woman stepped back slightly, not out of fear, but because of the force that had created it.
"Pure dark energy," she said quietly, as if she were talking to herself.
"Something that shouldn't exist on this plane." He straightened up, looking around with an expression that, although hidden behind the mask, conveyed a mixture of concern and determination.
"This must be reported to the church. If something like this is loose, then the balance is in danger."
With one last glance at the devastated village, the woman turned on her heel and began walking towards the nearby forest. Her white figure stood out against the darkness, like a beacon in the middle of the night. But even she, with all her serenity and power, couldn't help but feel the weight of what she had seen. She knew that something much bigger and darker was brewing, and if it wasn't stopped in time, the entire world could succumb to the same fate as that village.
As she disappeared into the trees, the wind carried with it a whisper, almost imperceptible, that seemed to come from the shadows themselves. It was a laugh, low and distant, that echoed in the air like a reminder that although the horned being was gone, its presence still lurked in the darkest corners of the world. And the woman, with her white mask and wooden staff, knew that the battle was only just beginning.