The man ascended through the tower's chambers.
He was surrounded by a pure darkness and each step was swallowed by silence. The only light came from the dagger in his grip, its white flames flickering like a heartbeat. The air here was thick, oppressive—each breath felt like inhaling dust from a world long buried.
Then, an unsettling sound echoed through the chambers.
Not whispers, not visions this time—No, something real.
A low growl, followed by the wet scrape of claws against stone. The man tightened his grip on the weapon, heart pounding. The dagger pulsed in response, the white flames licking up its edge as if it could sense the threat ahead.
From the darkness, twisted beings came.
Shapes slithered from the walls, their forms unnatural surrounding the man. They had a humanoid look, but somehow they seemed broken. Their limbs were too long, each elongated finger ending in sharp white claws that glistened from the daggers glow. Their bodies were cracked and rotted, but worst of all were their mouths. They split open in jagged maws filled with many eyes. each one dripping with something thick and black.
The first lunged.
The man barely had any time to react , throwing himself to the side as claws raked against the stone where he had stood just seconds ago. He lashed out, the dagger carving through the air. The blade connected, slicing through flesh like paper. White flames surged, engulfing the wound. The creature shrieked, its body convulsing as the fire spread, devouring it from the inside out. Within moments, it was nothing but ash.
Another came from behind. He pivoted, bringing the dagger up in a desperate slash. The flames trailed behind it like a comet's tail, cutting a burning arc through the dark. The creature staggered, half its face melting away under the heat. It screeched, clawing at its ruined flesh, but the man didn't wait—he drove the dagger into its chest. White fire erupted, consuming it entirely.
More emerged, their grotesque forms twisting and writhing in hunger. They moved in tandem, leaving him no place to escape. His breath was ragged, but his grip never wavered.
The dagger pulsed again. Ever since he had entered the tower he had felt its warmth grow. He felt power calling to him, a burning hate emitted from the blade.
The man raised the dagger, letting the flames surge higher. Then, he struck the ground. The impact sent a ripple through the floor arroud him, and a wave of white fire exploded outwards, consuming the creatures, that howled as the flames tore through them, burning away their grotesque forms like paper in the wind.
The chamber fell silent. The only thing left was smoldering remains and the smell of burnt flesh.
He exhaled, steadying himself. Blood dripped from a shallow cut on his arm, but he was alive. More importantly, he had fought. He had used the dagger—not as a tool, but as a weapon.
He thanked the strange wounded man internally for such a gift although he was still skeptical about the whole revenge thing. He didn´t think himself capable.
Though, for the first time since arriving in this cursed city, he wasn't just surviving.
He was fighting back.
And whatever was waiting at the top of the tower, he would be ready for it.