The dark sea split with a howling shriek as the monstrous cross rose higher, dripping shadows. Konrad stood at the edge of the crimson island, his red cloak whipping violently in the gale.
The figure crucified to the black cross was like something out of a cursed nightmare — a grotesque, nine-foot-tall abomination of twisted flesh and broken bones. Its mangled face was a canvas of agony, its bare chest marred by ancient wounds and cursed carvings. Faded rusty armor clung to its sagging flesh like mockery, and a torn sash hung from its waist like a shroud.
Then — clang — the hinges unlocked, and the thing fell free.
It landed heavily on the black water, standing motionless on the surface of the black water for a breathless moment. Its head slowly lifted, and the entity plunged its hand into the black cross behind it, pulling free a massive spear.
The spear was beautiful, yet utterly vile — decorated with ancient symbols of light, now corrupted and twisted into instruments of damnation. Its blade was still slick with congealed golden blood that seemed to weep and scream as it dripped onto the water.
Konrad's every instinct screamed.
Danger. Death. Doom.
It was as if reality itself recoiled from that weapon. His hands tightened into fists involuntarily. His soul core thrummed in alarm.
Before he could even think, it hit him.
The psychic attack.
Thousands upon thousands of voices surged into his mind like a tsunami — wailing, cursing, condemning, damning. His vision blurred. The world around him bent and twisted under the pressure. It was like the collective hatred of an entire world had been condensed into a single wave and unleashed upon him. He felt the malice of the world and people. He like they were cursing him, condemning him.
He dropped to one knee, blood trickling from his nose and ears.
Hold. Hold. Hold!
Even with the powerful enchantments of his memories protecting his mind Konrad barely withstood the pressure of the psychic assault.
After everything he had endured, everything he had conquered — rose like a battered wall against the flood. The Underworld. The Forgotten Shore. The nightmare had made him become the Night Haunter. All of it screamed defiance against the crushing despair.
But even so… Konrad knew.
This thing is beyond me.
It wasn't just stronger than him.
It was on an entirely different plane of existence.
And then, even as he desperately struggled to steady himself, his clairvoyance flickered, catching a glimpse — just a glimpse — of movement.
The cross of darkness shattered behind the horror as it advanced. Konrad shifted his stance, his gauntleted hands flexing. From each of his fists, a pair of jagged, obsidian claws shot out, gleaming under the grey light of the cursed sky.
He barely had time to breathe before the abomination moved.
It was on him in an instant.
He reacted instinctively.
Steel screamed against steel as he barely deflected the incoming thrust of the cursed spear. The sheer force of the impact sent him skidding backward, gouging deep furrows in the coral with his armored boots.
He didn't have time to recover.
The entity lunged, driving the cursed spear forward in a lightning-quick thrust. Konrad twisted, the tip of the weapon grazing his ribs. He slashed outward with his right claws, but the entity caught his wrist mid-swing and bent it backwards with monstrous strength.
Bones cracked.
Konrad grunted, forcing himself to rip his arm free, but before he could counter, the creature stepped in and drove the butt of the spear into his sternum. The impact lifted him off his feet and sent him sprawling backward across the jagged coral.
He rolled, scrambled upright, blood trickling from his mouth under his skull helm. The entity advanced without pause, dragging the spear behind it, leaving a deep groove in the crimson ground.
Konrad rushed forward, aiming a feral slash at its exposed side.
The monster pivoted smoothly, avoiding the claws by a hair's breadth, and retaliated with a savage swipe of the spear. The shaft smashed into Konrad's temple with the force of a hammer, snapping his head to the side and staggering him.
The entity moved.
And Konrad was no longer the lord, no longer the nightmare, no longer the hunter.
He was the prey.
The cursed entity closed the distance between them with a single inhuman stride. Its spear lashed out again — a blinding flurry of strikes, too fast, too precise, too lethal.
Before he could recover, the horror struck again — a brutal thrust that Konrad barely diverted by twisting his body. Even so, the spear carved a deep gash across his abdomen, armor and flesh splitting open like paper.
The smell of blood filled the air.
Konrad staggered.
The horror surged forward, exploiting the opening. It rammed its shoulder into his chest, sending him crashing into a coral pillar. The structure shattered behind him from the impact.
Before he could even slide to the ground, the cursed spear struck again.
A savage thrust into his thigh.
Konrad howled as the spearhead punched through muscle, pinning him momentarily to the coral wall. He tore free with a desperate growl, pieces of his own flesh left hanging on the twisted blade.
He dropped to one knee, panting, bleeding from half a dozen wounds. His claws flickered weakly in the grey light.
The horror circled him slowly, spear dragging lazily across the ground.
"This isn't a fight. This is an execution."
His mind raced.
"What do I do? How do I win?"
But there were no answers.
Konrad is a Dormant Tyrant. He had formidable speed and regeneration ability. He could see 15 possible visions of near future at the same time. But...
There were no openings. No weaknesses. No tricks. Only death.
His combat art Destined Death, felt awfully inadequate. He was too weak.
Konrad forced himself to his feet and lunged, leading with a flurry of claw strikes — savage, desperate, erratic.
The monster batted them aside almost lazily.
Every swipe of Konrad's claws was deflected. Every attempt at attack was punished.
A vicious kick slammed into his gut, folding him in half.
The entity grabbed him by the throat, lifted him into the air as if he weighed nothing, and then slammed him down onto the coral floor. A spray of blood erupted from his mouth as blood dripped down the white teeths of his skull helm.
Before he could even groan, the cursed spear came down.
Konrad twisted just in time, the blade gouging a deep furrow through his shoulder instead of impaling him outright. His claws flashed upwards — a desperate counterattack.
One claw raked across the monster's armored wrist, leaving a deep gash.
The abomination didn't even flinch.
In response, The abomination grabbed on the visor of the skulls helm. With a burst of strength, it tore of the skull visor of the [Mantle of Night].
Then it punched him — a savage, brutal strike to the face, that snapped his head back and sent blood and teeth flying.
Konrad collapsed onto his side, barely conscious, gasping for breath through ruined lips.
The entity didn't allow him even a second to breathe.
Another psychic blast smashed into his mind, sending him reeling, stumbling, seeing double.
Through the haze of pain and despair, Konrad thought:
I'm going to die here.
Not as a lord.
Not as a savior.
Just another damned human forsaken in this Forgotten Shore.
Another forgotten name lost to the all consuming darkness.
The cursed spear struck again.
A shallow stab into his side — not enough to kill, but enough to leave him writhing in agony. The entity seemed to enjoy it. It paced around him slowly, studying the broken Night Lord.
Konrad coughed and forced himself up, clawing at the ground.
He charged, one last time, both fists leading with a wild crossing slash.
The entity simply leaned back, avoiding the claws entirely, and then thrust its palm forward.
The blow struck Konrad squarely in the chest, sending him flying backward like a broken doll. He hit the ground hard and slid across the coral, leaving a trail of blood.
Still — still — he tried to stand.
The cursed spear swept low.
Konrad's legs were knocked out from under him.
He fell to his hands and knees.
The spear thrust down — stabbing into his back, shallow but crippling.
The second thrust drove into his calf, nailing him to the ground.
The third, into his shoulder.
Every strike was precise.
Every wound calculated to hurt, to break him, but not to kill.
The horror was playing with him.
Konrad's claws spasmed weakly, scratching helplessly at the ground as blood pooled beneath him.
The monster leaned closer, the mangled ruin of its face inches from his. It's skinless lips moved as if to say something.....
.....S...I...NN...E...R....
....I....A....M....