The ancient horror bent low, its mangled, nightmarish face inches from Konrad's. Its breath smelled of rot and decay, of name long lost and deeds long forgotten. In a voice like the grind of broken bones, it whispered something into his ear — words Konrad could not understand, yet he comprehended the intent.
Then the horror straightened, turned its back to him, and walked away, its deformed silhouette growing smaller against the vast whirlpool of darkness. As Konrad heard the fading footsteps of horror going away, he was frantically thinking about a way kill that thing. But there was no way. He was too weak.
Konrad lay there, broken and bleeding, barely able to lift his head. Every breath was a struggle. His chest heaved, his body torn apart by wounds that refused to close. His monstrous regeneration, once able to knit flesh faster than blades could tear it, was rendered useless against the cursed spear's touch.
It wasn't healing.
He was dying.
The one by one water droplets started fall from the heavens as if the sky was weeping, pounding against him, pooling beneath him in rivulets of blood and mud. Each droplet hit like a tiny hammer, beating a slow dirge on his battered form.
Think, damn you. Think.
He tried to push himself up, but his arms gave out, sending him crashing back into the shallow water with a muted splash. His own blood swirled around him.
He knew what that thing was now.
He is certain that this thing is the courageous fool who had once killed or severely wounded the first star that had fallen from heaven in this land. And that spear was the weapon of murder. Maybe the cursed dark sea held the star's dying will, resentment or spite and had kept that fool alive to torture it. The darkness of the black sea had kept him alive... and it had also perverted him into this grotesque wretch.
Now, twisted and defiled, he served as a weapon of the abyss.
And now, it was free to rampage.
A storm exploded overhead, a torrent heavy water washed the crimson spirea and swirling darkness engulfed the island.
Konrad saw using his independent visions that damned abomination trying uproot the darkness crucifix from the black sea.
The horror had reached the black whirlpool.
It was trying to uproot the dark crucifix from which it had been freed.
Konrad watched, helpless, as the abomination's clawed hands gripped the base of the towering cross — and with a sickening, grinding wail, the cross broke free from the churning black water.
The sea responded instantly, furious and ravenous. The dark whirlpool surged upward, waves crashing outward in all directions, flooding the crimson coral island. The ground beneath him shook. The wave of black water hit Konrad washing away the blood and grime.
The black sea was coming.
It would swallow everything.
Move...
Fight...
There has to be a way...
But there wasn't.
Not like this.
Not with a broken body.
Konrad could only lie on the ground, looking up at the rumbling sky.
He was too weak.
Konrad gritted his teeth as he dug his fingers into the blood-slick ground, trying to drag himself upright. It was pitiful. His body screamed in agony. Every inch of his flesh burned with unbearable pain.
Suddenly a blinding flash of lightning turned the entire world white for the briefest of moments. Thunder rolled like the fury of the heavens.
And in that instant — just for a heartbeat — Konrad saw it.
A vision.
A glimpse.
A choice.
He laughed out loud. He saw it. Finally he saw it.... A chance at life...
In the cracks of the storm, in the jagged veins of the heavens, he saw a path forward.
It was madness.
It was risky.
It was crippling.
It was suicide.
But it was also life.
It was the only thing he had left.
A ragged laugh tore itself from his throat, raw and bitter. Rain poured into his open mouth, washing away the blood. He laughed harder, shaking, until it turned into a wet, guttural cough.
"You want me to die?"
"You want me to vanish?"
"No."
"I won't today. Not here. Not now."
Slowly, impossibly, Konrad rose.
Bone grated against bone. Torn muscles tore further. Pain exploded in his nerves like wildfire. His blood stained the ground at his feet, spreading out like the shadow of a dying wraith.
But he stood.
His stygian claws dragged behind him, the deadly edges sharp and ready for blood. His midnight blue armor was cracked and torn, blood running down the intricate plates in rivulets.
And yet, his eyes — his black abyssal eyes — burned with terrible life.
The horror turned, sensing movement. Its broken face twisted into something that might have once been a grin. The cursed spear rested on its shoulder; the black cross dragged behind it like a crown of its own damnation.
Step by agonizing step, Konrad began to walk forward.
The storm howled. The black sea rose. The island drowned.
But he walked.
No gods.
No saints.
No heroes.
No savior.
No salvation.
Only me.
Night Haunter!
The horror trudged toward him as well, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the inevitable end.
Their footsteps echoed across the flooded island, splashing in the rising dark water.
Konrad's vision flickered at the edges. His heartbeat was erratic, thundering in his ears. Every fiber of his being cried out to stop, to fall, to surrender.
But he didn't.
He couldn't.
He wouldn't.
Because he saw it now.
The heavens had shown him.
The horror could be killed.
Not with strength.
Not with speed.
Not with rage.
But with defiance.
A pure, undiluted intent to kill.
The abomination halted a dozen meters away. It let the dark cross slide from its shoulders, where it crashed into the black tide with a booming roar.
It raised the cursed spear, lowering its tip toward Konrad's heart.
In response, Konrad raised his obsidian claws.
The two wraiths — one a corrupted relic of a lost age, the other a stubborn fragment of a dying humanity — stood facing each other in the storm.
For a breathless second, everything froze.
The rain.
The sea.
The sky.
The storm.
And then — they moved.
The horror struck first, the cursed spear lancing forward like a bolt of black lightning.
Konrad didn't try to dodge.
He didn't try to block.
Instead, he stepped in.
He moved into the thrust, feeling the cursed spear tear through his side.
Pain blossomed, so intense it transcended agony. His body spasmed. Blood burst from his lips.
But he was inside the horror's guard now.
With a roar, Konrad lashed out.
One pair of claw caught the abomination's wrist, twisting it violently aside.
The other claw — sharp and deadly — slashed upward, carving across the horror's defiled chest.
Dark, foul blood erupted from the wound.
The abomination didn't even flinch.
Konrad staggered, barely staying upright. His knees buckled. Darkness clawed at the edges of his mind.
But he struck again.
Again.
And again.
He clawed into the horror's flesh, tearing through ancient, corrupted sinew.
The spear lashed back, catching him across the ribs. Something shattered inside him — more bones broken.
He didn't care.
The horror slammed a massive fist into his face. Konrad's head snapped back, teeth breaking, blood spraying from his mouth.
He didn't care.
The horror kicked him in the gut, lifting him from the ground and hurling him backward through the air.
Konrad landed hard, bouncing across the flooded coral.
He didn't care.
Groaning, coughing blood, Konrad pushed himself to his knees again.
The horror approached. But just as Konrad tried to stand he fell back down to the ground.
Although Konrad's will didn't break, his body has given up first.