Since childhood, I had heard the same emblematic story over and over again...
It was many decades ago when a dimensional rift tore through the sky as if it were paper, bringing with it only calamity and destruction in its wake. What were once lands teeming with life and landscapes of extraordinary beauty transformed into a desolate wasteland, covered with corpses and rubble that seemed impossible to rebuild.
The cause of that horror had no explanation. A supernatural entity had emerged from that rift, a being of pure darkness whose form constantly changed, sowing terror wherever it passed. Not even the most advanced military weaponry of the time managed to confront it. It was practically immune to all types of damage caused by firearms or high-impact bombs.
For everyone, the world had come to an end. Death loomed over humanity like an inevitable shadow.
But fate had other plans.
Unexpectedly, a simple engineer, unable to surrender and accept the tragic destiny that awaited humanity, faced the impossible. In his desperation to find a solution, he carried with him that day a strange artifact on which he had been working in secret. A kind of gauntlet that fit perfectly on his hand, with which he wielded a sword charged with brilliant, electric energy, capable of wounding the entity when no other conventional weapon had worked.
The sky lit up with supernatural flashes as that ordinary man performed feats worthy of ancient legends. Finally, after a bloody confrontation, he managed to defeat the entity and seal that dimensional aberration that had terrified the entire world.
The price of victory was high. That man succumbed to his wounds shortly after his feat, giving his life for humanity. He became a symbol of hope and courage, to the point that statues were erected in his honor in the main cities of the world.
That man... was my grandfather, Nathan Hawthorne.
After my grandfather's sacrifice, scientists meticulously studied that strange artifact he had used, discovering that it was a kind of "exohand," a device that adhered to the body and allowed the channeling of energies that, until that moment, had been impossible for humans to possess. This artifact would become the key to combating dimensional threats, and also for other things that humans considered crucial to accomplish.
In our world, there existed another element that few initially related to this story. The coexistence between humans and elves had been part of our history for millennia. Elves, beings of extraordinary beauty and wisdom, were known for their innate ability to manipulate energies that humans called "magic." This ability allowed them to perform impressive feats, which humans initially saw as a threat, as it brought destruction as much as creation.
Thus, when the first dimensional rift emerged, fear took hold of the population. The elves, with their mysterious powers, became the perfect target to channel that terror. A ruthless hunt was unleashed against them, accusing them of having deliberately caused the opening of these interdimensional portals.
Most of the elves were executed in public squares or burned at the stake, victims of a hatred fueled by fear. A few managed to hide in the most inhospitable corners of the world, but their culture and knowledge were practically eradicated. Humanity, in its panic, judged them without mercy, convinced that they had been the cause of the catastrophe.
However, part of their legacy still remained in those exohands, which were a clear demonstration of a significant advancement in humanity. This technology turned out to be the only effective weakness against these supernatural threats. Thus was born the Association of Sealers, warriors equipped with improved versions of the original exohand, who continued risking their lives to close the dimensional rifts from which entities and increasingly terrible dangers emerged.
The threat never stopped after my grandfather's heroic action. Rather, it intensified.
Wielding these weapons was not as simple as it seemed. The exohand required connecting directly to the nerve endings of the bearer. Only in this way was it possible to control the immense power it granted and direct it against dimensional entities.
This technological advancement gave rise to a new classification system. With the help of the exohand, Sealers could determine the threat level of dimensional rifts and the entities that emerged from them, as well as measure the power of their weapons and their synchronization with them. Combined with the arduous training required, this system allowed Sealers to be classified into ranks ranging from F to S.
A belief became deeply rooted among the Sealers: if you had no talent or skill to handle the weapons, it was better to die with honor in battle than to live as a disappointment. This philosophy might sound cruel, but in a world where humanity's survival hung by a thread, there was no space for weakness.
From the age of 16, any descendant of a family with a tradition of Sealers was obligated to enroll in the Association. An inescapable destiny that I also had to face, without having any other option.
And being a direct relative of that man who once saved humanity, the expectations on my shoulders were crushing.
***
"Please... I don't want to end like this..."
Lucius Hawthorne dragged himself across the blood-soaked ground. He was barely recognizable under that crimson layer covering his body. His vision blurred as vital fluid dripped down his face, tinting red everything he could perceive.
"Why do I have to die like this? What sense does all this make? WHY MUST I ENDURE THIS MARTYRDOM?!"
His screams resonated in the cavern, mixing with the echo of sharp and disturbing laughter. Behind him, a group of goblins stalked him, repugnant creatures with greenish skin who had been responsible for leaving him in such a pitiful state.
They were small beings that should have been easy to eliminate for any competent Sealer. But Lucius, despite the legacy he carried, had been incapable of confronting them.
"Hehehehe..."
The goblins' laughter pierced his ears like daggers as they observed with unhealthy delight how the young man slowly bled out, writhing like a dying worm.
It hurts too much...
Am I really going to die...?
I don't want to die. NOT LIKE THIS!
"Enough, please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry I tried to attack you! So please, just let me go! I BEG YOU!"
Tears mixed with blood as Lucius begged for his life. But those creatures had other plans. One of the goblins approached, dragging a heavy chain of rusted iron, its yellowish eyes gleaming with malice in the darkness.
What is that...?
Damn it...
What's happening? I can't see anything.
"Hehehehe..."
The goblin tied the chain around Lucius's neck roughly, causing the young man to gasp in panic at the uncertainty of what was happening.
"W-what's going on? What are you doing...?"
Completely ignoring his pleas, the goblins passed the other end of the chain through a ring hanging from the cavern ceiling, working with disturbing coordination for seemingly primitive beings.
"Please, stop... Don't continue with this. I promise I'll leave and won't say anything about your presence."
The young man continued pleading, but the creatures had already formed a line and began pulling the chain in unison. Lucius's injured body slowly rose, suspended in the air as the chain tightened around his neck, cutting off his breathing.
"ARGHHH!"
The choked scream briefly resonated before becoming a death rattle. Desperate, he tried to loosen the chain with his bloodied hands, but it was firmly adjusted. His fingers slid uselessly over the metal, unable to find relief.
"Gh..."
His lips moved in an attempt to articulate words, but no sound came from his compressed throat.
Why do they ignore my pleas!?
This is going too far!
I don't know what to say to make them free me!
I DON'T WANT TO DIE!
"Hehehehe..."
Lucius's body swayed like a macabre pendulum as more goblins joined the spectacle. Some began throwing sharp stones at him, while others poked him with primitive spears, sinking the points into wounds already open or hitting him with long, knotty sticks.
That martyrdom was unbearable. And yet, he couldn't even scream to release the pain that consumed him. Only his facial expressions, distorted by suffering, revealed the hell he was living.
Why?
What did I do to deserve this?
I have no intention of dying, but if I must, why must it be in such a visceral way?
Please, at least give me a dignified death!
Don't continue with this torture!
A metallic flash cut through the air. One of the spears pierced his stomach completely, with such force that the tip emerged from his back, dripping dark blood. Lucius's eyes opened wide at the impact, before slowly dimming.
His body remained motionless, gently swaying, while the goblins' laughter intensified in the darkness of the cavern.
Thus ended Lucius Hawthorne, grandson of the hero who once saved humanity. Great feats were expected of him, unparalleled power and a glorious destiny. However, he ended up dying in the most pathetic and disappointing way possible: at the hands of the weakest creatures that had ever emerged from a dimensional rift.