A boy was roaming the mountain, his body mangled—a broken hand, several fractured bones, and drenched in blood.
Yes, it was Arthur.
Roaming the mountain in search of a life-threatening situation. He was the weakest, yet the most terrifying creature stalking those peaks that day.
Hearing his mother's screams with every heartbeat.
"Hmm... what was that sound?" he muttered, turning left.
He parted a bush and saw it—a girl cornered by a blood tiger.
Shivering and asking for help, she suddenly turned toward Arthur and looked him straight in the eye, begging for help.
Arthur was completely unfazed. He watched as the girl was ripped apart piece by piece, the tiger savoring her blood like a demon tasting flesh for the first time.
Arthur calmly smiled and met the beast's gaze. It turned to him, growling low.
"Go on, eat her properly," said Arthur mockingly.
He knew the truth. It wasn't a blood tiger. It was the Penrose Flower—a predator that lured prey into its trap through illusions. Over millennia, it had evolved the most effective method to trick humans: mimicking human children being hunted.
But it didn't work on Arthur.
He had heard tales of Penrose in the village market.
And besides, Arthur was already in so much darkness that he might have even killed the little girl himself to lure in more dangerous creatures to awaken his magic.
If the girl was real, she would have died either way.
All he could think of now was power.
Humanity had become secondary for him.
His first instinct was to gain power.
He stepped into the Penrose's territory.
It was a monster, bound to the earth in the form of a rose. As it tried to enter Arthur's mind to make him come further, it experienced darkness—unbelievable darkness—and it enveloped Penrose as a whole.
It was horrifying to the point that Penrose died almost instantly, with acid dripping from its petals all over the ground.
"Weak," Arthur muttered.
"That shadow wolf, and now this. All weak. I want something strong... strong enough to kill me. To make me despair," he said in disappointment.
He continued his journey, and evening fell in the forest.
He kept moving forward, holding his broken arm.
He stumbled upon a waterfall feeding into a lake at its bottom.
He decided to wash the blood off himself and get some fish to eat—he hadn't eaten the whole day.
After washing up, he stood at the edge of the lake, trying to figure out how to fish with one arm.
That's when it came.
A Pyrrhus.
A magnificent bird engulfed in flames.
Perhaps it had smelled his blood, perhaps not.
No one could know for sure.
Screech...
A deep grumble vibrated in the air.
Arthur stared into its flaming feathers, then grinned.
"Looks like you will be the one," he said, with a twisted smile on his face.
Just as Arthur said that, Pyrrhus prepared its attack.
It's throat glowed molten red.
It opened its beak and launched a jet of fire.
Arthur stood there without moving an inch.
"Come," said Arthur with raging darkness.
"Burn me. Make me despair."
Flames engulfed him completely.
His silver hair incinerated.
Skin blistered and melted.
He screamed in pain—a raw, agonizing sound that shook the trees.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh..."
In desperation, Arthur threw himself into the lake.
Steam hissed off his body and he tried to summon magic in this excruciating pain, but nothing happened.
His entire body trembled with rage.
But still—nothing happened.
The Pyrrhus pulled him out of the water by the leg and slammed him into the earth, Arthur's leg still in its beak.
Then, with a snap of its beak, it swallowed his leg whole.
Arthur's voice was gone—the pain was too overwhelming.
But strangely enough, he wasn't despairing.
"Looks like... it didn't work," he thought bitterly.
His mother's screams howled louder in his skull.
Just as the Pyrrhus prepared to finish him off, something stirred in the lake.
A Boitata emerged from the lake.
A colossal serpent with shimmering white scales and piercing blue eyes.
It slithered forward, hissing at Pyrrhus—a warning clear as thunder to leave its territory.
Pyrrhus left Arthur and turned its attention to Boitata.
Screech... Growlll... Hissssss...
Tension grew and shattered the air.
The two titans clashed, unleashing shockwaves that flattened the trees.
Both Pyrrhus and Boitata could be called the strongest creatures on that mountain peak.
But there could only be one king.
Arthur didn't watch.
He, without batting an eye at their fight, left that place crawling—one hand, one leg—his body covered in severe burns.
He began crawling away, dragging what was left of himself through the dirt.
His already burnt soft skin was tearing with every painful motion.
He crawled forward, panting heavily.
Tears mixed with blood rolled down his face.
But he wasn't crying.
His eyes burned with a quiet, merciless dark flame.
"I will surely use magic if I survive," he whispered.
He started crawling back to the mountain peak where Gideon had left him.
He crawled—through dirt, through agony, through night—with moonlight acting as his limelight.
Sometimes fainting, and always trying to summon magic.
No beasts attacked him. He reeked of Pyrrhus.
By the time he reached the peak, it was already evening of the second day, and Gideon could arrive any second.
Arthur started to despair.
"No, no... I can't live like this. What about my revenge?"
Arthur screamed with the darkest of emotions mixed with fury.
He started slamming his head on the ground repeatedly, screaming—
"Useless... useless..."
And just as he was about to go unconscious—
"Jump."
Came a dark, chilling voice from Arthur's mind.
He looked at the peak with dark eyes wide open, panting, with pus dripping all over his body.
For some time, he stared at the peak in a daze—then crawled himself over.
Arthur leaned his head forward to look down, but he wasn't able to see much—mist covered everything 200 meters below.
"What do you have to lose? Just jump. You can't take my revenge with that pathetic self of yours," said the dark chilling voice turning into arthur's mother in his head with a smile darker than moonless night.
Though hesitant and angry, he experienced despair.
Despair of not saving his mother.
Despair of losing her.
Despair of not taking revenge on the king.
So Arthur took a deep breath and gulped some saliva down his throat.
"That's right," he thought, and pushed himself off the cliff.
In a distant cave...
"I wonder what he is doing," thought Gideon, eyes narrowing, keeping a pendant near his chest tucked in his clothes.
"It's almost time. I should go check for myself," he muttered, getting up from his chair.
Woosh...
He vanished, leaving a cold, dark room behind.
On the mountain peak...
"Hmm, looks like he is not here yet," said Gideon, looking around.
"What? What are these?" he muttered, noticing blood drag marks leading toward the cliff.
"So it was too much for him after all," thought Gideon in a sad tone, his face indifferent as he followed the blood trail.
"But why would a beast throw him off the cliff? Wait—it can't be... did he throw himself over?" exclaimed Gideon, eyes widening in disbelief.
He examined the marks closely, kneeling down on one knee
Then he stood and walked toward the cliff, bending a bit to peer over the edge.
"Hmm? What? What is that?"
[Original work by Kusan. All rights reserved]