The sky above the kingdom of Niflheim was shrouded in thick gray clouds, allowing no ray of light to penetrate. The wind howled with a deadly silence, carrying the scent of blood and ashes. Shao stood there, at the edge of the abandoned city, staring at the scattered ruins before him, as if they were whispering tales of an ancient tragedy woven centuries ago.
The sound of stones cracking beneath his feet was the only noise breaking the eerie silence. The memories of the massacre that had taken place here remained etched in his mind. He had crossed these lands once before, when he was still a weak human, burdened with a heart heavy with hope... But now? Only anger, blood, and a curse running through his veins remained.
A familiar voice approached from behind—a deep, rough voice, carrying the echoes of countless battles.
"You've finally returned... I didn't think you would ever face this place again."
The speaker was Heim, his eyes narrowing as he gazed at the remains of the burned palace at the heart of Niflheim. His massive sword hung on his back, and the scar cutting across his left cheek had yet to heal, serving as a permanent reminder of the battle they fought here years ago.
Shao did not turn, merely whispering:
"This place... still pulses with the curse."
Heim crossed his arms and said slowly:
"It's not only the land that carries the curse, Shao... Your blood carries it too."
Shao finally turned his head towards him, his gaze as sharp as a blade.
"I know that. But I didn't come here to run from the past. I came to face it."
The air grew colder with every step Shao took toward the ruins of the central palace, as if the very ground refused his presence. Every stone, every cracked wall, bore witness to a bloody battle that had taken place years ago—a battle where innocent blood was spilled, and cries of loss echoed to the heavens.
His footsteps halted at the main square, where the remains of the statue of the god "Vidir" still lay on the ground, its head severed. The blood Shao had once shed here had never faded; instead, it seemed frozen in the rocks, forming dark tattoos that whispered of betrayal... and redemption.
Heim spoke in a low voice as he stepped beside him:
"Do you know what they used to say? That those who fall here do not ascend to Valhalla. Their souls become trapped in the curses of this land, wandering between agony and the thirst for vengeance."
Shao did not respond. Instead, he pulled something from his long coat—a small fragment of a broken mask, half-covered in a deep crimson hue. His eyes flickered with pain as he gazed at it. It was the mask his brother, Lior, had worn in their final battle.
"Lior..." He murmured the name, as if trying to summon his brother's spirit from oblivion. Then, he clenched the mask tightly in his fist and said:
"This land will speak again. I will force it to confess... the truth."
Heim silently unsheathed his sword, his breaths growing slower, more cautious.
"Shao... I feel something. The earth is shifting."
Suddenly, the ground beneath them cracked open, and a faint blue light seeped through the deep fissures. With it came the echo of a voice—hoarse and profound—rising from the depths:
"The one who returns from blood... the outcast of the heavens... why have you come back?"
The sky darkened even further. Shao did not move, but he spoke in a steady voice:
"I have returned to break the chains... and to finish what I started."
The voice that emerged from the depths of the earth was anything but ordinary... It was not human. It was more like the wailing of crushed souls, groaning under the weight of chains. With every word, its vibrations resonated through bone, not merely the ear.
Shao planted his feet firmly, his face devoid of even a trace of hesitation—unlike Heim, who gripped his sword with both hands, ready for anything.
From the cracks in the earth, shadows began to converge. They took the shape of a spectral figure, half composed of black smoke, the other half of glowing blue bones. Its eyes were like an endless abyss, fathomless and dark.
"You… the son of one who rejected the throne's call… the grandson of one who betrayed the sacred blood…" the specter spoke, in a voice not heard in words but felt deep within the nerves.
Shao stepped forward, removing his leather glove to reveal the crimson mark glowing on his left hand—an ancient curse he inherited from his battle with the dark priestess.
"I am no one's son anymore!" he snarled, then added in a lower voice:
"And if you seek the price of blood… then come and take it."
The specter paused for a moment, then laughed. It was not a human laugh—it tore through the air like a storm.
"Then… let the trial begin."
In an instant, a spiritual explosion surged through the place, forcing Heim backward. The ground beneath them nearly split apart.
Shao drew his black dagger—his personal weapon, forged from the core of a cursed beast—and prepared himself, while the shadows thickened around him, devouring the very light.
"Don't retreat, Heim!" Shao shouted without turning, "If we start this… there's no going back!"
Heim, covered in dust and with a fresh cut across his face from a shard of energy, called out in return:
"I didn't come with you to retreat… I came to fight by your side until the end!"
And so, with the echo of those words, the first trial of the ruins began—where neither swords nor strength would decide fate, but rather regret, memories, and divine judgment.
The air around them froze—not from cold, but from the overwhelming spiritual density that suffocated every breath. The shadows swirled like vortexes, encircling Shao and Heim from all directions. At their center, the strange specter remained still, silently watching, as if its true trial had yet to begin.
Suddenly, the specter lifted its skeletal hand, conjuring a maelstrom of memories. A sequence of scenes began flashing before Shao's eyes—his mother burning in the Temple of Light, his small hands reaching toward her while the priests held him back; his father being whipped before the public for the crime of "betrayal," crying out Shao's name before being dragged to the execution grounds.
Shao let out a roar from the depths of his chest, "Stop this! These memories are not weapons!"
But the specter responded:
"Regret is the most formidable weapon… It alone will decide if you are worthy to pass."
Shao fell to his knees, his eyes brimming with tears despite the hardened mask he had worn for years. He clenched the ground beneath him, the familiar weight of helplessness creeping back into his bones—just as it had in his childhood… weak, paralyzed before injustice.
Heim, watching the unfolding torment, rushed to him and placed a firm hand on Shao's shoulder:
"You are not that child anymore, Shao. You have fought in fallen worlds, faced creatures whose names are unspeakable, and now you stand here, on the edge of a new fate. Don't let them steal your strength again."
Shao's heart trembled, then he slowly rose, standing tall, and shouted in defiance:
"If I must face my regret, then I will—but I will no longer flee from it!"
A red spark of light ignited from the mark on his hand, glowing with a force he had not unleashed since his battle against the Lord of Shadows. The swirling darkness around him began to retreat, and the specter quivered slightly, as if taken aback.
"Oh… Has your heart begun to burn again?" the specter murmured.
"Then let us see if your courage will protect you from what comes next…"
In a sudden, blinding instant, the specter's mouth opened wide, unleashing hundreds of black arms—each bearing a different face from Shao's past. Friends lost. Enemies resurrected. Choices that had destroyed him.
But this time, Shao did not falter. He stepped forward—then another—the air around him igniting like fire.
"I will not fall again… Even if the wounds still bleed,
I alone decide my end."
The sky above Niflheim was heavy with thick gray clouds, as if concealing an indescribable wrath. Shao stood in the middle of the ancient square, its walls crumbling after centuries of war and neglect, gazing at the glowing stone emblem at the center of the ritual circle.
The silence was suffocating, broken only by the sound of his breathing and the rapid pulse of his heart. He scanned his surroundings; the ruins resembled a graveyard of unforgettable memories, and the inscriptions carved into the ground pulsed with a faint purple glow, as if responding to his presence.
"This is… the Call of the Abyss," Shao muttered softly.
Suddenly, an eerie voice echoed in his ears. It was not human—it was like the whisper of a forgotten language, resonating from the depths of the world's core. The sound was not merely heard—it was felt in the bones, as if an invisible force was trying to seep into his soul.
A dark light emerged from the monument, gradually shaping itself into a humanoid shadow—faceless, featureless. The entity spoke in a dual-toned voice:
"Your blood… is the key, and you are the bearer. Why have you come, chosen one?"
Shao lifted his head defiantly, though an internal tremor threatened to shake his very being.
"I have come to know… who I am. And to break the chains of this cursed fate."
The entity laughed—a reverberating echo across time—before saying:
"The curse is not merely in your blood, but in a decision made in an age long past. Can you bear the truth?"
Shao hesitated, but his gaze did not waver from the entity.
"Speak. No more lies."
The entity stretched out its black hand, its edges dissolving into vapor, and touched Shao's forehead. In that instant, his mind exploded with fleeting visions—temples collapsing, a god plummeting from the heavens, the screams of children, blood spilled over stone altars… His father, standing in the shadows, looking at him with lost eyes.
Shao stumbled backward, breathing heavily, blood dripping from his nose.
"This… is impossible!"
The entity spoke slowly:
"The abyss remembers you… for it was
forged from your blood."
Shao's body still trembled under the weight of the visions that had stormed through his being, but he steadied himself, pressing his palm against the ground, breathing heavily, his eyes filled with shock and fear.
In his mind, the images did not fade. They repeated like a relentless nightmare—temples collapsing, thrones consumed by fire, and a distant whisper calling out: "You betrayed us, Shao…"
He lifted his head toward the entity before him, his voice strained and uneven:
"What did I just see...? Who were they? Was my father…?"
The entity did not blink, its voice roaring like a wind echoing through the depths of ancient mountains:
"That was the first memory. You are not merely human, but an echo of a decision made long ago—locked in time so it would never return."
"What do you mean?" Shao asked as he struggled to stand.
"Your father was one of those who betrayed the First Covenant, spilling the blood of the sanctified to open the gate. From that moment, your blood became both a curse and a key."
Shao stared at his trembling hands, suddenly feeling twice as heavy, as if the truth itself was dragging him down into an abyss with no end. He was not merely fighting for survival—he was reenacting a fate written long before his birth.
The entity continued, pointing a spectral finger toward Shao's chest:
"But this blood does not mean you are enslaved to your past. You may be the first to change its course… or fall with it."
Before Shao could respond, the ground shook violently. The stones trembled, and the monument at the heart of the square cracked open, releasing a blinding red light.
The entity warned sharply:
"The Abyss has awakened. Time is running out! If you do not seal it now… the worlds will perish."
Without hesitation, Shao reached for the glowing symbol on the ground. Just before his fingers touched it, a blurred image appeared before him—a familiar face, eyes radiant with sorrow, whispering his name:
"Shao… Do not forget who you are…"
Then, the vision vanished, and an immense force propelled him forward.
He let out a primal cry and struck the symbol with all his strength—
And at that moment, the earth split open.
The ground beneath Shao's feet split open, unleashing a vortex of shadows and light, carrying a fierce wind that nearly tore his skin from his bones. This was no ordinary fall—it was a passage beyond the boundaries of existence. He did not scream, nor did he resist—he simply closed his eyes and hoped the darkness would not consume him forever.
But when he opened his eyes again, he found himself not in a battlefield nor in a land that knew light. Instead, he stood in a long corridor carved from black stone, its walls covered in shifting inscriptions that pulsed with life, as if recounting countless stories.
Strange voices echoed in his mind—voices of humans, gods, and beasts. Some screamed, others laughed, and some whispered words lost to time:
"Blood sacrifice… the final gate… the seal of reckoning…"
He advanced cautiously, following the red trail left by the light seeping from the symbol, his heart pounding like war drums.
Suddenly, a barrier of black flames emerged before him, encircling a tightly sealed metal door. As he approached, he heard a voice—a feminine tone, soft as a breeze but laden with sorrow:
"To pass, you must confess your guilt."
Shao stepped back, murmuring, "What guilt?"
A spectral figure of a woman appeared—it was her, the same woman he had seen in his vision… the same eyes, the same sorrow.
"Your guilt is not in what you did, but in what you failed to prevent," she said in a broken tone. "You have spent your life believing everything began with Darkan's assault, but the truth is far older."
Shao tried to respond, but his tongue felt heavy, as if every word had turned to stone.
The woman raised her hand, gently touching his chest, and said:
"The power within you is not of this world—it is an inheritance… One you must either unbind or let consume you."
Then, she began to fade, and the black flames before him started to recede.
When the door finally opened, a stench like decay and ash wafted out… and before him lay a staircase, descending into infinity.
He took a deep breath, gazing into the abyss and declaring:
"If I am the one who began this… then I am the one who will end it."
Then, he stepped
down—one foot after another…
The deeper Shao descended into the stone staircase, the thicker the humidity became, and dense vapors coiled around him until the air itself felt heavy, like clay. The walls pulsed with a faint red glow, as if breathing in unison with him. With each step, he could hear whispers echoing his name.
At last, he arrived at a vast, circular hall, at the center of which stood a stone platform holding a statue of a man draped in a long cloak, his features obscured. Around the statue, seven crimson circles revolved, glowing with a warm light, while droplets of a blood-like substance dripped from the ceiling, vanishing upon contact with the circles.
Shao advanced cautiously, his footsteps reverberating as if he had entered a forbidden temple. Suddenly, a deep voice resounded—its source unknown, its nature indistinct, neither human nor divine.
"Have you come to fulfill the covenant?"
Shao froze. He felt his soul's pulse slow, as if his heart were trying to escape his chest.
"What covenant?" he asked in a faint voice.
"The Blood Covenant. The pact broken centuries ago. The inheritance unjustly left to you… and now, you have claimed it."
In that instant, the statue began to move. It was not stone, but instead encased in blackened scales that crumbled away, revealing a figure cloaked in shadows—faceless, featureless, only luminous eyes dancing within pure darkness.
The entity spoke:
"The blood flowing through your veins is not purely human; it is sealed with the curse of your ancestors. To reclaim yourself… you must choose."
The entity extended its hand, and within its palm, two spheres of light appeared—one red as the setting sun, the other white as the first light of dawn.
"One will erase your curse, but it will strip away your power… the other will preserve your strength, but it will open the gates to all the nightmares buried by time."
Shao did not move. He gazed at the two spheres, then at his trembling hand, and spoke with steady resolve, despite the fear in his heart:
"I did not come here to run… I chose to bear this burden. The power I wield, I will use to end what others have begun."
At that moment, the spheres vanished, and the entity dissolved into smoke, leaving behind a glowing red sigil on Shao's hand.
Then, the hall trembled, the walls fractured, and once more, the ground beneath him began to crack open.
But this time, Shao did not fall.
He had be
come the center of the vortex.
Amid the swirling vortex of debris and shadows, Shao's body remained still—but his mind had surged beyond perception. He found himself standing in a vast, white expanse, devoid of ground, sky, or sound. Only emptiness.
Yet, one thing was there: a colossal mirror, floating in the void before him. Its surface did not reflect his image; instead, it displayed fragmented visions of an unknown past—screams, blood, war chants, and faces he recognized but now twisted by hatred or sorrow.
His mother's face appeared, smiling… then suddenly turned into a burned corpse.
He saw his father, standing firm in the storm, then collapsing, crying out his name.
And then, he saw himself—but different. A creature drenched in darkness, its eyes bleeding, its hands dripping with crimson.
He took two steps back. But then, he recalled the entity's words:
> "To reclaim yourself… you must choose."
Shao moved toward the mirror and placed his hand against its surface. It was not glass—it was like cold water pulling his palm inward.
"Are you ready to see your truth?"
The voice echoed again—but this time, it was his own.
"Yes…" Shao whispered.
In an instant, a flood of memories crashed into his mind. The moment of his birth, the first blood he spilled, the first time he felt betrayal, and the very first promise he ever made:
"I will free them… no matter the cost."
He fell to his knees, drowning in the tide of emotions. The visions were not mere images—he was living them, feeling every agony, fear, and despair.
Then—the mirror revealed a sword.
It was no ordinary blade; it was sculpted from bone and blood, pulsing as if it had a beating heart. Etched upon its surface was a single name: "Disval"—the Blade of Broken Fates.
Shao reached out… and grasped its hilt.
In that moment, the mirror shattered—not into fragments, but into a blinding surge of crimson light, engulfing his being and unveiling every thread that tied his past to his destiny.
His eyes snapped open… and he found himself back in the chamber, the red sigil on his hand pulsing with newfound intensity.
And now, above the s
urface, the true storm had begun.
Shao regained consciousness, but something felt different. The red sigil on his arm pulsed as if alive, breathing, whispering dark secrets. The voice was clearer now—not just murmurs, but at times, calling his name with an eerie intensity.
Outside, the storm had spread across the northern realms, fierce winds carrying the cries of war, and the roar of thunder echoing the fire of rage within Shao's heart.
At the center of the stone hall, Heim and Astir stood anxiously, waiting. When Heim saw him, he spoke:
"Shao, you took longer than expected. What happened?"
Shao could not explain it as easily as he had imagined, but he lifted his hand and revealed the sigil.
"This is Disval… the Blade of Broken Fates. Something inside me has changed… I've seen my past, its truth, and perhaps my future."
Astir gestured toward the windows overlooking the darkened sky and said:
"The storm is not merely natural. It is a herald of an impending danger. The Norse gods are stirring… Perhaps the time has come to face our fate."
Shao felt the weight of responsibility pressing upon him, yet he knew he had to take decisive action. He spoke with unwavering resolve:
"We will prepare. Not just for the battle ahead, but for secrets yet to be uncovered."
The three began their planning, while outside the hall, the storm winds howled fiercely, as if cal
ling all to awaken.
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