Kapitel 1: The Fall of Mordred Black
The streets of New York City, shimmering with the summer's heat, were a labyrinth of metal and glass. People moved like ants, each with their own purpose, their own lives. Amidst this, Mordred Black stood out. His lean, muscular frame moved with a fluid grace that betrayed his mastery of martial arts. Yet, behind his confident stride, there was an air of unease, a shadow of discontent that had been growing for months.
Mordred, a master martial artist, had spent his life perfecting his body and mind. He had conquered every physical challenge, mastered every technique, and won countless tournaments. Yet, he felt an emptiness gnawing at his soul, a realization that no matter how strong or skilled he became, it was never enough. The world of flesh and bone felt increasingly limited. Mordred pondered, "Is this all there is? Endless training and no purpose?"
He walked down the bustling streets, lost in thought. His path led him to an old, decrepit dojo that had once been his sanctuary. The dojo's glory days were long past, and now it stood as a relic of his former achievements, a painful reminder of his growing insignificance. As he walked, he thought, "What would Master Liang say if he saw me like this?"
Inside, the air was thick with the smell of sweat and aged wood. The walls were adorned with fading photographs of his victories, trophies gathering dust in the corners. The dojo's tatami mats, worn and frayed, whispered stories of countless battles and blood. Mordred approached a particular photograph, one that showed him standing triumphant, a broad smile on his youthful face. His mentor, Master Liang, stood beside him, pride shining in his old eyes.
Master Liang had been more than a mentor; he had been a father figure, a guide. But now, Master Liang was gone, taken by illness the previous year. Mordred's heart ached with the loss, a wound that time refused to heal. He knelt before the shrine he had built in his mentor's memory, a simple arrangement of incense and a portrait.
"Master, I feel so lost," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I've trained all my life, but it's not enough. I'm not enough. What..."
"W-What?"
"What do I do now?"
As if in response, a gust of wind swept through the dojo, rustling the leaves of the bonsai trees that lined the windowsill. Mordred took a deep breath, trying to calm his turbulent thoughts. He knew he couldn't continue like this, trapped in a cycle of endless training with no real purpose.
Leaving the dojo, Mordred walked aimlessly through the city until he found himself at the edge of Central Park. Central Park's trees swayed gently, their leaves a vibrant green in the twilight. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over the landscape. He sat on a bench, watching the world move around him, feeling more isolated than ever.
"Mordred!"
The voice jolted him from his reverie. He turned to see his younger sister, Sarah, running towards him. Her bright smile was a stark contrast to his somber mood.
"Sarah," he greeted, forcing a smile. "It's been a while."
"Too long," she replied, sitting beside him. "How have you been?"
"Surviving," he said with a shrug. "You?"
"Busy with work. You know how it is." Sarah studied his face, her smile fading. "You don't look well, Mordred. What's going on?"
He hesitated, the words caught in his throat. But Sarah had always been able to see through his facade. He sighed, deciding to be honest.
"I feel... lost. Like everything I've worked for means nothing. I've trained all my life, but I'm still so powerless."
Sarah frowned, her eyes filled with concern. "You're not powerless, Mordred. You're one of the strongest people I know."
"Physically, maybe," he replied bitterly. "But what good is that? I can't change anything. I can't bring Master Liang back. I can't..."
His voice trailed off, choked by emotion. Sarah reached out, placing a hand on his arm.
"I know it's hard," she said softly. "But you have to find something new, something that gives your life meaning."
Mordred nodded, but the emptiness inside him remained. They talked for a while longer, reminiscing about old times, but the weight of his despair overshadowed their conversation.
Sarah: "Remember when we used to train together? You always pushed me to be better."
"Those were simpler times. Now, everything feels so complicated."
As night fell, they said their goodbyes, and Mordred made his way back to his small apartment.
The apartment was as empty and lifeless as he felt. He dropped his bag by the door and collapsed onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. Sleep eluded him, his mind a whirlpool of frustration and sorrow. He got up, pacing the room, trying to find some semblance of peace.
It was then that his phone rang, piercing the silence. He answered it absently, not recognizing the number.
"Mordred Black?" a voice on the other end asked.
"Yes, who's this?"
"This is Detective Ramirez. I'm afraid I have some bad news."
Mordred's heart skipped a beat. "What is it?"
"It's about Sarah. She was in an accident. A hit-and-run. She didn't make it."
The world seemed to stop. Mordred's mind went blank, the detective's words echoing in his ears. Sarah, his last connection to his old life, was gone.
The next few days passed in a blur, as if detached from living, living... being alive or maybe not. The funeral was a small, somber affair. Mordred stood by Sarah's grave, the weight of his grief threatening to crush him. He felt completely, utterly alone. Despair turned to rage, a burning desire for something more than this hollow existence.
Back at his apartment, Mordred fell into a restless sleep, haunted by memories and nightmares. In the dead of night, he awoke with a start, his body drenched in sweat. A strange, eerie light filled the room, emanating from a corner.
There, partially buried under a pile of old books, was a black stone that illuminated those books with a mysterious and eerie red and black light. The stone was smooth and polished, its surface seeming to pulse with an inner glow. Mordred felt a strange pull towards it, as if it were calling to him, whispering secrets just beyond his understanding.
He didn't know if the voice was his own or someone else's, but it felt strangely familiar, as if it were older and wiser than his own.
He reached out, his fingers brushing against the cold, smooth surface. In that moment, visions flooded his mind – visions of power, of transcendence. The darkness within the stone resonated with his own growing darkness, promising him the power to change his fate, to never feel powerless again. As Mordred touched it, a dark thought crossed his mind: "Power at any cost."
With a newfound determination, Mordred embraced it. He knew that this path would lead him away from everything he had ever known, but he no longer cared. The world had taken everything from him, and now he would take everything from the world.
As the energy from the artifact surged through him, Mordred felt his old self shatter. In its place, something new and terrifying was born. His journey into the depths of the dark had begun.
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein