Chương 24: Night Terror

As the grotesque horror charged, Northern nimbly sidestepped the attack, hissing through gritted teeth as searing pain lanced across his nerves - the monster's razored talons had grazed his skin.

He possessed no formal martial arts training whatsoever.

Though he had insisted, his father steadfastly refused to teach the family's battle style, for reasons he never divulged.

"Son, one day you will enter a rift and discover an even better martial art that will become your own heirloom. Teaching you mine would be a great disservice," his father had said, his words heavy, expression stern whenever the matter arose.

So Northern abandoned the idea.

Like spell arts, martial arts were not easily mastered.

Most extraordinary fighting disciplines originated as 'ways' - intrinsic cultural practices known to the natives of other dimensions.

Much remained shrouded in mystery, but clearly, some fallen civilizations had succumbed to the ravenous rifts and their monstrous denizens, their realms contorted into new horrific domains.

The prevailing theory suggested that should Tra-el ever be conquered, it too could be ripped asunder into dimensional space, unleashing a fresh rift incursion upon the next world.

Though unverified, it offered a plausible explanation.

Notably, those peoples consumed by the rifts lacked the metaphysical concept of Ul embraced by Tra-elians.

However, the quintessence of their martial arts, spell arts, and 'ways' remained extraordinarily potent, elevating a drifter's strength exponentially.

Prestigious nobles and royal families closely guarded their unique battle disciplines, their mastery serving as some badge of pride and status.

Nearly every household, regardless of rank, boasted some form of inherited art - inferior or advanced.

Even a lowly baron took pride in his humble techniques, heirlooms of ancestors who had drifted through realms and returned with hard-won trophies.

Yet certain formidable clans stood apart, their extraordinary prowess bordering on the mythic.

The Kageyama, with their signature raven emblems and blood-red eyes, were universally dreaded masters of death.

Their vast power cowed even monarchs, as this vengeful spirit-clan drifted between lands, their authority rivaling nations.

Wherever the raven banner flew, dread and reverence filled hearts, for none could defy them without courting oblivion.

The clan's Patriarch sat among humanity's elite - a Grandmaster, of which precious few existed across all realms.

Attaining the Evanescent soul-rank granted the honorific reserved for the pinnacle of human potential.

Rumor persisted of a mythical soul who had purportedly ascended even beyond Evanescent to the fabled Radiant rank, as foretold by Ul herself, but this remained unsubstantiated legend over the millennia.

For all intents and purposes, the Evanescent Grandmasters reigned supreme as mortal conquerors of the greatest attainable heights - a lofty caste which included the redoubtable Rughsbourgh himself.

Northern backpedaled, his heart thundering as he gaped at the eldritch abomination looming over him with primal malevolence.

Four hollow crimson eyes locked onto him with predatory focus, gleaming with sadistic intent.

He had never witnessed, nor even conceived, of such a nightmarish terror in his darkest dreams.

If the calamity beast he'd faced alongside his father could be called presentable, this thing was a twisted mockery of nature itself.

The malicious aura suffusing the cavern chilled Northern to his marrow, the icy tendrils of dread far more paralyzing than when he'd confronted the calamity beast.

Back then, at least, he hadn't quaked with bone-deep terror.

Every leaden muscle fiber told him this monster eclipsed that prior threat exponentially.

'I'm never going to survive this...'

He assessed the situation with brutal honesty.

Having witnessed the harrowing difficulty of three of his father battling - and only narrowly defeating - a calamity beast through sheer luck, how could a barely-awakened drifter lacking both martial skill and a soul core possibly prevail against something so exponentially more daunting?

Death loomed, inescapable, its shadow already encroaching.

Northern's clammy fingers tightened around the paltry skinning knife, his mind whirling with panic and desperation.

Outmatched, his meager blade may as well have been a toothpick against this colossal abomination.

But he couldn't resign himself, couldn't surrender without a fight, couldn't relinquish his stubborn grasp on this existence.

Reason warred with a primal, blazing spark of defiance searing his soul.

The reality of his hopeless situation raged against that irrational, inextinguishable will to fight, to struggle desperately until his dying breath - regardless of the odds.

Though this wretched path had led him through his own darkest valley battling cancer, an ordeal that had bitterly taught him the folly of hope, he now found himself clinging white-knuckled to that most reviled of human fallacies.

It manifested as the skinning knife gripped tightly in his hands, as the stubborn gleam burning defiantly in his pale blue eyes.

Registering that look, the beast's grotesque visage contorted into a frown before it lunged with staggering swiftness.

Instinct propelled Northern into frantic motion, ducking and weaving on clumsy but desperate reflex as his father's combat lessons echoed faintly through muscle memory.

The monster's thick tail whipped through the air like a scything blade, the wind of its passing caressing Northern's cheek with lethal intimacy.

Yet the relentless fiend flowed with unnatural, fluid grace, a guttural growl preceding its next blurred advance as drool-slick fangs snapped shut inches from Northern's face.

His heart kick-drummed against his ribs as he swung the knife in a wild, desperate arc, praying for a miraculous strike.

But the beast contemptuously batted the pitiful assault aside, serrated claws raking across Northern's side in a blaze of searing agony.

He reeled backward, gasping for breath, his vision wavering in and out of shadow.

The creature inexorably advanced, four baleful eyes narrowing in predatory satisfaction.

Pouring his waning strength into one final, foolhardy lunge, Northern thrust the skinning knife towards the beast's armored throat with both hands - only for the fiend to disdainfully deflect the blow with a lazy swipe.

Its free set of raking talons closed around Northern's windpipe like a vised garrote, hauling him off his feet with horrific ease.

Mr. Fluffy shot forward with a panicked squeak upon seeing Northern captured in the monster's crushing grip - but a contemptuous flick of its powerful tail swatted the couic tumbling away.

Darkness encroached on Northern's fading vision as he glimpsed the Night terror's cruel, victorious leer, the last sight etching itself into his faltering consciousness before oblivion claimed him.

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Chương 25: What Is After Here

Northern's eyes slowly fluttered open. At first, everything was a blur, but as his vision came into focus, an unfamiliar scene materialized before him.

He found himself lying on a rugged bed of red stone that undulated like petrified waves across the cavern floor.

A dank, earthy aroma permeated the air, assaulting his nostrils and churning his stomach. Though the space resembled a cave, an ominous gray sky loomed openly overhead.

To his right and left, ancient iron bars blackened by time and decay enclosed the area, their once sturdy forms now corroded and crumbling.

A feeling of unease washed over Northern as he took in his unfamiliar surroundings.

Where was he and how did he get here?

His head hurt the moment he tried to think, but it did not impede his thoughts. Northern remembered well - the horror he encountered just a few minutes ago.

'I thought I died.'

Northern stood up slowly from the stony ground; he looked around trying to figure out where he could be, but there was no information whatsoever that could hint at his location.

It wasn't like he knew anywhere in this rift. At least the sky felt familiar, and the land was not a sea of red.

Instead of that murky one, this seemed like red stone that had precipitated over time.

The next thing that bothered him were the iron bars that stood on both ends of his vision.

Then the sound of metal caught his attention, making him turn to the back, which he hadn't noticed since he woke.

Another thick wall of iron barricaded the back, its door opened slowly, creaking eerily as it did.

Northern paled, staggering backward as he saw a grotesque monster walk through the door.

The foreboding critter walked on two trunk-like legs, its presence a chilling blend of terror and martial might; each step thunderous and deliberate, shaking the very ground beneath its weight.

Its skin a patchwork of scars and thick, leathery hide, a testament to battles and the harshness of its existence, conveying a sense of fear.

The monster's body was grotesquely muscular, with bulging limbs that seemed to twist and contort in ways that defied nature.

Its hands, if they could still be called that, clutched a weapon forged not by the finesse of human craftsmanship but in the fires of savagery and necessity.

It wielded a crude axe, its surface pitted and stained with the remnants of past conflicts.

Northern's heart trembled as the monster got closer to him. Had he survived that terror only to get maimed by another?

After several steps, the crude creature stopped, looking down on him.

Its eyes burned with a feral glow, set deep within a face that was more snout than nose, with jagged teeth protruding from its maw.

But there was something strange about the look in the eyes of this monster.

Northern gulped as he stole a glance at the grotesque face. He lowered his head, paralyzed by the quaking fear in his body.

The monster turned, walking towards the iron bars affixed to the far end of the right wall.

While that happened, Northern's head screamed for him to run, to save himself while the monster walked towards the wall.

But his legs could not move. Northern tried to prompt himself into motion, but it was utterly futile.

Having experienced the same situation perhaps day after night, Northern's nerves were frozen from the manifestation of fear.

He could not move.

Until the monster got to the bars, bent down and picked something up, and came back.

The monster dropped a brown metal object on the ground with a thud ringing through the air.

Northern looked at the metallic rod. It was like an axe, however, a menial one.

The monster looked at him with a slight frown on its horrific face.

An understanding dawned on Northern as the monster stared at him, waiting for him to do something.

Northern, slowly and fearfully picked up the metal. As he did, the monster walked forward. It paused after two steps, looking back at Northern who was still standing in the same spot.

Northern tentatively hurried forward, following the monster at a careful distance as it trekked further.

After a while, they stopped at the first hill of waves that marked the landscape.

The monster looked at him, yanked the axe from him and with a spin, hammered it onto the hill.

A deafening ring streaked across the air, trembling Northern's bones.

With that one heavy strike, the hill cracked. And as the monster raised the axe and struck it a second time, splinters of red shards sprang out, falling around.

The monster pointed the axe at Northern. Shakily, Northern received it and watched the monster retrieve all the shards of red crystals that broke out of the red stone.

A deep confusion contorted his pale, dirty and bloodied face. Northern stared in ambiguity.

'What is this... what is going on?'

The monster put all the shards at one point and turned to Northern, frowning its face.

Northern, with the axe in his hands, fear in his heart and millions of questions on his mind, gripped the axe.

The first strike... sloppy was a praise. Northern almost tripped from his own swing.

The moment he carried the axe, its heaviness fell on his muscles. He wasn't expecting it, and it was too much for his scrawny muscles to handle.

Plus, belatedly realizing its weight, Northern's coordination faltered, and he ended up scraping the side of the axe against the hill's slope, staggering to the side and almost tripping.

The monster stared indifferently, but Northern took a glance back. In that cold stare, he could feel the shrewd disappointment lurking behind it.

He picked the axe up again, biting his teeth. He struck the hill; his second trial was a bit better than the first but equally sloppy and lame.

The monster moved the moment splinters of the red rock flew out from Northern's impact.

After that, it would return to its original position, petrified and unfazed by anything that happened.

Consistently, it felt like Northern was being watched by death itself as he persistently smote the rock with the black axe in his hands.

Night came, and further nights came. The sound of Northern's axe smiting the rock soared like the sound of a novice blacksmith forging the night into a weapon of sound.

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