Cracks and craters scarred the land. Thick, dark smoke from violent volcanic eruptions choked the sky, staining it a deep crimson. Silence hung heavy in the air—no birdsong, no breeze, no signs of life.
Once, humans had lived here.
Now, they were corpses.
The bodies of men, women, and children lay scattered, all victims of the same gruesome fate—bloody eyes and ears, twisted limbs, shattered bones. Many were disfigured beyond recognition, their humanity erased by whatever horror had befallen them.
Mountains of corpses made it nearly impossible to walk. And yet, a straight path parted through the carnage—just wide enough for one man to cross.
The blacksmith stood at its edge.
He hesitated.
The path seemed deliberate, almost... welcoming. An invitation from something waiting on the other side.
He stepped forward.
Each footfall splashed into puddles of blood, the sound growing louder, sharper, ringing in his ears like a war drum. The path led to a cliffside opening—a vantage point overlooking devastation.
From the abyss below, a chorus of voices rose in eerie unison.
"All hail the witch. Bring forth the dragon."
Over and over, the chant echoed through the ruin, rhythmic and inescapable.
William was speechless.
Before him stretched an apocalyptic wasteland, a sea of fire as vast as any ocean. The flames consumed everything, reducing the world to ash. It was destruction unlike anything he had ever imagined—reminiscent of the Great Calamity five centuries ago. But this... this was different.
This wasn't a disaster wrought by time, nature, or gods. This was intentional... Personal.
—Did you do this?
He spoke to a presence lingering in the corner of his vision. A shadow.
It said nothing.
Swirling miasma cloaked it from head to toe, masking whatever lay beneath. William reached out, compelled. As his hand neared, the miasma lashed out, coiling around his arm like a living thing. Its cursed fog spread rapidly across his body.
Yet... he wasn't afraid.
He felt no terror. Only warmth.
A voice—soft, familiar—echoed in his mind.
"Welcome home, child."
He let the fog envelop him.
It welcomed him into a realm of iridescent purple. He could only describe it as beautiful. Otherworldly. The air thrummed with unspoken melodies, and he began to move—dancing to music that didn't exist.
His soul brimmed with joy.
Tears of blood streamed down his face.
For the first time in his life, he felt complete.
—What's that?
Something shimmered at the center of this dreamlike realm. It called to him. Entranced, he rushed toward it, driven by pure instinct.
As he approached, the truth revealed itself.
The source of all the destruction.
—No way… It's—!
His eyes bled faster. Trumpets blared in his skull like knives stabbing into his mind. Bones cracked. His spine twisted in ways no human body should.
Still, he moved forward.
His body—mangled and broken—yearned for it. For the love it promised. For the meaning he'd always craved.
This was his purpose.
He laughed.
Laughed through the agony, the madness, the unraveling of his mind.
He was almost there.
Closer, closer—
And then, the world began to fade.
The colors vanished.
The sounds died.
And everything—
Went black.