Crimson & Light: Starting Over In A World Isn't As Easy As It Seems

Changra opened his eyes to a world of endless red. The air was thick, suffocating, and everything around him glowed with the faint, pulsating light of the Crimson Dagger. The hum that had been a constant whisper in his mind was deafening here, reverberating through the emptiness like a heartbeat.

"Where…" Changra muttered, his voice echoing. He looked down at his hands—bloody, trembling. The dagger was still in his grip, its crimson glow brighter than ever, its edge dripping with a liquid that seemed to vanish before hitting the ground.

"You've finally come," a voice said, low and cold. It echoed from everywhere and nowhere at once, filling the space around him.

Changra turned sharply, his eyes scanning the void. "Who's there?" he demanded, his voice shaky but defiant.

The hum grew louder, and the red haze began to shift and coalesce into a figure. It was a reflection of Changra—but not quite. The figure stood tall, its eyes glowing with the same crimson light as the dagger, its face twisted into a mocking smile.

"Me?" the figure said, tilting its head. "I'm you—or at least, the part of you that matters." It gestured to the dagger in Changra's hand. "You've felt it, haven't you? The power. The freedom. The truth."

Changra's grip on the dagger tightened, his jaw clenching. "You're not me," he said, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hands. "You're the dagger. You're the thing that's been trying to take over."

The figure laughed, a sharp, grating sound. "Take over?" it said, its smile widening. "No, Changra. I'm not taking over—I'm setting you free. I'm giving you the strength you've always needed. The strength you've always wanted."

"I didn't want this," Changra snapped, his voice rising. He took a step forward, his eyes burning with defiance. "I didn't want to hurt anyone. I didn't want to become… whatever you're trying to turn me into."

The figure's smile faded, its glowing eyes narrowing. "Didn't you?" it said, its tone colder now. "Tell me, Changra—didn't it feel good? The power coursing through you. The way Envy screamed when you cut her down. Didn't it feel right?"

Changra's breath caught, the memory flashing through his mind. The blood, the screams, the twisted satisfaction he had felt in those moments. His stomach churned, his hands trembling as he shook his head. "No," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "That wasn't me."

The figure stepped closer, its presence oppressive. "Oh, but it was," it said, its tone soft but insidious. "You can deny it all you want, but deep down, you know the truth. You liked it. You liked the power, the control."

"I didn't," Changra said, louder this time, though his voice wavered. He stepped back, his eyes darting around the void as if searching for an escape. "I didn't like it. I hated it."

The figure stopped, its smile returning, though it was smaller now, more calculated. "You can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me," it said. "I am you, Changra. I know every thought, every feeling, every little secret you try to bury. And I know the truth."

It gestured to the dagger, its glow intensifying. "You don't hate the power. You hate what it reveals about you. You hate that deep down, you're just like me."

Changra's grip on the dagger loosened for a moment, his chest tightening as the words sank in. "No," he said, his voice trembling. "I'm not like you. I'm not…"

The figure's smile widened, its eyes gleaming. "Prove it," it said simply. "Let go of the dagger. Let go of me."

Changra froze, his gaze shifting to the weapon in his hand. The hum was deafening now, the crimson light pulsing in time with his heartbeat. His fingers tightened around the hilt, his mind racing.

Let go. Just let go.

But the thought was drowned out by another, louder voice—the dagger's voice, his voice, their voice. "You can't," the figure said, stepping closer. "Because you need me. Because without me, you're weak. Powerless. Nothing."

Changra's breathing quickened, his grip on the dagger tightening once more. The red glow surrounded him, suffocating, overwhelming. The figure loomed closer, its voice a whisper that echoed in his mind. "Embrace it, Changra. Embrace me. And together, we'll destroy anyone who stands in our way."

The void trembled, the hum growing louder, as if the very air was waiting for his answer.

Changra's breathing slowed, his fingers tightening around the hilt of the Crimson Dagger. The voice of the figure before him grew louder, more insistent, wrapping around his thoughts like a vise.

"You feel it, don't you?" the figure whispered, its crimson eyes glowing brighter. "The pull. The power. You know it's right. You know it's what you need."

The dagger pulsed in his hand, its hum resonating in his chest, filling every corner of his mind. The weight of its promise was intoxicating. Freedom. Strength. Control. All the things he had always wanted, all the things he had never thought he could have.

Changra's voice trembled as he spoke, barely a whisper. "I… I can't."

The figure's smile widened, its voice turning soft, almost soothing. "But you can. You already have. You just need to stop fighting it. Stop holding yourself back. Let me take the burden. Let me take you to where you belong."

Changra's grip tightened further, his knuckles white against the crimson glow. His thoughts were a storm, his doubts and fears drowned out by the steady, commanding voice of the dagger.

"You don't have to feel weak anymore," the figure said, stepping closer. Its presence was overwhelming, its gaze locking onto his. "You don't have to be afraid. I'll make you strong."

For a moment, Changra felt himself slipping. The storm inside him quieted, the pull of the dagger's promise drawing him deeper into its embrace. The hum grew louder, consuming the space around him, and the figure extended a hand.

"Take it," it said, its tone calm and inviting. "Take what's already yours."

Changra's hand began to move, his arm lifting the dagger as if on its own. The glow around him brightened, the crimson light bathing everything in its warmth. His chest felt lighter, the suffocating weight of doubt fading away.

But then, faint and fragile, another sound reached him. A voice, distant and small, like an echo carried on the wind.

"Changra…"

He froze, his arm trembling as the dagger's glow faltered for a fraction of a second. The figure's smile vanished, its eyes narrowing as it leaned closer.

"Don't listen to that," it said, its voice sharp and commanding. "It's nothing. A distraction. Focus on me."

But the voice came again, soft and trembling, barely more than a whisper. "Please… come back…"

Jane.

Changra's breathing quickened, his hand lowering slightly as the echo of her voice broke through the storm. His mind was a blur, the faint memory of her tear-streaked face flashing before him.

"Jane…" he muttered, his voice trembling.

The figure stepped closer, its crimson glow flaring brighter as it towered over him. "She's weak. She's holding you back. You don't need her."

The hum of the dagger grew louder, almost angry now, vibrating in his grip. The figure's voice rose, drowning out the distant echo of Jane's pleas. "Let go of her. Let go of all of them. They don't matter. Only I matter."

Changra's grip on the dagger tightened again, his gaze locking onto the figure before him. The warmth of Jane's voice was slipping away, fading beneath the relentless roar of the weapon's power.

The figure's smile returned, triumphant. "That's it," it said, its tone low and soothing. "Let me guide you. Let me show you the truth."

The red glow surged, enveloping him once more, and the hum of the dagger drowned out everything else. The echo of Jane's voice faded into silence, leaving only the weight of the dagger's promise and the storm of power within him.

Changra's arm lifted again, the dagger's edge gleaming in the crimson light. He took a step forward, his voice a whisper. "Show me…"

The red haze deepened, the oppressive glow of the Crimson Dagger consuming everything in sight. Changra's thoughts were a fractured storm, each passing moment tearing at the edges of who he was. The figure before him smiled, its crimson eyes gleaming as it stepped closer.

"You're almost there," it whispered, its voice soft and inviting. "Just let it go. Let it all go."

Changra's grip on the dagger tightened, his chest heaving as the hum vibrated through his bones. The glow around him brightened, but something felt wrong. His mind was a blur, the memories slipping away faster than he could catch them.

"Who… am I?" he muttered, his voice trembling. The words felt foreign, strange, as if they didn't belong to him.

The figure's smile widened. "You're mine," it said simply, its tone soothing. "That's all you need to know."

But then, faint and distant, another voice broke through the haze. It was soft, familiar, yet unplaceable, like a melody from a dream.

"Changra…"

He froze, his breath catching in his throat. The voice was warm, gentle, filled with an ache that tugged at something deep inside him. But he couldn't place it. He couldn't remember who it belonged to.

"Who…?" he whispered, his gaze darting around the void. The figure's smile faltered, its crimson glow flickering for a moment.

"Forget them," it hissed, its voice sharper now. "They don't matter."

Another voice joined the first, deeper and steady, though tinged with pain. "Changra, listen… you're better than this."

Merrick. The name drifted through his mind like a shadow, just out of reach. Changra's grip on the dagger loosened slightly, his chest tightening as the echoes grew louder.

"Come back, ya big idiot!" Another voice broke through, its tone rough and unpolished, each word pronounced with a childish twist. "We need ya!"

Thorne. Changra's heart skipped a beat, the memory of a crooked grin flashing through his mind. But it was fleeting, the memory slipping away like sand through his fingers.

"Changra…" A softer voice now, calm and measured, yet filled with quiet strength. "You don't have to fight alone."

Aria. The name surfaced briefly before disappearing into the storm. Changra's head throbbed, his thoughts a blur as the voices grew louder, overlapping in a chaotic symphony.

"Don't let it take you, Changra," another voice said, softer but firm, laced with a quiet determination. "You're stronger than this."

Callen. The faint image of a hand reaching out to him flashed in his mind, but it vanished as quickly as it came.

"Please," a trembling voice joined the others, filled with fear and desperation. "We believe in you."

Liora. Her name was like a whisper in the back of his mind, too faint to hold onto. Changra's chest tightened further, his grip on the dagger trembling as the red glow faltered.

"You can't leave us, Changra," another voice pleaded, shaky but determined. "Not like this."

Tessa. The memory of her tear-streaked face surfaced briefly, her gaze locking onto his before fading into the haze.

The voices swirled around him, growing louder and more insistent, but he couldn't place them. He couldn't remember their faces, their names. They were shadows, fragments of a life that felt so far away.

"Who are you?" he shouted, his voice breaking. His gaze darted wildly around the void, searching for something—anything—to anchor himself.

The figure before him stepped closer, its smile twisting into a sneer. "They're nothing," it said, its voice sharp and commanding. "They're lies. They're chains holding you back."

"No…" Changra whispered, his grip on the dagger tightening. His head pounded, the echoes of the voices clashing with the relentless hum of the weapon. "I… I don't…"

The figure leaned in, its crimson eyes locking onto his. "You don't need them, Changra. You only need me. Let them go."

The dagger's glow brightened, the hum growing deafening. The voices around him began to fade, their warmth slipping away as the crimson light consumed everything.

But just before they vanished completely, one voice lingered, soft and trembling, filled with quiet desperation.

"Please… come back…"

The red haze trembled, its oppressive glow pulsating as the dagger's hum rose to a deafening roar. The figure before Changra, a twisted reflection of himself, stepped closer, its crimson eyes burning with fury. "You're mine, Changra," it hissed, its voice sharp and venomous. "You can't run from me."

Changra's grip on the dagger tightened, his knuckles white, his breathing heavy and uneven. But through the noise, through the suffocating weight of the dagger's pull, a voice called out. Soft, trembling, yet warm, it cut through the chaos like a lifeline.

"Please… come back…"

The words struck something deep within him, a part of him that had felt lost and unreachable. He turned toward the sound, his chest tightening as the warmth of it wrapped around him. "Jane…" he whispered, her name barely audible, but the sound brought a flicker of clarity to his fractured thoughts.

The figure's smile twisted into a sneer, its eyes narrowing as it stepped closer. "Don't listen to her," it said, its voice a sharp command. "She doesn't know you. She doesn't know what you've been through."

The crimson glow flared brighter, and the haze around him shifted, warping into images that clawed at his mind. Changra gasped, his knees buckling as the memories overwhelmed him.

His mother's hands, cold and cruel, digging into his arms as she whispered venomous words. "You're nothing. You'll always be nothing."

His father's slurred voice, heavy with anger and alcohol, echoing through their small, suffocating home. "Why do you even exist? You're a mistake."

Blood. So much blood. His own hands slick with it, trembling as he stood over their lifeless bodies. The knife, heavy and cold, slipping from his grasp as the screams echoed in his ears.

"You did this," the dagger's voice hissed, its tone filled with malice. "You're a killer, Changra. A monster. No one could ever love you—not after what you've done."

The memories twisted, morphing into visions of Elakia. The people he couldn't save. Merrick lying broken, blood pooling beneath him. Jane's tear-streaked face, her voice trembling as she pleaded with him to stop.

"You hurt everyone you touch," the figure said, its voice relentless. "You destroy everything you love. That's who you are, Changra. That's who you've always been."

Changra's hands trembled, his grip on the dagger faltering as the weight of the memories crushed him. Tears streamed down his face, his chest heaving as the pain consumed him. "No…" he whispered, his voice breaking. "I didn't… I didn't want this."

"But you chose it," the figure said, its tone cold and unforgiving. "You let it happen. You let me in."

The voice of the dagger grew louder, its presence suffocating. The figure leaned closer, its glowing eyes boring into his. "You don't deserve warmth. You don't deserve love. You only deserve me."

For a moment, Changra faltered, the dagger's words sinking deep into the cracks of his soul. The red glow around him flared brighter, the hum vibrating through every fiber of his being. He took a step toward the figure, his movements slow and unsteady.

But then, the voice came again, louder now, filled with desperate warmth. "Changra! Please, come back to me!"

The sound stopped him in his tracks. His heart raced, the storm inside him quieting for a fraction of a second. The warmth in the voice was like a beacon, cutting through the darkness, pulling at something deep within him.

"Jane…" he whispered again, his voice trembling. He turned toward the sound, his eyes searching the red haze for any sign of her.

The figure snarled, its expression twisting into one of rage. "No!" it roared, its voice shaking the void. "You don't need her! You don't need anyone!"

The red glow flared, the memories rushing at him again—his mother's cruel laughter, his father's angry words, the blood on his hands, the pain, the guilt, the unbearable weight of it all. The dagger's voice rose above it, sharp and commanding. "This is who you are! This is all you'll ever be!"

But Jane's voice came again, louder now, stronger. "Changra! I'm here! Don't leave me!"

The warmth of her words washed over him, and for the first time, the suffocating weight of the dagger began to lift. Changra took a shaky step forward, then another, the glow of the dagger dimming slightly as he moved.

"No!" the figure screamed, its voice desperate now. "You belong to me! You'll never escape me!"

Changra didn't look back. The warmth of Jane's voice was all that mattered. He broke into a run, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he chased the sound, the crimson haze around him trembling and fracturing with every step.

"Jane!" he shouted, his voice breaking. "I'm coming!"

The dagger's hum grew louder, its glow flaring in a last, desperate attempt to pull him back. The figure screamed, its voice echoing through the void, but Changra didn't stop. He ran toward the voice, toward the warmth, toward the only thing that felt real.

Changra's feet pounded against the ground, the crimson haze trembling with each step as he pushed himself forward. The dagger's hum grew louder, the oppressive sound reverberating through his skull. The figure's voice followed him, relentless and venomous.

"You can't escape me!" it snarled, its tone filled with rage. "You think you can run from what you are? From what I've given you?"

Changra gritted his teeth, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "I'm not… you," he muttered, his voice trembling but defiant.

The figure's laughter echoed through the void, sharp and cutting. "Oh, but you are," it hissed. "You'll never be free of me. You'll never be anything without me."

The red glow around him surged, the haze thickening as the dagger's voice clawed at his mind. "Turn back," it commanded, its tone shifting to one of mockery. "You can't outrun your past, Changra. You can't outrun me."

But Changra didn't stop. He didn't look back. The warmth of Jane's voice was his anchor, pulling him forward through the suffocating storm. Her words echoed louder now, drowning out the dagger's venom.

"Changra! I'm here! Don't leave me!"

The figure screamed, its voice distorted with desperation. "No! You're mine! You'll always be mine!"

The crimson haze began to fracture, cracks of light splitting through the oppressive red. The dagger's hum faltered, its once-overwhelming presence beginning to waver. Changra's legs burned, his chest heaving, but he kept running, his focus locked on the voice ahead.

"Changra…" Jane's voice called again, soft but steady, filled with quiet determination. "Please. Come back to us."

The dagger's voice grew quieter, its tone trembling with something Changra hadn't heard before—fear. "You'll regret this," it whispered, its power dimming further. "You'll come crawling back to me. You'll see."

The hum faded into silence, the crimson glow dimming until it was nothing more than a faint flicker. All that remained was Jane's voice, her warmth guiding him through the breaking storm.

And then, there was nothing but light.

The first thing Changra felt was warmth. His body ached, every muscle heavy and unresponsive, but the suffocating weight of the dagger was gone. Slowly, he became aware of voices around him—faint at first, then growing clearer.

"Is he waking up?" Jane's voice, trembling with worry but laced with hope.

"Give him a moment," Merrick said, his tone calm but tired. "He's been through hell."

"Just be ready," Elara added sharply, her tone edged with caution. "We don't know what we're dealing with."

Changra's eyelids fluttered, the light above him blinding as he slowly opened his eyes. His vision was blurred, shapes and colors blending together before sharpening into familiar faces. Merrick stood to his left, arms crossed, his expression weary but watchful. Elara stood a step back, her posture tense, her hand resting near the hilt of a dagger at her side. And Jane—Jane was right in front of him, her hand clasping his tightly.

"Changra?" Jane's voice broke the silence, soft and trembling.

His gaze shifted to her, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. His free hand, trembling and weak, lifted into the air as if reaching for something unseen. Jane grabbed it gently, her warmth grounding him.

"You're okay," she said, tears brimming in her eyes. "You're safe now."

Changra blinked, his vision clearing further. Something felt… off. He could see their faces, the room around him, the faint glow of the guild's torches. But there was a strange dissonance in his sight, a subtle shift in the colors and light. The air around him felt heavy, electric, as if something unseen lingered just out of reach.

Merrick's face tensed, his sharp intake of breath breaking the momentary calm. "Jane," he said, his tone low and urgent. "Look at his eyes."

Jane froze, her gaze shifting to Changra's face. Her breath hitched, her hand tightening around his as the color drained from her cheeks.

Changra's entire left eye was no longer its usual deep blue. Instead, it glowed a vibrant, unrelenting crimson, the light pulsing faintly like an ember that refused to die. It wasn't just a flicker; it consumed his iris and sclera entirely, a haunting reminder of the dagger's influence.

"Get back!" Elara barked, her voice cutting through the tension. Before anyone could react, she stepped forward, her movements swift and precise. Chains of glowing magic shot from her hands, wrapping tightly around Changra's wrists and torso. The restraints glowed faintly with a golden hue, their runes shimmering as they locked in place.

"Elara, stop!" Jane cried, her voice cracking. She clutched Changra's hand tighter, refusing to let go. "He's not dangerous!"

Elara's sharp gaze didn't waver, her voice cold and commanding. "You don't know that." She tightened the restraints with a flick of her wrist, the magic binding Changra firmly against the cot. "Look at his eye, Jane. That's not him."

Changra flinched, his chest heaving as his strength returned in small bursts. The chains bit into his skin, the golden runes pulsing faintly with a soothing but restraining magic. He stared at Jane, his blue eye wide with confusion and hurt, the crimson one glinting ominously.

"I…" he began, his voice hoarse and trembling. "I don't know what's happening…"

Jane turned to Elara, her eyes brimming with desperation. "Please," she pleaded. "Let him go. He's not going to hurt us."

Elara shook her head, her voice hard. "You don't know that," she said firmly. "And I'm not taking chances. Not until we know what's happening."

Merrick placed a hand on Jane's shoulder, his expression grim. "She's right, Jane," he said softly. "Whatever that is… it's not normal."

Jane's grip on Changra's hand tightened, her voice trembling. "Changra… it's me. Can you hear me?"

Changra's gaze shifted to her, his lips parting as if to answer. But the crimson glow in his eye pulsed brighter, casting a faint, eerie light across his face. Something unspoken lingered in the air, a quiet, unsettling tension that neither Changra nor the others could explain.

And then, he spoke. "I… don't know who I am anymore."