The Varaksha’s Curse

The ruins of Velithra had fallen into uneasy silence. Kiran stood at the heart of the ancient city, his breath slow and measured as he scanned the darkness.

Something had changed.

A cold wind swept through the crumbling archways, carrying the scent of decay and something deeper—something wrong.

Beside him, the Varaksha stiffened, its silver eyes narrowing as it lowered its body in a defensive stance. A deep, guttural growl rumbled from its throat.

Kiran gripped the hilt of his sword, instinct screaming at him to be ready. They were not alone.

Then, the shadows moved.

Not like a trick of the light. Not like the shifting of leaves in the wind. These shadows had shape. They had intent.

A whisper, barely audible.

"He is here."

Then, the attack began.

A Dance with Death

The first Night Reaper lunged from the darkness, its elongated form moving with unnatural speed. Kiran barely had time to react before it was upon him. He twisted, narrowly avoiding the razor-sharp claws that sliced through the air where his throat had been.

The creature's body was wreathed in pure void energy, its form flickering between solid and ethereal. It did not move like a living thing—it moved like something pulled from the depths of nightmares.

The Varaksha struck first, its powerful claws raking across the Reaper's torso. But instead of flesh and bone, the creature's body dispersed into shadow, reforming a few steps away as if nothing had happened.

Kiran's grip tightened on his sword. This would not be a normal fight.

More of them emerged from the ruins—five, no, six in total. They surrounded him, shifting between existence and nothingness, their glowing eyes locked onto him like a predator watching prey.

"Break him," one of them whispered.

Then, all at once, they attacked.

Kiran fought on pure instinct. His sword cut through the air, slicing through the dark forms, but the Reapers twisted away, flowing like liquid shadow.

The Varaksha lashed out, its jaws snapping at one of the creatures, but its teeth found only empty air. The moment it landed, another Reaper struck, slashing across its side. The beast howled in pain.

Kiran's pulse surged. This wasn't a battle. This was a hunt.

And he was the prey.

The Power Within

A Reaper lunged—this time too fast for him to dodge. Claws raked across his shoulder, burning cold, as if the darkness itself had seeped into his flesh.

Kiran stumbled back, gasping as his vision blurred for a moment. His body felt heavier, as if the Reaper's touch had drained something from him.

"They are testing you."

The voice was not from the Reapers.

It came from within him.

Kiran gritted his teeth. He could feel something stirring deep in his core, something ancient—something he did not understand.

The Void.

For the first time, he allowed himself to reach for it.

The moment he did, everything shifted.

The Unleashing

The world slowed. The edges of his vision darkened, but his awareness sharpened. He could feel the Reapers—not just see them, but sense them. Their movements, their intent.

One of them lunged. This time, Kiran did not dodge. He turned, moving with the shadows instead of against them. His sword cut through the air—and connected.

The Reaper shrieked as its form cracked apart, not dispersing into shadow, but shattering like glass.

The others hesitated.

Kiran exhaled, feeling a surge of cold energy pulse through his veins.

He understood now.

The Night Reapers weren't invincible. They weren't just shadows.

They were creatures of the Void. And now, the Void recognized him.

A Turn in the Battle

The hesitation in the Reapers was brief, but it was enough. Kiran pushed forward, his strikes landing with new precision. Each time his sword connected, the creatures howled in agony, their bodies unable to reform as easily as before.

The Varaksha, emboldened, lunged at one, tearing its head clean off.

The remaining Reapers snarled, their movements turning frantic. The hunt had shifted.

They were no longer the predators.

They were the hunted.

Kiran raised his sword, and with a final surge, he and the Varaksha tore through them.

One by one, the Reapers fell.

Until the last one, instead of attacking, retreated into the shadows.

A voice whispered through the darkness before vanishing entirely.

"He is not ready to break."

Then, silence.

Kiran stood amidst the ruins, breath heavy, heart pounding.

He had won.

But the battle had only just begun.

The Aftermath

The Varaksha limped toward him, blood staining its fur. Kiran knelt beside it, running a hand along its flank. "You fought well."

The beast huffed in response, nudging him with its snout.

But Kiran barely had time to breathe before a deep, painful realization settled in his chest.

This attack wasn't random.

Someone had sent them.

Someone who understood exactly what he was becoming.

Kiran looked toward the distant mountains, where Duskholde Keep loomed in the darkness.

His hands clenched.

"Malrik."

To Be Continued…