Sanctuary and the Forbidden Book
Aven's footsteps echoed through the damp stone hallway. Old torches on the wall lit up on their own as he walked by, as if the place recognized who was entering. Hidden behind an old altar beneath the castle of Delmar, there was a secret place called the Sanctuary—a room only royal mages could enter. Very few people even knew it still existed. And even fewer knew what was inside.
The walls were covered in ancient carvings: images of the Time Keepers, symbols of light and shadow, and stories of a war between light and death—stories never written in normal history books. Eternal candles glowed softly, casting golden light that danced in the dust and silence.
At the end of the room stood a special shelf—made of black wood and wrapped in old chains engraved with magical spells. That's where the book was kept.
Grimoire of the Hollow Flame.
Aven stood before it, eyes fixed. He didn't hesitate. With a single spell, the chains melted like old wax, and the air suddenly turned cold. As he opened the first page, the book released a chill like a breath from another world.
He started reading.
Long ago, Nirzagal was a human mage. He was not only smart, but also a spiritual seeker from the Far East. He studied the art of summoning spirits and crossing the boundary between life and death.
But his obsession with immortality blinded him. In his pride, he betrayed the Time Keepers and made a dark deal with beings from the Land of Death.
He didn't die. But he wasn't truly alive either. He became a ruler over spirits and time itself.
Anyone who died near him had their soul bound. Not only their bodies were controlled… their will was erased and became Nirzagal's forever.
Aven clenched his jaw. This was worse than he imagined.
He flipped to the last page of that chapter—and found a sentence written in dark red ink:
"As long as Nirzagal lives, those souls can never be free. The only way to break the curse… is to kill him."
Aven closed the book slowly. His hands were shaking, but not from fear. He knew… this truth couldn't be hidden. There was no ritual. No negotiation. If Nirzagal was still breathing, every fallen person would return—not as themselves.
But Aven didn't stop there. He opened the book again, searching through ancient notes, magical symbols, and soul-breaking spells. He needed to know how to kill him. A spirit without a body couldn't be hurt by normal weapons.
And their time… was almost gone.
The Battle on the Wall
The sky had lost its color. A purple fog wrapped around the walls of Delmar, growing heavier with every scream and clash of steel. Fires blazed from tower to tower, casting flickering light on faces covered in dust and blood.
The Dravern army had managed to lower their giant ladders and climb the walls. Some had already made it to the top, swinging swords and axes at the exhausted soldiers of Delmar.
Lans and Aria were right in the middle of the chaos.
Aria stood tall near the eastern tower. Her bow was gone—replaced by a fiery dagger glowing in her right hand. Every time she spun, flames swept around her, burning the undead that tried to break through. Sweat covered her face, but her eyes stayed locked in focus.
Not far from her, Lans stood atop the remains of a broken tower. Rain soaked his clothes, and his breathing was heavy—but his gaze stayed sharp. With his left hand, he bent time—pulling wounded soldiers away from danger or slowing down enemies who were moving too fast.
But today, Lans also used his new power—ice.
With a stomp on the wet stone, cold air spread around him. He raised his hand, and from the air appeared three long ice spears, floating like weapons from the heavens. He pointed—and they flew, piercing the undead, freezing them instantly before exploding into icy shards.
On another part of the wall, two undead charged at him. Lans swung his hand toward the ground—sending a wave of frost from his feet. The enemies were frozen solid in an instant. In a flash, he ran forward and kicked them—shattering their frozen bodies like glass hitting stone.
The soldiers around him were stunned—but there was no time for awe. Lans kept fighting. His breath was fast, cold sweat mixed with rain. Every time he used his power, his body weakened—but he had no choice.
Meanwhile, on the southern wall, Kai moved through the battle like a shadow—silent, but deadly. He struck enemies with his long staff, taking them down one by one, but his eyes stayed fixed on one target.
Varkas.
The towering figure in red-black armor stood at the edge of the wall, his body radiating a bloodthirsty aura. His massive sword cut through Delmar's soldiers like they were weeds in his path.
Kai saw him. The distance between them was about a hundred meters.
One breath. One decision.
Kai gripped his staff tighter and began moving forward—step by step, pushing through enemies and allies alike. He struck, blocked, charged. He didn't speak. He didn't scream. But every swing of his staff carried a weight no blood could pay for—revenge.
Back across the wall, Delmar's forces were being pushed back. Parts of the wall had already fallen to the undead. The western catapult had stopped—no more stones left. Cheers had turned into cries of panic.
At the central tower, Gavin stood with his sword raised, shouting to lead one final stand. But even he knew—their time was running out.
And in the middle of it all, Lans felt the air grow colder.
But this time… it wasn't from his own power.
He turned.
In the distance… Nirzagal's eyes were watching him.
The Eyes of Death
The purple fog thickened along the wall, moving unnaturally—like a living thing hunting its prey. Amid the smoke and fire, Lans stood, his body hunched from exhaustion. He had used his fast motion and ice powers again and again. His hands were shaking, but his eyes stayed locked on the battlefield.
And that's when he felt it.
The air suddenly grew heavier. The noise of battle seemed to fade. His heartbeat was louder than the sound of marching enemies. Slowly, Lans turned toward the eastern side of the wall.
Out of the mist… Nirzagal appeared.
He floated slowly, his cloak twisting without wind. His skeletal body was wrapped in smoke, and his glowing purple eyes burned like coals in the void. He made no sound—because he wasn't walking. He drifted, like a ghost that had forgotten how to rest.
Lans raised his sword right away—but didn't strike.
Nirzagal stopped a few meters in front of him, hovering just above the stone wall.
"Lans Silverkin..." the voice echoed—not from Nirzagal's mouth, but inside Lans's mind. "How fascinating... time and ice... inside a mortal body."
Lans didn't answer. His eyes stayed sharp. His body, tense.
"A rare gift like yours… shouldn't die as a soldier," Nirzagal continued. "Join me. I can give you a place. Eternity. No more weakness. No more loss."
Lans gave a small, bitter laugh.
"If eternity means becoming like you," he said, "I'd rather die right now."
Nirzagal didn't get angry. He chuckled, as if pleased with the defiance.
"I already knew your answer," he whispered. "But... I wanted to hear it from your own mouth."
He floated closer—and for the first time, the air around Lans truly froze. Not from his own ice power, but from the sheer pressure of pure darkness.
"If I kill you here," Nirzagal whispered, "I'll take your powers. Time... and ice. Two rare elements in one body. With that, I could conquer even time itself."
Then—without warning—
Nirzagal attacked.
His fog lashed out like a ghostly whip, aiming to crush Lans's very soul. Lans spun and dodged using his fast motion. The mist slammed into the wall behind him, cracking and rotting the stone with just one touch.
Lans responded by creating ice spears and hurling them at Nirzagal—but they passed through the smoke, useless.
"My body cannot be touched," Nirzagal said calmly. "You know that. But go on… keep trying… before your soul becomes mine."
Lans slammed his foot on the wall, creating a layer of ice to slow the fog around him. He knew… this wasn't a fight of strength.
This was a fight against time.
Not just because of fast motion—but because he had to survive.
Just long enough.
The Flaw in Eternity
Page after page shook as Aven flipped through the ancient book with urgency. His breathing was heavy—not from exhaustion, but from the pressure of time running out. Outside, Delmar was falling apart piece by piece—and somewhere within these old pages might lie the only way to stop it.
His finger stopped on a page written in purple ink, different from the rest. There, a drawing showed a spirit circle—with a single symbol in the middle. It looked like an eye… covered in mist.
Aven read carefully.
"Nirzagal, a spirit between worlds, has no form that can be touched… except when he attacks."
"In the moment he releases his power into the physical world, his essence becomes concentrated. The fog that protects him will darken… turning deep purple. In that brief instant, he can be harmed—but only by a strike fast and precise enough."
Aven narrowed his eyes, gripping his staff tightly.
"So that's the opening…"
"When Nirzagal's aura changes color, his soul is pulled into the real world. But the shift only lasts a few seconds… and is invisible to the normal eye."
But Lans could see it.
Fast motion. Super-speed reflexes. Precision strikes. Lans could see changes others couldn't—even in time itself.
Lans could kill him.
Aven shut the book and tucked it into his robe. The light in the Sanctuary dimmed as he ran out, through the arched stoneways and ancient staircases. Every step echoed like the sound of a final bell.
"You need to know this, Lans," he whispered, picking up speed. "You're the only one… who can pierce death itself."
In the distance, explosions and magic rumbled through the earth.
The battlefield was waiting.
Water vs Steel
The southern wall of Delmar had become a stage of death. Flames burned, bodies were scattered, and the sky above seemed to bear witness to a battle that wasn't just physical—it was spiritual. In the middle of the chaos, two figures stood face to face, surrounded by purple mist and rubble.
Kai stood still. His robe was torn, his body soaked in rain and blood. But his eyes were sharp, locked onto his enemy: Varkas, the Dravern general, towering in black-and-red armor with a legendary sword in hand.
"You… you burned my village," Kai's voice was low, but clear even in the noise of war.
Varkas turned to him, like a man noticing an insect that had dared to speak. "Your village? I don't remember. I've killed thousands. They all look the same when their bodies are split in half."
Kai clenched his fists—but stayed calm. "I remember. My father's face. My mother's screams. You see numbers. But for us… it was the end of our world."
Varkas chuckled and raised his sword. "This is Xerhalion," he said proudly. "A blade that cuts anything—stone, armor, flesh. And with every life it takes… I grow stronger."
A faint purple glow pulsed around the blade—something between life and death.
"I am one of the five grand generals of Dravern. You? You're just a fly with a voice. I'll cut you down in five seconds."
Kai smiled.
That smile froze Varkas—not because it was mocking, but because of its calmness. Like someone who already knew the ending of a story not yet written.
"This fly," Kai said softly, "will destroy you. And your sword won't stop me."
Varkas roared and charged. Xerhalion slashed toward Kai's body—but the moment the blade touched him… Kai turned into water. The sword passed through him as if striking a river. No sound. No blood. Just splashes.
Kai returned to solid form a blink later. He stood still, untouched. Cold eyes locked on target. Without a word, he struck—his staff hitting Varkas in the chest, but the dark armor absorbed it completely.
Varkas laughed. "My armor is forged from the same metal as Xerhalion. No mortal weapon can pierce it."
Kai took a breath. "No mortal weapon. But I am not just human."
His hand trembled. Water began to swirl from his palm—slow at first, then faster and faster. Wind whipped around him. The whirlpool grew until his sleeve tore apart, and the sound of rushing water filled the air like a storm of arrows.
The water flowed into his staff, covering it until it looked like a solid spiral of pressure and force.
Kai struck.
First hit: Varkas's left shoulder. The armor cracked and shattered.
Second hit: his helmet. The face guard split in two.
Third hit: his knee. His leg buckled. Lower armor, gone.
Varkas staggered back, his proud armor broken, his body exposed.
"You…" he hissed. "What are you? A monster?"
Kai didn't reply. He closed his eyes, took one deep breath, and jumped high into the air.
"For my family. For those who never got to fight back."
He came down hard. Varkas raised Xerhalion to block—
—but Kai's strike shattered it.
"NO!" Varkas screamed.
But it wasn't over. Kai's staff kept going—down from Varkas's head, through his chest, and down to his stomach. Blood exploded. Time seemed to freeze.
Varkas's body hit the ground—split in half.
Kai landed softly. His breathing was heavy, body shaking. But his eyes didn't leave the two halves before him.
"Father… Mother… you can rest now."
But the wind changed.
From the remains of Varkas, purple mist exploded—thicker, heavier, alive.
Two whirlpools rose, forming new shapes. Horrifying. Huge. Twisted mixtures of muscle, bone, and armor growing wildly.
When they stopped growing, two soulless eyes stared at Kai.
"We are the spirits once trapped…" their voices echoed like thunder from underground.
"We were the soul of the sword… and the soul of the armor."
Kai froze. His hands trembled.
"The blade and the armor were our prison for centuries. And now… the cage is broken."
Kai stared at them.
And for the first time that night—fear appeared on his face.