Alaric's consciousness drifted in a sea of darkness. It felt like he was floating in a void, untethered and weightless. Images from the nightmare in the catacombs flashed before him—the blood, the screams, the overwhelming power of the Destroyer as it emerged through his chest. It was all too much, too painful to comprehend. He wanted to sink deeper into the darkness, away from the agony of reality.
Suddenly, a sharp, insistent voice pierced through the void, breaking the silence of his thoughts. "Hey! Hey, are you alive? Can you hear me?"
The voice was small but persistent, cutting through the haze in Alaric's mind. It was like a mosquito buzzing in his ear, refusing to be ignored.
"Well, at least you're breathing," the voice continued, more to itself than to Alaric. "But that's one nasty scar you've got there. Seriously, what happened to you?"
Alaric groaned, his eyes fluttering open. The world around him came into focus slowly, revealing a landscape he didn't recognize. He was lying at the edge of a massive crater, its vastness stretching out as far as the eye could see. In the center of the crater, miles away, stood a kingdom—a lone silhouette against the horizon, strange and unfamiliar.
The voice spoke again, this time louder and more demanding. "Come on, wake up! I didn't come all this way for you to lie there like a corpse."
Alaric's head pounded as he pushed himself up, his limbs heavy and sluggish. He looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. "Who's there?" he croaked, his throat dry and rough. "What's happening? How am I alive? Why am I alive?"
His thoughts were a chaotic mess, tangled with fear, confusion, and a deep, gnawing guilt. The last thing he remembered was the Destroyer emerging through him, tearing apart every part of is being. How could he have survived that?
The voice laughed, a high-pitched sound that grated on his nerves. "Of course, you're alive! You think I'd be talking to you if you were dead? That would be a waste of time. And I don't have much time, so you better listen up!"
Alaric turned his head to see a tiny creature hovering beside him. It was no bigger than his hand, with wings like a dragonfly and a body that shimmered with an ethereal light. Its eyes were wide and sparkling with energy, and it buzzed around him with a frenetic intensity.
"I'm just a newborn spirit," the creature declared, placing its tiny hands on its hips. "And you, my friend, have a lot to answer for. You caused this mess, so you're going to fix it!"
Alaric blinked, his mind struggling to keep up with the spirit's rapid words. "What… What are you talking about?" he muttered, rubbing his temples as if trying to clear his head. "What mess? I didn't do anything…"
The spirit's eyes narrowed, its wings fluttering angrily. "Didn't do anything? Are you kidding me? Look around you!" It gestured dramatically at the vast crater and the kingdom in the distance. "This is all your fault! You unleashed the Destroyer, and now the world's gone to chaos!"
Hearing this, Alaric's confusion turned to anger. A bitter laugh escaped his lips, filled with frustration and despair. "I don't care about this world. It can rot like it should. None of these matters… nothing matters anymore."
He turned away from the spirit, squeezing his eyes shut and hoping he would wake up from this nightmare. But the spirit wasn't about to let him off so easily. It zipped in front of his face, its tiny features twisted in determination.
"Oh no, you don't!" it snapped. "You don't get to give up just like that! You're the only one who can set things right, whether you like it or not!"
Alaric glared at the spirit; his jaw clenched. "And why should I care? Why should I do anything?"
The newborn spirit hovered closer, a mischievous grin on its face. "Because it's the right thing to do!" it declared, as if the answer were obvious.
Alaric scoffed, crossing his arms. "Pass," he said flatly, his voice cold and dismissive.
The spirit blinked, clearly not expecting such a quick rejection. "Wha—?! Okay, what about this? Because people will perish!" it shouted, flapping its wings in exasperation.
"Okay?" Alaric replied, still unyielding, his voice devoid of emotion.
The spirit was visibly frustrated now, buzzing around him in frantic circles. "Because… because if you don't do something, more innocent lives will be lost! Whole villages could be destroyed! You can't just stand by and let that happen!"
Alaric remained unmoved, his gaze steady and defiant. "Watch me," he said, a hint of defiance in his tone.
The spirit paused, hovering in place as it tried to think of another reason. It took a deep breath, its voice softening as it said, "Alright, how about this? Because your siblings won't have any rest as things stand. They were sacrificed to the Destroyer, their souls trapped inside it. If you don't do something, they'll be lost forever."
Alaric's heart clenched at the mention of his siblings. He could see their faces, their eyes filled with fear and betrayal as they were sacrificed. The thought of them being trapped, suffering for eternity… He couldn't bear it.
His voice trembled as he finally spoke, "What… What do I have to do?"
The spirit, sensing the change in Alaric's resolve, fluttered closer, its tone softening. "First, you have to understand that this isn't going to be easy. The Destroyer is powerful, and it's feeding off the chaos it's creating. You'll need strength, and you'll need allies. But before any of that, I need a favor."
Alaric looked at the spirit, still wary but more willing to listen. "What kind of favor?"
The spirit fluttered down to rest on his shoulder, its tiny wings folding behind it. "I'm a newborn spirit, and newborns don't live long. A day at most, unless they inhabit something—a person, an object, something with a soul or energy. I can't help you if I'm gone. I need to inhabit something, and fast."
Alaric considered this, then nodded. "Fine. You can inhabit me. I'm willing."
The Spirit's eyes widened in surprise but quickly nodded. "Alright, hold still," it said, hovering closer to Alaric's chest. It began to glow brighter, its light intensifying as it attempted to merge with him.
A sudden jolt of pain shot through Alaric's chest, causing him to gasp and stagger backward. The Spirit was thrown back, its form flickering as if it had been struck.
"Ow!" the spirit exclaimed, rubbing its head. "That hurt! What did you do?"
Alaric clutched his chest, feeling a burning sensation radiating from the scar left by the Destroyer. "I didn't do anything!" he replied, wincing in pain. "What happened?"
The Spirit looked at him with a mix of frustration and concern. "Your scar… it's more than just physical. It's spiritual. Your soul is damaged, fragmented. I can't bond with you. It's too dangerous, for both of us."
A sense of desperation filled the spirit's voice as it flitted around Alaric, searching through his belongings. "There must be something you have, something I can use… Come on, don't you have anything that's not just junk?"
The spirit rifled through his pockets, rummaging through his satchel, its frustration growing. Alaric watched, too exhausted to protest, until the spirit's eyes landed on the small device he had been working on before everything fell apart—the one he'd used to light the cave.
"Ah, this is perfect!" the Tinker Spirit exclaimed, its eyes lighting up with excitement. Without another word, it dove into the device, disappearing in a flash of light.
Alaric's eyes widened in horror as he realized what the spirit had done. "No! Get out of there!" he shouted, snatching the device up in his hands. "That's all I have left of my siblings! You can't just take it over like that!"
The device felt warm, almost alive, and Alaric could sense the spirit's presence within it. The Tinker Spirit's voice echoed from inside, sounding somewhat sheepish but still insistent. "I know it's important to you, but this is the only way I can help you. If I don't inhabit something, I'll disappear, and then you'll be on your own."
Alaric's grip tightened on the device; his knuckles white with tension. He was torn between protecting the last memento of his siblings and the realization that he needed the spirit's help. Tears welled up in his eyes as he wrestled with his emotions.
"Please," he whispered, his voice breaking. "This is all I have left of them… I can't lose this too."
The spirit's tone softened, a note of understanding entering its voice. "I promise, I won't harm it. I'll just… borrow it for a while. I need to stay with you, to guide you. This device will help me do that."
Alaric took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady himself. He looked down at the device, feeling the warmth of the spirit within it. "Fine," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "But you'd better keep your word."
"I will," the spirit assured him. "And now that I have a form, you can call me the Tinker Spirit. We're in this together now. And I swear, we'll find a way to make things right—for your siblings, for everyone."
Alaric nodded slowly, feeling a flicker of determination reignite within him. He wasn't sure what lay ahead or how he would face the challenges before him, but for the sake of his siblings, for the sake of those he had lost… he would find a way.
With the Tinker Spirit guiding him and his resolve renewed, Alaric set his sights on the kingdom in the crater's center. The journey ahead would be fraught with danger and uncertainty, but he was no longer alone. And for the first time since the darkness had consumed him, he felt a glimmer of hope.
As Alaric and the Tinker Spirit began their journey toward the distant kingdom, the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the desolate landscape of the crater. The terrain was rough, with jagged rocks and uneven ground making progress slow and challenging. Each step felt heavy, as if the weight of what had transpired still clung to Alaric, trying to pull him back into despair.
The Tinker Spirit, now comfortably nestled in the small device Alaric carried, broke the silence with its usual energetic tone. "You know, I've been thinking about how we're going to get across this crater. It's not going to be easy, but I think I have a few ideas."
Alaric glanced down at the device; his expression wary. "Like what?"
Before the Tinker Spirit could answer, the ground beneath Alaric trembled.
The air around him grew unbearably hot, the temperature rising like a furnace had been unleashed inside the crater.
Alaric's instincts flared. He dropped into a defensive stance, eyes scanning the desolate landscape.
A figure appeared—small, barely reaching his waist—wreathed in fierce, living fire.
She wore fiery armor that shimmered with molten light, her eyes burning with a wild, childlike intensity.
She let out an insane laugh, her voice high-pitched but deadly certain.
"BWAH-HA-HA-HA-HA! Thought you could hide from me?!"
Alaric barely reacted before she lunged at him with blinding speed.
Her massive, fiery greatsword crackled with molten energy as she swung downward, flames trailing behind like a whip.
Instinct kicked in.
Alaric sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the strike—the heat from the blade singeing the air but strangely not burning him.
"Who the hell is that?!" Alaric muttered, heart hammering.
The small warrior spun with feral agility, fire flickering madly around her.
The Tinker Spirit crackled through his device, frantic.
"That's... not normal! Get ready, Alaric!"
For a heartbeat, only the crackle of fire and the sharp hum of the device filled the air.
The girl's burning gaze locked onto him again, suspicious and furious.
With a shrill, battle-hungry cry, she launched herself once more, sword raised high.
Each step she took ignited the ground beneath her feet.
"I'll burn you to the ground!" she shrieked.
Alaric barely dodged her next attack.
Each swing roared like a thunderclap, firestorms erupting from every impact.
The battlefield became a living inferno.
He moved faster than thought, his body almost reacting for him.
But it wasn't enough.
The more she fought, the stronger she seemed to grow.
No... I'm not slowing down. You're getting stronger.
Fear gripped his chest—not of her—but of his own limits.
His body screamed in protest. He stumbled, tripping over a jagged stone and hitting the ground hard.
The warrior advanced relentlessly, her greatsword crashing into the earth with molten fury.
Alaric rolled aside just in time, blood and sweat mixing on his brow.
Another roar. Another explosion. Another missed death by inches.
She was overwhelming him.
Then—
"Alaric! Get up! You have to keep fighting!"
The device crackled in his palm.
For a moment, the girl hesitated, eyes narrowing suspiciously at the voice.
Her sword hovered mid-air, flames hissing uncertainly.
"What is this?" she muttered, confused. "A spirit?"
For the first time, uncertainty flickered in her fire-wreathed form.
She focused back on Alaric, her gaze hardening.
Her lips curled into a vicious grin.
"You're lucky," she sneered, "that a warrior of my stature bothers with you at all! But it ends now!"
She raised her blade high, declaring:
"I am Valoria, Goddess of Combat—Infernal Vanguard of the Gods!
The Destroyer may wear a new face, but I will not be deceived again!"
The very earth trembled beneath her fury.
Each word struck like a hammer, flames roaring around her.
Then—the Tinker Spirit's voice rang out, sharp as a crack of lightning:
"Valoria?! No! He's not the Destroyer—Alaric is human! STOP!"
The Spirit darted forward in a halo of shimmering blue light.
And then, in a voice older than the gods themselves, it spoke:
"No direct interference with the human world... To observe, not mold.
To watch, not to judge. Thus spoke Elora, First of Progress."
The words struck Valoria like a blade.
Her entire body froze.
The flames faltered. The crater cracked beneath her feet.
Her weapon wavered in her grasp.
"...E-Elora..." Valoria stammered, voice suddenly small.
She glanced around fearfully, half-expecting judgment to fall upon her.
"I... I wasn't..." she whispered, trailing off.
A bead of sweat slid down her cheek despite her own fire.
With a shaky breath, she lowered her sword, shame flickering across her fierce features.
But still—her molten eyes snapped back to Alaric, burning with confusion and anger.
"The Destroyer's stink clings to you," she growled. "I cannot ignore it...!"
The Tinker Spirit, calm and steady, floated between them.
"Then do as you once swore," it said gently.
"Monitor. Contain. Protect. Not destroy."
Valoria trembled under the weight of the old law.
Finally, almost choking on the words:
"...A pact, then," she said bitterly.
"I will walk beside him. I will guard the world against him."
Softly, barely audible, she added—words not meant for anyone present:
"Forgive me, Big Sis..."
Alaric, half-dazed from the battle, stared.
One moment she had been a blazing inferno.
Now she stood there stiff and bristling, more like a scolded child than a vengeful god.
And she was tiny.
She barely reached his chest.
Her sleek, blackened armor hugged her slight, athletic frame, jointed and flexible, more like a predator's than a knight's.
Her fiery hair—a wild mane of burning curls—spilled messily from her helmet, making her look like a lion cub armed for war.
And her massive greatsword?
It was almost twice her size, absurdly oversized for her small form.
The effect was nearly comical... if not for the terrifying power still radiating off her.
Valoria lifted her chin sharply.
"I, Valoria," she declared, voice proud but strained, "Goddess of Combat, Infernal Vanguard of the Gods, do hereby decree..."
She grimaced—adorably fierce for all her fire and fury.
"...that I shall monitor your existence, Alaric, human though you claim to be."
Her molten gaze locked onto his, daring him to argue.
"You are under my supervision," she said stiffly, the word bitter on her tongue.
"Should you falter—should the Destroyer rise again within you—I will act."
Silence fell, heavy and awkward.
Alaric shifted uneasily, clearing his throat.
"S-So... you're... joining me?"
Valoria bristled instantly, her small fists clenching.
"I am not your companion," she snapped. "I am your warden."
Another beat of silence.
Her cheeks puffed out slightly, like she was holding back more words.
Finally, muttered almost too soft to hear:
"...Though it would be unwise to face the fiends alone. For the good of the world, I shall accompany you."
The Tinker Spirit bobbed nearby, its light chiming softly like laughter.
Thus the pact was forged:
not from friendship,
not from trust,
but from necessity, duty,
and the fragile hope that within this strange human...
...the world's future might still be salvaged.
As they moved through the shifting landscape, the vastness of the crater began to loom even larger. The wind carried a strange stillness, an eerie quiet that felt like it was filled with old memories. Alaric's head still swam with confusion, unable to make sense of the surreal series of events that had brought him here. His heart pounded as he tried to grasp the scale of everything unfolding before him.
Then, Valoria spoke again, her voice strong and laced with something resembling pride.
"You stand in the Crater of the Gods, human," she declared, her gaze sweeping across the jagged expanse. "This is the result of our first battle with the Destroyer. A mark upon the world that will never fade. And yes," she continued, a fire igniting in her molten eyes, "this was the place where I and my fellow gods first sealed away the Malice. The very land itself bears the scar of our strength."
Alaric blinked, his eyes flicking between her and the vast crater before him. The grandeur of her words seemed almost too big to grasp. "The... gods?"
"Yes," she answered, her voice carrying an almost reverent pride. "We fought here, and though the battle was fierce, we prevailed. This is our triumph — my triumph." She stood tall, looking out over the expanse with an almost regal air, as though the crater were a trophy — a monument to her victory, to the gods' strength.
Alaric frowned, still processing everything. "But... what about the kingdom?" he asked, pointing toward the center of the crater. "Eldora... it's... here?"
Valoria's gaze shifted, her lips curling into a sly smile as she nodded. "Indeed, the Kingdom of Eldora lies in the very heart of the crater. The first human settlement, carved into the very scar left behind by our victory. A testament to what can survive, even in the most hostile of places."
She almost seemed to revel in the fact that such a grand city could exist in such a place, her pride as evident as the fire in her eyes. The walls of the crater, scarred and broken, only served as a backdrop to her strength.
But Alaric was still struggling to comprehend it all. His head spun with confusion, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in. "But this is... so far from my home. Tesara... it's... on the opposite side of the world, isn't it?"
Valoria's smile faltered, and for a brief moment, there was a shadow in her eyes. She didn't answer immediately, almost as if the question itself made her uncomfortable. "You humans," she muttered dismissively, "always concerned with borders and boundaries. You think so small, Alaric. This is not about your maps or your distance. This is about the struggle between gods and monsters. The world itself—this place—is where it all began. Where the battle between us and the Destroyer began. And it continues, even now."
Alaric hesitated. He didn't know how to respond. His gaze wandered across the crater, noticing the small villages on the rim, the sprawling fields that seemed so at odds with the devastation that had been wrought here. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was caught in something much larger than himself.
Valoria, sensing his doubts, began to walk again, the fire of her presence slightly dimmed. "You see the grandeur, Alaric," she said, her tone softening slightly, "but you do not understand the cost of what it took to create it. The gods who fought here... they were not invincible. We are not invincible." As Valoria spoke, her voice gaining a certain edge, the details of her most recent battle against the Destroyer began to take shape.
"The battle was fierce," she said, her voice hardening, her gaze distant as if recalling the pain. "I charged in first, determined to end it quickly. But the Destroyer... it was more powerful than I expected. It shattered me—shattered all of us, in ways I could never have anticipated. My strength... I was defeated almost immediately, overwhelmed by its malice."
Alaric's vision blurred. His heart began to race as the ground seemed to tilt beneath him. He didn't understand why, but the words struck something deep within him. The Destroyer. His thoughts were suddenly pulled back to that moment. That moment in the catacombs, when the world collapsed around him.
"No! Please, no!" Alaric cried, his voice breaking. The memory hit him like a wave, and his mind began to spiral. The altar. The ritual. His siblings.
The image of the High Priestess, her hands raised high, casting her final spell. The flash of light. His body slammed against the ground. The agony. The horror.
His siblings, lifeless on the altar, their eyes vacant. The weight of failure.
"Nothing happened," the High Priestess had said. The coldness of her voice. The emptiness. The cruelty.
Rage and despair burned in Alaric's chest, the torrent of emotions threatening to drown him. His failure. His weakness.
His vision swam, and the echo of his screams rang in his ears. "I couldn't save them..." he whispered, barely able to comprehend the suffocating grief.
The pain in his chest grew sharper, a searing agony that mirrored the moment when the Destroyer had emerged from him, its monstrous form tearing through him, ripping his soul apart.
Alaric's breath hitched, his heart pounding in his throat. The memory of the Destroyer's presence—the utter malevolence, the overwhelming power that consumed everything—threatened to pull him under.
Then, the Tinker Spirit hummed softly beside him, its gentle glow cutting through the storm in his mind, grounding him. He blinked hard, trying to focus on the present. The world around him came back into focus.
Valoria's voice, too, cut through the chaos of his mind.
"I was the first to fall," she said, her tone laced with cold recollection. "And I woke up far from here... broken, weakened. I couldn't stop the Destroyer. No one could."
Alaric's breathing steadied, though his chest still felt tight with the pain of both the memory and Valoria's words. The weight of her failure... it seemed almost too familiar. But unlike her, he had been unable to push past his own despair.
He looked at Valoria, her strength now tempered with that hint of vulnerability, the cracks in her pride laid bare. "You're... you're still here," Alaric whispered, almost to himself. "Even after everything."
Valoria turned to him, a fire still flickering in her eyes, but something deeper, darker, lingered beneath. When Alaric spoke—soft, understanding—the cracks in her armor deepened.
At his words, Valoria let out a sharp, breathless laugh. It wasn't mocking; it was brittle, strained — the laugh of someone too tired to carry the weight of their pride any longer. She covered her face with one trembling hand, her shoulders shaking once before she steadied herself.
"Compassion... for a fallen god," she murmured, almost incredulous. "How far I've fallen indeed."
Beside Alaric, the Tinker Spirit hovered closer, its gentle, steady hum rising just enough for him to hear. A soft glow warmed against his skin — a quiet reassurance, a reminder that he wasn't alone. He placed a hand over the Spirit's light without thinking, grounding himself against the rising tide of emotions swirling between them.
Valoria lowered her hand. Her molten gaze locked onto Alaric's, and for the first time, he saw something deeper than anger or pride — he saw pain. And beneath it, a flicker of hope.
"You're right," she said, her voice rough but strengthening with each word. "I failed. I fell. I was shattered." Her hand curled into a fist at her side, trembling with suppressed fury. "But the Destroyer still breathes. And as long as I do, I will stand against it."
The Tinker Spirit pulsed once, its light synchronizing with the sudden hardening of Alaric's resolve — a silent affirmation that they both understood.
Valoria turned to the crater, her silhouette framed by the jagged landscape — a warrior forged anew by her own brokenness. When she spoke again, there was no bitterness, only a defiant strength.
"Come, Spirit, Alaric," she said, her smile fierce and alive. "We have work to do."