darkness: road to divine

The pain continue like a flood gate under pressure being open__ not in the world around him but in the marrow of his bones. It was not a burst of triumph or clarity but a slow, strangling constriction. A presence uncoiled in his chest, cold and vast and watchful. His breath caught. His heart stuttered.

"Ahhhhhhh" still screaming he asked "What is happening?! " 

He clung to the artifact out of instinct, though part of him wanted to hurl it away, to sever the connection before it swallowed him whole. But his fingers wouldn't obey. They tightened involuntarily, as if the artifact had become an extension of his hand, of his will.

The vortex consumed him. He fell, tumbling endlessly through darkness that was too deep, too endless. It was not just empty space; it was awareness. The void was watching. Studying. Testing.

The runes on the artifact glowed, burning with infernal light, their patterns shifting too quickly for his eyes to follow. They whispered in languages older than the world, promising… what? Power? Ruin? Both?

"This is madness", he thought, but his mind was already slipping, drowning in sensation and fear.

And beneath that fear, buried deep in some dark corner of his heart, a sliver of exhilaration twisted like a thorn.

The fall ended as abruptly as it had begun.

He landed hard on broken stone, the breath knocked from his lungs. For a moment, he simply lay there, trembling, the artifact still clutched in his shaking hand. The silence pressed in again — but now it was worse. It wasn't absence. It was anticipation.

Slowly, he forced himself upright, limbs aching, head spinning. 

The artifact still rested in his hand.

The world around him slowly reassembled itself: broken buildings, cracked streets, skies painted with bruised reds and sickly greens.The world around him had reformed from the chaos, but it was wrong. The edges were too sharp, the shadows too deep, the colors too vivid. The air vibrated with a subtle hum, as if reality itself was holding its breath.

"— the hum beneath the ground, the tremble of distant earthquakes, the rustle of wings miles above __ my hearing and sight are much sharper" he said in excitement.

Power.

His senses stretched, expanded.

He could hear Dravik's men arguing two streets away. He could smell the metallic tang of blood, sharp and clean, carried on the wind.

The artifact pulsed gently against his palm, its runes dim but alive.

He stared at the glowing runes.

He wanted to drop it. He wanted to throw it into the abyss and run until his legs gave out. But he couldn't. The weight of it anchored him, not just physically but mentally, pulling at his thoughts, his will.

Feeling like it was saying "it was alive?" he whispered, though the sound of his voice was alien in this place.

The artifact thrummed faintly in answer.

The air smelled different now. The sharp metallic tang of blood mingled with the sweetness of ozone, and something else — something ancient and decayed, like old stone and forgotten tombs. His stomach turned.

He looked down at the artifact again, and the fear in his chest twisted tighter.

"It knows me," he murmured, the words hollow and uncertain. Or maybe it wanted him to believe that. Maybe it was shaping itself to his thoughts, reflecting them back to him like a mirror that only showed what he wanted to see.

Still, the temptation pulled at him. The runes shimmered, almost soothing now, like a lullaby meant for a frightened child. His hand tightened around the artifact.

This power… He couldn't finish the thought. The enormity of it pressed down on him, heavy as a mountain.

His senses stretched further than they ever had before. He could feel the tremors beneath the earth, subtle and distant. He could hear whispers on the wind — voices too faint to understand, but they were there, murmuring secrets. The scent of blood carried from miles away, sharp and vivid.

But instead of exhilaration, he felt cold.

"How much of this is me? "he wondered. "And how much is it?"

He couldn't tell where his will ended and the artifact's influence began.

Cautiously, he focused on a small piece of broken rubble near his feet. Just a stone. Harmless. He willed the energy from the artifact into it, just a thread.

The stone pulsed, dark energy crawling over its surface like liquid shadow. It twisted, reformed, reshaped itself into a sharp obsidian shard, gleaming with cold light.

He stared down at the weapon in his hand, and his mouth went dry.

"That was too easy."he thought.

He rose slowly, his knees unsteady. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat echoing louder than it should have. The artifact felt heavier now, its weight a constant reminder of what he had done, and what he could become.

He could change the world. Or it could change him.

He looked out over the broken landscape — fractured stone, twisted metal, the remnants of destruction left behind by beings greater than he could comprehend. And now he carried a fragment of that ruin within him.

"What am I supposed to be?" he whispered, the question half prayer, half curse.

The artifact answered with a soft pulse, steady and patient.

Visions slammed into his mind without warning.

He saw titans clashing in the void, their roars tearing the sky apart. He saw the god-beast itself — immense, terrible, its eyes burning with malevolence, its power shaking the very bones of reality. He saw its death, its final scream echoing across creation, power spilling out in wild torrents before condensing into this single, black artifact.

Even in death, it lived.

And now it had chosen him.

Or trapped him.

He shuddered.

The visions faded, leaving behind silence and dread. The artifact hummed quietly, almost soothing. But he knew better now. It wasn't comfort. It was patience. It was hunger, coiled and waiting.

Slowly, he exhaled, trying to steady himself. He wasn't just a survivor anymore. He was something else. Something unfinished. Something dangerous.

"I could build something with this power," he thought.

"Or destroy everything."when that crossed his mind he shudder.

The idea terrified him.

He clenched his fist, feeling the artifact's pulse sync with his heartbeat. He could feel it — the promise of endless potential, the weight of terrible responsibility.

"I don't know if I'm ready," he whispered.

The artifact made no reply.

He looked out across the shattered world, and for the first time, he truly understood the scope of what lay ahead. The power could lift him higher than kings… or bury him deeper than any grave.

The storm was coming.

And he didn't know if he would survive it.

But he couldn't let go now. It was already too late.

So he took a deep breath, swallowed the fear burning in his throat, and took his first step forward.

The world trembled, not in fear… but in anticipation.