Story of ZeS
In the year when the twin moons of Aden aligned crimson, Dark Elf Village was cloaked in a silence that even monsters feared. The villagers whispered of the Night of Undead, when witches gathered to honor the Mother of Death, and the veil between realms tore open like an unhealed wound.
But ZeS , the Gladiator , had no faith in such tales. His life had been forged in the arena, his courage tempered in the fire of countless wars. And yet, fate or perhaps the Mother of Death shadowed hand drew him to the village that night.
He came seeking a rare herb, said to cure the venom of the Basilisk Queen. Only in the cursed forest beyond the village, near the Forgotten Temple, did it grow. The locals warned him: “Do not walk that path when the moon is full, ZeS. For that is when the witches dance.”
ZeS smiled happily, taking out his dual blunts Yaksa and War Ax and stepped into the woods.
The forest was alive with whispers. The trees leaned close. Then came the chanting, a hymn older than the Tower of Insolence itself.
He followed the sound until he reached a clearing bathed in cold blue flame. A circle of Dark Elf sorceresses danced around an altar made of bones and obsidian, their shadows writhing like living serpents. In the center lay the rare herb beside a human skull with runes carved into its brow.
“ Welcome, ZeS of Aden, ” came a voice that slithered through the air like silk. A tall figure stepped forward, her eyes burning violet. “ Will you bleed with us? ”
ZeS raised his dual blunts. “I came for the herb, not for your games.”
The ground pulsed like a living heart, the air turned thick with whispers and ghostly warriors starts appearing.
" ZeS... ZeS... You have fought us before. Die as one of us. "
He struck steel against shadow, flame against ghost warriors filled with mist.
As the black moon reached its peak, ZeS fell to one knee, his strength fading. The lead witch approached, her hand resting upon his chest. “ Your courage is worthy, ” she said, “ Now it belongs to me. ”
When dawn came, the villagers found the rare herb resting on the broken Yaksa.
They say that on every Halloween night, when the moon turns red, a lone Gladiator's silhouette appears in the forest, his eyes pale as death, guarding the altar.
And if you listen closely, you might hear him whisper from the mist “I should never have followed the song.”
To be continued...
