Elbert stepped through the ruins, his voice sharp as a whisper of poison, “What do you know of vengeance, Fitran? It’s like a shattered mirror. It surfaces when you forget who first led you into the darkness.”

  The cracked sky formed a vortex of green magic, twisting into a spiral and descending slowly—splitting the night as if it were a toxic fog. A ghoul took shape from pure light, its form woven from poison and bitter memories. Its eyes, pitch black, pierced through Fitran's soul with an everlasting hatred. The laughter of the ghoul echoed, piercing and sinister, “Are you ready to lose everything?”

  Fitran fell silent. He tilted his face upwards, allowing the cold air to creep against his skin. “What is precious has long been surrendered to the ground,” he said, as if addressing the ghosts of his past. “But you, Elbert—what remains for you?”

  Elbert sneered, “Enough vengeance. Enough to make you forget who you truly are.”

  "My wife will be reborn from Rinoa's soul," Elbert declared.

  Suddenly, an intense aura emanated from Fitran, thick and oppressive, making it hard for Elbert to breathe.

  "You have made a grave mistake," Fitran hissed, glaring at Elbert. This sent a cold sweat cascading down Elbert's back; still, he had to fight for his desires.

  The wind shifted, a mournful howl rising like a lament, as a green miasma swirled around Fitran. With every step he took, it felt as if he was being pulled back, as if some weight from the past clung to him like a shadow. Whispers echoed in his mind, coaxing him toward forgotten memories that he desperately wished to erase.

  “Blessing,” Fitran’s voice was chilling, imbued with a terrifying calm that held a menacing promise.

  Golden light writhed beneath his skin, pulsing like a wounded heart. Protection? No, it was more akin to a curse, one that awaited its captive. The magic siphoned his soul and strength, bolstering his assaults on the battlefield, yet it left invisible scars deep within the recesses of his heart.

  Elbert, his face twisted in a sly grin, said, “Afraid? This is just the beginning of the game. Give us a taste of that fear, Fitran.”

  Fitran shot back with a smile as thin as a razor blade, “Fear is an old friend of mine. I gave it a name and then I banish it every night.”

  “Speed of Light,” he uttered, his voice hoarse, hinting at the anger he had kept at bay.

  Chains of magic coiled around Fitran’s body, as if releasing him from the shackles of humanity. Time seemed to freeze. The movements of the ghoul slowed like shadows left behind on the wall, while Fitran danced through the cracks of time, evading claws and the breath of poison that sought to swallow him whole.

  Out there, he appeared as a dark golden shadow, darting amid the flow of magic and waves of energy. Each leap left a ripple of light, blurring the line between reality and void.

  “Divine Vision,” he whispered, each word slipping out like poison that pierced through the air.

  His eyes sparkled with an unusual hue, the irises forming ancient symbols, penetrating the darkness and revealing hidden truths. In a fleeting moment, he not only saw the spirits but also the buried memories—traces of lives that had been obliterated, guilt that haunted him, and vengeance that simmered like poison in his veins.

  “Every soul you encounter carries regret, Fitran,” he murmured, his voice thick with persuasion. “And every grudge is the mark of a human hand that will never fade.”

  His voice was soft, yet there was a sharpness in that whisper, “Try to feel it. How are you supposed to erase those sins? How many times have you pretended to forget the darkness you carry?”

  Fitran held his breath, anger churning in his chest. “Angelic Protection.”

  Like an alien embrace illuminated by blue light, a wave of energy swept over him, creating a luminous dome around him. The shimmering particles of magic sparkled like angel feathers, though they carried a coldness that seeped deep—not an embrace, but the last shield before the night fell. The light thwarted the ghoul's attacks, repelling the sharp claws, yet the effect was heavy: the voices in Fitran's mind grew more intrusive, slicing through his consciousness, evoking confessions of his deepest sins.

  “Shell, Aegis Veil,” he shouted, his voice resonating with an echo of emotional turbulence.

  The light enveloped him in a crystal mist. Each magical strike from the ghouls crashed against the mist, shattering it into shards of glass. Every impact jarred Fitran’s bones, forcing him to feel the weight of all his pain, as if the mist were not a shield but a hall of echoes amplifying his suffering.

  Elbert laughed, “Do you think this is merely about protection? It just traps you in your own fear, Fitran. The fear you’ve created.”

  Fitran raised an eyebrow, his tone as sharp as a dagger, “Shell, Obsidian Bastion.”

  With those words, the dark magic coalesced into a coarse and terrifying shell, reflecting physical attacks with a reverberating sound, as if a hammer were striking a tombstone. Yet, the obsidian was more than just a shield; it contained every dark memory, forcing Fitran to confront his sins—each scream from the lost victims echoed within the recesses of his mind.

  The vibrations coursed through him, pressing down on his soul. Joyful echoes and past curses pierced the hollow spaces in his thoughts, faces that should have been forgotten reemerging. They laughed at him, spat insults, and cursed him relentlessly. Fitran tried to cover his ears, but the screams came from within, deepening like a shadow he could not escape.

  “Shell: Dual Eclipse,” he declared with determination, though his breath felt heavy, like the weight of his past.

  Two layers of magic intertwined—light spiraled like a whirlwind outside, darkness creeping within. The contrasting effects twisted the world into a nightmare: outside, it was blindingly bright, while within, a tormenting void seemed to wait to swallow him whole. Fitran found himself trapped between two sides of his own existence: fading hope and encroaching despair, the will to endure and the fear of the darkness drawing near.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  "Do you really think this will end easily? This ghoul magic—it's just the beginning," a voice echoed in his mind like a whisper in a dark corridor, taunting and terrifying. A thick fog enveloped him, flowing like frozen streams of blood. Shadowy hands, formless yet insistent, crept through Fitran’s defenses, brushing against his heart and stirring a deep-seated fear. "No one can save you here, Fitran."

  The narrative rushed forward—his magical defenses crumbling one after another. Each shattered layer of protection emitted a crackling sound, as if confirming every defeat with yet another stab of pain, marking his helplessness. "You want to experience suffering? Let’s begin." With a piercing gaze and a tone dripping with indifference, he proclaimed, “Shell: Absolute Sanctum.”

  A transparent dome materialized, its every line vibrating with duality magic. The surface radiated a soft glow, sharply contrasting with the darkness within. Fitran’s heartbeat resonated, setting the tempo in a symphony of agony. Inside the dome, time and sound were stifled; all he could hear was the rasp of his own breath and the whisper challenging him—a whisper that relentlessly stirred his uncertainty.

  Elbert rapped his knuckles against the dome's wall, his voice thin but clear, "You know, all this magic... it's just a distraction from the true fragility beneath it all. Your time is running out, and I'm simply waiting for that moment."

  The ghoul's laughter echoed, like bubbles bursting in the air. "Hihihihi! Who is Fitran, anyway? A name long despised by the damned and forsaken!"

  The dome cracked, its magical resonance booming like glass under terrible pressure. Just before it collapsed, Fitran took a deep breath, staring at his reflection that began to blur.

  The ghoul's spirit lunged with terrifying force, its claws glimmering with a green energy that scorched the air around them. Fitran retreated, every muscle in his body tense, his eyes scanning for a gap to escape this nightmare.

  Elbert shouted with fervor, "Now! Seize his name before it’s too late!”

  One ghoul attacked, and more of them began to split apart, conjuring new shadows. Their voices pierced the air, screaming, “Murderer!”, “Traitor!”, “Coward!”, “Nameless!”

  Fitran hissed sharply, “Want to dance in the shadows of terror? Let’s see who truly holds power here.”

  One ghoul leaped, its razor-sharp claws piercing Fitran's Shield, brutally striking his abdomen. The pain he endured was not only physical but cut deep into his memories—bittersweet moments when he lost Rinoa, the times he betrayed Gaia, and when he allowed his friends to fall for his selfish ambitions. Each claw that dug into him reopened old wounds, magical blood flowed from Fitran, unseen in the physical realm, as if he were the only one experiencing it.

  Fitran gasped, his breath barely a whisper, “Holy Slash.”

  With a motion fueled by determination, he swung Excalibur, its blade shimmering as bright light erupted forth, cleaving through one ghoul. Yet, instead of shattering, the ghoul split in two, then four, with glowing red eyes that clawed at Fitran’s haunting memories, accusing him of all his sins.

  Two other ghouls advanced, gripping his legs with their sharp talons, “Do you really think you can escape the shadows of your past?”

  Fitran felt choked, his entire body tense as if ensnared by memories he wished to forget. One ghoul bound his arm tightly, “All your power means nothing if your soul is already shattered, Fitran.”

  Elbert strolled forward casually, a sinister smile etched across his face. "Do you feel it now, Fitran? This is what you call justice. It’s the relentless revenge of a world that never sleeps."

  The psychological tension peaked, as the voices in Fitran's head clashed violently with the darkness gnawing at his heart. In the depths of his mind, reality vanished, replaced by shadowy corridors filled with whispers of regret, each echo imploring for forgiveness.

  Fitran, buried beneath layers of suppressed fear, replied with a growl, "There is no redemption for those who know the way out. Only the weak tremble at the darkness and will inevitably fall."

  He inhaled deeply, gathering the remnants of his courage.

  "Flash Step."

  His magic flared, time itself seeming to freeze for a moment. “Goodbye, dead guardian,” Fitran whispered, reappearing behind Elbert, breath ragged, his body still cloaked in the remnants of his trauma. Magical blood crawled across his skin, weaving intricate patterns—like scars from an unending war between his soul and the shattered vessel that housed it.

  The ghouls emerged without mercy, attacking him from all directions. “Free from fear?” their laughter echoed, mocking yet somehow reflecting his own terror. Every movement painted the darkest corners of Fitran’s soul. “The little Fitran ensnared in shadows, the adult Fitran who betrayed,” he thought, as the shadows of his past twisted around him, leaving behind a suffocating mix of guilt and regret.

  The field transformed into a psychological labyrinth, its walls more than mere stone. “It’s a drug for the weak,” he cried out, weaving through layers of memory and fear. Every corner, every pause gave birth to a new monster—failures upon failures that shadowed him. “You want to know who I am?” he challenged the shadows. “This is me.”

  Fitran, igniting the fire of determination within, declared, “This world does not dictate my fate. The strength I wield springs from my tormented soul.”

  With a decisive movement, he planted Excalibur into the earth. In that moment, an ancient incantation flowed forth like an unstoppable tide, as primordial symbols rose, igniting with the energy that lay dormant beneath the surface.

  “Hero’s Oath.”

  A golden light burst forth, tearing the veil of night. The symbols danced around him, creating a magical circle that dispelled the fog; yet, the consequences were unavoidable: Fitran was confronted by the specter of promises he once made, a cascade of hopes he had abandoned.

  The magic surrounding him seemed to purify the cursed souls—each strike of Excalibur was not merely a blow to the body, but a jarring reminder to the spirits of who they once were before anger bound them. One by one, the wails of the spirits shattered the silence, only for them to smile in relief before dissipating, freed from Elbert's grasp.

  Elbert, his voice trembling with panic, shouted, “Stop! This is enough!”

  Fitran, his eyes aglow like embers, stated, “There is no such thing as enough for someone like you. This world is an arena, and I am its predator.”

  “Mystic Clarity.”

  Fitran's voice shattered the stillness, echoing through the vast darkness. His magic invigorated every reaction, each incantation acting as a command woven by an unrivaled mind. Time itself was forced to yield to his will.

  “Luxbreaker: Strike of Light that Ends the Night.”

  A circle of light, shaped like a sundial, materialized, reminiscent of the sun rising from the shadows, enveloping Fitran. His Excalibur transformed, elongating with an ominous cosmic radiance. In a single slash, Elbert's head was severed cleanly, yet even as his body fell apart, Elbert's voice resonated, seemingly transcending the boundaries of reality.

  Elbert, now formless, taunted, “Do you think you've won? This world knows no victors.”

  Fitran, his tone icy, replied, “If that’s the case, then I’ll become a new entry in this black ledger.”

  With a chilling calm, Fitran turned, gazing into the darkness enveloping the corners of the world.

  “Black Genesis.”

  The voice sliced through the very fabric of reality, creating fractures in existence itself. Colors faded away, leaving only a dense, consuming darkness. The world was erased and painted anew, as if no mercy could reside here.

  Elbert floated in the void, suffocating in the grip of the shadows, unable to resist even an inch.

  Fitran's eyes sharpened, “It is only those brave enough to gaze into the darkness who earn the right to emerge with a light obscured by shadows.”

  His sword rose high, as if reaching for a sky that had never existed, before descending slowly, cleaving reality with an infinite edge.

  “Abyssal Rend.”

  Cracks began to form in the world, yawning chasms of darkness. All remaining souls, including the meaningless hope that belonged to Elbert, were drawn into the abyss. Traces of magic and memories, both sweet and bitter, vanished without a trace in the whirlpool stirred by Fitran's darkness.

  Fitran stood amidst the emptiness, his body trembling not from fear, but from the weight of a victory that came from shouldering the world's entire darkness. "I command everything, including you," he murmured, his voice low and almost whisper-like, distorted by the despair that surrounded him. "When the world collapses, I will be the only one left." In his eyes, there were no tears—only a flicker of light, dim yet never extinguished.