Blessed Visor

The battlefield was a charnel house, a grotesque tapestry woven with blood, snow, and the remnants of shattered bodies. David crawled through the carnage, his body trembling uncontrollably, the stolen sword clutched in his bloodied hand like a lifeline. He was a broken man, both physically and mentally, his face a mask of pain and terror.

The mysterious man, the one with the empty eye socket and the unnerving, glowing orb, approached him, his footsteps crunching on the frozen ground like the grinding of bones. "Are you the paladin that once roamed this earth?" he asked, his voice a low, chilling whisper that seemed to slither into David's mind. "The one who wielded the mechanics of the gods in his hands, like fire and thunder?"

David, his mind a whirlwind of fear and confusion, ignored him, continuing his desperate crawl.

The man persisted, his voice taking on a sharper edge, a hint of cruel amusement entering his tone. "I know something about that… machine of yours." He gestured dismissively to the broken Barrett lying nearby. He paused, his glowing eye narrowing slightly, the light within it pulsing ominously, like a heartbeat of darkness. "It wasn't made by the gods, yet it operates in the way of the gods." He paused again, letting his words hang in the air like a death sentence. "It commands fire and thunder. It brings swift and decisive judgment. It… breaks." He gestured again to the broken weapon. "Clearly, this is not the weapon of a true paladin. Their weapons were said to be heard across the entire earth. Every church, every temple, every order sought such a weapon as a means to strengthen their house. But I broke it. Meaning you are no longer the center of attention. You are… irrelevant." He turned to walk away, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "Kill him," he said, the command delivered with chilling indifference.

A woman with vibrant purple hair and cold, brown eyes stepped forward from behind the man. She casually pushed back the hood of her cloak, revealing a face as hard and unforgiving as the frozen ground beneath their feet. She raised her hands, and began to chant in a low, resonant voice, her words imbued with dark, ancient power.

"From brine and tears, from ash and spice,

From flesh to dust, where shadows entice,

Arise, dread form, a creature of might,

Born of the earth, in eternal night.

Hear my outlet, O dark world, and gaze on the earth."

The ground trembled violently, and a chilling wind howled across the battlefield, whipping up dust devils into a frenzied dance. The air grew thick and heavy, filled with an unnatural fog the color of bruised plums. From this swirling vortex of darkness, a colossal skeletal form began to emerge. But it was trapped, only half-emerged from the swirling black fog that clung to its body like a shroud, like clinging grave clothes.

This was a skeletal Wendigo, a monstrous parody of the creatures of winter legends, a twisted abomination of bone and shadow. Its bones, bleached white by centuries of exposure to the underworld, gleamed eerily in the dim light, catching the faint light like polished ivory. The ribcage, a gaping cage of bone, heaved with unnatural breaths, sucking in the swirling fog like a dying lung grasping for air. The skull, a grotesque mask of death, bore hollow eye sockets where two malevolent green eyes burned with an infernal light, like twin embers in a skull. Jagged protrusions, like skeletal antlers, crowned its head, and long, skeletal claws, sharp as daggers, extended from its gauntleted hands. Its skin, where it remained, hung in tattered shreds, a grotesque mockery of flesh, falling away in flakes like dry leaves, revealing the bone beneath.

The Wendigo strained against the suffocating black fog, its body contorted in a desperate, agonizing struggle to break free. The fog, a swirling maelstrom of darkness, seemed to resist its emergence, pulling back with a force that shook the very earth, causing deep fissures to appear in the frozen ground. Only half of its skeletal form had broken free, a grotesque, incomplete apparition clawing its way into this world. The sheer size of the creature was terrifying; even partially emerged, it towered over the battlefield like a mountain, its skeletal form casting a long, ominous shadow across the carnage.

The scene shifted abruptly to a sun-drenched hillside, miles away from the battlefield. Two hunters, an older man with weathered features and a younger man with eager eyes, stood surveying the landscape. The younger man pointed towards the horizon. "That mountain is cool," he said, admiring its imposing silhouette. The older man's face tightened into a grim expression. He recognized the shape on the horizon, but it was impossible. That mountain… it hadn't been there before.

Back on the battlefield, the partially emerged Wendigo began to exert its influence on the surrounding environment. Its immense size and the dark magic surrounding it began to warp the very fabric of reality. Its outstretched hand, even though it was miles away, seemed to reach across the distance, affecting the space around David. He saw the massive skeletal fingers reaching for him, even though they were impossibly far away. He scrambled back in terror, tripping over his own feet, but still managing to keep moving, driven by pure adrenaline. His injured leg buckled beneath him occasionally, the broken bones grinding against each other, sending searing pain through his body. He heard screams behind him, the cries of men and Gordons alike being pulled into the swirling black fog that surrounded the Wendigo's lower half.

He didn't dare turn back. But as he tried to flee, David felt a strange, sickening sensation, as if gravity itself was shifting. He began to fall backwards, drawn inexorably towards the Wendigo's partially emerged form. The gravity around the creature had warped, pulling everything towards it, even across vast distances. Yet David somehow remained partially anchored to his original position, his body stretched and contorted by the conflicting forces, feeling as if his bones were being pulled apart. Men ran desperately, trying to escape the creature's pull, but many were pulled into the swirling darkness, disappearing into the fog with choked screams. Even the ground itself seemed to writhe and contort, rising up like walls, forming grotesque shapes as it was drawn towards the Wendigo. The creature remained half-in, half-out, an impossible, terrifying sight, its outstretched hand warping space and light itself, becoming a flickering, glitching limb moving with impossible speed, smoke and sparks erupting from the joints. As the hand reached for David, moving with blinding speed, a burst of light erupted from it. David, driven by pure instinct, ran with a speed he never knew he possessed, his mangled feet pounding against the frozen ground, ignoring the searing pain.

Meanwhile, back on the hillside, the older hunter, his face now etched with deep lines of worry, turned to the younger one. "Hold onto this," he said gravely, handing him his heavy backpack. He then performed a series of rapid hand signs, his movements precise and practiced. A surge of energy flowed through him, and with a flash of blinding light, he vanished, leaving behind only a cluster of shimmering, colorful orbs that hung in the air for a moment before dissipating like fading stars. The younger hunter, left alone on the hillside, watched the fading lights with wide, bewildered eyes. "O… that's… gay," he muttered, completely missing the gravity of the situation.

To be continued.