Stark stood in an endless expanse of water, the horizon stretching
infinitely in all directions. The surface was unnervingly still,
mirroring the vast, clear sky above. When he looked down, his
reflection stared back—whole.
He flexed his arm, the one the bone eater had severed. It was there,
as though the wound had never existed. His skin was unscarred, his
body whole.
He took a step. The water rippled beneath his feet with a soft sound.
He could walk.
Stark ventured forward, his eyes scanning the horizon, but there was
no end in sight. The water and sky seemed to merge into one.
<i>
What is this place? Why am I here?</i>
Fragments of memory came to him: the Elder Bone-eater, a beam of
light, ash scattering into the wind. But beyond that, his mind was
blank.
<i>
Is this death?
</i>
He tried to speak, to give voice to his thoughts, but no sound came.
His lips moved, forming the words.
<i>
I can’t speak?</i>
A chill crept through him as he continued walking. His steps sent
ripples across the water, but the sound was swallowed almost
instantly, leaving the world eerily calm once more.
Stark walked. And walked. Time seemed to stretch. The only sound was
the faint ripple of water beneath his feet, the only sight—the
concentric waves spreading out with every step.
The silence pressed heavily around him.
Then, in the distance, a door.
It stood alone, white against the endless horizon. There was no
frame, no walls—just the door, solitary. It gleamed faintly, almost
inviting.
<i>
What is this?</i>
Curiosity and unease within him as he approached. Finally, he reached
out towards the cold, smooth knob.
As soon as he turned it, the world shifted.
The boundless expanse dissolved in an instant, collapsing into
blinding white light. Stark staggered, blinking as his surroundings
reformed into a white room. The door he had reached for was gone; it vanished without a trace.
The room was silent, featureless, and suffocatingly bright. He spun
around, searching for any sign of the door or an exit, but there was
nothing.
<i>
Where am I?</i>
Stark glanced down. His heart pounded as he looked up, only to see a
large, dark metal gate materialize before him.
It was unlike anything he had ever seen—a dark, ominous structure
bound by rusted chains and talismans that pulsed faintly with an
eerie glow. The gate felt almost alive.
Yet, despite its menacing appearance, something about it beckoned
him. His body moved against his will, drawn toward it as though an
invisible force compelled him.
He stepped closer.
As he neared, the gate''s surface began to ripple like liquid, and
suddenly, an enormous eye snapped open in its center, glowing a
malevolent purple. Stark froze, terror rooting him in place.
From the gate, smoky tendrils shot out, claw-like hands forming at
their tips. They twisted in the air before latching onto him.
Stark struggled to break free, but the hands tightened their grip,
pulling him toward the gate. The chains rattled ominously, and the
talismans glowed as the gate creaked open.
Darkness spilled out, thick and suffocating, dragging Stark toward
its abyss.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
<i>
No….No…..!</i>
He thrashed wildly, but it was no use. The hands pulled harder. Just
as he teetered on the edge, a blinding light erupted from nowhere,
forming a barrier between him and the gate.
The smoky hands recoiled, severing with a hiss. The eye in the gate
blinked once before the entire structure shuddered violently. Cracks
began to splinter through the walls of the white room.
The ground gave way beneath Stark’s feet, and he plummeted into a
gaping void of darkness.
"No!"
Stark''s eyes shot open abruptly, his chest heaving as he struggled to
catch his breath. Sweat trickled down his face.
The rough brown texture of a stone ceiling greeted him, the haunting
image of the void and door fading.
He winced as he tried to sit up, his muscles screaming. Stark glanced
at his arms. Both were there.
His left arm, which had been severed, was wrapped in cloth and
securely attached to his shoulder.
<i>
What? That can’t be right!</i> His mind raced.<i> I’m sure my arm was
gone!</i>
Stark scanned his surroundings. He appeared to be in a cave. A coarse
blanket covered his body, and he realized he was naked beneath it.
Pain flared through him. He clenched his teeth.
"Awake, are you? Human child."
The unfamiliar voice sent a shiver down Stark''s spine.
Standing a few feet away was a man—or something close to one. His
skin was a deep, unnatural bluish hue with intricate patterns on his
forearms. He wore a simple half-sleeve tunic and loose pants, but his
appearance was anything but ordinary.
Two curved horns poked out from his skull. Long silver hair cascaded
over his shoulders.
The man held a bowl in his hand, tilting it slightly as he studied
him.
Stark''s breath caught, his heart pounded. <i>Who—or what—is this?</i>
“Here, human child. Eat this.” The man extended a wooden bowl
toward Stark.
Stark peered into the bowl. It was a stew, its aroma rich—nothing
like the stale gruel he had been forced to endure in the slave camp.
“W-…” His voice cracked, barely audible. Fear gripped him, but
something about the man’s calm demeanor suggested he wasn’t a
threat.
“Do not speak, human child,” the man said, his voice carrying an
ancient tone “Your body was on death’s edge when I found you.”
The man placed the bowl on the ground before continuing, “This is
Ish’rak meat stew. I found the creatures dead beside you.”
Stark blinked. <i>Ish’rak? Those beasts?</i>
Without another word, the man turned and walked out of the room.
Alone, Stark reached for the bowl. He hesitated, sniffing the stew
cautiously.
<i>
This or nothing</i>, he thought grimly.
With a resigned sigh, Stark closed his eyes. The sip flooded his
senses with warmth and flavor, unlike anything he’d tasted before.
His body, starved, demanded more, and he drank the whole stew.
<i>
Who is that man? </i>Stark thought. <i>Is this the devil that the crazy man was chanting about?
</i>
He had no idea what a devil was supposed to look like. The stories
he’d heard back at the camp were vague at best—whispers of an
unbelievably strong and dangerous being meant to terrify.
The man entered again, this time carrying some clothes.
“Here, human child. Wear this.” He tossed them towards Stark, his
face devoid of emotion.
Stark hesitated. “U…Um… Who are you?” he asked nervously.
"You... don’t know who I am?” The man’s blank stare lingered
as Stark awkwardly began dressing himself in the loose-fitting
clothes, which resembled the man’s own.
"No... Should I?” Stark replied cautiously.
“My name is Krul... also known as the Devil of Kastar.”
Krul studied him, waiting for the reaction—fear, panic. To his
surprise, Stark simply tilted his head, confusion etched on his face.
“The Devil of Kastar?” he echoed.
During his time in Kastar, Stark had heard the name only a handful of
times. It was the kind of tale used to frighten children—a bedtime
story. He’d never thought it could be real. And now, here he was,
face-to-face with the very devil in question.
“Indeed,” Krul said, breaking the silence. “It seems you have
no idea who I am, human child.”
Stark shifted uneasily. “Where am I?” he asked, still cautious.
Sensing his wariness, Krul assured. “You are safe. This is my home,
hidden within the great sands.” He spoke with pride,
“Ah…” Stark muttered, unsure how to respond.
“Do you have a name, child?” Krul asked after a moment.
“Um… Yes, my name is Stark,” he said. “And I’ve been
wondering for a while now... how am I still alive?”
Krul frowned slightly, as if puzzled by the question. “You are
alive because I saved you. When I found you, you were barely clinging
to life. It took time, but I patched you up.”
“What about the others?” Stark asked hesitantly.
“The others were already dead when I arrived.”
Stark’s gaze fell to his arm, now wrapped in cloth. He hesitated
before asking, "My... arm?”
“Oh, that,” Krul said, glancing at it. “Your arm was severed
and beyond saving. It couldn’t be reattached.”
“So I thought, why not craft a new arm using my cells and fuse it to your body?”
Krul explained, scratching his chin.
“Huh?” Stark stared at him, struggling to comprehend. “What?
How is that even possible?”
“With magic, child,” Krul replied with a smirk. “Your arm was
beyond saving, so I fused my cells with mana to craft you a new one.”
He paused, as if recalling the process. “It wasn’t simple,
though. Replicating flesh to match your body took time—and more
mana than I expected.”
Stark blinked. "You... made me a new arm?”
Krul nodded. “Yes. It was my first time attempting something like
this.”
“Quite the experiment, I say. But now I know: It takes a ridiculous
amount of mana and high-grade cells to succeed.”
Stark had met someone crazy.