Each step sent a shockwave through the ground, displacing bones and shattered remnants of colossal creatures that had long since met their end. The stench of ash and decay clung to the air, suffocating and thick. This place was wrong—the kind of wrong that burrowed into his very core and whispered warnings that even his formidable power couldn’t ignore.
The Cursed Crown hummed in his grip, its dark energy pulsing in rhythm with his own heartbeat. Arthur’s gaze swept across the landscape, eyes glowing with an unnatural light. The remnants of battle—weapons fused with molten rock, charred bones twisted into unnatural shapes—told stories of those who had come before him and failed. He felt a strange mix of superiority and caution. The deeper he ventured, the more he sensed it: a predatory awareness trailing him, weaving through the heavy fog like an unseen serpent.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]Updating Map…
New Area Discovered: Valley of the Broken Oaths
Note: This area drains stamina at an accelerated rate. Proceed with caution.
A growl rumbled in Arthur’s chest as the notification faded. His map flickered within his mind, revealing an expanded view of his surroundings—twisted valleys, remnants of past sieges, and the unmistakable markings of paths carved by something far older and more cunning than himself. The sensation of eyes watching him prickled at the edges of his consciousness, taunting and testing the limits of his patience.
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"Whatever lurks here," he thought, claws flexing and raking deep gouges into the stone beneath him, "I will face it head-on." The defiant thought echoed through his being, fueling the heat of his Obsidian Skin, which pulsed with a fierce glow as if daring the shadows to come forth.
The canyon walls loomed higher as he moved, their jagged surfaces carved with twisted faces that sneered and grimaced in silent mockery. Arthur’s psychic senses flared, brushing against faint, hostile energies embedded within the stone itself. Whispers rose, voices that spoke in a language older than memory, gnawing at the fringes of his mind. He forced his focus outward, drowning the whispers with a surge of psychic will.
"Enough," he roared, his voice shaking the earth, scattering dust and loose stones from the rock faces. The sound was swallowed by the eerie silence that followed, as if the canyon itself had taken a breath and held it. The shadows quivered, and for a moment, Arthur almost felt them retreat.
Then, like a taunt, ghostly figures flickered across the walls, silhouettes of long-dead warriors wielding weapons now reduced to rust and bone. Their movements were erratic, filled with a rage that had never found peace. Arthur’s eyes narrowed, the orbiting Destructo Beams around his horns pulsing with anticipation. The power they radiated was a warning—a challenge to anything that dared to emerge from the void.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Warning: Persistent mental disruption detected. Activating enhanced psychic shielding.
Arthur’s mind cleared, the oppressive whispers pushed back, though their remnants still thrashed against his barriers like caged animals. He pressed on, each step heavier than the last as if the land beneath him sought to pull him down. A sudden tremor ran through the ground, a shudder that spoke of something awakening beneath the surface. He paused, tail lashing against the rocks in impatience.
"Show yourself," he growled, molten eyes scanning the shifting fog. A flicker of movement drew his attention—a glint of metal half-buried in the ashen earth. He reached out, claws scraping against the ancient weapon, feeling its residual energy. Memories surged through him, unbidden and fierce—himself as a man, fighting, betrayed by someone whose face was a blur. The taste of betrayal soured his thoughts, and he snarled, the sound echoing like a storm contained in a valley.
The vision dissolved, leaving a bitter ache in its wake. He roared, the fury in his voice splintering stones and scattering the ghosts that haunted the canyon walls. For a moment, silence reigned. But then the ground began to shake again, deeper this time, as if something massive had stirred.
A roar answered him, distant but unmistakable—a sound ancient and knowing, promising that the true battle had yet to come.
Arthur’s eyes locked onto the direction of the sound. His claws dug deep into the ground, carving trenches as he steadied himself for what he knew was no longer just a hunt but a war of wills. The Cursed Crown throbbed in his grip, urging him forward, toward the heart of whatever lay ahead.
"If intelligence rivals strength," Arthur thought, his gaze hardening as the fog shifted, revealing glimpses of dark shapes within, "let it come. I will shatter it all the same."
The fog around him seemed to thicken, coiling with a life of its own. It moved in unnatural waves, obscuring the path ahead and veiling whatever secrets the Valley of the Broken Oaths held. The carved faces in the rock shifted as if sneering, their hollow eyes glowing faintly in the dim, ashen light. The sensation of being watched never wavered. Arthur’s psychic senses expanded, reaching beyond the mist in an attempt to pierce the veil.
The whispers returned, not as subtle as before but louder, bolder—echoes of words in that ancient, grating language. This time, they sounded almost like a chant, a dirge of something vast and powerful, weaving through the fog like a song of the damned. Arthur bared his fangs, the Destruction Pulse in his core beginning to radiate in rhythm with his anger. The ground trembled at his feet, responding to the raw force of his presence.
"I am not yours to haunt," Arthur’s thoughts roared internally, pushing back the whispers as he moved forward with purpose. A jagged path revealed itself, lined with the skeletal remains of creatures whose twisted forms hinted at monstrous origins. These were no mere beasts; they were warriors, guardians perhaps, whose charge had ended in failure. Their bones seemed to reach for him, hands outstretched in silent warning.
Another step, and the air grew denser, charged with an energy that crawled over his scales and seeped into his core. Arthur’s vision sharpened as the glowing beams around his horns intensified, their hum slicing through the unnatural quiet. Each pulse of power pushed the fog back in waves, revealing more of the treacherous ground beneath him.
He reached the edge of what looked like an ancient battleground. The remnants of siege weapons, shattered under unimaginable force, lay scattered like forgotten relics. Arthur’s psychic senses picked up on the lingering traces of battle—screams that had long since faded from the living world but remained embedded in the essence of this cursed place. The voices of the past called out, each one a reminder that even the mighty had fallen here.
A flicker of doubt threatened to pierce his resolve. He crushed it immediately. There was no room for hesitation. Not now. The roar that had answered him earlier replayed in his mind, taunting him with its challenge. Whatever it was, it was closer, and it had waited long enough.
Arthur’s gaze swept over a mass grave, where shattered blades and splintered shields jutted from the earth like a forest of forgotten valor. He could feel the echoes of those who had fought and failed, a graveyard dedicated to defiance turned to dust. The Cursed Crown in his grasp pulsed in response, as if feeding on the latent energy of the fallen. Its vibration was no longer just a hum but a call—an invitation to meet whatever beast claimed dominion over this forsaken place.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Artifact Detected: Cursed Crown Synchronizing… Power Draw Enabled
Note: Remaining in this state will deplete core energy at an accelerated rate.
Arthur’s resolve only hardened. His eyes burned as he focused on the far end of the battleground where the fog parted, revealing dark shapes that moved with purpose. Something more than shadows now, something tangible and calculating.
The whispers became an anthem, louder and louder, a chorus of intent that threatened to drown out all reason.
Something wicked this way comes.
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