The Unison Mountains rose like ancient titans, their jagged crowns tearing through the pale morning sky.
Every scar along their rough stone caught the fading light of night, casting a quiet radiance across their edges.
The formation looked strangely uneven, as if a fifth peak should have stood among them.
A sudden boom echoed from the fourth peak as wind howled through the forest.
A sudden boom echoed from the fourth peak as fog burst outward, swallowing the forest.
A branch snapped behind him. The Enlightened pressed forward, chasing him with relentless tenacity.
"Take this gift, Immortal Demon."
The voice tore through the silent grey fog, reaching the man who ran with a twisted smile.
His long, dishevelled black hair hung loose, falling to his lower back. Blood and dirt streaked his body beneath his torn, ashen robes.
A worn tachi hung at his side, its dark, unremarkable scabbard pressed against the oval guard as he ran, hiding the tattered blade.
The leather-wrapped handle was black, tinged faintly with blue, worn as he was.
Countless scars marked the man's face, and despite his tattered state, his golden eyes clung to sanity as they widened in shock.
In the next moment, Oren Xianrath swayed to the right and let out a pained groan.
A river of blood burst from his neck.
A crimson arrow protruded from his throat, hurling him forward in a violent tremor.
He sprawled across the grass, staring up at the towering trees, recalling the eldest among them, their true leader, and the exhaustion from the battle he had just fought.
An archer? Another adversarie?
With an acher against him, there was nowhere left to run.
I refuse to believe this.
Was I really outplayed?
It was nothing remarkable.
Both sides had bargained, then betrayed him, and both had paid dearly. Still, Oren glared behind him.
He would never bargain with an immortal, let alone a self proclaimed demon. He clawed at the ground, forcing his legs beneath him.
After several desperate attempts, he staggered upright.
His movements were sluggish.
This was his fault, the result at least.
His disregard for his own life, his doubt of his own primal senses that had been forged over centuries, had led him here.
He gritted his teeth and forced himself forward.
Every emotion and thought felt like an unwelcome plague upon his mind.
In mere moments, blood soaked the verdure beneath his feet, leaving a vermilion trail for the warriors of Everdream to track.
He had thought them to a halt, yet he knew the true leader would arrive first, then the blind man, the weary Auburn Huntress, and last the silent, injured warrior.
Oren laughed inwardly, freezing as the motion strained his wounded body.
That damned archer.
Was he of the enlightened rank too?
He had seen through the fog as if it were nothing, his aim ruthless, impeccable, unerring.
The single crimson arrow remained lodged in Oren's throat, stealing his breath.
His lungs burned.
Yet Oren was not worried.
...He would survive, he would survive because he was cursed, he was undying, he was immortal.
Oren looked into the depths of the illusory grey fog.
I am immortal… but why? How?
He had forgotten long ago, the truth buried beneath the vile memories that followed his life.
I may never know what happened to me. I may never understand why.
But I refuse to accept this.
I know what I seek.
If I find it, perhaps it will be enough to undo this cursed life of undying.
Then I can finally die in peace and claim the fate that should have been mine.
And true to his words, the grievous wounds closed almost instantly.
The arrow's injury took longer than usual, grotesquely pushing flesh outward, swelling like an unpopped pimple, making his neck almost comedic amid the horror.
He shivered, taking a measured step.
Now he truly looked like the damned demon they claimed him to be.
The Immortal Demon.
A name earned fleeing Riverdam in the first mountain, then appearing in Emperois on the far edges of the second.
Yet even that did not fully explain him. He stumbled against a tree, finding fleeting clarity in the frigid bark's embrace.
No, he could not rest, not now.
I need to run.
Oren pushed off the tree, forcing himself into motion. He must escape these mindless hunters.
Capture would mean torture for sins committed, for the destruction he had unleashed.
He dodged between trees, logs, and branches again and again, his muscles screamed, and his lungs burned.
Villages always sought the Immortal Demon, yet each desire differed drastically.
He shook his head as exhaustion clawed at him.
But in the end, his senses dulled and his abyss golden eyes slowly shut.
If I do not sleep, how will I find the strength to run from them?
Sleep…
...
Hours passed.
The mist thinned between the vibrant trees as the illusory grey fog faded, swept away by a wandering breeze.
Light shifted through the branches as dawn came, and the crimson sun hid from sight.
And yet, the sun did not care about the demon who came from nothing, and neither did the verdant forest.
But Selvar did.
Deep within the great forest stood a young man humming an upbeat tune. His pale blonde hair was slightly overgrown, reaching his lower neck.
His soft grey eyes looked down at the tattered body beneath him, leaning against a marked tree.
He chuckled quietly, exhaled, then stopped humming.
"It seems the Immortal Demon truly is immortal. Neither my blood nor my archery can kill him."
He pondered for a moment, his hair dancing in the wind.
Then the archer grimaced coldly, sparing the arrow in his neck a look of disdain.
"Then again, that is a good thing. I need him alive."
He looked at the twisted face of the abominable man before him and smiled.
"Immortal Demon might just be the perfect name for this man...?"
He laughed.
"But I am not one to judge by looks."
Lying beneath the archer, Oren's back twitched against the tree. Hearing the archer's strange words, he opened his eyes and froze.
The man before him was young and handsome, standing only slightly shorter than Oren's full height.
He had no wounds or scars, yet his skin was unusually pale, as if he had lost a severe amount of blood despite not joining the harrowing battle.
If Oren were enlightened, he would have felt the immense, uncanny aura cloaking the man before him, like a sacred veil draped over the world itself.
More importantly, the man held a crimson bow,
its string still slack, as if it had only just been loosed. Beneath it rested a black quiver, cradling several scarlet arrows.
At the sight, Oren winced, his hand instinctively finding the scarlet arrow in his neck.
His brows twitched as he stuttered, the archer's eyes widening in disbelief.
"Immortal demon... I hate that title."