Bradley ripped a long strip from the hem of his dark clothes and tied it firmly around his eyes, creating a makeshift blindfold. With Noir as his eyes, he didn't need his useless ones.
He started walking towards the wall of grey fog, using the scabbard of his katana like a cane, tapping the hard ground to keep himself steady. He felt a deep unease about the fog, a primal warning that it was dangerous, but he couldn't just stay still and do nothing. To understand his trial, he had to go through it.
"Here we go," he said firmly, and stepped into the fog.
The moment he crossed the threshold, his form was completely swallowed by the thick, greyish-white mist, as if he had never been there at all.
Through Noir's eyes, Bradley's world became a hazy, monochrome landscape. It wasn't dark, just an endless, suffocating grey. He walked and walked, his footsteps muffled, for what felt like many minutes, but he couldn't see an end to the fog.
I can't see the end of this… he thought, forcing himself to move forward in a straight line.
He had decided not to speak aloud, communicating only through his thoughts with Noir. He didn't want to attract any unwanted attention. It was instinct, and a lesson learned from a lifetime of horror movies.
There is always something crawling in the fog.
He had also discovered he could speak to Noir telepathically.
That is a huge help. Noir's caws are too loud and would definitely get us killed.
Suddenly, a slow grin spread across Bradley's face. The thought of facing whatever was out there scared him, but it also sent a thrill of excitement through his veins. The danger, the possibility of death, made him feel strangely alive.
I hope I die before it eats me.
His mind drifted back to the temple up above.
I still don't understand who those people are. I get that they're shadow people, but why are they against darkness creatures? Aren't they the same? Don't they both come from darkness? In terms of magical affinities, shadows correlate to darkness.
From what little he understood, the shadow people and the crow people—the darkness creatures—were hostile to each other.
No. Bradley shook his head. They are not the same. Shadows exist because they're formed by light being blocked by an object. If there is no light to begin with, there is nothing to be blocked, and therefore nothing to create a shadow. Shadows can only be seen where there's a little bit of light.
So maybe that's why they hate us so much. I could literally feel the hate from those people as they insulted me.
They can't exist in true darkness, so they hate those who can.
Bradley frowned and stopped in his tracks. He had been walking for almost an hour now.
But what does this have to do with my soul? Shadow people, Crow people... this shit doesn't come from my soul at all…
The more he thought about it, the deeper his frown became. If this trial is actually based on my soul, then my soul must be really fucked up and crazy.
Bradley glanced back mentally, towards the stumps of his wings. A dull, throbbing pain still radiated from them, a constant, unbearable reminder. But pain was an old friend he was used to.
Do they grow back? If they do, that would be great, but I doubt it. I've never seen a bird that can regrow its wings. Bradley shook his head with a wry smile and resumed walking. I'll just have to find a way to clean the wounds before they get infected.
The fog grew thicker and heavier the further he walked. Before, he could at least see the dark soil beneath his feet, but now he couldn't even make out his own boots.
I don't like this at all.
He walked and walked non-stop for hours, his legs burning with fatigue, until he finally had to stop and rest.
He had no idea where he was, completely disoriented in the featureless grey. He just sank to the ground, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
Fuck, my legs are killing me. When the hell will this fog end?! Bradley cursed a string of silent profanities in his head.
And I'm getting hungry… His stomach let out a low, painful growl in agreement.
He was sure he wouldn't last much longer if he didn't find something to eat or drink. He needed strength to continue.
Bradley let out a silent, inward chuckle. Imagine the irony. Survive a fall from a celestial cliff, get your wings and eyes ripped out, only to fail your trial because you starved to death. That would be a hilariously pathetic end.
But who am I kidding? No one can fight hunger. It can humble you easily, unless you're some Xianxia martial artist who can live for thousands of years without food. I really need to hunt something down, or I might just start to eat myself.
While he was lost in his thoughts, something in the fog shifted. A presence was watching him, its gaze so intense it felt like a physical weight.
Bradley felt the stare, and a cold wave of chills cascaded down his spine. He shot to his feet, his hand instantly closing around the hilt of his katana, ready to draw at the first sign of danger.
Someone or something was watching me just now, he thought, his grip on the katana so tight his knuckles turned white.
He stared hard into the direction of the gaze, but saw nothing except the swirling, greyish fog.
He could still feel the eyes on him, and then, as suddenly as it appeared, the feeling vanished.
What the hell? The gaze just… disappeared?
Caw! Noir agreed in his head, confirming that he, too, had felt the ominous presence.
I need to keep moving. I don't want to be here when whatever that was comes back.
He started walking again, this time at a faster, more urgent pace, but still moving as silently as he could.
But then, not even ten minutes later—
"Roaaarrrr!!!"
A roar erupted from the fog directly behind him, so close and powerful it seemed to vibrate through his bones. Bradley froze.
It wasn't just a normal roar; it was a sound dripping with pure malice and evil, a wave of psychic hatred that made his head spin and his stomach lurch.
Bradley spun around and blurted out, "Man, what in the actual fuck was that?"
He quickly covered his mouth with one hand, but it was too late. The damage was done.
The sound of something massive, moving with terrifying speed through the fog, filled his ears. It was the sound of heavy, pounding footsteps, closing in fast.
"Oh, hell no!"
Bradley ran for his life. He had been walking slowly to conserve energy, but that didn't matter anymore. Survival was all that counted.
Shit, shit, shit! I really had to open my big mouth! He ran, his heart hammering against his ribs, but the thing chasing him was faster, its thundering steps growing louder with every second. Fuck this fog! I can't see a damn place to hide!
He could feel it now, a hot, rancid breath on the back of his neck. The thing was right behind him.
Did he dare to look back?
No, he didn't. He just ran, his panic pure and absolute. He felt the creature gather itself and leap through the air towards his back, going in for the kill.
Then, years of instinct from fighting evil creatures in his past life kicked in. His body moved on its own. His hands flew to Susurrus Mortis.
In a single, fluid motion, the black blade was already swinging in a deadly arc behind him, cutting through the air—and into flesh.
Swoosh. Splurt.
A wet, squelching sound filled the air, followed by a horrifying, guttural shriek of pain from whatever he had just hit.
Bradley scrambled forward, putting a few paces between them, his chest heaving.
"What the fuck…?" he cursed under his breath, his eyes locked on the blade of his katana, now stained with a viscous, tar-like black liquid.
Is this its blood? Fuck, it looks disgusting.
Noir, perched on his head, had gone completely still and silent, a statue trying to avoid notice.
Bradley swung his blade to the side, flicking the foul blood from the dark metal.
He then stared forward, focusing all his attention through Noir's vision.
And then he saw it.
His eyes went wide, a cold dread seizing him.
"Hell… how the hell am I supposed to fight that?"
The monster that had attacked him was a humanoid horror standing three meters tall on four powerful, sinewy limbs, each ending in sharp, scythe-like claws. Its skin was a mottled, sickly grey, blending perfectly with the fog. But its face was the stuff of nightmares. It was the bleached, skeletal face of a deer, with deep, sunken eye sockets, tattered strips of skin for lips, and a mouth crammed with rows of needle-sharp teeth that looked like they could shred metal. A fresh, weeping wound on its chest leaked the same black blood, the only mark of Bradley's desperate counter-attack.
The most overwhelming thing was its smell—the thick, cloying stench of decay and old death.
Bradley's gorge rose, and he fought the urge to vomit.
The longer he stared at the creature, the more a memory from his past life surfaced. He had seen this thing before, in a movie long ago. Then it clicked.
"A fucking wendigo," Bradley said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.