Silas wiped the bead of sweat that was on his forehead with the back of his hand, releasing a quick sigh. His whole body was aching with immense pain. The corpse of Brakgul was lying in front of him — lifeless, massive, cracked and cooling. Lava bubbled out of its body quietly in the room, like it was tired too.
He turned away towards the new passageway, ready to walk towards the room.
But then something suddenly rang in his mind, a sudden echo of the system's chime came into his mind.
A system's panel came to life in front of his eyes, shimmering with blue light.
[Memories of Brakgul available to preview.]
Silas stopped mid-step, his voice came low yet confused. "What—"
[Yes, Host. Through Life-Steal, when a creature has strong thoughts, history, or unfinished regrets, you may view their final memories.]
He scratched the back of his neck, comprehending the current situation. "So… you're telling me that basically I can look into the past of his?"
[Correct. Would you like to view Brakgul's memory? Yes / No]
Silas stared at the glowing options, his chest tightened slightly, for reasons he couldn't explain. He had killed monsters before without even thinking much about them. But suddenly getting into something like this was new for him.
He gulped hard; his voice came a bit shaky. "Ye-yeah, I'll see."
He extended his finger as he pressed the option [Yes]. Then, in just the blink of an eye, everything around him went white.
Brakgul's Past — 200 Years Ago
Silas gasped softly, feeling like the world around him had suddenly shifted, the surroundings suddenly changed to something new.
He wasn't in that dungeon anymore. He was standing—no, existing. Existing inside of another body, which was bigger, heavier, and stronger than his previous one. Black armour with red lines that glowed faintly with crimson light.
He felt that armour over his skin, strong metal plates, a sword tucked to his waist's side—long, wide, thick, made for someone who possessed immense strength.
And when he looked down, there were Brakgul's hands.
'Whoa…' Silas was confused. Slowly, his voice came out. "I'm inside of… Brakgul?"
Around him stood an entire army—soldiers wearing black armour with glowing edges. Their weapons were sharp, reflecting the stormy sky above.
A loud hum of the horn filled the air throughout the whole battlefield.
A man stood on a throne that was built like a massive chariot. A crown of obsidian sat on his head, and his eyes glowed with cold red flames.
It was the King.
Brakgul—Silas—knelt before him.
"We will move at dawn." The king said, feeling of authority was buried deep inside his tone. "The kingdom of Magic refuses peace. We'll crush them, Brakgul. My strongest knight… led the army for me."
Silas felt Brakgul kneel deeply in front of the king; loyalty was reflected through his whole self.
"As you command," Brakgul's deep voice said. "My blade belongs to the kingdom."
Silas felt each of the emotions of Brakgul deeply— Brakgul's dedication and the weight of the responsibility. None of it felt evil at all. Brakgul wasn't a monster here; he was the knight of his country. The protector of his people.
Later that afternoon, the battalion was ready to leave for the battle at any moment. Brakgul stood at the front of the army—pride and discipline were reflected through his posture. The sword was tucked beside his waist, ready to slash anyone who came in his way.
A loud voice came out of Brakgul's mouth, firm. "My soldiers, lend me your strength. Our battle today will decide our destiny. We'll die, we'll shed blood, we'll lose our comrades. I hope we leave our emotions here when we go to the battlefield."
A roar came out of the crowd, and the guys on the front slammed their spears' heads on the ground. The voice came out loud from the battalion in unison. "Yes, Sir, Yes."
The battle started, the sky burned purple, and magic flowed in the sky like lightning. The ground was split with glowing blue runes where mages fought in formation.
Brakgul let out a roar, swinging his massive sword, cutting through the enchanted soldiers and magical beasts in half. Fire rained down from the sky towards him, the air was filled with screams, steel and explosions.
Silas felt it all clearly—the thrill, the fear, the duty.
Then… the ground shook. A shadow descended.
A dark mage—his robes torn, his staff covered in ominous purple light—floated down like a fallen star. He was old but powerful, his eyes glowing with hatred.
"Brakgul," the mage shouted, eyes fixated on Brakgul. "I'll end you here."
Silas felt Brakgul's rage rise; his voice came boiling. "You threaten my king? You threaten my people? I'll cut you down for good."
The mage raised his staff slightly and unleashed a wave of corrupt energy towards Brakgul. The blast sent soldiers flying. Brakgul stood on the ground—unshaken, pushing forward through the pressure that the blast created—like a wall.
Then he slowly raised his sword, and Silas felt the power gather around him. A memory, a skill, a final technique which Brakgul used before his fall.
Red lines along the blade lit up, brighter and brighter, until the sword burned like a miniature sun.
Brakgul shouted out loud:
"CRIMSON MOON SPLIT!"