John drew in a long breath. The air in the bedroom felt thick and heavy, carrying the faint scent of lavender from the sheets and the soft warmth of sunlight slipping through the curtains. He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking slightly under his weight, and leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. Pressing his palms against his face, he tried to quiet the storm of confusion churning in his mind.His tuxedo jacket lay crumpled on the floor. The briefcase still sat on the bed, a silent reminder of the life he wasn’t sure belonged to him anymore. His mind was empty: a hollow space where plans and strategies should have been forming. He had never felt like this before. It was as if he’d fallen into a dream that refused to end, one so vivid it made reality feel distant. And worst of all, he was powerless. Whatever magic ruled this place had stripped him of his strength. He could feel the absence like a missing limb, the cosmic energy that once burned in his veins

John paced the bedroom floor, his bare feet sinking into the thick, cream-colored rug that muffled his steps but couldn't quiet the storm raging in his mind. The room felt smaller now, the walls closing in like a trap he hadn't noticed until it was too late. The evening filtered through the sheer curtains, casting long, wavering shadows across the unmade bed where sheets still bore the faint imprint of their bodies. The air hung heavy with the mingled scents of sweat, lavender from the bedside diffuser, and his own growing anxiety. His heart thudded unevenly in his chest, a reminder of the power surge that had ripped through him earlier: that brief, electric rush of Azimuthan energy, making his skin tingle and his vision sharpen to an unnatural clarity. It had felt like reclaiming a lost limb, only for it to be yanked away again, leaving him drained and disoriented. What the hell was going on with him? And that crash downstairs, what could it mean? A burglar? An accident? Or somethin

John leaned against the splintered wall of the room, his whole body aching in waves of pain. Deep cuts along his ribs and thigh still bled slowly, while dark bruises spread across his skin like ink stains. Every breath came out rough and uneven. The air around him still carried the echo of Orpehlita’s last scream. What remained of her was only a heap of ash and dark ichor on the floor, and beside it, the shattered gem that once powered her heart flickered faintly before going out like a dying star.Then, something began to change. The heavy, suffocating magic that had filled the house started to fade. It happened slowly, like morning sunlight cutting through thick fog. A faint tingling ran through John’s fingertips, followed by warmth spreading through his veins. The numb chill that had held him since he entered the cursed house began to melt away.His Azimuthan powers returned in a sudden rush, like floodgates breaking open. Energy crackled through him, lighting up every nerve until

The graveyard was silent under a blood-red sky. The air was thick with ash, smoke, and the faint metallic smell of death. Pieces of the fallen undead were scattered across the scorched ground like broken dolls, their remains glowing faintly in the dying embers.John stood in the middle of the wreckage, his crimson armor faintly glowing from within, each pulse matching the beat of his heart. In his hand, the Soulrender burned like a living flame, the molten lines along its blade twisting as if craving more battle.Across from him loomed Varkos, the Eternal Guardian. He stood like a black mountain of death, his armor carved with glowing blue runes that moved like serpents under his skin. His massive sword shimmered with an eerie light, bending the air around it in strange ripples. Behind his dark helmet, two blazing blue eyes burned like twin suns.Varkos tilted his head, the screech of grinding metal echoing through the heavy air. His deep voice rumbled like thunder from the earth itse

The graveyard looked like the remains of a battle between gods; and in truth, it was. The ground was ripped open, graves shattered, and coffins cracked apart like broken shells under a blood-red sky. The clouds hung low and heavy, glowing faintly as if the heavens themselves were bleeding. Wind howled through the ruins, carrying the sharp smell of scorched earth and iron.John stood at the center of it all, his boots sinking into the blackened mud. His breath came in short bursts, white steam rising from his lips in the cold air. Every muscle in his body ached with exhaustion, but his eyes never left the figure standing across the field.Varkos stood still at first, his obsidian armor shining faintly in the red light. Each dark plate was etched with glowing blue markings that pulsed like veins under his skin. The huge sword in his hand wasn’t just a weapon... it was alive. Blue energy leaked from its edge in thin, flickering strands that hissed when they met the air.John adjusted his