The unknown: orb world

chapter 6: blood in the rain

The orb pulsed faintly in the darkness, casting ghostly light across the witch's chamber. Rain wept against its curved surface, streaking down like tears on glass.

In the shadows of the room, she stood still—her silhouette veiled in darkness, unmoving, but fully awake.

Her eyes fixed on the storm within the orb.

And then, as chaos began to unravel, a whisper passed her lips.

"Hmm... interesting."

---

The forest groaned beneath the weight of rain.

Trees swayed like grieving witnesses.

Mud splashed violently beneath Aira's bare legs as she ran—breath ragged, soaked to the bone. Her heart pounded in her ears louder than the thunder overhead.

Behind her—footsteps. Relentless.

The Lust faction member hadn't stopped.

She choked on her breath, lungs burning, but didn't slow.

Suddenly, she ducked behind a massive tree.

Her knees hit the wet ground hard. Her hands clamped over her mouth.

She trembled, every muscle tight with fear.

Tears mixed with rain as she watched—eyes wide—through the leaves.

A shadow passed. Close. Searching.

It paused.

Aira's body froze completely.

The figure lingered for a moment, peering through the trees...

Then moved on.

Silence returned, broken only by the storm.

Aira let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Her part in this nightmare had ended.

---

Not far away, deeper in the storm-wracked woods, Bjorn staggered through the trees.

His body was wrecked.

Blood leaked from cuts and bruises. Rain washed over him without mercy. Every breath rattled like glass in his chest.

But he wasn't wandering aimlessly.

He knew where he was going.

Ahead, past the thorny roots and crooked trunks, stood that tree—twisted, eerie, unnatural.

The one no one dared approach.

The one everyone else had avoided.

But Bjorn remembered it.

From when he first arrived. From that quiet moment of dread.

And in some strange, unspoken way—it had remembered him too.

He limped toward it.

His strength failed.

He collapsed at its base.

His body slumped forward, forehead resting against the bark, as if surrendering to it.

Blood and rain streamed down his face.

His eyes fluttered, heavy.

The storm poured without pause.

Bjorn didn't rise again.

---

Open field. Night. Raining hard.

Two groups stood facing each other across the mud—Pride, split in two.

On the left, Lucien's side. Composed, organized, deadly.

On the right, his rival's—fierce, wild-eyed, ready to tear the world apart.

Faces tight with fury.

The rain hammered down like war drums.

Neither side moved.

Until, at last, the rival broke the silence.

"I won't follow a false king," he spat.

"This ends tonight."

Lucien's expression remained cold. Calm. Unreadable.

Then came the first scream.

And with it, the battlefield exploded.

---

A riot. A storm. A bloodbath.

Rain turned earth into sludge.

Fists slammed into jaws.

Bodies crashed against trees.

People were tackled, strangled, headbutted.

No weapons. No mercy. No tactics.

Just raw, ugly violence.

The forest echoed with roars and curses.

You couldn't tell who was winning—only who hadn't fallen yet.

---

In the thick of it, Lucien fought like a beast.

Every movement was brutal and precise.

He caught a man by the wrist, snapped it sideways, and drove an elbow into his throat.

Another lunged from behind—Lucien ducked, spun, and drove a knee into his ribs.

But then, across the battlefield—his rival charged.

The two collided like forces of nature.

Lucien's fist slammed into the rival's jaw.

The rival retaliated with a hook to the ribs and a wild slam that threw them both into the mud.

They rolled, grappled, bit, struck.

Mud flew. Blood poured. Neither backed down.

Around them, the rest of Pride was tearing itself apart.

---

The storm never relented.

Rain washed over shattered faces.

Boots sank into soaked dirt.

People crawled, clawed, choked, screamed.

It wasn't a battle anymore.

It was a purge.

Far away, in her dark room, the witch tilted her head.

She watched them tear each other to pieces.

"Dance for me, little fools..."

Her grin widened.

"Let the rain baptize your ruin."

And still they fought.

No one surrendered.

No one begged.

No one paused.

Not until the last strength bled from the last man standing.

Not until someone finally—broke.