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墨書 Inktalez
On the distant northern battlefield, the cold wind feels like a million icy blades, ruthlessly cutting through every inch of exposed skin. The sky is a leaden gray, with heavy clouds like an untearable thick blanket enveloping the entire world. Even in the daytime, it seems to be swallowed by an eternal shadow, as if the sun never dares to show its face on this land contaminated by war and death.
On the battlefield, the Frosty Puppets are like monsters crawling out of hell, their bodies composed of ice and snow, yet shockingly lifelike in shape. Their eyes are hollow black voids, as if capable of sucking away all life and hope.
The ground is covered with bloodstains and traces of war, some blood has already coagulated into dark red patches, while some are slowly seeping into the ice and snow, as if the earth itself is weeping. These bloodstains form a stark and unsettling contrast with the Frosty Puppet: one is the final evidence of life about to disappear, the other is the embodiment of death and despair.
In this land where ice, blood, and death are mixed together, everything seems so desolate and hopeless. It's like a frozen hell, where every inch of land, every drop of blood, and every scream tells the cruelty and ruthlessness of this war.
Darius's consciousness gradually became clear amidst a period of haziness and chaos. A cold wind cut across his face like a knife, but it seemed to take away his fatigue and pain, allowing him to feel the presence of life again. His eyes slowly opened, and his vision shifted from blurry to clear. The first thing that caught his eye was a gloomy sky, thick with clouds that blocked out all light, making the drifting snowflakes appear even more chilling.
Despite feeling a bit weak in his limbs, he forced himself to ignore the sensation. He turned his head constantly, surveying his surroundings, only to find himself in a land devastated by war. He was still in the North, a place filled with death and despair. The ground was scattered with broken shields, shattered weapons, and those eerie Frosty Puppets.
At first, Darius even thought he was already dead, that this was his hell. His heart was filled with regret and self-blame. How could this happen? How could he die so miserably? In this unknown land, there was no glory, no comrades, only endless cold and loneliness. He didn't want anyone to know how he died; such a death was a great shame to him.
Darius's consciousness gradually became clear after a moment of blur, but this clarity was quickly shattered by the intense pain coming from all over his body. He looked down and found his chest being crushed by a huge boulder. He didn't know when this stone started pressing on him, but its weight made it difficult for him to breathe, as every breath felt like a struggle against the stone.
His head felt like it had been hit by a heavy object, heavy and swollen, with each heartbeat intensifying the pain. He touched his forehead and felt a wet sensation, a mixture of blood and sweat. His body was covered in various sizes of abrasions and bruises, each one feeling like a small flame, reminding him of how bad his current situation was.
Darius took a deep breath, trying to suppress the pain, then focused all his strength to push away the rubble pressing on his chest. He tightly grabbed the edge of the stone with both hands and pushed, but the stone only moved slightly and did not leave his body. His arms and back muscles were convulsing in pain, as if warning him that this action far exceeded his body's current capacity.
But Darius did not give up. He gritted his teeth and pushed again, this time with all the strength he could muster from his entire body. He felt his arm as if it were about to be torn apart, every muscle screaming, but he refused to let go. Finally, when he was almost exhausted, the stone rolled off his chest with a dull thud.
Darius took a deep breath, feeling a momentary relief, but he knew he couldn't just lie there and wait for death to come. He struggled to stand, every movement causing extreme discomfort and pain, but he knew he had to. He couldn't collapse here; he still had an unfinished mission, and there were people waiting for him.
Darius felt the weight of his entire body seemingly concentrated on his legs, every inch of muscle protesting in spasms as if countless needles were weaving under his skin. His arms trembled, barely able to support his body's weight, but he gritted his teeth and slowly pulled himself up.
His joints made unsettling creaking sounds, as if warning him not to go any further. But he ignored it all, forcefully suppressing the intense pain from his spine to his toes. His chest was compressed to the point of almost being unable to breathe, each inhale feeling like inhaling a flame, burning and stinging.
At this moment, he took a deep breath of the icy air, allowing the chill to pass through his windpipe, fill his lungs, and instantly cool his boiling emotions and pain. This breath seemed to take away a part of the fire inside him, making him feel slightly refreshed.
At this moment, he finally stood up, despite the tearing pain throughout his body. But he knew that none of it mattered. What mattered was that he was still alive, still had the strength to continue forward, and still had unfinished missions waiting for him to complete. He clenched his fists tightly, shook his head vigorously, dispelling the confusion and fatigue in his mind.
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