Heaven Defying King

Chapter: The Old Man's Bargain

The battlefield was a nightmare—a canvas of agony painted in hues of crimson and ash. The air itself felt heavy, thick with the stench of death and rot, as if the very earth had been poisoned by the chaos unleashed upon it. The ground was cracked and torn, fissures running deep into the earth like open wounds. Spires of dark energy—chaotic spikes—jutted from the ground, the earth itself wailing in anguish. The air crackled with the remnants of magic and the reek of burnt flesh.

Around Grey, the remnants of the world's last defenders lay scattered. The bodies of soldiers and civilians alike were twisted and mangled, their faces contorted in horror, their limbs ripped apart by monstrous claws and teeth. Blood pooled in the streets, turning the ground slick and slick with viscera. The bodies of fallen warriors were strewn like discarded playthings, their once-glorious armor now shattered and stained with the filth of battle. The world was dying—and with it, the last flickers of hope.

Grey cradled the child against his chest, the tiny heartbeat growing weaker with each passing moment. The child, once a symbol of potential and salvation, was now a fragile thing—small, pale, and lifeless, their body barely holding onto what remained of their strength. Their face was smeared with dirt and blood, their hands trembling, too weak to grasp anything. Grey's heart twisted in his chest. He could feel the world slipping away with each breath the child took. Time was running out.

Then, as if summoned by the devastation itself, the figure of the old man emerged from the chaos. He appeared like a ghost, stepping through the carnage with the eerie calm of someone who had long ceased to fear death. His long, snow-white hair cascaded down his back like a river of ice, and his yellow eyes gleamed with an ancient light, their glow cutting through the darkness like twin orbs of molten gold. His ancient, wrinkled skin seemed to stretch impossibly thin across the sharp lines of his face, his features distorted by age but still sharp and piercing. He was a walking contradiction—frail yet immense, with a presence that seemed to warp the very air around him.

Grey barely registered his arrival, his mind clouded with desperation. His voice was raw and strained as he pleaded, holding the child tighter to his chest. "Please… help. Help them. Help my people. They've given everything."

The old man surveyed the destruction with a disinterested glance, his lips curling into a thin, mocking smile. "Oh, how touching. A little boy clinging to his last hope," he mused, his voice rough, like stones grinding together. "But you are mistaken, my dear. You think I owe you. But the truth is far more amusing."

The old man crouched down in front of Grey, his movements unnervingly fluid for someone of his age. The air around them seemed to warp, like heat rising from scorched earth, the sound of distant thunder rumbling from the depths of the abyss. In the distance, the sky had turned a sickly purple, the stars blinking out one by one, like dying fireflies retreating into the void. The sun, once a blazing beacon of life, had dimmed by a third, its light now an eerie, lifeless glow that barely penetrated the oppressive blackness of the world. Even the sky seemed to mourn.

Bruno, still alive but broken, managed to cough weakly from where he lay on the ground. His body was covered in jagged wounds, his once-pristine armor battered and torn, stained with his own blood. His golden eyes, dim and distant, locked onto the old man's face with an unwavering resolve. "You… You have the power… to save them…" His voice was ragged, strained with pain, but there was no mistaking the urgency in his words. "Please… Save my family... Save my country..."

The old man glanced at him with amusement, the slightest of chuckles escaping his lips. "Save them?" He looked back at Grey. "Oh, how cute. You truly believe I'm here to offer mercy?" His yellow eyes gleamed. "I owe you nothing, child. It is you who owe me."

Grey's mind reeled. His thoughts, fragmented and desperate, churned with the weight of the old man's cryptic words. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears like a war drum. His voice cracked as he answered. "Then... Then I offer you a deal," he said, the words coming out in a rush, desperate. "Take everything—take my power, my essence. In exchange, release them. Break free from your prison. I can give you that."

The old man tilted his head, considering Grey's words with a gleam of amusement dancing in his eerie yellow eyes. His lips curled into a sly grin, his jagged teeth glinting in the dim light. "Ah, an offer of essence. How quaint. How desperate."

The very air seemed to warp around them, heavy with tension. In the distance, the cries of the dying seemed to grow louder, the wails of lost souls reverberating through the ruined city like a choir of the damned. The earth beneath their feet trembled, and the shadows stretched unnaturally, as though even the land itself was bracing for what was to come.

"Ah, but what price shall you pay?" The old man's voice lowered, growing darker, his eyes flashing like twin suns of malevolent joy. "Your soul? Your very existence?"

Grey nodded, his voice steely despite the terror clawing at his heart. "Take it. Take my life. Take my power. But free them. Do what you must."

The old man's eyes narrowed, a slow chuckle escaping his lips as he stepped closer. He extended a gnarled hand toward Bruno and Diana, who lay in a broken heap of flesh and bone, barely alive but still holding onto life with stubborn tenacity.

"Very well," the old man whispered, his breath a foul, ancient thing that reeked of decay and power. "I'll take what you offer. But you must understand, there is no coming back from this."

He smiled wickedly. "You trade your very existence—your essence—for theirs."

With a sudden, violent surge, the old man's power erupted from his form. The ground shook, fissures opening up beneath them, pouring forth a torrent of darkness. The air crackled with energy, and Grey could feel the life being drained from him as the old man's power swirled around him, pulling at his very soul.

In the blink of an eye, the old man's hand shot forward, touching Bruno and Diana's lifeless forms. Their essence—their very souls—were pulled from their bodies, leaving behind nothing but husks. The air thickened with the force of their sacrifice, as the old man devoured their spirits, their very existence fading into his being.

Grey screamed, his voice raw and broken, feeling the weight of their loss. The pain was unbearable, the crushing weight of their lives—their everything—now a part of him.

The old man's grin grew wider. He turned to Grey, his yellow eyes gleaming. "Now, you have what you wanted. Their souls are mine. Your essence... mine. You're just a shell now, child."

But there was a final price. As the souls of Bruno and Diana were absorbed, their eyes—Bruno's golden, Diana's brilliant blue—flashed with life one final time. The old man, with a flick of his hand, pulled both eyes from their lifeless bodies, and in a moment of eerie silence, placed them into Grey's own empty sockets.

The transformation was agonizing. The light from their eyes surged through him, merging with his own soul, and with it came their power—their memories, their pain, their strength. The air hummed with an overwhelming energy, and Grey collapsed to the ground, his body wracked with the intensity of the change. His body burned with the essence of two souls—his own, and theirs. He could feel it in every fiber of his being.

His golden eyes, now the color of fire, flickered open. And Diana's piercing blue gaze, now his own, stared out from the reflection in the shattered ground before him. He stood, trembling, feeling their weight in his bones.

The old man watched with dark amusement, his voice a low, mocking murmur. "Now you carry them within you. How fitting. You're the last hope—and the last curse."

As Grey struggled to his feet, the weight of his bargain sinking in, the old man disappeared into the chaos, leaving behind only the echo of his laughter—a sound that chilled the very marrow in Grey's bones.

The battle wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

But as Grey looked down at the child in his arms, he knew one thing for sure. The future was no longer his own to decide.