Colin's mind sank into a cold, damp abyss. His strength deserted him, and his body slowly began to surrender to an almost drowsy sensation.
On the verge of losing consciousness, he was suddenly jolted by a vivid memory of his mother's face, and his eyes opened abruptly, as if searching for a light above him.
Air bubbled out of his mouth and, in a desperate act, he fought his way back to the surface, thrashing his arms with all the energy he had left.
After a relentless fight for his life, Colin finally managed to emerge from the lake, reaching a crumbling stone ledge.
He emerged, coughing vigorously, expelling the water he had swallowed in his desperate suicide attempt.
Cough! Cough! Cough!
Exhausted and shivering, Colin threw himself to the ground, feeling the icy granite beneath his soaked body.
He violently expelled the water that had flooded his lungs, coughing and gasping for air. His mind was a blur of tangled memories as he struggled to remember what had happened.
Raising his head with effort, his eyes adjusted to the faint light of the candlesticks that illuminated the crypt.
His surroundings seemed to have been taken from a nightmare.
Marble coffins were stacked on granite shelves, meters above the ground.
The chamber was decorated with statues that oscillated between the angelic and the demonic, emanating an aura of dark strangeness.
The oval ceiling was shrouded in darkness, releasing a constant shower of dust. The walls pulsed in response to the rhythmic impacts echoing from outside the crypt.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
With eyes frantically scanning his surroundings for a way out, Colin felt a sharp stab of pain in his head.
The heavy sound of steel boots echoed in the crypt, getting closer with every step. With a restrained grunt, he crawled frantically, seeking refuge behind a concrete pillar.
There, hidden in the shadows, the boy held his breath as he slyly watched the intruders approach.
His eyes met those of imposing soldiers wearing shining silver armor, standing out in the sinister gloom of the place.
"Come on, take everything of value!"
With torches raised, the soldiers approached the ornate chests arranged near the entrance. Their swords came out of their sheaths with a metallic sheen and, in one swift blow, they broke the locks.
Inside the chests, a dazzling treasure was revealed. Centuries-old golden pieces gleamed in the torchlight, while priceless religious instruments, steeped in history and meaning, rested there like relics untouched by time.
It was a sight that could leave even the most hardened soldiers stunned at the grandeur of the discovery.
"These Elven bastards!" said one of the soldiers, holding up a gold coin. "How many humans did they kill to get all this?"
"Don't go touching these things like that!" warned another soldier. "Elves are good at making traps."
Colin looked around and fixed his eyes on an iron chandelier soiled with melted wax. He squinted until he seized it silently.
Is this a dream? No! I feel cold, my fingers are freezing, and that smell of incense is bothering me. I'm sure it's not a dream!
He ducked down and sneaked through the gloom like a taciturn thief until he was near the stairs. The soldiers went to the end of the crypt and roared something as they pointed at a dark well.
Only one of them stood at the entrance, standing guard.
"I found you!"
Colin turned his head, startled, feeling his heart race. He hoped they wouldn't see him, but soon realized that it wasn't him they were talking to.
He saw the soldier violently open a chest and pull something out. It was a woman, an Elf, with long blonde hair and pointed ears.
She was terrified.
"Get out of there, bitch!" the soldier shouted, throwing her to the cold ground.
The Elf fell face-first to the ground, letting out a muffled groan. She tried to crawl away from the soldier, but he was quicker and punched her in the face.
Bam!
Some of her teeth were knocked out with that blow, and blood dripped from her mouth.
She cried out in pain and fear, begging for mercy.
"P-Please, ha-have mercy!" she stammered, trying to protect herself with her hands raised in front of her face.
The Elf knew that the soldier would not spare her life, but she still hoped that someone would save her.
She looked around for any sign of help, but only saw other soldiers and heard screams coming from outside the crypt.
The soldier grinned from ear to ear and pulled a dagger from his belt. It was a curved, sharp weapon with a bone handle and a metal blade.
He raised it in the air, making it gleam in the candlelight. He approached the Elf, who cowered in terror.
Furthermore, he bent over her, holding her hair with one hand and the dagger with the other.
"Goodbye, pointy-eared bitch!" he said cruelly, sliding the dagger across her throat.
The Elf choked on her own blood and struggled until she finally lay still.
Her body lay motionless on the ground, eyes open and lifeless.
The soldier spat on her body.
Puff!
"Fucking Elf!" he said, retreating to the back.
Colin, faced with the horror that was unfolding, didn't feel the nausea or panic that many would experience when witnessing a brutal murder.
His survival instinct took over completely.
His only focus was on escaping the nightmare and, only then, reflecting on his situation and the next steps to take.
With incredible patience and stealth, he emerged from the shadows and quietly approached the soldier guarding the entrance.
Gripping the candlestick tightly, Colin found a courage that even he didn't know he possessed and landed a heavy blow on the head of the soldier, who was distracted by the newly discovered treasures.
Bam!
The candlestick that Colin had used as a weapon shattered with a muffled noise when it hit the unsuspecting soldier's head.
With agility, Colin grabbed the man's long hair, preventing him from falling face-first to the ground with a thud.
Despite the effort, the soldier was considerably heavy, but Colin managed to lay him down relatively gently.
A deep wound on the guard's head exposed a gash that was bleeding profusely, but at this point, Colin was far from caring about the wounded soldier's fate.
In a hurry, he searched the soldier's pockets, finding a bloodstained dagger.
Sorry about that, but it was either me or you.
As he hurried up the stairs, Colin was confronted with a scene that seemed straight out of a nightmare.
Cruel soldiers were committing cold-blooded murders, their victims resembling Elves in appearance and desperation.
Houses were ruthlessly looted, and women were dragged by their hair into dark alleys.
However, one particularly shocking event captured Colin's attention: a fireball tore through the night sky, crashing into nearby houses.
Kaboom!
The impact resulted in a deafening explosion that made the ground tremble beneath his feet. Colin witnessed fragments of buildings flying chaotically, and the once peaceful village was engulfed in flames.
The scene was a hellish sight.
In the middle of the square, charred bodies burned in a massive pyre, and just behind, more elves faced the terrible fate of decapitation.
The crackling of the fire mixed with the agonized wails of the victims and the desperate screams of children, creating a cacophony of horror that assaulted the senses.
Colin felt trapped in a nightmare, but the horrifying reality became clear when a loud voice echoed behind him.
"Dark Elf?!" exclaimed the voice, and Colin turned abruptly.
He found himself facing a massive man, tall and burly, with a threatening appearance. The man's hands were enormous, with thick fingers gripping a long-handled axe firmly.
Colin, still shaken by the situation, tried to explain, his voice wavering.
"Dark Elf? Wait, I'm not—"
But his words were interrupted by the soldier, who, suspicious, took a step back.
"What is a Dark Elf doing in this part of the continent?" asked the soldier, keeping the axe raised, ready to strike.
Tension was palpable.
In a flash, Colin dodged the axe that whistled dangerously close to his chest. His shirt tore, but, by a stroke of luck, he escaped unscathed.
He would have been sliced in half if it hadn't been for his incredible reflexes at the crucial moment.
That was close!
The tall, broad-shouldered brute swung his axe, launching a precise, swift attack from above.
Colin moved like lightning, dodging at the last second.
The axe smashed violently into the tiled floor, leaving a permanent scar on the hard surface.
Clang!
He's fast for someone his size. But it's not just him — something has changed in me. My body is agile, and I feel strong. Do I have a chance?
With the dexterity of a predator, Colin grabbed the dagger he had stolen and gripped the handle tightly, keeping his eyes fixed on his opponent.
The two combatants exchanged tense glances, an aura of anticipation filling the air.
Colin spun his dagger and launched himself at the brute.
The soldier, swinging his massive axe, tried to sever Colin's head, but he deftly dodged, gliding across the tiles like a serpent. In one swift, surgical movement, Colin struck the tendon of his opponent's right heel.
Swish!
Twisting the axe once more, the brute attempted one last blow against Colin, but the loss of strength in his right leg was inevitable.
With a thud, he fell heavily to the ground, his axe clattering beside him.
The man raised his head, his eyes full of pain, and saw his opponent approaching calmly, like a predator closing in on its prey.
"You'd better stay where you are," said Colin, bending down to pick up the handle of the fallen axe.
The axe was stained with the smell of blood and was surprisingly heavy.
With a firm blow from his knee, Colin snapped off the axe handle and threw it away. He turned and fled into the forest, running as fast as he could under the moonlight.
Colin's only company that night was the moon, whose pale light filtered through the leaves of the trees. The disturbing sounds of flesh being torn echoed in his ears, as if they had been etched in his mind.
For a moment, as he ran desperately through the dark forest, Colin tried to understand what was happening—how he had ended up in that hellish world.
His questions echoed in his mind as he turned away from the terrifying scene, anxious to find some answer, any clue that might give him clarity.
He immersed himself in thought as he ran, trying to understand the dark nature of that world.
An intriguing possibility hammered at the back of his mind: Had he entered a parallel universe, accessed only after death?
It was one of the most plausible conclusions he could think of. After all, there were many theories about what happens after death, but they remained shrouded in mystery.
The forest that now surrounded him was dense and dark, plunged into absolute darkness. He could barely see an inch in front of him, and the thin branches seemed to reach out like claws to grab him.
In the darkness, Colin tripped over a thick root and rolled helplessly downhill until he came to a stop next to a river of crystal-clear water.
The moon shone brightly in the night sky, and its reflection was perfectly projected onto the serene surface of the stream.
Colin stood up quickly, but before he could react, a violent blow struck his back.
Bam!
He rolled over the stones on the bank, feeling the pain spread through his body. Looking back, he saw the soldiers in their silver armor approaching.
Swords were drawn, and an apprehensive tension hung in the air as the men came across Colin lying on his back on the ground.
"What's a Dark Elf doing here?" asked one of the soldiers, whose sword quivered in his trembling hands and whose eyes exuded fear and desperation.
Colin raised a hand, trying to calm the situation.
"Wait!" he said urgently. "I'm not a Dark Elf, I—"
Before he could finish his explanation, one of the men brutally kicked him in the face.
Bam!
Pain surged through him, and Colin struggled to get up, but before he could react, another soldier landed a powerful blow to his stomach.
The kicks continued to rain down on him, hitting his face mercilessly until he could barely move.
The soldiers stood back, gasping, and looked at Colin with contempt as they gradually regained control.
"He's not a Dark Elf, he's just a Half-Elf," said one of the men, spitting in Colin's face with disdain.
His companion drew his sword and raised it threateningly in the air.
"Why don't we just kill this freak?" he asked, anger evident in his voice.
"Are you out of your mind?" his companion retorted, resting a hand on his wrist. "Dark Elves are worth a fortune in the underworld. Let's take him with us!"
"That's right, I forgot!" agreed the other, lowering his sword.
Crouching down, one of the men grabbed Colin by the hair and hoisted him over his shoulder.
"Are you sure it's okay to carry him like this?" asked his companion, worried.
"It's fine. Do you feel any magic coming from him?" asked the man carrying Colin.
His partner shook his head and examined the battered Half-Elf, bruised and apparently harmless.
"He might know how to suppress his mana like the other mages in the capital."
"Maybe he's just weak. Come on, they must have finished with that village," concluded the other, and the soldiers went on their way, carrying Colin, whose fate remained uncertain.
He found himself in that silent nightmare, carried like a sack of potatoes on the shoulders of a stranger.
His view was limited to the grass and the feet of the man carrying him. Frustration gnawed at his thoughts, as his mind was empty of escape plans. Exhaustion consumed him, but he stubbornly fought to stay conscious.
The sounds of crying and the stench of blood hung in the air, churning his stomach.
He wondered wryly that if he'd had anything left in his stomach, it would've come up.
This can't be real.
They finally left the dense vegetation and climbed a ravine, coming upon a horrifying sight: a cage full of prisoners, mostly children and women.
The soldiers unceremoniously unlocked the cage and brutally threw Colin inside.
Feeling the icy ground beneath him, Colin, with dazed eyes, caught a glimpse of a comet cutting across the night sky, its streaks of light drawing ephemeral traces amidst the stars.
The fleeting beauty of that moment was his last sight before succumbing to unconsciousness.