In the depths of darkness, where shadows intertwine and lost souls drift, Slazar stood before his distorted reflection. The face that stared back wasn't his it was pale, with a faint, horrifying smile Wet black hair clung to a grayish forehead like that of a corpse returned to life. His fingers trembled as he touched his cold skin, and when he did, a firestorm of pain erupted in his skull, like a thousand needles piercing his mind.
Terrifying visions surged before his eyes: torn corpses, blood-soaked rituals performed in shadowy crypts, faceless monks chanting demonic hymns, sacred books hurled into tongues of flame. Each image was more dreadful than the last, like paintings from an unending nightmare. He collapsed to his knees, screaming in agony, as a voice echoed from the depths of his mind a name, repeated endlessly:
"Rahigh... Rahigh..."
The name felt like a curse, slithering through his veins like poison, sending shivers through his soul. Blood began to gush from his nose, and soon, he drowned in the darkness of unconsciousness.
He awoke slowly, his eyelids heavy as if weighed down by lead. He found himself in a small room, its walls eroded, the wooden furniture creaking under the weight of time. He tried to move his hand, only to feel bandages binding his wrist. His mind was foggy, memories tangled like the threads of a rotting spider's web. The name that had echoed in his mind—Rahigh—was that his name? Or someone else's haunting him?
His thoughts were cut short by the sound of approaching footsteps. The door creaked open, and an old man stepped in. His face was carved with wrinkles, like a map of a lifetime of suffering. He wore clothes reminiscent of the Victorian era—elegant, yet faded, like a ghost from a forgotten age. He gazed at Slazar with sunken eyes and spoke in a quiet voice, heavy with years:
"You've finally awakened, boy. I thought you were dead when I found you among the ruins of kings."
Slazar tried to respond, but his throat was as dry as a desert. He barely managed to whisper:
"Thank you…"
The old man offered a faint smile and said:
"No need for thanks, boy. But tell me, what is your name?"
Slazar hesitated, his mind straining for an answer.
The name Rahigh floated to the surface of his consciousness, but it carried a sense of dread, as if it were a key to a door that should never be opened He chose to avoid it and replied with a hoarse voice:
"I don't remember…"
The old man raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"Strange. You're a ritual sorcerer—or perhaps a servant of some church. Stranger still, you bear the Mark of the Slaughter on your body. How could a altar Demon forget his name? Looks like you've suffered a Slaughter Seizure."
Slazar looked at his trembling hand and slowly unwrapped the bandages, revealing the image of a human skull engraved into his skin.
"What… what is this?" he asked in a shaky voice.
The old man sighed.
"You've truly lost your memory. No matter. My name is William Green. Pleased to meet you."
Slazar nodded.
"Thank you again for saving me."
William waved a hand.
"As I said, no need to thank me. Anyway, once you feel better, you can come downstairs. This place is an old hotel. Also, for now, give yourself a name until we sort things out."
Slazar thought for a moment, then said:
"Call me... Ri."
William smiled.
"As you wish, Ri. And by the way, all your belongings are on that table over there."
William left him alone Slazar slowly rose to his feet, his body groaning with pain. He walked toward the table, where he found an old leather bag. With trembling hands, he opened it and found an ancient book, its scent aged and bitter. He opened the first page and read:
"To the one reading this book,
I know you're in shock, but do not be afraid. I've written everything you need to know in these pages. Also, be careful not to reveal your identity to anyone—your identity as Rahigh, the altar Demon, is not something anyone would want to know. I've completed my part of the ritual and broken free. Now you must do the same to return to your world."
—Signed, Rahigh.
A wave of shock swept through Slazar's core. This meant the original owner of the body had brought him here. But why him, specifically? Why was he chosen to carry this burden?
Countless questions churned in his mind—but he knew the answers might be more terrifying than he could ever imagine.