The Dawn of Malice

Prologue: A Glimpse of the End

Caerus questioned the paths he'd made that led him to the blurry vision before him.

The winter evening cast an eerie glow upon the port town, painting the cobbled streets and ancient buildings with shades of blue and gray. The biting wind swept through the air, carrying with it the salty scent of the sea. The jetty stretched out into the water like a crooked finger, its worn planks creaking softly underfoot. A sense of urgency hung in the air as three figures emerged from the twisting alleys of the town, their steps purposeful and determined.

Caerus led the way, his heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Beside him walked his two companions, their faces shrouded by cloaks. One of his companions dragged beside him a contraption of his own making, a vehicle that led them through rough roads and forgotten pathways. Their identities remained hidden, as did their purpose on this perilous journey.

As they reached the end of the jetty, their breaths mingled with the sound of waves lapping against the hulls of ships. The moon's silvery glow danced upon the water's surface, illuminating the small sailboat that bobbed gently in the embrace of the rising and falling sea. Caerus's pulse quickened; their means of escape awaited them.

Caerus and his companion half-dragged half-hauled his vehicle onto the small sailing vessel using a slippery alga-infested gangplank. They heaved and pushed the heavy vehicle onto the ship, legs feeling weak with the effort as they took a moment to breathe.

But then, a hush fell over the scene. It was as if the world itself held its breath. One of the companions, the one with a keen ear, tilted his head and furrowed his brow. The laughter – the maniacal, bone-chilling laughter that had pursued them relentlessly – had ceased.

A creeping sense of unease settled over them like a shroud. They turned in unison, cloaks billowing, to face the source of their dread. There, at the end of the dock, stood the figure they had hoped to leave behind – the Laresian. The air grew colder, as though his presence siphoned the warmth from their surroundings.

The Laresian was no longer the boisterous tormentor they had known. His form was obscured by darkness and drenched in the sickly scent of coppery blood. His once conscious eyes now gleamed with a feverish crimson light while beads of dark red blood trailed down his cheeks. His lips were curled into a twisted grin that promised the trio unimaginable suffering.

Without a word, Caerus drew his weapon, a dagger honed by battles long past and his newly acquired pistol. But before he could make a move, the elder companion stepped forward. His features were etched with determination, a resolve that only comes from acknowledging the gravity of a situation. With a quick, fluid motion, the elder companion drew his sword, its blade catching the moonlight as it arced through the air.

A gasp escaped the lips of the companion who was resting as the elder companion's sword hilt struck the back of Caerus's neck, rendering him unconscious. Caerus's form crumpled to the wooden planks, unconscious but breathing. In that moment, their fates diverged – two to the boat, and one to face the Laresian.

Through blurred vision, Caerus watched as their elder companion advanced toward the blood-soaked and sinister figure that was the Laresian. There was no fear in the elder companion's stance, only a readiness to confront whatever lay ahead. Caerus's heart pounded in his chest as the sound of clashing steel and echoing grunts filled the air.

The battle that unfolded was a dance of shadows, steel, and the leather whip, an intricate choreography of weapons meeting with deadly intent. Each clash resonated like a thunderclap, sending sparks of light scattering across the jetty. Caerus's breath caught in his throat as he watched the struggle unfold.

As the moon reached its zenith in the frigid sky, the confrontation reached its climax. His companion's voice, brimming with urgency and panic, cut through the haze that enveloped Caerus's mind. He felt his body being dragged, every fiber protesting the movement.

As he was hauled onto the sailboat, Caerus's focus remained locked on the lethal duel unfurling between his elder companion and the Laresian. Their motions blended into a whirlwind of mastery and might. Caerus's heart raced.

Time seemed to stretch as Caerus's consciousness wavered between lucidity and darkness. The clash of blades, the labored gasps of combatants, and the steady percussion of waves colliding with the boat reverberated through his ears. His body ached while his mind was a whirlwind of confusion and pain.

In the frigid gleam of fading flames, and against the backdrop of the port town's receding visage, Caerus and his companion witnessed a scene they never thought would occur.

Their companion knelt on the ground, having lost a significant amount of blood, while his assailant's whip coiled around his throat. A shiver raced down Caerus's spine as he locked eyes with his companion, his eyes seeming to pierce into the very core of his being. Then, with a brutal jerk, the whip ascended, snapping his neck.

In that macabre instant, the valiant warrior, the companion who had shaped Caerus's understanding of the world was extinguished, a victim to the unhinged laughter that the Laresian hurled into the night.

As the boat drifted away from the jetty, leaving behind the blood-soaked planks and the darkened figure of their comrade, Caerus's consciousness slipped into darkness. The sea's rhythmic breathing matched their own, and as the winter night carried them away, the echoes of that fateful battle lingered in their dreams, a reminder of the shadows that destiny had cast upon their path.

One image remained in Caerus's mind in the days to come – the burning sea.