No More Pain For This Villain.



[Third Person View]

"..."Riksar stood at the base of the imposing Black Frost Mountains, his eyes fixed upon the jagged peaks that reached into the heavens. The mountains bore an eerie and foreboding presence, as if they were the gatekeepers to a realm of darkness. Tendrils of mist snaked around the craggy cliffs, cloaking them in an ethereal haze that seemed to dance with an unsettling energy.

The Black Frost Mountains earned their name well. Their surfaces were crusted with layers of frost, even in the midst of warmer seasons, creating an otherworldly spectacle of shimmering ice. The peaks were sharp and angular, casting long shadows that stretched across the land below. The air was cold and biting, carrying with it a palpable sense of isolation and desolation.

Deep crevices and yawning chasms marred the mountain's surfaces, like scars etched by time itself. Cascades of frozen waterfalls clung to the sides, their frozen forms sparkling in the dim light. The ground was treacherous and unforgiving, covered in a layer of snow and ice that made every step precarious.

Amidst the icy landscape, the entrance to the hidden shrine was concealed by a curtain of icicles, as if guarding a secret from the world. 

The shrine's aura radiated an ancient, mystic power, drawing Riksar closer with a mix of trepidation and anticipation. 

Tap*Tap*

Riksar's boots crunched against the icy ground as he ascended the slopes of the Black Frost Mountains. The wind howled around him, carrying with it the whispers of ancient tales and the echoes of those who had ventured into these unforgiving peaks before him. His tattered wings fluttered at his sides, the remnants of a past life now serving as a reminder of his determination to forge a new path.

"Haa haa,"As he navigated the treacherous terrain, Riksar's mind raced with thoughts of what lay ahead. 

[Just a bit ahead.]

The voice of the Abyss lingered in the recesses of his thoughts, a constant presence that alternately pushed and pulled at his intentions. He had made his choice—to seek the power contained within the Shadow Shards—but the path to that power was shrouded in uncertainty.

Hours turned into a day, and Riksar's journey brought him deeper into the heart of the mountains. The landscape grew increasingly rugged, with towering rock formations jutting out of the frozen ground like ancient sentinels. The air grew thinner, making each breath a laborious effort. Yet, Riksar pressed on, fueled by a mixture of and a burning desire for revenge.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he arrived at the mouth of a cavern—a dark maw within the mountainside. The entrance exuded an aura of ancient energy, as if it had witnessed the passage of time and the aspirations of countless seekers before him. Riksar's heart quickened as he stepped into the cavern, the echoes of his footsteps resonating through the darkness.

The passage was winding and narrow, its walls adorned with shimmering crystals that cast an eerie glow upon the surroundings. 

"it's....cold?"The air grew colder, and an unsettling stillness enveloped him. Riksar's senses heightened, every sound and movement magnified in the oppressive silence.

Deeper he ventured, the cavern gradually opening up into a vast chamber. At its center stood a pedestal, upon which a single, radiant fragment rested—the first Shadow Shard. The shard emitted a faint, pulsating light that seemed to resonate with Riksar's very soul, drawing him closer with an irresistible allure.

Step*step*

As Riksar's outstretched but before his fingers made contact with the shimmering surface of the Shadow Shard, a jolt of energy surged through him like a lightning bolt, searing his nerves and piercing his very core. His breath hitched in his throat as the world around him blurred, and he was engulfed in a vortex of seething power.

Visions, vivid and otherworldly, flooded his mind's eye—battles that spanned eons, realms transformed by the chaotic forces of the Shadow Shards. He witnessed kingdoms rise and fall, entire civilizations shaped and razed to the ground by the inexorable might of the shards. A cacophony of voices echoed in his head—war cries, triumphant roars, and mournful wails—each a testament to the raw power contained within the shard.

The energy surged through his veins, like molten fire coursing through his very bloodstream. His heart raced, each beat resonating with the energy that had lain dormant within the shard for ages untold. He felt as if he were standing at the epicenter of a cosmic storm, his entire being reverberating with the echoes of forgotten worlds and the echoes of those who had dared to wield such power before him.

His body trembled as the surge of energy intensified, a symphony of sensations both exhilarating and excruciating. It was as if the shard were a conduit to the very heart of the universe, channeling the energies that shaped existence itself. Riksar's vision swam with iridescent lights, his surroundings a blur of colors and shapes that defied comprehension.

The sensation was overwhelming, his senses consumed by the kaleidoscope of power that surrounded him. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the torrent of energy subsided, leaving Riksar gasping for air. His body felt both weightless and grounded, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

[SNATCH THE SHARD!]

The voice of the Abyss echoed within his mind once more, a haunting whisper that urged him to claim the shard's power, to embrace the darkness that it offered. Riksar hesitated, torn between the promise of vengeance and the weight of the choices he had made.

In that moment, a different memory surfaced—a memory of his sister's laughter, of the love they had shared. The warmth of that memory briefly touched the edges of his consciousness, offering a fleeting respite from the cruel reality that had consumed his life.

But then, like a storm cloud blotting out the sun, another memory crashed into his thoughts—a memory etched in agony and despair. He vividly recalled the sight of those villagers, twisted grins etched across their faces, as they brutally assaulted his sister before his very eyes. He had been forced to watch her tears, to listen to her cries of anguish, a helpless witness to her suffering.

"This is for you, big sister -"

As Riksar's fingers made contact with the shimmering surface of the Shadow Shard, a searing surge of energy coursed through his body. His eyes widened in shock and agony, his voice erupting into a guttural cry of pain, "Aghhhhhhhhh!!"

The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. It felt as if his very essence was being torn asunder, consumed by the raw power emanating from the shard. Every nerve in his body screamed in protest, and his muscles tensed in a futile attempt to resist the overwhelming force.

When the torrent of energy finally subsided, Riksar's gasps echoed through the cavern. He staggered backward, clutching his hand against his chest, his breath ragged. As he looked down at the hand that had touched the shard, his heart pounded with a mix of dread and disbelief.

The flesh that had once covered his palm and fingers had been replaced by a skeletal visage—a macabre transformation that spoke of the price he had paid for wielding the shard's power. The bones glistened with an eerie luminescence, a stark contrast to the darkness that surrounded him. Riksar's gaze shifted between the skeletal hand and the shard, realization dawning upon him.

He had gained power, but at a cost that went beyond physical pain. The shard had exacted a toll on his very being, transforming his hand into a relic of death.

"Interesting...," he flexed his skeletal fingers, testing the limits of his newfound abilities. The energy that had coursed through him now felt like a part of him, intertwined with his essence. 

*Tud Thad*

The cavern trembled, and a blinding light enveloped Riksar. His body tensed as the energy surged through him, every fiber of his being resonating with the shard's power. The light was blinding, a cascade of colors that danced before his eyes, threatening to overwhelm his senses.

As suddenly as it had begun, the light subsided, leaving Riksar standing outside the cavern, his breath heavy with awe and wonder. His skeletal hand still clutched the shard, the lines etched into his palm now pulsating with an otherworldly energy. The transformation he had undergone was evident—the glow of the shard's energy seemed to emanate from within him, casting his surroundings in an eerie, purple-tinged luminescence.

"What is this?" Riksar murmured to himself, his voice carrying a mixture of fascination and trepidation. His eyes, once a deep, intense shade, now glowed with a vibrant purple light, a reflection of the power that had merged with his very essence.

[Mind Manipulation,] the Abyss's voice resonated in his thoughts, answering his unspoken question with a chilling certainty. The knowledge sent shivers down his spine—mind manipulation, a power that could penetrate the thoughts and emotions of others, granting him control over their very actions.

The voice of the Abyss continued, its presence a constant reminder of the pact he had forged. [Only four more to collect,] it declared, its tone filled with a sinister anticipation.

"But First is....." He closed his eyes and said,"my revenge,"