Chains of the Godslayer

The beast's fang hung from the boy's belt, swaying slightly with each step. Its jagged edge, still faintly stained with blood, was a trophy of his survival. Every step sent sharp jolts of pain through his legs, but he didn't falter. The old man walked ahead, silent and unrelenting, his tattered cloak barely shifting in the wind.

"Your body trembles," the old man said without turning. His voice was sharp, each word deliberate. "That's weakness clawing at you. Ignore it."

The boy gritted his teeth, tightening his grip on the hilt of his dull blade. His muscles ached, his breath came ragged, but he forced his legs to keep moving. He refused to stumble.

"Weakness is death," the old man had said countless times. "Strength is survival. Will is power."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the landscape changed. The forest thinned, replaced by jagged rocks and barren ground. The air grew heavier, colder, pressing against the boy's chest like an unseen weight.

The chains stirred.

The boy froze, his pulse quickening as the faint pressure coiled around his body. It wasn't physical—this was something deeper, rooted in his very soul. The old man stopped at the edge of a vast crater, turning to face him.

"We're here," he said.

---

The crater stretched wide before them, its depths veiled in swirling mist. Shattered stones jutted from the ground like broken bones, and the faint metallic tang of blood lingered in the air. The boy's gaze drifted to the crater's center, where a jagged altar stood, half-buried in the earth.

"What is this place?" the boy asked, his voice low.

The old man's expression was unreadable. "A graveyard of the cursed."

The words lingered, heavy and foreboding. The boy's chest tightened as the chains pulsed faintly beneath his skin. He didn't ask for more. The old man's answers rarely made things clearer.

---

They descended into the crater, the air thickening with every step. The boy's legs trembled, his breath growing labored. The chains burned beneath his skin, their pulse growing stronger the closer they came to the altar.

"You feel it, don't you?" the old man asked, glancing back.

The boy nodded, swallowing hard.

"Good," the old man said, his tone flat. "This place is soaked in the remnants of those like you—those the heavens marked for destruction. Their curses linger here, like shadows clawing at the edge of existence."

The boy's pace faltered, his hand instinctively clutching his chest. The chains felt alive, tightening as though trying to drag him back. His vision blurred, but he bit down on his lip, forcing himself to keep moving.

"Weakness is death," he muttered to himself, a mantra against the overwhelming pressure.

---

At the center of the crater, the altar loomed. Its surface was cracked and weathered, ancient runes etched deep into the stone. They flickered faintly, their glow casting jagged shadows through the mist.

The boy's breath quickened. The runes tugged at the chains inside him, the sensation sharp and unrelenting.

"Place the fang on the altar," the old man instructed.

The boy hesitated. Every instinct screamed for him to stop, to turn and run. But the old man's gaze left no room for doubt. With shaking hands, he unfastened the fang from his belt and placed it on the altar.

The air shifted immediately.

A low hum filled the crater, resonating through the stone. The runes flared, their light burning brighter, bathing the area in an eerie glow. The boy stumbled back as the chains writhed beneath his skin, pulling him toward the altar.

"What's happening?" he gasped, clutching his chest.

The old man's expression remained calm, his arms crossed. "The heavens don't forgive rebellion, boy. They answer it."

The ground trembled beneath them. The light from the altar intensified, twisting into tendrils of shadow and fire. A figure began to emerge—a towering, formless mass of darkness, its edges crackling with golden sparks.

The boy's breath hitched. The shadow loomed above him, its presence suffocating, its glowing eyes burning with disdain.

"Why… do you resist?"

The voice wasn't a sound. It was a force, pressing into the boy's mind, filling every corner of his thoughts with its weight. He fell to his knees, clawing at the ground as the chains constricted, burning like molten iron.

"Stand," the old man's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding. "If you kneel now, you'll kneel forever."

The boy grit his teeth, his fingers digging into the dirt. His body trembled, his vision blurred, but he forced himself up. Step by step, he pushed forward, each movement a battle against the chains dragging him down.

The shadow growled, its form rippling with fury. "You dare defy the heavens?"

The boy's voice was hoarse, but steady. "I do."

With a final surge of strength, he reached the altar. His hand slammed down onto its surface, the force sending a shockwave through the crater. The chains erupted in a blaze of black and gold light, their glow consuming the shadow.

The earth quaked, cracks splitting through the stone. The shadow howled, its form dissolving into the air.

Then, silence.

---

The boy opened his eyes, his breaths shallow and ragged. The altar was in ruins, the runes extinguished. The chains inside him had quieted, their weight lighter than before.

The old man stood nearby, his gaze unreadable.

"You survived," he said.

The boy staggered toward him, barely able to stand. "What was that?"

"A fragment of the heavens' will," the old man replied. "A remnant left to crush those like you—those who dare to challenge their order."

The boy's hand brushed the faint glow of the chains beneath his skin. "And the chains?"

The old man smirked faintly. "You've loosened them, but they're far from broken. The heavens won't let you go so easily. Every step forward will be a war."

The boy nodded, his grip tightening on the blade at his side. The chains no longer felt like a curse.

They felt like a challenge.