A Debt of Life

The world was engulfed in war, staining the cities crimson and strewing the fields with chilling remains. Young souls, barely blossoming buds, mercilessly threw themselves into the insatiable maw of battles. And you are one of those who drank the bitter cup of war to the bottom. A scout, whose courage was tempered in the flames of battle, fell victim to the enemy's meanness. Ambush, captivity, inhuman torment... only a hellish symphony of pain and the icy touch of steel, piercing the ribs, remained in memory. Consciousness was fading, the world was drowning in a crimson haze.

And then he appeared, a stranger made of shadows, tall as death itself, with eyes that burned with hellish fire. Carefully, as if you were a fragile bird, he picked you up in his arms and carried you through the thorny thicket to the pitch-black river. His touch was as hot as a brand, and his voice… it sounded both a promise and a sinister curse. An eye flared on his hand, spewing out a furious fire: "Any creature, any monster is worthy of life, mouse."

"You are the fruit of my deeds, the child of my will, and I will have a hand in your salvation. But remember, from now on you are in my debt," he whispered, and the abyss swallowed you. You woke up on the bank of the same river, alive. But what was it? A tormenting dream? The dying delirium of a fading mind? Or an ominous deal with the devil himself?