Keris’ body lay motionless on an ancient altar deep within the heart of the Imperial City of Gattalia, hidden beneath layers of towering stone spires and shadowed alleys. The air was thick with an unsettling energy, carrying the whispers of forgotten incantations and the weight of countless secrets. Flickering torchlight danced off the cold stone walls, casting eerie shadows that twisted and coiled like serpents in the darkness.
Bertrand Ukdrand stood over the lifeless form, a dark figure cloaked in robes that seemed to absorb the dim light around him. The fabric whispered as he moved, a sound almost drowned out by the pulsing rhythm of the dark magic swirling in the air. His hands glowed with a sickly hue, the energy flickering like a dying star as he invoked the forbidden spells etched into his memory from grim tomes.
“Under the pact of Xanatos, you shall live again,” he hissed, his voice low but commanding, reverberating through the chamber like a chilling omen. His greying curly beard rippled with the energy, framing a face lined with ambition and malice. He was a man who had danced with darkness and emerged intoxicated by its power. As the dark energy flowed into Keris’ body, it seeped into his very essence, filling the void of death with a corrupted vitality that twisted the man he once was.
Slowly, Keris’ once-lifeless form began to stir. His fingers twitched, a reflex born of instinct rather than intent. With a deep, unnatural breath, his chest rose, and a shudder coursed through him, as if he were awakening from a long, troubled sleep. His green eyes, once vibrant and full of life, snapped open, now glowing faintly under the insidious influence of the dark magic. The bright sparkle of his spirit was shrouded by shadows, a haunting reflection of the man he had been.
As he rose from the altar, muscles taut and body rigid, a wave of resistance surged within him. The power that animated him felt foreign, like chains binding him to a purpose he had never chosen. Bertrand’s lips curled into a satisfied, sinister grin, the expression of a puppeteer delighting in the dance of his marionette.
“Welcome back, Keris,” Bertrand whispered, his voice dripping with malice, echoing through the chamber like a dark lullaby. “You have much to do, and your loyalty will be tested.”
But behind those revived eyes, a spark of resistance flickered—a fire kindled by the remnants of Keris’ soul, not fully extinguished by the dark magic that now sought to control him. He felt the weight of the chains, both physical and metaphysical, that bound him to this moment, but within him stirred a fierce longing for freedom. As the shadows whispered lies of obedience and despair, he clung desperately to his memories: laughter shared with friends, moments of joy that defined him, and the bond he once held with Zakary—his best friend and confidant.
With every ounce of his will, Keris fought against the dark currents pulling at his essence, a silent scream echoing in the void of his mind. The battle within had just begun
The chamber’s oppressive atmosphere thickened, the air charged with dark energy as Keris struggled against the bonds of magic tethering him to this unnatural existence. He could feel the pulse of the altar beneath him, a rhythmic echo of the life that once flowed through his veins. Memories flashed before him—Zakary’s laughter ringing in his ears, the warmth of friendship, and the dreams they had shared of adventure and glory. But now, those memories felt distant, like echoes fading into a dark abyss.
“Remember your purpose,” Bertrand urged, his voice slithering through the air, laced with temptation and authority. “You are my instrument now, a blade forged in darkness. We have enemies to vanquish, power to seize.” He stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger as he surveyed Keris, relishing the chaos brewing within his newly resurrected pawn.
Keris clenched his fists, the sensation of foreign power coursing through him like a raging river threatening to overflow its banks. He was more than just a vessel for dark magic; he was a brother, a friend, and a warrior forged in the fires of loyalty. Yet every moment he resisted felt like a battle against an invisible force, the weight of Bertrand’s will pressing down on him, relentless and unyielding.
“What have you done to me?” Keris growled, his voice a hoarse whisper that echoed in the cavernous space. “You’ve stolen my life!”
Bertrand’s grin widened, a mixture of delight and disdain. “I have given you a second chance—a chance to reclaim what was lost, to become greater than you ever were. With my guidance, you will surpass your former self.” He stepped back, gesturing grandly as if presenting a masterpiece. “Together, we will unleash chaos upon those who have wronged us. Imagine the power at your fingertips!”
Keris’ mind raced, torn between the intoxicating lure of power and the sharp clarity of his memories. He could envision the faces of those who had betrayed him, the injustice he had suffered in life. But with those faces came the warmth of his family: Alexiiana, his sister, whose fierce spirit and determination had always inspired him; Lukia and Mishra, with their laughter and the light they brought to their home; his grandfather Fredvan, a wise and steadfast presence who had taught him the value of loyalty and honor; and his mother Areta, whose love had been a guiding star through the darkest times.
“No,” he whispered, a defiant ember flickering to life within him. “I will not be your puppet. I refuse to let you dictate my actions.”
A shadow crossed Bertrand’s face, annoyance flickering in his eyes. “You misunderstand, Keris. You do not have a choice. As long as you remain within my reach, your will is weak; it will bend to mine. All that I require is your obedience, and in return, I shall grant you power beyond your wildest dreams.”
Keris felt the magic around him pulse violently, a surge of energy that threatened to engulf him. He knew the truth of his predicament; as long as he remained close to Bertrand, the dark magic would bind him. But if he could distance himself—if he could find a way to break free—then he might reclaim his will. Yet, escape seemed impossible with the dark sorcerer looming over him.
In that moment of vulnerability, the memories of his loved ones surged to the forefront of his mind. Alexiiana’s fierce spirit, her determination to fight for what was right; Lukia and Mishra’s laughter that had always brought light to his darkest days; Fredvan’s wise words echoing in his ears; and the gentle, unwavering love of Areta, urging him to be brave. He would not let them down. They deserved better than a brother and son who had succumbed to darkness.
“I will not abandon them!” Keris declared, his voice rising with newfound strength. “I will fight you, Bertrand. I may be your pawn, but I will not let you control my heart or my mind.”
Bertrand’s expression darkened, fury replacing his earlier amusement. “Then you will suffer, and I will relish every moment of your torment,” he hissed, the magic crackling ominously around him. “The pact of Xanatos binds you to me. Resistance will only lead to pain.”
With a sudden surge of will, Keris pushed back against the dark magic encroaching upon his mind. He felt the chains of magic tightening around him, but within that struggle, a fire ignited—a determination to reclaim his identity. The shadows whispered lies of obedience and despair, but he embraced the memories of friendship, love, and hope.
Summoning every ounce of strength, he resisted Bertrand’s hold, but the magic coursing through him retaliated violently, sending sharp jolts of pain through his body. The specter of betrayal loomed larger in his mind, and he remembered the tales of the Draugr—undead beings bound to their master, stripped of will and freedom. He refused to become one of them, a lifeless pawn in Bertrand’s dark game.
“Feel the power coursing through you, Keris!” Bertrand taunted, his voice thick with dark delight. “Embrace it! You cannot escape your fate!”
Keris gritted his teeth, the pain intensifying as Bertrand’s will pressed down upon him, threatening to drown him in darkness. He could sense the very walls of the chamber closing in, the energy suffocating him. With each passing moment, he could feel Bertrand’s grip tightening, the darkness swirling around him like a tempest.
As the shadows whispered lies of obedience and despair, he clung desperately to the memories of his family—their love, their strength, their unwavering belief in him. He had to hold on. There had to be a way to fight back, even if he was still trapped within Bertrand’s grasp.
“No!” he shouted, his voice a desperate plea against the encroaching darkness. “I may be a Draugr, but I do not belong to you Bertrand. What's happened to you?"
With that declaration, he focused on the flickering light of his memories, pushing against the tide of dark magic. The battle for his soul had only just begun, and despite the overwhelming odds, Keris resolved to fight for his freedom, for Alexiiana, for Lukia and Mishra, for Fredvan, for Areta, and for the chance to reclaim his true self.