Dark Divinity

Omen barely had time to process the sight before the bird's massive talons shot out, snatching the six-legged beast from the water with a sickening crunch. The creature, which had seemed so formidable moments ago, was reduced to nothing more than helpless prey in the grip of the colossal bird. It struggled feebly, its six limbs flailing in a futile attempt to escape, but the bird's grip was unyielding.

With a final, triumphant screech, the bird lifted its prey high into the sky, its wings beating with a force that sent ripples across the river's surface. Omen watched, half in awe and half in terror.

The force of the bird's departure created a powerful gust, sending waves crashing violently in all directions. Omen caught off guard, felt the sudden surge lift him from the river's grasp. For a fleeting moment, he was weightless, suspended in the air as if time itself had paused. The agony of his injuries was replaced by a numb, surreal calm, his mind briefly disconnected from the pain that had consumed him.

But then reality returned with brutal clarity. He was dozens of feet above the ground, his body tumbling through the air with no control. The jagged rocks and turbulent waters below seemed to rush up to meet him, and he knew that his mangled form couldn't withstand such an impact.

In a desperate attempt to protect himself, Omen curled into a ball, bracing for the inevitable. His surroundings blurred into a whirlwind of green and brown as he plummeted towards the dense foliage. The branches whipped past him, tearing at his flesh, until he collided with a tree trunk with a bone-rattling thud.

Pain exploded through his body, every nerve screaming in protest before merciful darkness claimed him. The last thing he felt was the rough bark against his skin, the cold embrace of unconsciousness a welcome escape from the relentless torment.

'ah, not again', he grew angry with the fact that his mind was so feeble it could go into an unconscious state at any slight inconvenience. Omen's limp form lay crumpled among the roots and leaves, his fate uncertain in the aftermath of the brutal battle.

…..

Isolde crouched inside the hollow of an ancient tree trunk, the rough bark pressing against her back. Her dull grey eyes, sightless but attentive, stared into the darkness of her sanctuary. Her pale skin seemed to glow faintly in the dim light, a stark contrast to the dried trails of blood that streaked her blonde hair. She whispered fervent prayers to the goddess of light, her lips barely moving as she clung to her faith for solace and protection.

The forest around her was unnaturally still, the usual chorus of birds and insects silenced by the recent chaos. Suddenly, a tremendous crash shattered the silence. The ground shook, and the impact reverberated through the tree trunk, sending vibrations up Isolde's spine. She bit back a gasp, her prayers faltering as she pressed herself deeper into her hiding place.

Her senses, honed by years of living without sight, reached out to the source of the disturbance. She could feel the faint pulse of exogene, weak and erratic, it seemed to be coming from the figure that had landed so violently in front of her. Isolde's heart tightened with fear and curiosity. Whoever it was, they were badly injured.

Her breaths came in shallow, careful whispers as she focused on the presence before her. The exogene signature was unfamiliar but unmistakably human. She sensed its life force flickering like a dying candle. It was on the brink of death.

A wave of sorrow washed over her, mingling with fear. "Goddess, guide him," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Give him strength, even if it's just for a little while longer."

Isolde's initial instinct was to remain hidden. The boy outside her hideout was a stranger, and in these treacherous lands, trust was a luxury she couldn't afford. She tightened her grip on her knees, her fingers trembling as she considered her options. Fear gnawed at her resolve. If she revealed herself, there was no telling what he might do. He could kill her, just as easily as any of the beasts that roamed this forsaken place.

But another thought gnawed at her: the harsh reality of her situation. She couldn't stay hidden in the damp trunk forever. Hunger would soon drive her out, and without someone to watch her back, her chances of survival were slim. She needed an ally, someone strong enough to help her navigate and fight through the dangers of the forest.

The boy was wounded and weak, teetering on the edge of death. He needed her help, and in return, he could be the strength she lacked. It was a gamble, a dangerous one, but she was running out of options. Her prayers to the goddess of light had always been answered in mysterious ways; perhaps this was a sign.

"What's the worst that could happen?" she whispered to herself, a bitter smile forming on her lips. "I die? I'm not afraid of death anymore. It would be a relief from this endless struggle."

Isolde took a deep breath, steeling herself. Her only active skill was healing, a gift from the goddess that had kept her alive this long. If she could save him, he might just be the ally she desperately needed.

She crawled out from the hollow tree trunk, her movements slow and deliberate. The forest was eerily silent, the only sound was her own laboured breathing. She extended her senses once more, locating the boy by the weak flow of his exogene. As she approached, she could hear his ragged breaths and 'see' the extent of his injuries.

Kneeling beside him, she whispered a soft incantation, her hands glowing with a gentle, warm light. "Goddess, grant me the strength to heal this soul," she prayed, her voice steady despite the fear that still gripped her.

Her hands hovered over his broken body, the healing light beginning to knit his wounds together. She could feel his life force stabilizing, the flickering flame growing steadier under her touch.

Isolde gasped, her breath catching in her throat. The severity of his wounds was far worse than she had anticipated. "Goddess, how has he survived this long?" she thought, awe and horror mingling in her mind. His survival was nothing short of a miracle.

"He's so close to death," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the thudding of her own heart. She knew she had to act quickly. Every second counted, and any hesitation could mean the difference between life and death. Her hands glowed with a soft, golden light as she directed her healing energy into the boy. She could feel the warmth spreading from her fingertips into his skull, the light knitting the shattered bone and torn flesh together.

"Please wake up," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She leaned her head back against the inside of the tree trunk, her own body trembling with fatigue. The cool bark against her skin was a stark contrast to the warmth of the boy's head on her lap.

She continued to touch his face gently, tracing the contours of his jaw and cheekbones. Her fingers moved slowly, mapping out the features she couldn't see.

Isolde waited, her heart pounding in her chest, each second stretching into an eternity. She closed her eyes, focusing on the boy's breath and the faint pulse of his exogene, hoping that he would soon awaken and that her gamble would not lead to her own demise.

…..

Omen found himself enveloped in darkness, the cold emptiness of Tenebris wrapping around him like a suffocating shroud. He stood in the familiar chamber of his childhood, its stone walls echoing with the ghosts of his past. The loneliness here was unmistakable, a constant companion during the years he spent locked away, overshadowed by his siblings' superior talents.

Memories surged forward, unbidden and relentless. His father's face loomed large, eyes filled with anger and disappointment.

"You failed again, Omen," his father's voice thundered, each word a dagger to his heart. "Your exogene control is weak. You're a disgrace to our lineage."

In another instant Omen was back on the battlefield, the clash of steel and the roar of warriors ringing in his ears. He remembered the terror that had gripped him, paralyzing him as the invaders bore down upon his realm. He had been saved by his mother, her fierce determination a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. But that hope had been shattered when she fell, her lifeblood soaking into the ground before his eyes.

"Mother!" he had screamed, his voice raw with grief and helplessness. The memory of her lifeless body burned into his mind.

"No," Omen whispered into the darkness, his anger rising like a storm within him. "I refuse to let it all end like this." His thoughts turned to vengeance, a fierce resolve taking root in his heart. "I'll grow stronger. Strong enough to bring the celestial realm to the abyss of eternal damnation. Strong enough to carry out my vengeance on my mother's killers. Strong enough to prove my father wrong."

With these powerful thoughts fueling him, Omen's eyes snapped open. He surged upward with incredible agility, driven by an almost primal instinct to fight and survive. The sudden movement sent a jolt of pain through his head as his forehead violently collided with something—or someone.

Isolde cried out, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as Omen's forehead crashed into hers. The impact sent a wave of pain through both of them, momentarily disorienting Omen. He blinked his vision clearing to reveal the faint, golden glow of the exogene lingering around them and the pale, blood-streaked face of the girl who had saved him.

"Who…?" he began, his voice rough and filled with confusion. He reached up to touch his forehead, feeling the residual warmth of Isolde's healing magic.

Isolde, still reeling from the collision, steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder. "Stay still," she whispered, her voice soft but firm. "You're safe for now. I've healed you as best as I could."

Omen's mind raced, trying to process everything. The memories of Tenebris, his father, his mother's death, the purge-- and now this strange girl who had brought him back from the brink. He felt a mixture of gratitude and wariness.

"Thank you," he said calmly, his voice steadier now. "But why… why did you help me?"

Isolde's fingers brushed over her forehead again, obviously searching for a bump and sighing in relief after not finding any. "We need each other to survive," she replied simply, then after a moment of hesitation she looked at him straight in the face with a serious expression. "And besides, I'm hungry."