The Last Nightmare

Nate wandered deeper into the city, each step measured, cautious. The ruins stretched endlessly around him, a graveyard of ancient stone and forgotten history. Nate moved through the wreckage with cautious steps, his body still aching from the battles before. His mind, however, was restless.

Something about this place gnawed at him.

The destruction wasn't random. It wasn't the slow decay of time or the result of a mere war. No—this was deliberate, a complete and utter annihilation. Whoever had once lived here had been erased. Their legacy, their culture, their gods—wiped away like they had never existed.

And yet… something remained.

A presence, faint but undeniable.

He felt it in the stillness, in the weight of the air, in the way the shadows seemed to linger just a little too long.

His breath came slow and measured as he stepped carefully through the rubble, scanning his surroundings. The ruins were old—far older than anything he had ever seen. The architecture was unlike the cities he had known, grander in scale yet more intricate in detail. Towering pillars lined the shattered streets, each carved with faded inscriptions and symbols he didn't recognize. Some buildings had partially collapsed, their interiors exposed like broken bones, while others stood tall in defiance of time, cracked but unyielding.

His instincts screamed at him, but he pushed forward. He had come too far to turn back now.

Then, in the distance, he saw it.

A structure, still standing despite the destruction around it.

A shrine.

It loomed at the heart of the ruins, its silhouette stark against the twilight sky. Blackened stone formed its towering walls, its entrance framed by twisted pillars wrapped in what looked like the remnants of melted metal. Time had taken its toll, but the structure remained intact—almost unnaturally so.

The moment he laid eyes on it, a shiver ran down his spine.

It was waiting.

The realization sent a shiver down his spine. Unlike the ruined homes and abandoned streets, this place had a purpose. A purpose that lingered even after the city had fallen.

A part of him hesitated. He wasn't sure if it was caution or fear, but something in his gut told him this place wasn't meant to be disturbed.

But he had to know.

Something about this place called to him.

Gritting his teeth, he stepped forward.

---

The entrance stood tall, framed by jagged stone. Broken statues lined the path, their faces eroded beyond recognition. Whatever figures they once depicted had long since faded into obscurity.

As he stepped closer, he realized the air around the shrine was different. It was heavier, charged with something he couldn't quite name. The silence here felt deeper, more absolute. Even the wind had died.

This place had been forgotten by time.

But something inside it had not.

His hand clenched into a fist as he crossed the threshold, stepping beneath the massive archway that led inside. His heartbeat quickened, his instincts screaming at him to be careful.

The interior was vast. The ceiling stretched high above, lost in shadows, while towering columns lined the chamber, their surfaces covered in faded carvings. Dust hung thick in the air, disturbed only by his presence.

Then he saw them.

The murals.

They lined the walls, cracked and eroded with age, yet still telling a story in the remnants of their paint.

As Nate moved closer, he noticed the carvings—it's stretching across the outer walls, cracked and chipped yet still holding fragments of their story.

He ran his fingers across the worn stone, brushing away centuries of dust.

His eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of the images.

Figures knelt in worship before a towering entity, its form obscured by darkness. Unlike the other figures, which were painted in faded golds and silvers, this one had been painted in deep, abyssal black. It loomed over them, its presence stretching far beyond the boundaries of the mural itself.

The cracks in the stone distorted the image, but there was no mistaking its presence.

Something primal stirred in his chest.

Who was this being? A ruler? A god?

He moved along the wall, searching for more clues. The further he looked, the darker the imagery became. The kneeling figures seemed to change, their bodies elongating, their faces twisting into expressions of agony. In the final visible fragment, they were no longer human.

His throat tightened.

The last section of the mural had been defaced, deep gashes torn through the stone as if someone—or something—had tried to erase it. Only a few scattered words remained, barely legible beneath the damage.

"…God of Darkness."

Nate's breath caught.

The God of Darkness?

The words sent a chill down his spine.

So this was no ordinary shrine. This entire city had once belonged to followers of the God of Darkness. But what had happened to them? And why had their deity—if it had truly existed—abandoned them?

He had heard of many gods in passing—stories, myths, the names whispered in old texts. But this? This was something different. He could feel it.

A forgotten god??

His pulse quickened as he turned his gaze further down the mural.

The worshippers—the ones who had bowed before the entity—were gone in the next panel. No bodies, no graves. Just… erased.

Like the city itself.

The realization sent a cold chill through his spine. Had they been wiped out because of their faith?

Had the destruction of this place been an act of divine punishment, or had something more terrifying happened?

His mind swirled with questions, but one thing was clear.

This place was not abandoned,and that thought made his skin crawl.

He exhaled sharply, shaking off the growing unease. He had seen enough. It was time to move on.

But as he turned, something pulled at him.

A feeling—faint yet insistent.

It came from deeper inside the shrine.

As if calling him.

---

The interior was colder than it should have been. The moment Nate stepped past the threshold, the air turned thick, heavy. Dust coated the floor, undisturbed for what felt like centuries. Columns lined the vast chamber, towering yet fractured, as if time itself had tried to grind them into dust but failed.

His footsteps echoed unnaturally, swallowed by the silence before the sound could fully form.

Then he saw it.

An altar.

It stood at the heart of the chamber, an imposing slab of dark stone covered in inscriptions. Unlike the outer walls, these carvings were pristine, untouched by age. Symbols spiraled across its surface, glowing faintly as if whispering to something unseen.

The pull grew stronger.

His pulse quickened. His mind screamed at him to leave, but his body disobeyed. Step by step, he approached, drawn by something beyond reason.

The thought was sudden, unbidden. It wasn't his own.

He hesitated, his pulse hammering in his ears. His instincts screamed at him to turn back. To leave this place and never return.

But something deeper, something buried in the marrow of his bones, told him otherwise.

He had come here for a reason.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he reached out. His fingertips hovered just above the stone, the energy radiating from it crawling over his skin like static. His throat went dry.

Something was waiting inside.

Something ancient.

Something powerful.

And it knew he was here.

The moment his fingers brushed against the stone, a shock ran through him—cold, burning, indescribable.

Then, everything went black.