what if I'm an undead! then so what?-Chapter 47: A new path to walk, carrying the hopes and dreams of the people

Chapter 47: A new path to walk, carrying the hopes and dreams of the people

Somewhere deep in Africa, far from any bustling city or well-trodden path, a hidden underground structure cut into the earth lay shrouded in shadow and mystery. Its ancient stone walls whispered secrets long buried beneath layers of time. Within its depths, three figures hurried down a narrow, spiraling staircase, their footsteps echoing in the cold silence.

The trio—a man, a woman, and their son, no older than seventeen—moved with a palpable urgency, their breaths short, their eyes scanning every shadow as if hunted by unseen foes.

However the boy suddenly halted looking back as if he’d just felt an unusual presence as if something was spying on them.

"Hurry up! There’s no time to waste!" The man’s voice cracked through the stale air, heavy with urgency. He pushed open the heavy iron door ahead of them, revealing a tomb chamber bathed in flickering torchlight. Several torches burned in the corners, casting eerie, dancing shadows on the ancient carvings etched into the stone walls.

The woman glanced around, her voice barely a whisper, yet laced with an aching sorrow that made the silence feel heavier. "Are you sure this is the only way? This... this is what we have to do?"

The man turned toward her, his grip firm on her trembling shoulder, steadying both himself and her. "It can’t be helped. This is the only way to preserve our tradition, our culture. Those foreigners... they’ll come back. They want the inheritance from our ancestors for reasons we don’t fully understand." His tone was resolute, but beneath it lay a steel-hard edge—the weight of responsibility crushing down on him.

"No one asked me how I felt about this," their son, Elias, spat, his voice trembling with anger and disbelief. "Why does this have to happen to me?"

The man fixed Elias with a serious gaze. "Listen carefully, Elias. This mission was given to you—not because you are our son, but because you are the most favored by God and our Ancestors. You are the chosen one. With you, our lineage, tradition, and culture will never die."

He paused, letting his words sink in, then pressed on. "You’re the best fighter among the younger generation. We trust you to take care of yourself."

---

The man’s hands trembled slightly as he approached the ancient tombstone nestled at the room’s center. His fingers intertwined tightly, palms pressed together in a solemn prayer. Whispered words filled the heavy air—an invocation carried on a breath thick with reverence and urgency. The flickering torchlight cast restless shadows across his weathered face, lines deepening with every passing second.

Minutes stretched on, suffused with silence except for the soft cadence of his murmur. Then, slowly, he lowered his hands and reached inside the tombstone’s hollow core. His fingers brushed against a cold object—smooth, heavy, and dark as the void itself. He pulled forth a box, its surface shimmering obsidian black, adorned with intricate, twisting patterns etched deep into the stone. The craftsmanship was meticulous, ancient—each curve and symbol whispering stories long forgotten. At one corner, a small hole pierced the box’s surface, but it was so black, so impenetrably dark, that even the torchlight couldn’t penetrate its depths.

With steady hands, he passed the box to the boy.

"This box," the man said, voice grave and unwavering, "contains the fragment of the Gift from God—the inheritance of our first ancestor. You must guard it with your life."

The boy’s fingers curled around the box, his grip tight but trembling. His brow furrowed with frustration, his eyes dark pools of conflicting emotion. Suddenly, his voice broke the silence—sharp, raw, edged with disbelief and pain.

"So, we’re really going to sacrifice ourselves for this... this rumor? A fragment from some God? Who is this God you keep speaking of? Why haven’t I ever seen Him? Why haven’t you? All of this—it’s nothing but empty stories! Lies we tell ourselves!" His voice cracked, and tears welled and spilled down his cheeks, glistening in the flickering torchlig

"ELIAS!" The man’s voice rose sharply, anger flaring in his eyes, ready to reprimand his son. But before he could continue, the woman stepped forward, holding up a hand.

"Let me handle this," she said softly, her voice gentle but firm.

She reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair from Elias’s forehead, her eyes shimmering with tears. "I know you feel frustrated, angry, and sad. Believe me, I do too. This isn’t just your burden—it’s ours. Everything we’ve ever known is about to change, and it feels like the ground is crumbling beneath our feet."

Her gaze softened but hardened with conviction. "You’re the pride of our family. The child of prophecy. The one honored by God. This is fate. Destiny. Something none of us can control."

Elias’s anger flickered, replaced for a moment by a fragile expression as his mother spoke the truth buried deep inside them all.

"You’ll miss us," she whispered, voice breaking slightly, "you’ll miss your friends, your childhood, and the person who’s come to take you as a role model and somewhat like a father"

Her lips curved in a faint, sad laugh, and Elias’s smile returned, fleeting but real.

"Everything happens for a reason," she said, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "No matter what, know you’re not alone. Our blessings are with you always. You carry the hopes and dreams of the old and the young, the meek and the bold, the rich and the poor."

She ruffled his hair gently as tears traced silent paths down her cheeks. "How can you waver in faith with all of that resting on your shoulders? Pray, stand strong. You’ll discover that you are far stronger than you believe."

Her husband, regaining composure, stepped forward with a faint smirk—his own tears buried deep. "Remember this: don’t stray from your path. You carry the hopes and dreams of our people. That will make you stronger than any enemy."

Elias drew in a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. "Fine," he said, voice steady but forced. "I swear... I, Elias Edurion, will protect this box with my life. I will survive. I won’t lose sight of my path, nor walk the path of evil. I’ll remain faithful and true to myself... to all of us. You can count on me."

His smile was shaky, but his resolve was undeniable.

As he finished, the obsidian box dissolved into a swirling silver light that seeped into his chest, merging into a glowing crest emblazoned on his back. A silent oath had been sealed.

The man approached a raised platform at the corner of the room, there was a little bit of blood stain on it but that didn’t matter to him now, his mind was already clouded by the events that has happened so far.

"That’s my son," the father said with pride and a glimmer of sadness, biting his finger before placing it on a raised stone platform. A brilliant light ignited from the center of the room, coalescing into a shimmering portal.

"This portal leads to your uncle’s home, far from here," he explained. "He will guide you on what to do next."

Elias glanced back once, eyes heavy but determined, then stepped into the portal. In a flash, he vanished.

"Oh God... what trials have we dragged ourselves into?" the man whispered, tears streaming silently down his cheeks.

His face hardened instantly as he and his wife turned from the glowing doorway, preparing themselves for the storm to come.

---

Several kilometers away, the skies darkened unnaturally as a grotesque figure descended, its form like a serpentine dragon twisted by rot and decay. The flying serpent’s scales hung loose and gray, its hollow eyes empty voids of death. It moved with a terrifying, unnatural grace.

The villagers below froze, terror rooting them to the spot as this monstrous apparition cut through the air. Mothers clutched their children tightly; a little girl tugged at her mother’s skirt, eyes wide with innocent fear.

"Mama! Mama! What is that?" she whispered.

Her mother’s face was frozen in horror, unable to speak. Around them, the town erupted into chaos—people screaming, scrambling, abandoning their homes as if the very devil had come to claim their souls.

From the serpent’s corpse-like shadow stepped several men clad in black suits. Their faces were obscured by plain black masks, silent and deadly.

At their forefront stood a man wearing a terrifying oni mask—his presence alone radiated an unsettling chill. He was Kuroshi.

"So this is the place," Kuroshi said, voice low and menacing as he addressed the man behind him, who nodded grimly.

The decayed serpent landed heavily before crumbling into dust, revealing the five men fully. Kuroshi’s eyes glinted behind his mask, scanning the surroundings.

"The energy here... it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Pure, powerful, with a trace of grace." His voice dropped, almost reverent. "If only our target were someone else... I would hate to have to take the lives of such promising humans. But if they resist, I will do what’s necessary to end this peacefully."

Suddenly, a new group appeared, striding toward them with unwavering determination. Clad in silver robes marked with vibrant blue symbols, they cut through the panic like a blade through silk.

Their leader stepped forward, eyes ablaze with fierce anger. "What brings you to this region? This is trespassing! You have stirred chaos among our people—explain yourselves!"

Kuroshi’s grined behind his mask wickedly. "My visit is well deserved. I’ve come to claim something precious from you. We could resolve this peacefully if you hand it over. You’d find me far more reasonable than the villains you imagine, I’m human after all and my goal is to preserve humanity from the wickedness of yhisvworkf."

"You’re no human!" the leader spat, voice ringing with contempt. "You carry a soul steeped in death—enough to drown an ocean. You’ve ravaged innocent lives, all in the name of twisted justice. Your claims are the delusions of a man playing God. You’re a demon cloaked in human skin."

Kuroshi laughed, cold and cruel. "You seem strong enough to hold your ground for a minute or two. How about this—your men and mine, all of us, in a fight? I’ll make you regret denying me."

Without warning, four masked figures blurred forward, cloaked in a swirling mist that rippled white around them, their movements impossibly fast. The crowd gasped and scattered, the air thick with tension.

The leader’s eyes burned brighter as he stepped toward Kuroshi, fists clenched, ready for battle.

"Before we start," Kuroshi said with a sinister chuckle, "I’d like to know the name of the man I’m about to respect as a worthy opponent."

The leader remained silent.

"Fine, fine," Kuroshi shrugged. "But what I really want to know is the source of your power!"

In one swift motion, Kuroshi unleashed a beam of black energy from the mouth of his oni mask. The beam surged toward the leader, who stood unwavering—then it froze mid air few inches from connecting to it’s target, with impossible speed, it redirected back at Kuroshi.

The blast tore through Kuroshi’s chest, leaving a smoking hole, and sent him staggering back.