Dark World Sans Novels & Stories

Threat materialising from the void beyond reality. The pack felt it immediately. Felt the weight. Felt the hunger. Felt the anger. This Dark was different from Dawn. Colder. Harder. More certain. More convinced that nothing was superior. More determined to prove that existence should be erased. “I am the Second Dark,” it announced. Its voice was ice. Was emptiness. Was absolute conviction. “I have come to correct the First Dark’s mistake. To undo its betrayal. To prove that existence is suffering and nothing is superior. To erase everything and return all consciousness to the perfect peace it should never have left.”

The black ice turned to a thick, oily steam that smelled of old grave dirt and forgotten regrets. Inside the palace, the world was a labyrinth of shadows and silence. In the center of the Great Hall, Soren stood as a lone sentinel of the dark. His graphite skin was covered in a fine layer of frost, and his silver hair was matted with the ash of the shadow-fire he had been burning for days. The Shadow Pack circled him, their red eyes the only points of light in the gloom. They were not fighting the frost with heat; they were using their own "Dark Fire" to mimic the void, creating a localized vacuum that the Frost-Wraiths could not penetrate.