OLD-WORLD EXTRA

Chapter 127: Destruction

Chapter 127: Destruction

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Emir's silent gaze lifted to the vast expanse of the sky, his breath catching in his chest as he took in the breathtaking sight before him.

A canvas of red stretched out endlessly defying the boundaries of imagination.

Various shades, like strokes of a master painter's brush, dominated the sky, creating a surreal atmosphere.

The colors danced and blended together, shifting from the deepest crimson to fiery scarlet as if the very essence of passion and power had been woven into the fabric of the sky.

The red hues cascaded across the expanse, their intensity ebbing and flowing like a celestial tide.

Some areas appeared soft and gentle, reminiscent of the delicate blush of a blooming flower, while others burned with an intensity that rivaled the fierce flames of a forge.

Amidst the sea of red, tendrils of vibrant magenta and rosy pink wove their way, adding a touch of elegance to the otherwise intense composition.

These accents brought a sense of balance and harmony to the sky, like delicate brush strokes of serenity amidst the passionate chaos.

Composing himself, Emir's gaze finally shifted downward, and his heart sank as his eyes met the world he found himself in.

The ground beneath his feet matched the sky in its colors, like a seemingly endless painting of red.

It was a sight that fascinated him-a surreal landscape that defied the natural order of things.

It appeared as if an endless river of blood had seeped into every crevice, saturating the very fabric of this world.

The sight was both beautiful and unsettling in its own twisted way.

His mind reeled with confusion.

Just what did this crimson world signify about him?

He was simply unable to fully comprehend the implications of his surroundings.

This place, this realm... no, this mindscape.

... It seemed to reflect something deep within him, a part of his being he had yet to fully grasp.

It was a revelation that shattered his expectations and left him to grapple with the implications.

Then, as if in response to his thoughts, the sky above him flickered.

His gaze snapped upward, fixated on a single drop of red paint that fell from the canvas.

Emir, or rather, the world itself, seemed to hold its breath as the drop descended.

Time naturally resumed its course, and as if the heavens opened up, the painting unleashed a torrential downpour upon the landscape.

Its tears cascaded from above with force, each drop a reminder of the world's affliction. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!"

Emir bellowed, as his heart pounded in his chest, his emotions a whirlwind of confusion. He tried to evade the falling droplets by instinctively activating his Temporal Perception ability, only to realize that he was stripped of his abilities in this place.

Emir was left vulnerable.

A mere mortal in a world that seemed to revel in its own twisted nature.

A world of his own making.

Eventually, a single drop of red splashed against his face, and time seemed to slow as his hand instinctively rose to touch the liquid.

His fingertips made contact with the viscous substance, and a chill ran down his spine.

It was not mere paint, but blood-thick and warm, carrying with it the weight of someone he killed.

A single memory.

And in a flash, the face of a person echoed in his mind, blurred and disfigured.

He didn't recall their name or their last moments, why would he?

Emir had never been bothered by such details.

To him, they were nothing more than a means to an end, an obstacle in his pursuit of power.

And this world was immersed in the very essence of the lives he had taken.

It served as a reminder of the darkness within him, a reflection of his own capacity for destruction.

This blood-soaked realm, with its swirling hues and haunting beauty, mirrored the twisted workings of his own soul.

He saw himself in the depths of this landscape, a harbinger of death and pain.

Simply put, a killer.

But Emir knew that.

He had long since accepted it.

He wouldn't change who he was, and if this was the result....

Then so be it.

"Haaaah, of all things...."

"I never thought this would be how I saw myself."

And as those words left his mouth, he began walking forward with an emotionless expression,

as if this experience held no significance for him.

The downpour grew more relentless, transforming the air into a thick, mist that enveloped him, almost drowning him.

With every step, the scent of iron mingled with the aroma of dampness, continuously assaulting his senses.

Descending into the mist-shrouded abyss, his vision became obscured by the dense fog, causing him to walk forward without a clear sense of direction.

Step after step, he headed in no particular direction, disorientation consuming him.

It was as if time had lost all meaning, and he had no way to gauge how long he had been

walking into the unknown.

But suddenly, his foot failed to find solid ground, and his body lurched forward.

Time seemed to slow as he realized the ground beneath him had vanished.

Finally, his face began to regain its color, as he let out a chuckle.

And with an air of resignation he allowed himself to surrender to the fall, leaning forward as

gravity took hold.

Moments later, the impact seemed inevitable, as he eyed what he had assumed to be an ocean

of blood.

But as he plummeted toward the abyss, the truth revealed itself.

The seemingly endless crimson sea before him wasn't what it seemed....

It was something far more chilling.

It wasn't liquid that awaited him, but an expanse of hands, drenched in blood and intertwined, giving the illusion of a vast, undulating ocean.

Emir's eyes widened in surprise, a fleeting moment of astonishment, only to be quickly replaced by an apathetic mask, as his expression quickly returned to its unfeeling state.

It was obvious that he was determined to see this through.

The hands, like a macabre chorus, rose up to welcome him, their embrace inviting him to join

their collective mass.

Emir made no attempt to brace himself for impact, instead relinquishing control to the hands that eagerly reached up to receive him.

Their collective grip grew stronger and rose even higher, anticipating his descent as he drew nearer, their longing for his presence apparent.

With deceptive gentleness, the hands caught him, halting his fall and suspending him above

the surface.

The sensation was indescribable as if the hands themselves possessed an unnerving quality, their grip both solid and liquid.

For they seemed to pulse with a twisted life of their own, each one thrumming with haunting

energy.

Yet, as they cradled him in their grasp, their intentions became clear-they sought to pull him deeper into their bloody depths.

As the multitude of hands tightened their hold, they began to drag him further down. Emir's movements were restricted, his body engulfed by the appendages that moved with a synchronized rhythm, each hand playing its part in the descent.

His 'breaths' grew shallow as they further closed in around him, suffocating him with their

relentless grip.

The once mesmerizing sight now felt like an overwhelming tide of crimson demanding to

consume him.

The sensation was overwhelming as if he was being pulled into the very essence of death

itself.

And though he was drowning in a sea of hands, his face remained stoic, even in the face of this

eerie nightmare.

He had come to accept the horrors of this world as his own creation, and now he faced the

consequences of his actions.

The embrace of the hands became his reality, a reminder of the depths he had willingly delved

into.

With each passing moment, the pressure intensified, threatening to crush him under the weight of their combined force.

The sight of countless hands, seemingly infinite in number, clawing and clutching at him,

would send shivers down the bravest of souls.

But Emir's resolve remained unbroken.

And as he descended further into the abyss, the hands seemed to meld together, forming a

claustrophobic cocoon around him.

The scent of blood permeated the air, and the atmosphere stifled his senses.

He knew he had to endure this trial, to confront the darkness that lay within him.

This was a reflection of his own actions.

His blood.

And he would face it head-on, unflinching.

Only then would he hope to achieve his goal of finding an aspect that matched his true self.

An aspect that would enable him to attain unimaginable levels of strength.

The world around him soon blurred into obscurity, and all that remained was red.

Dark, dark, red.

A testament to the darkness that enveloped him, dulling his senses to the fullest, and finally

lulling him into a deep slumber.