The Chosen

The flickering gaslight cast long, dancing shadows across the cobblestone street, mirroring the unease in Elara's heart. She clutched the worn leather-bound book tighter, its pages filled with chilling prophecies and whispered names. Tonight, she was to meet him. The Chosen One.

Elara wasn't a believer, not truly. She’d spent years studying the ancient texts, dismissing them as folklore, until the whispers started. Whispers that followed her from shadowed alleys, that scratched at her windowpanes at night, whispers that spoke her name. Then came the dreams – visions of a gaunt figure draped in black, eyes burning like embers, a voice promising power… and demanding a sacrifice.

The address was a crumbling mansion on the edge of town, its windows like vacant eyes staring into the inky blackness. A wrought iron gate, rusted and groaning, creaked open at her touch, as if anticipating her arrival. Inside, the air hung heavy with the scent of decay and something else… something acrid and metallic, like old blood.

A staircase, shrouded in darkness, spiraled upwards. Each step echoed with a sickening thud, as if the house itself were breathing. At the top, a single door stood ajar, revealing a room bathed in an unnatural crimson glow.

He sat in a high-backed chair, his face obscured by shadows. But Elara felt his gaze, cold and piercing, even before he spoke. His voice, when it came, was a rasping whisper that seemed to claw at her sanity.

“You have come,” he said, his words dripping with a chilling sweetness. “The prophecies foretold your arrival, Elara. You are the vessel.”

He gestured to a silver chalice resting on a table beside him, its surface reflecting the crimson light. Inside, a viscous, pulsating liquid swirled.

“Drink,” he commanded, his voice hardening. “Become one with the ancient power. Become… chosen.”

Fear warred with a strange, unsettling curiosity. Elara knew what the book had warned about – the terrible price of such power, the soul-crushing burden of being chosen. But the allure, the promise of unimaginable strength, was almost too tempting to resist.

She reached for the chalice, her fingers trembling. As her lips brushed the rim, a searing pain shot through her, a wave of icy terror that threatened to shatter her mind. The crimson liquid tasted of ash and despair.

Then, darkness.

She awoke to a world transformed. The mansion was gone, replaced by a landscape of twisted, skeletal trees under a blood-red moon. The whispers were louder now, a cacophony of voices demanding obedience. Elara looked at her hands, now glowing with an unnatural light. She was chosen. But at what cost? The price, she realized with a shuddering breath, was her very soul. And the nightmare had only just begun.

NOTE: hello I'm xirie the uploader. the one who wrote this story is from Frances, and she is sick so I'm requested to upload the first chapter. please let me know if there's something you guys need to say to her.

The first sacrifice was easy. A stray dog, lured by the scent of something sweet and rotten emanating from Elara’s now-constantly glowing hands. She’d felt no remorse, only a cold satisfaction as the creature’s life force drained into her, fueling the power that pulsed within her veins. The whispers, once a chorus of demands, now sounded like a symphony of approval.

But the whispers demanded more. Much more.

The villagers, initially wary of Elara’s sudden, unsettling presence, now whispered of miracles. She’d healed a child’s fever with a touch, revived a withered crop with a gesture. They saw only the benevolent power, oblivious to the darkness that fueled it. They were her next harvest.

Elara found herself drawn to the town square, where a weekly market bustled with life. The vibrant colors, the cheerful chatter, were a jarring contrast to the gnawing hunger within her. The hunger wasn't for food, but for life itself. For the souls that would sustain her newfound power.

She noticed a young woman, her face etched with worry, haggling over the price of bread. A simple gesture, a subtle touch, and the woman’s face contorted in agony, her life force draining into Elara like a river flowing into the sea. The woman collapsed, lifeless, amidst the bustling crowd. No one noticed anything unusual; they simply assumed she'd fainted.

The power surged through Elara, intoxicating and terrifying. The whispers intensified, urging her on, praising her efficiency. She was becoming more than human, more than chosen – she was becoming a force of nature, a predator cloaked in the guise of a savior.

But the darkness had a price. The more she fed, the more the darkness consumed her. The joy, the warmth she once felt, were replaced by an icy emptiness. Her reflection showed not a benevolent healer but a gaunt, hollow-eyed creature, her eyes burning with the same crimson glow as the liquid she had consumed.

One night, as she stood on the precipice of the town's ancient graveyard, she saw him again – the gaunt figure from her dreams, his eyes burning like hellfire. He smiled, a chilling, predatory grin.

“Excellent work, my vessel,” he rasped. “The harvest is bountiful. Soon, the ritual will be complete. Soon, the true power will be unleashed.”

Elara felt a tremor of fear, a flicker of resistance. But the whispers drowned out her doubts, promising unimaginable power, dominion over life and death. She was trapped, bound to the darkness, a puppet dancing to the tune of a terrifying puppeteer. The harvest was far from over.

The night of the full moon hung heavy with anticipation. The air thrummed with a dark energy, a palpable tension that prickled Elara's skin. She stood at the edge of the Whispering Woods, the ancient trees gnarled and twisted like skeletal fingers reaching for the heavens. This was the place, the site of the final ritual.

The gaunt figure awaited her, his presence radiating an aura of malevolent power. He was no longer just a shadowy figure; he seemed to have solidified, his form taking on a terrifying clarity. His eyes, burning with crimson fire, held a chilling intelligence.

"The time has come, vessel," he hissed, his voice a venomous whisper that slithered into Elara's mind. "Tonight, you will complete the transformation. Tonight, you will become one with the ancient power."

He led her deeper into the woods, the path illuminated by an eerie, phosphorescent glow. The trees seemed to writhe and twist around them, their branches like grasping claws. The air grew colder, the scent of decay intensified, mingling with the metallic tang of blood.

They reached a clearing, where a massive stone altar stood bathed in moonlight. Runes, ancient and sinister, were carved into its surface. A single, obsidian dagger lay upon the altar, its blade gleaming with an unholy light.

"This is the instrument of transformation," the figure rasped, his voice echoing through the silent woods. "Your sacrifice will complete the ritual. You will offer your own life force, your very essence, to the ancient ones."

Elara felt a surge of fear, a desperate longing for escape. But the power within her, the intoxicating strength, held her captive. The whispers were a relentless tide, drowning out her resistance, promising unimaginable power in exchange for her life.

She looked at the dagger, its obsidian blade reflecting her own terrified face. She knew what she had to do. She had become a monster, and only by sacrificing herself could she hope to break the cycle of violence and horror she had unleashed.

With trembling hands, she raised the dagger, the cold steel pressing against her skin. The whispers reached a fever pitch, a chorus of approval and anticipation. The figure watched, his crimson eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

As the blade descended, Elara closed her eyes, not in fear, but in a strange, paradoxical acceptance. She was the Chosen One, and this was her destiny. But even as the darkness claimed her, a tiny spark of defiance remained, a whisper of hope that perhaps, even in death, there was a way to break free from the ancient power's grasp. The final sacrifice was made, but the story, she sensed, was far from over.

Elara didn't die. Not entirely. She felt herself slipping into a void, a swirling blackness that seemed to stretch on forever. The whispers, once a constant presence, faded into a distant echo. The pain of the ritual, the agonizing drain of her life force, subsided, leaving behind a chilling numbness.

Then, a flicker of light. A single, pale star piercing the darkness. It grew brighter, pulling her towards it, until she found herself in a small, stone chamber. The air was cool and damp, the walls adorned with strange symbols that pulsed with a faint, ethereal light.

She was no longer in her own body. Instead, she felt like a wisp of smoke, a disembodied spirit, trapped within the chamber. She could sense the presence of the gaunt figure, his power still resonating, but he was no longer in control. She was free, but in a way she hadn't anticipated.

The chamber held a single, ancient book, its pages crackling with an energy that vibrated with a life of its own. She was drawn to it, compelled to touch its worn leather cover. As she did, the symbols on the walls began to glow brighter, bathing the chamber in a spectral light. The book opened, revealing a single page with a single inscription:

"To break the cycle, find the heart of the ancient power."

Elara, now a spirit, could feel the power pulsing through the chamber, radiating from the book. It was the same power she had wielded, the same power that had consumed her, but it was different now. It was purer, more potent, and imbued with an ancient, primal wisdom.

She knew what she had to do. She had to find the heart of the ancient power, the source of its strength, and destroy it. Only then could she break the cycle she had set in motion, save herself, and perhaps, even save the world from the darkness she had unleashed.

The chamber walls shimmered, revealing a hidden passage. Elara, her spirit now a beacon of determination, stepped through, ready to face the darkness and fight for her freedom and the fate of all who were caught in its web. The journey was long and perilous, but she was no longer a vessel, a puppet. She was a spirit, awakened, and ready to reclaim her own destiny. The fight was far from over, but for the first time since becoming the Chosen One, Elara felt a glimmer of hope.

The passage wound through the heart of the Whispering Woods, a labyrinth of shadows and whispers. Elara, her spirit form a shimmering wisp of light, navigated the maze, guided by the faint, pulsating glow of the ancient power. She felt its presence everywhere, a constant hum that thrummed through the trees, the earth, the very air she breathed.

The journey was fraught with danger. Twisted, shadowy creatures, born from the darkness itself, lurked in the shadows, their forms shifting and changing, their eyes burning with malevolent hunger. Elara, now a spirit, could pass through them, her ethereal form intangible to their grasp. But their presence was a constant reminder of the power she had unleashed, the evil she had become a part of.

She encountered others who had been touched by the ancient power, their souls consumed by its darkness. Some were twisted parodies of their former selves, driven mad by the whispers, their eyes reflecting the crimson fire of the ancient ones. Others were still, their bodies vacant shells, their souls drained and empty, mere echoes of the people they once were.

Elara felt a pang of sorrow for them, a reminder of the terrible price she had paid for her own power. But her resolve remained firm. She had to find the heart of the ancient power, the source of this darkness, and destroy it. It was the only way to break the cycle, to free herself and the world from its influence.

The passage finally led her to a cavern, its entrance guarded by a towering, obsidian gate. The air here was thick with a palpable energy, the ancient power pulsing with a ferocious intensity. She could feel the heart of the darkness beating within, a source of unimaginable power and terrifying malice.

The gate, adorned with symbols that echoed those on the book and the chamber walls, was a barrier she could not simply pass through. She knew she had to unlock it, to find the key that would allow her access to the heart of the darkness.

She looked around the cavern, her spirit form searching for clues. Then, she saw it. A single, obsidian shard, embedded in the wall, glowing with a faint, pulsing light. It was the key. She reached out, her ethereal hand passing through the solid stone, and grasped the shard. As she did, the gate creaked open, revealing a chamber beyond, bathed in an eerie, crimson light. The heart of the darkness awaited.

Elara, her spirit burning with determination, stepped into the chamber, ready to face the source of the darkness and break the cycle she had unleashed. The final battle was about to begin.