Chapter 2: The Whisper of Destruction

  Valmorr held an ancient, bck leather-bound book in his trembling hands. Its cover was darker than the deepest hour of the night, exuding a chilling aura that seemed to devour the surrounding light. Faintly glowing protection runes shimmered around it, as if they possessed a consciousness of their own, pleading silently with Valmorr not to open it.

  His hands shook slightly; within him, a violent storm of hesitation raged. Doubt, like a coiling serpent, wrapped itself around his mind, squeezing him in the suffocating grasp of indecision.

  “What if I fail?” he thought, feeling the hammering of his heart against his throat.

  “What if this dark magic overwhelms me?”

  The room around him was engulfed in a heavy, suffocating silence. Lost amidst the howling winds of his own thoughts, Valmorr gazed down at the tattered book. Even in the dim light, the cover emitted a palpable force. Nearby, his bck cane leaned against the wall, a cruel reminder of how every step he took was a battle.

  His hair, white as fresh snow, cascaded limply to his chin, stripped of any vitality. In his green eyes, the echoes of a raging inner war were pinly visible.

  He wore a sleeveless bck coat, with the top two buttons left undone, exposing his frail and fragile frame. His slender arms and fingers trembled with each tiny movement, as if screaming silently in pain.

  Beneath the coat, he wore bck leather trousers and simple bck shoes — garments that held none of the grandeur or ceremonial elegance that the royal family of Asgard traditionally demanded. No trace of nobility gleamed from the fabric, nor the slightest shimmer of regal splendor.

  As the minutes dragged on, the hesitation in his gaze slowly transformed into a new emotion:

  The desperate hunger to prove himself.

  If he could master the spells contained within this forbidden tome, he would finally show Asgard — and his own father — that he was not weak. Yet, Valmorr’s ambitions were clouded by inexperience and desperation. He failed to consider why such a book had been sealed away in the most forsaken corners of Asgard.

  “This time, I won’t lose,” he whispered, his voice trembling yet fierce.

  “I will prove myself to everyone… and cim the throne of Asgard that rightfully belongs to me!” he cried out, his words resonating against the cold stone walls of his room.

  Had anyone heard those decrations, they might have burst into ughter. A wretched creature, weaker than even a common farmer of Asgard, daring to dream of ruling an entire kingdom? It was almost too ridiculous to be pitied.

  Ignoring the faint trembling of the protection runes, Valmorr made his decision. In a determined motion, he opened the bck book.

  The instant the book parted, an intense, dark energy exploded outward, saturating the entire room with a suffocating aura. The temperature dropped sharply; even the windows fogged under the sudden chill.

  Valmorr shivered as a cold tremor raced down his spine. Steeling himself, he turned his attention to the first page. Inked in thick, faded letters, he read:

  “Born from shadows, risen through darkness.”

  “Forgotten, but never lost.”

  “Stripped of his throne, but crowned with eternity…”

  As the words etched themselves into his mind, a growing sense of unease gnawed at the edges of his soul.

  Yet it was too te for second thoughts. The book was open, and there was no turning back.

  His gaze drifted to an illustration that dominated the center of the page. It depicted an enormous titan, born from pure darkness, with bzing orange eyes. Those eyes radiated only chaos and utter annihition. The titan’s body was so wreathed in shadows that even its outlines blurred into the void.

  When Valmorr locked eyes with the titan’s gaze, a primordial fear rooted itself deep within him. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to look at the name inscribed beneath the image:

  “The Titan of Destruction: Nightmare…”

  For a long, breathless moment, Valmorr could do nothing but stare at the page. His fingers, pale and trembling, turned to the next leaf.

  The following page contained only two chilling sentences:

  “If you seek to summon Nightmare, you must offer the blood of a god born from darkness. Only then will the Titan of Destruction heed your call.”

  “If you crave power, simply speak his name. Nightmare will grant your every desire.”

  Valmorr’s breath caught in his throat as he realized that the book was far more dangerous than he had imagined. He had believed it was merely a grimoire of forbidden dark magic. But this was no ordinary tome — it was a vessel of unfathomable power and absolute obedience.

  “The Titan of Destruction from the Outer Realm…” he murmured, almost reverently.

  His mind raced, searching for the identity of a god born from darkness. Summoning such a creature promised unimaginable strength — but demanded a price far greater than he had anticipated.

  For a moment, he hesitated.

  Then, gathering what little strength he had left, he reached toward the desk. Concentrating all his feeble psychic energy, he summoned a knife into the air. The simple act strained him greatly, a sharp pain blooming inside his head, but he had endured worse.

  Gripping the bde mid-air, Valmorr did not flinch. Without hesitation, he drew a deep gash across his left palm. Thick, nearly bck blood welled from the wound and spttered onto the ancient pages of the book.

  At that moment, the clear skies of Asgard darkened ominously.

  The citizens, sensing something terribly amiss, lifted their gazes skyward in confusion and fear. This was no ordinary eclipse — the darkness felt almost sentient, almost alive.

  Valmorr continued, allowing the dark ichor to drip onto the ancient manuscript. Nearly a full liter of blood had spilled before he paused, panting, dizzy from the loss.

  Suddenly, a violent surge of dark energy erupted from the book, tossing Valmorr back like a rag doll. The gss windows shattered instantly, and a column of darkness shot straight into the sky.

  The people of Asgard watched in horror as the unnatural bckness pierced the heavens themselves.

  Pace guards, sensing an imminent disaster, moved swiftly toward Valmorr’s chambers, weapons drawn and magic at the ready.

  But before they could reach him,

  the sky itself was torn asunder…