prolouge-The Hellforged Contract

Hell’s Bounty
Prologue: The Hellforged Contract

The wind howled through the ruins of the forgotten temple, carrying the scent of burning incense and blood. Shadows danced along the cracked stone walls, flickering like spirits caught between worlds. Ancient glyphs, etched deep into the temple’s foundation, pulsed with an eerie, crimson light, casting long, jagged silhouettes across the chamber.

At the temple’s center stood a lone figure—his breath ragged, his stance rigid. Dain Ashbourne had walked through hell and back to reach this moment. His body bore the scars of battles fought in desperation, and his mind carried wounds far deeper. Yet nothing he had faced compared to what lay before him.

On the towering obsidian altar, a contract lay unrolled—its parchment brittle, yet strangely alive. The ink slithered like veins, dark tendrils shifting as if aware of his hesitation. Hellforged. Bound by blood. Eternal.

A rasping voice slithered through the darkness. “Do you accept the terms?”

Dain’s muscles tensed. He turned his gaze upward. From the abyss beyond the altar, the Arbiter emerged—a figure wrapped in a cloak of shifting void, its presence unsettling. It had no eyes, no discernible face, only a jagged grin stretching across the unseen expanse of its being. An ancient force. A creature that existed outside the realms of man and demon alike.

Dain clenched his fists. He had chased every other option, sought every other path, but fate had led him here. The weight of the curse pressed against his chest, an invisible noose tightening with every passing second. He could feel it now—tendrils of dark power slithering toward his soul, whispering in tongues not meant for mortal ears. It promised power. It promised damnation.

His heart pounded, but his voice remained steady. “I accept.”

The Arbiter’s grin widened, its very presence exuding cold amusement. “Then sign, hunter.”

Dain exhaled sharply, unsheathing his dagger. The metal glinted under the temple’s dim glow. He pressed the tip against his palm and sliced. A single cut. Blood welled, dark and rich, spilling onto the parchment. The reaction was immediate.

The ink pulsed, as though awakened. Tendrils of darkness slithered from the page, latching onto his wrist. Chains of black metal erupted from the parchment, wrapping tightly around his forearm. The links burned, searing into his flesh like molten iron. Dain’s jaw tightened as pain flared through his veins, the sensation both agonizing and intoxicating. The contract was no mere agreement—it was a binding of soul and steel.

A voice—not his own—whispered into his mind. The hunt begins.

The Arbiter let out a slow, mirthless chuckle, stepping back into the abyss from which it had come. “Your first bounty awaits, cursed hunter. Pray that your soul lasts longer than the others.”

Dain staggered, gripping his newly marked wrist. The chains were no longer just metal; they were alive, feeding off something deep within him. He could feel it—the hunger of the contract. The need for death.

The deal was sealed.

There was no turning back.

And so, the cursed hunt began.