The Taste Of Despair

Forsaken Forest 

It took us a few hours to reach the Forsaken Forest, a place where tall trees stood bare, stripped of leaves, and the sky loomed with dark, unfading clouds.

A forest forsaken even by Mother Nature.

That’s what I felt the moment I stepped into that cursed land.

Father and I kept our eyes peeled, searching for the Strigon the villagers had warned us about.

As we made our way through the dead woods, Father spoke, his voice low and reflective.

"You know, when your mother and I were young, this forest was green. Full of life. Trees heavy with fruit," he said, eyes scanning the treetops.

If it had been anyone else, I wouldn't have believed them.

"This... is what happens when a Strigon isn’t killed. They drain the land—absorb its vitality until nothing remains," he added.

There was a hint of sorrow in his voice. Our boots crunched through brittle twigs and lifeless grass.

“Undead. Because they are dead, they yearn for life—stealing it from the living to become the living,” I recited.

That line came from one of the few books in our small village library. It explained just enough to know what Strigon were.

And now, with my own eyes, I was seeing the consequences of letting one live.

No wonder Father insisted we hunt it down.

"Yes," Father replied. "Never leave a Strigon alive. If you do... it becomes something only those baptized by Igor can handle."

Those baptized by Igor—imbued with the golden blood of Prometheus.

The Executioners. Blessed by a Demi-god.

“Then… is it even possible for us to kill one?” I asked, glancing at him.

The whole reason we were even in this dead-scented forest was to hunt a Strigon. What if we couldn’t?

“It’s possible,” Father said. “As long as it’s still undead.”

From his words, I gathered that a Strigon began “undead”—but the more vitality it absorbed, the more it approached the realm of the “living.”

Did that mean it eventually crossed some invisible line? What did “alive” even mean for a Strigon?

I was about to ask.

“Dad, what do—”

“Shhh. Quiet!” he barked suddenly.

The sound of snapping twigs echoed nearby. A chorus of “kaaa” cries erupted as crows began to circle above us—marking something.

Then we saw it.

A figure stepped out from behind a tree.

It was small, like a child, and pale as chalk. Its eyes absorbed all light, like miniature voids. Its face… twisted. A grotesque fusion of an old hag and a baby.

Disgusting. Terrifying.

Those were the only words that came to mind.

It tried to resemble a human, even using an animal pelt to cover its lower half. But that thing… was not human.

A Strigon. My first time seeing one.

My hands trembled. I felt like throwing up. I didn’t know why—but something deep inside told me this creature should not exist.

My breath hitched. My eyes watered.

"Siegnir! Snap out of it!"

Father’s voice jolted me.

“Calm down,” he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Draw your sword and face it. That’s the weakest one. A Gobless.”

I forced a deep breath, trying to calm the storm in my chest. Then, I drew my sword as Father continued.

"I believe in you. Go and kill it. Overcome your fear. Don’t think of anything else. I’m here if anything goes wrong.”

Those were the words I needed.

I closed my eyes and took another deep breath.

〈Go. Fight. Overcome. Break your shackles —or die.〉

I opened my eyes, narrowing them. Father gave me a pat on the back as I stepped forward—one step, then another.

The Gobless stood there, its face like a timid child searching for its mother.

Disgusting.

It took a step toward me—hesitant at first—but then it smiled.

A smile that warped its face.

Then it charged, screeching.

Its arms swung, long and lanky, tipped with pitch-black claws.

I deflected the blow, sparks flying as steel met darkness. It came again, a shrill laugh echoing as our blades clashed once more.

Its claws were hard.

Too hard.

And none of my strikes landed. It was too fast.

I stepped back—its claw grazed my cheek.

“Argh!”

My hands trembled.

There was no way I could win.

Why did Father even think I could—?

“Siegnir! Don’t hesitate! Strike! Shed your fear!”

Father’s voice roared.

I clenched my teeth.

Why was I hesitating?

No—I will win!

“Hiyaaaaaa!!!” I screamed from the depths of my stomach.

I struck, blocked, and struck again. Fear sharpened my senses—heightened every moment.

Why not use it?

I let go of defense.

I let go of hesitation.

Only one thing mattered.

Attack.

Survive.

Kill.

My body felt light—my mind clearer than ever. The world slowed.

The Gobless lunged, its claw aiming for my skull.

I cleaved upward—cutting through its shoulder.

My blade twisted.

I aimed for its neck.

It was like slicing through butter.

Time snapped back to normal.

Its arm dropped. Then its head. Then its body.

Black blood sprayed the ground.

I gasped, leaning on my sword, sweat pouring from my brow like a miniature waterfall.

It felt like I’d run nonstop for hours.

‘What… just happened?’

‘It was the same… when I fought Dad.’

Familiar—yet different. What was that?

Footsteps approached behind me, followed by a slap on the back.

“Good job! I knew my son could do it!” Father laughed.

“Thanks…” I said, breathless. “…Dad.”

He laughed again, then added, “Even entered Zero Trance…”

‘Zero Trance…? What’s that…?’

The question barely formed before my body felt heavy.

Sleep dragged me under.

〈 You have broken free from the shackles that once bound you. 〉

That was the last thing I heard.

***

Outside the Forsaken Forest — Evening

The sun was setting when I awoke, my body resting against Father’s back.

He was carrying me.

When was the last time he carried me?

〈 It was 10 years, ago. 〉

Right. I was six. I remembered.

“Dad, you can put me down now.”

“It’s fine. After entering Zero Trance, you need to rest,” he said.

There it was again—Zero Trance.

A technique? A condition? I didn’t remember learning anything like that.

I was about to ask when something stopped him in his tracks.

The smell of smoke.

Thick and bitter—burning wood.

I felt Father’s body tense.

I couldn’t see his expression, but the moment he set me down, I knew something was wrong.

“Siegnir. I’m putting you down,” he said, his voice tight and urgent.

I stepped beside him.

And then I saw it.

My world—being set ablaze.

Flames consumed the village. The sky darkened, smoke rising like a black tide.

The place I called home—burning.

What kind of face was I making? Sadness? Something else?

All I could think about was—

“Mom… Ellie…”

“Lint…” Father muttered, then sprinted.

He shouted her name like a madman, his voice hoarse and wild.

I chased after him, my body still sore from the fight. But none of that mattered anymore.

Because what we found…

…was hell.

Our village was on fire.

That night—

The sight of my home in flames—

Was only the beginning.