Shadow: I Can Use All Elements

Author note: Before you start this novel, keep in mind that the first couple Chapters are only introduction of the plot no legendary lines or funny stuff so you have to read it with that in mind. Remember gems are hard to get, but once you get it... You thought there is a punch line? You’re broke no gems analogy for you just read the first chaptes ;)

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Blood.

Warm. Thick. Everywhere.

It clung to the ground like it refused to leave.

Screams shattered the air.

Not one voice.

Hundreds.

Raw. Broken. Choking on fear.

"Please—!"

"RUN!"

"MY CHILD—!"

The words never finished.

Something in the air swallowed them halfway, as if even sound was being erased.

A black mist crawled through the crowd.

Slow at first.

Then hungry.

It slid into lungs. Into mouths. Into eyes.

People fell one after another, shaking, clutching their own bodies as if trying to hold themselves together.

But it didn’t help.

Flesh started to rot while they were still alive.

Bones trembled under skin that no longer obeyed them.

Some tried to crawl.

They didn’t get far.

Around them stood fifty figures. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

Perfect circle.

Not moving.

Not reacting.

Just watching.

Like they were waiting for a performance to end.

One woman screamed directly at them.

Her voice cracked.

"STOP—PLEASE—WHY ARE YOU—"

Her body collapsed mid-sentence.

No one answered her.

The ground began to glow.

Soft at first.

Then brighter.

Like something beneath the world was waking up.

Crack.

Crack.

Cracks spread across the earth.

Dark energy leaked out from them like smoke from a wound.

The air bent.

Not physically—but wrong.

Like reality was losing its structure.

Then the bodies started changing.

Not dying.

Changing.

Skin melted into shadow.

Blood stopped behaving like blood.

Everything collapsed into one mass of dark red and black.

It pulsed.

Once.

Twice.

Like a heartbeat that didn’t belong to anything alive.

Then it rose.

A creature climbed out of it.

Wet.

Wrong.

Breathing without lungs.

Its horns twisted upward like broken crowns.

Its eyes were not eyes.

Just empty pressure that made looking at it feel like falling.

The moment it stood—

the world went silent for half a second.

Even the screams stopped.

Not because they ended.

But because people forgot how to scream.

"...Finally."

One of the fifty spoke.

His voice was calm.

Too calm.

Like he had been waiting years for this exact soundless moment.

"The seal is gone."

Another exhaled slowly.

A smile stretched across his face.

"We can finally breathe again."

In a different place.

An old man stood still.

His hand touched a stone wall.

One word carved into it glowed faintly:

SEALED

A crack ran through it.

Then another.

Then blood seeped out of the stone like the wall was bleeding.

His fingers tightened.

"...It broke."

His voice was low.

Heavy.

Like saying it made it more real.

"Send word. All of them. Now."

A voice answered from nowhere.

"Yes."

The Eternal Light.

A name known across the world.

Protectors.

Guardians.

Heroes.

That is what the world called them.

But right now...

They didn’t look like heroes.

They looked afraid.

The First Luminary once left a prophecy.

It was not spoken as hope.

It was spoken as warning.

Ten days after the seal breaks...

A cursed child will be born.

And that child will bring chaos alongside the demons.

Not as a victim.

Not as a witness.

But as part of it.

So they made a decision.

Simple.

Cold.

Final.

Every child born with the cursed mark must die.

Before ten years old.

Before they can awaken.

Before they become "real."

And the world obeyed.

Not because it agreed.

But because it was terrified.

Babies were taken from arms.

Not always by strangers.

Sometimes by mothers.

Sometimes by fathers.

Hands shaking.

Eyes refusing to look.

But doing it anyway.

A baby cried once—

a small sound—

then stopped halfway through as if the world itself decided it was not allowed to continue.

Fire.

Steel.

Stone.

Dirt.

Everything became a tool.

Everything became an excuse.

"It bears the cursed mark."

That sentence repeated everywhere.

Like a prayer.

Like a permission.

Like a curse of its own.