A man clad in tattered black fabrics trudged through a forest of smoke and fog. A broken mask covered one of his eyes, the other left to shine red in the darkness. The remaining pieces of the mask depicted what appeared to be some sort of wolf with a menacing glare. The man dragged a curved sword pulsing with a deep red glow behind him. Each footstep caused the grass behind him to burn with that same red.
The Gray had taken its toll on this man, but he had a job to do.
Purify the world of Gray Spirits.
He trudged onwards, his black scarf flapping silently in the wind. A single strand of blonde hair escaped his hood and fluttered about, the only bright thing about him.
Slowly, he made his way out of the forest and into a village ringed by orange lamps. The jars trailing behind him on a rope wrapped around his chest in an X and ran down his back clanked against the cobbled street as he slowly trudged through the village market stalls.
He stepped into the building that was home to village purifier and slammed the door shut behind him. Lifting the rope off of his shoulders and unraveling himself, he continued into the basement where one of the orange lamps burned bright.
In front of the orange lamp was some sort of altar. He placed the jars on the altar, stacking them expertly so that they all fit.
The writhing spirits within cried out in pain as the lamp pulsated and the spirits began to dissolve. The man watched them fade into nothingness, then collected his jars and left.
Back into the forest to a dingy little cabin deep in the darkness with an orange lamp burning brightly inside. He walked inside and hung up his rope of jars, then removed his mask, scarf, and hood. Then came his sandals and his socks. Leaving all of these in the entry room, he walked into his bedroom to change into clothes more comfortable than the tattered ones he wore. He discarded the old clothes in a pile on the floor and strode into the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror.
His long blonde hair fell in a braid that nearly reached his waist and was typically tucked inside of his hood. His eyes shone a deep red, the color of his curse. He bore sharp fangs and black markings under his eyes that looked almost like arrows. He ran a hand through his bangs and sighed, licking his teeth. Then he filled up the sink and dunked his face in the water.
The following night, the same cycle would simply begin again.
**enjoy hot MC :D**
-One, who has no clue what she's doing 😌
YOU ARE READING
The Gray
FantasyI had a dream and I decided to make a book from it. No idea if I'm going to finish it or not, we shall see. -The Gray- This is a story around a man most commonly known as the Jarman. His true name was lost to time, but if asked for his name, he may...
