Blessed Visor

David walked away from the carnage, the Barrett still clutched in his hand. The rain, now a steady downpour, washed over the blood-soaked cobblestones, a futile attempt to cleanse the scene. The image of Elara's mangled form, the echoing screams, the acrid smell of gunpowder and blood – these were now etched into his memory, not with horror or regret, but with a chilling, almost clinical detachment. He was a stranger in a strange land, and he was learning its brutal lessons quickly.

He wandered through the deserted streets, the town seemingly abandoned in the wake of the chaos. "I came to this world…" he muttered to himself, running a hand roughly through his hair. "Damn it… where's my waifu collection? And I need some decent clothes." He glanced down at his blood-stained attire. "Probably shouldn't bother looking for my old stuff. Hopefully, I can make this place a little more like home. They can keep this crap."

He found shelter beneath a stone bridge spanning a shallow, gurgling stream. The sound of the water was a small comfort in the oppressive silence. He sat down heavily, leaning against the cool stone. He began to scratch absently at his neck, his fingers brushing against something unexpected. He looked down and saw a black heart tattoo, intricate and finely detailed, etched into his skin. He touched it gingerly, a shiver running down his spine. He then looked at his reflection in the water, he noticed that one of his eyes was now a dull, grey color, perceiving the world in stark monochrome, while the other remained its normal color. He also remembered the desert wasteland, the giant bird, the searing pain of its bite, and the strange, purple glowing mark it had left on his arm. It was gone now, leaving no trace. "Ah, man," he muttered, "I should've bitten it back."

Suddenly, the crunch of footsteps behind him broke his reverie. He turned to see several figures approaching, their faces grim and wary. They were adventurers, by the look of their varied equipment and well-worn clothing.

(Flashback)

Earlier, in the now-deserted tavern, a heated debate had raged. Several adventurers were arguing about the merits of different forms of governance. "Democracy is bloody nonsense," one man with a scarred face and a thick, braided beard had declared, slamming his fist on the table. "Too many voices, too much squabbling. A strong monarch, now that's how you run a kingdom. Efficiency, order, respect!"

A small figure, perched on a stool near the bar, piped up in a surprisingly strong voice. She was a young girl, no older than ten, with pale skin, startling grey eyes, and a pointed black witch's hat perched atop her head. She wore a simple black gown that reached her ankles. "That's just propaganda," she retorted, her voice sharp and intelligent. "Monarchs are just as likely to be corrupt or incompetent. At least with democracy, the people have a say."

"Kid," the bearded man chuckled, patting her on the head, "you're still young. Inexperienced."

"I'm not a kid," she snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. "I'm thousands of years old. And when I get my powers back, I'll kill you first."

The man laughed heartily, ruffling her hair. Another woman, also dressed in mage's robes, added with a sly grin, "When you get a bigger chest, maybe I'll start taking you seriously." The rest of their group of seven erupted in laughter, and the young girl's face flushed crimson with embarrassment. "Stop it!" she hissed, her voice trembling with barely suppressed rage.

Just then, the tavern door burst open, slamming against the wall with a loud bang. The farmer who had reported David to Elmsworth stumbled in, his face pale and his eyes wide with terror. "A… a wizard!" he stammered, his voice trembling. "My wife… my child… they got lost in the stampede! Someone… help!"

A tall, imposing figure with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a network of scars crisscrossing his face stood up from a nearby table. He wore a blue coat over gleaming silver armor, and a massive silver Zweihänder rested against his shoulder. His eyes were fierce, and a vein throbbed ominously on his forehead. As he spoke, his body began to tremble, as if barely containing a violent eruption. "If there's truly a witch or wizard responsible for this…" His voice was low and dangerous.

Suddenly, the entire tavern began to shake. Glasses rattled on the bar, tables wobbled, and the patrons cried out in alarm. When they looked back at the scarred man, they saw a horrifying transformation. A shadowy aura surrounded him, his eyes glowing an intense red. From the shadows swirling around him, grotesque creatures began to emerge – gaping maws with bat-like wings, their flesh a dark, bloody red and dripping with a viscous black goo. They swirled around him like a macabre halo.

He dispatched four members of his group to search for the missing people: the young girl, the woman who had teased her, and two other men who had been conversing with her. The remaining three stayed behind to maintain order.

A young man with blonde hair, green eyes, and slightly pointed ears – a hint of elven blood in his veins – spoke up. A long braid hung down the left side of his face, partially obscuring his left eye, while the rest of his hair was styled in short spikes. "Since this occurred in the town square, near the execution site," he said, his voice calm and measured, "I believe the one to be executed is likely responsible. I will partake in the search… but only to lead him away from the village. The town is too close. It's too dangerous to draw further attention here." He was Elmsworth's son his name was Cael.

(End of Flashback)

The adventurers surrounding David were the same group from the tavern, minus the scarred man and the four he had sent out. The young man with the braid stepped forward, his green eyes fixed on David.Cael led the group of adventurers through the deserted streets of Oakhaven, the rain having finally ceased, leaving behind a damp, earthy smell that clung to everything. They followed the trail of disturbed earth and occasional bloodstains, the grim evidence of David's hasty retreat. They eventually reached the small stream and the stone bridge.

"There," Finnian whispered, pointing to a figure slumped against one of the bridge's supports.

Cael's brow furrowed. The man was barely clothed, his body covered in bruises and cuts. He looked exhausted and disoriented, far from the image of a powerful wizard or witch that the panicked townsfolk had described. "Is that… the man?" Cael muttered to himself. "It can't be. He's barely wearing anything and looks… weak."

Finnian, his keen eyes scanning the area, shook his head. "I can't detect any mana. He barely has a core. He's no mage, that's for sure." He glanced at Lyra, raising an eyebrow. "What's your analysis, SilverTongue?"

Lyra, her eyes narrowed in concentration, studied David's back, which was crisscrossed with scars, old and new. "He's certainly been through something," she murmured. As David began to turn, she felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck.

"He found us," Beric whispered from behind a nearby tree, his voice trembling slightly. "He can detect our presence." He gripped the handle of his axe tightly, his knuckles white.

David turned fully, his gaze sweeping over the group. It wasn't a casual glance; it was an intense, unwavering stare. He was trying to suppress the pain, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill, and the effort contorted his features into a mask of raw intensity. His eyes, already bloodshot from the beating, seemed to darken, the whites becoming a network of red veins. The grey of his one eye seemed to deepen, becoming almost metallic, while his other eye burned with a feverish intensity. He was conducting a silent staring contest, a desperate attempt to maintain control in a situation spiraling out of his grasp.

Beric, seeing David's gaze fix on the tree he was hiding behind, began to shake visibly. "Did he… did he find me?" he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. He felt a chill crawl down his spine, as if an icy hand had touched him.

The other adventurers exchanged nervous glances. Cael tightened his grip on the hilts of his twin cutlasses, "Sea Serpent" and "Tidal Fury", the pirate-like swords strapped to his back. Finnian readied his daggers, his hand twitching nervously. Lyra instinctively reached for the pouch containing her magical components.

David continued to stare at the tree for a moment longer, the intensity of his gaze making Beric feel as though he were being dissected under a magnifying glass. Then, his gaze shifted directly to Beric, who, unable to bear the intensity of the stare any longer, stepped out from behind the tree, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. "I… I can't hide from you, can I?" he said, his voice laced with fear.Lyra, observing David's strange eyes, a sudden realization dawning on her. "Those eyes of yours…" she said, her voice regaining some of its usual confidence, though a hint of uncertainty still lingered. "You're probably an illusionist, like me. That's how you're detecting us. It's some sort of… enhanced perception".

To be continued