The skies were a dreary purple, as if time had sought no tomorrow. Perhaps it was better, that Erebus had been gone, but for the worst, and in his case best interests. A revival was necessarry. The countryside was hills, expanding for many kilometers until they eventually brought one to the North. The Warrior carried himself like a drifter. A black pitchfork, and a Spear, tied with a blood red tapestry hung in the shape of an X, equipped behind the veteran.

Erebus let his eyes take in the countryside, it had been some time since he’d seen it; in truth he hadn’t a clue where he’d been at all recently. The last things he remembered was some spell which comatose’d him for roughly three months during that run in with the Dark Invader. Coming out of his shell, he was surprised to find his arms gone. Back to a regular human, his body was clean of it’s tribal markings and without any sign of tattoo. It seemed like a dream, perhaps a Nightmare when he was the God of War’s vessel.

But Erebus wasn’t a God of War. He was a Weapon’s Expert. He prided himself as the best one there ever was.

(“The first thing he did with his backpay after losing those arms was buy a damn gun…” )

The next stage was simple, Erebus needed a trope that would pit him as the greatest bad there could be in the name of the future. The world had it’s Demon Slayers already, and  it’s Angels, and even it’s Dragons!... But it didn’t have an obsessed meta human incarnating untold wrath now did it? Someone like that needed a weapon that defined their vibrations.

Erebus chose to create a stygion black steel pitchfork, with the powers of the Giant Fork. A legendary item of treasurable worth. It can break down spells instantly transforming them into absorbable mana to replenish one’s magical reserves. It also serves as a ruthless long range melee weapon, with three sharp prongs for catching the foe defenseless.

Unsurprisingly, The Pitchfork wouldn’t be his only weapon. Representing aggression, Erebus became a Blademaster after the Dagger Master myth faded out, this was probably because of Zabimaru. Erebus unlocked a sacred weapon known as a Bankai. Even if his powers were taken, one could not separate a master from it’s extension. Zabimaru is a part of the Adventurer, and so, is wielded mercilessly by it’s champion.

Perhaps gracing him by destiny, the Spear of Destiny was found replacing the Assegai, a shitty trade if you asked Erebus. However, he didn’t ignore it’s own nifty use. Provoking his speed to transcend the sound barrier, and move in the blink of an eye…

These weapons were his children, extensions of himself. His lambs ready to be slaughtered by the hungry bounty hunters. What a laugh, what a folly. But he cared only to help his friends, to enrich this sad tragedy. Erebus moved from Oak without entering, instead he headed for Baska, the time spent in the arena provided better training than exorcism. Erebus always felt that, but perhaps his old Corpsemourn made him ignore how terrifying it could be under that Church.

Being an Adventurer, Erebus was a solid treasure collector, perhaps his niche in life was his gimmick for the art of it after all. Now it served as his last skill as he prepared his funds for his last bid to glory…(“Deciding to throw his life away for the greater good in humanity now huh?!!”) Hush talk, but in theory the world was safer, and less interesting without a lingering darkness. Balance has to be restored and for that reason Erebus awakens.

He instantly does as he is always narrated to do, go and collect bodies.

He begins by entering the country, letting the pitchfork gleam it's scarlet hue-- which didn't make much sense now did it really, seeing as it was black as the emptiest pockets of the cosmos. On the other hand, the rags that fluttered with the wind off his Spear drew attention away from his magic fork. It was a Spear that was painted in red, a drinker of blood older than most men living.

The Blademaster came upon civilians in what seemed like no time, but it was too late to reconcile and be a patient person. His weapons were gripped, before ripping forward in one magnificent dash. The three prongs of his Fork shick-cabobbed and elderly woman, and the spear would thrust deep, burrowing into the heart of the old man at the woman's side, her dangling corpse, knocked over the fruit of the tiny shack wagon Erebus had dashed into.

Now with his hands red, Erebus could kill. He could kill freely.

He began his sprint unthinking, unyielding-- because only one thought raced his mind.

Avenge Odin. And why wasn't he doing that?

"I'm not ready." ("Why not..!?")

"It seems like every covert villain is forgotten, the most evil should make his shadow so vast that it cannot be ignored. I don't intend to creep through the alleys. I will build my strength, taking these jobs for lesser peddlers. Then, I'll show myself."

The man pushed helmet back on, pulling a cowl over top it that hid his face and neck. He began to spin in such motions that the wind vibrated around him, murdering and butchering life in a straight line until he was in front of Baska Rock.

Erebus, soaked in innocent blood approaches the fighters, "I'll buy in." He says with a wretched grin. His moment to unravel them began without much word left. A scream, a bang, and the movement was on. Entering the coliseum, Erebus invades the fighters, choosing to reap the coin in their wallets instead. Unlike the good person he was before, this mind broken Erebus seems to be a rampaging phenomenon. The announcer makes sure to note with a gusto of emotion, which I made sure to note for you, you're welcome.

However, the show wasn't for their entertainment, but their horror. Erebus was off to a twisted start, blading out blow for blow with two sword users. His speed and reach seemed to allow his lunges to pierce regardless of going forward or backwards. Next, he raised the fork in the air to catch a spell which had been charging, cover a complete 32m diameter of the sky over head. It drops a green bomb. However, that was nothing for Erebus. His fork sucked it into a vortex of light blue mana drained straight into his weapon. Just before it would have crashed over his head.

His weapon suddenly gets changed out, and with a few trigger clicks, Erebus fires into the crowd. Taking life for life it doesn't matter from where! Suddenly he stares up at the booth, moving like a blink he was upon the window. One knee to it's exterior and the enclosement shattered. Erebus steps in and brutalizes them before looting all corpses. He had officially become exactly what they said he would be.

The darkest foe in this world, and the one they'd fear as a symbol for all time.

Exiting the booth, Erebus saw many people crying and groveling the massacre. But weren't they just fine seeing the fighter's violence upon each other? Was it because they paid for a pricy ticket? Erebus shrugged, more attentive to the fighters who were coming from the back of the coliseum. Aligning a battle front, a platoon for only his feastings. "Very well! I welcome your stubbornness!" Erebus said, taking one mega leap from his position in the booth and landing in the circle of 'heroes'... ("Victims!") Erebus flaunts with his gun, which was predominately in it's cooldown states. The saving grace was his cooldown reductions on the weaker bullets. He began firing at different heroes, as some charged in and others took to the air to navigate the field and control the frame of the fight. Erebus eventually hits the end of his revolver and sighs, as the weapon changes into a sword. In one whipping motion, the weapon howled like a monster and engulfed three warriors in a constricted state, before spinning them around on it's jagged blades. Spilling their blood, Erebus walks forward and boots the shit out of only conscious one's face. It dimorphs the jaw and knocks the man out. Erebus assumes a state of battle, as his weapon glows in accordance.

After standing there, seeing this all happen. What was the rest of them supposed to do, the fear was seeping through their bones. Erebus... doesn't quit? He doesn't stop, and when he's mad, when he isn't the good guy... What does that mean for life everywhere he walks? Was there hope left? After a hero falls from grace...

"Listen guys, he may be a Nightmare. However... Unless I forgot, he is just a man. Erebus is human. He isn't a lich, or an undead. He isn't a wolf or a demon. Erebus is just a misfit. He is doomed like the rest of us, only the chosen standout, and he is a result of rejection by nobility. He protects the dark, there in it... He made his friends. They weren't heroic by any means. They were probably all rotten serial killers-- just like him. Yet, the sanctity of that, the idea of not being alone. The security from isolation... It powers his warped mentality the same way a hero fights for justice. Just like some of the good guys, Erebus is a wayward Adventurer. His friends are his power. We likely won't live today, not after they've killed Odin Morningstar. But we won't be forgotten so easily either, I just hope the country is ready for this...! Everyone. Prepare for the final battle."

The men nodded, charging up, and assigning roles and positions around the terrorist leader. Zabimaru howled again, inciting fear before the challengers, Erebus smiled. "Everyone was all hot shit before aye?! What's slowing ya down now? Should I mutilate the corpse? Hahaha. Come at me! Show me the strongest!" The voice of the scarlet haired Nightmare echoed off the walls, his laugh so deep and entertained that it must be fiendish. That was it, wasn't it? This was hell, and Erebus is... The Devil.

Across the field, the adventurer yawned, he was tired of their slow boring feud. He came for murder damn it. It was then, as he squinted upon their faces that he saw their disturbed mania. Their fear was his awe. He had the moment to act first.

Hesitant, unsteady, enemies? ("This is not good for them...")

Erebus unleashes Zabimaru, and the serpent eats every remaining fighter in the coliseum. The halls are caked in blood, no one was able to run or even fight back. The world is beginning to live it's nightmare. Let it be dusk for all time.

1817/1750