Memories of the Bloody Mist

It was a clear, fogless day in a small fishertown residing in the Mist. The people were doing their everyday businesses, enjoying the warmth from rays that shone brightly upon them for once. Perhaps it was a coin for fortune, as the sales increased tremendously for a particular outstanding salesman. On the surface, he was a brilliant man with the best products on sale, while behind the scenes he targeted travellers with exotic characteristics. And the man loudly called, pricing his fish as the best, capturing an audience that were greedy for his wares. None of them had what he sought. Yet, he helped them warmly as a true businessman. The moment it became quiet, he saw a young man passing by, and with his sharp ears he heard the whistle of something pleasant. When he caught the late teen's eyes, the crimson clashing against his grey ones, the businessman knew he found treasure.

Calling out, "Young man, you, with the black coat! I have the best and freshest fish, for the best price!" The man clad in black didn't ignore him, instead gave him a flashing, most sincere smile. "Oh? What are these prices," a playful tone intertwined with the late teens youthful voice. The local never expected to hear the voice of the owner, who had caught his attention with the melody of the whistling. But he could have never answered, as the local salesman began to hyperventilate out of fear upon witnessing the change in the outsider's crimson eyes; they were a curse. Something that reminded him of the history: the Bloody Mist.

"Hm, no answer? Heellooo," the boy waved his hand in front of the salesman frantically. It seemed as if he cared less about his surrounding, as if his absurd behaviour wouldn't be judged. "Oh well," the bearer of the curse leaned away from the man, "I guess… I'll relinquish you, and every pathy person, from their worthless lives." After all, wherever he would go, none would remember he existed. There would only be a trail of destruction, yet he remained a ghost of the past.

The whistling continued as the late teen clad in black casually walked through the streets of the fishertown. Burning, flickering flames awaited to consume the homes of the citizen, slowly engulfing the poor victims on the street. He couldn't control himself, as mad laughter escaped his throat. "If only worthy in my eyes, I would have spared your lives. Sadly, you were no game at all." He sprawled his arms around, enjoying the disaster he created, "Haha. Just burn," the teen's voice slowly faded away as he was being swallowed by the distorted space, "as you become dust!"

Time restored itself for the locals. Screams of terror and suffering were resonating throughout the streets. All the flames set everything abruptly ablaze, as if the teen had prepared a bomb to detonate. But it was too late, he would not allow any survivors.