Before you read this, I just want you to know that I love creative writing but I don't consider myself too good at it. I hope you enjoy, and please leave suggestions for what you'd like to see or how I could improve or any grammar/spelling mistakes. Thanks a lot!
The cold bit at his exposed flesh, and he could see his breath seeping out of the cracks from his pure white porcelain mask. A shrine glowed brightly, a shine he sat in front. Slight warmth was emitted from it, his only comfort against the ruthless bite of the snowflakes. Looking around all he saw was snow, mountains, followed by a vague path to his right. Wind crashed against his ear, yet the discipline from all the teachings he’d gathered kept him oblivious to the frost.
Knowing he had no reason he rose up, his bulky physique leaving a shadow behind his figure. The garments he wore flapped all over the place, tattered and covered in snow. A fluff around his neck accompanied by a half-ripped cloak were tightly secured onto his body. Baggy trousers hanged from his torso, and were complemented by comfy shoes and a common shirt.
He followed the path to his right for what seemed like hours, but by now he had learned to suppress the effects of The Fold (somewhat) a slight fraction of it imbued onto his face and part of it onto his mask. The duo, mask and man, were a symbiote. One could not live without the other. The Fold allowed him to see and interact across other realities; versions of the world he knew as real. Through interactions he fought Prospects from other versions of his world; all of them discovering new moves and mastering old ones, preparing for the day when The Fold was no more, and all realities merged as one.
But The Fold does not give without taking. Allowing you to see through the plane of your very essence can have disastrous consequences once you’ve succumbed to it. It also came with minor side-effects, like losing track of time once in a while but they were merely a slight nuisance to your side assuming that you were prepared to deal with them. Should you not, you will lose your sanity and everything you hold dear from memories, to whatever is inside us that makes us tick.
A Lost Prospect is what you will become. He prefers to call them Prizraks. Shells, hollows, pale imitations of the fighters they once were, now obsessed with what their purpose was, except The Fold has corrupted that same purpose. They don’t fight to improve their skills anymore; they fight for their hunger to kill.
I can't wait for the next update