THE WORLD OF DUALIS
Some Want Revenge, Some Want Justice, Some Want Death...
In Dualis, rapists don’t just die; they suffer. Their bodies are found torn apart in the gutters of Obscuran, their screams silenced by the towering walls of Luminara’s execution halls. Here, justice isn’t debated in a courtroom. It’s served raw, merciless, and absolute. Welcome you’ve just arrived on the most unapologetic planet to ever exist. You can still smell the blood in the air, still feel the weight of the world pressing down on your chest. This isn’t a place for the weak. The two great cities; Luminara and Obscuran, stand on opposite ends of justice. One burns in the light of public execution, the other drowns in the darkness of ruthless revenge.
In Luminara, justice is calculated. Rapists are sentenced to a lifetime in chains, their punishment displayed for all to see.To them, justice is clean, systematic, controlled. On the surface, Luminara is a beacon of righteousness. But beneath the glimmering towers, beneath the pristine streets, evil festers. The same elites who sign execution orders by day indulge in their own horrors by night. Untouched. Unscathed. Protected. no better than the ones they condemn. Obscuran? Obscuran doesn’t do trials. Obscuran doesn’t do mercy. Here, justice is personal. Rapists don’t get prison cells; they get hunted. Their flesh is dragged through the streets, their bones shattered beneath the weight of vengeance. No forgiveness. No second chances. If you take from someone, you pay in blood. For centuries, these two cities have been at war, with Luminara refusing to associate with the “unhinged filth” of Obscuran, while Obscurans see Luminara as smug, detached cowards, hiding behind laws they don’t even follow. Neither will admit the truth they are both pawns in something far greater. Everyone is in for a shocking reality when they find, the real war hasn’t even begun. Something far worse than either city lurks in the shadows. The Tenebrae. Creatures seemingly more than men. More than monsters. The manifestation of a deep, ancient corruption, a divine evil born from the war that shattered this world centuries ago. And now? They are rising. Luminarans are disappearing. Obscurans are vanishing. Each side blames the other while neither knows the chilling truth, their hatred only growing and fueling the divide. The elites of Luminara know more than they claim. Holding innocent Obscurans in prisons, executing them under false charges, burying the truth with every public spectacle. Meanwhile, the people of Obscuran; painted as savages, are the ones who actually live by an unshakable code: do no harm unless it is deserved.
But just like our world this world only believes what it is told. Until now…Through pain, suffering, love, betrayal, revenge, and redemption, a movement begins to rise. A small group called ARGD. Inspired by Shadow. The first to defy both cities. The first to carve his own justice from the flesh of the wicked. The one who proved that the only way forward is through. And the rest? Well… you’ll have to find out for yourself.
Legacy of the Phantom:
"Vengeance of Shadows"
Long before he was known as 'The Phantom', he was just 'Shadow', an apt moniker that signified his dual allegiance to both Luminara and Obscuran. Raised amongst the Tenebrae, yet with Luminara blood coursing through his veins, Shadow's life was always a tug of war between the radiant hope of Luminara and the engulfing darkness of Obscuran. As a child, he witnessed the ferocious battle between Luminara and Obscuran, a traumatic event that saw his parents perish, leaving him to be swallowed by the rift. In this void, the Tenebrae found and raised him, molding him into a formidable weapon, infusing him with a dark power that few can match.
Though the Tenebrae raised him with cold precision, they could never extinguish the memories that occasionally surfaced from the depths of his consciousness. He would dream of a warm embrace, a tender voice, a mother's love; only to awaken to the chilling reality of his life with the Tenebrae. But one day, a revelation shook him to the core: he discovered that it was the Tenebrae, the very ones who took him in, who had orchestrated the death of his beloved mother during the cataclysmic battle between Luminara and Obscuran. Consumed by a mix of rage and sorrow, Shadow plotted his escape. His chance came during a covert mission into Luminara territory. There, he was captured by Luminar's elite warriors. Rather than imprison him, the Luminar elders, sensing the immense power within him and the potential for redemption, offered him a choice: stay and train with their best, fusing the dark power of the Tenebrae with Luminara's radiant energy, or return to the shadows from whence he came.
He chose to stay and after years of meticulous training guided by Luminar's elite, shadow combined his dark upbringing with the radiant arts of Luminara, creating a unique fusion of abilities, making him an unparalleled force. feeling the weight of both worlds within him. The memories of his mother, the revelation of her tragic fate, and the purpose he had found with the Luminar elites fueled an indomitable fire inside him. It was time to face his past and confront the shadows. His initial return to Obscuran was not fueled by thoughts of destruction but a desperate need for answers, a confrontation with the ghosts of his past. Greeted by the Tenebrae's mocking, condescending welcome, Shadow was momentarily caught off-guard, pulled once again into the twisted dynamics of this dark place. Yet, it was not their jeers or the memories that shifted something inside him. It was the sights that met his eyes next.
He witnessed the Tenebrae indulging in unspeakable acts, laughing as they tormented Luminar women, and treating captives as mere playthings. The weight of his own history, coupled with the abhorrent scene before him, triggered an unparalleled rage. Blinded by fury and tapping into the depths of his dark power, Shadow unleashed a massacre. One by one, every tormentor fell before him. The air became thick with their screams and the ground soaked with their blood. His powers spiraled, nearly consuming him, until over 150 warriors and guards lay defeated by his might. When the haze of his rage lifted, dawn was breaking. The sight that met him was not the burning ruins of the stronghold, but a landscape of ash. The very ground seemed to have swallowed the remnants of that night, leaving Shadow emerging from the desolation, a lone figure surrounded by the remnants of his fury.
From that day, whispers began. Whispers of a force, a Phantom, born from the ashes of vengeance
His journey became emblematic of the balance between light and dark, good and evil, past and future. And the 'Vengeance of Shadows' collection draws inspiration from this tale, from the transformative power of one's past and the relentless drive towards justice. Each piece from the collection embodies a chapter from his life, a lesson in resilience, and a reminder that even in the most overwhelming darkness, a flicker of light can ignite an unstoppable blaze.
"The Phoenix Flower "
In the ever-shifting tapestry of life, moments of profound joy and deep sorrow weave together in an intricate dance. As one person revels in the best day of their life, another faces a darkness that will forever alter their existence. It is within this paradoxical world that the story of Elara unfolds—a tale marked by both cruelty and hope. This is the story of a girl whom fate cruelly delivered into the clutches of the Tenebrae. Ensnared and tormented, she was compelled into a life of servitude and submission, her spirit shackled as tightly as her body.
Amidst the chaos of Shadow's vengeful massacre, Elara found an unexpected liberation. In the turmoil, she caught a fleeting glimpse of the enigmatic figure before the falling debris of the crumbling fortress claimed her consciousness. When she awoke, the world around her was transformed - an ash-covered expanse stretched before her, a stark contrast to the brick cellar that had been her prison. There, in the thick of desolation, lay a miraculous sight - a patch of earth, untouched by the surrounding ash, cradling the sproutling of the Phoenix Flower. A legendary bloom, said to sprout only in the aftermath of forest fires or the complete destruction of a kingdom at war, a symbol of rebirth amidst ruins, growing only once every century. Elara, who had only heard faint whispers of its legend, found herself mesmerized by its presence. Before her very eyes, she witnessed the slow unfolding of the first color - a deep, bloodshed red. These initial petals, however, soon fell away, symbolizing a rebirth. In their place emerged a fuller, more vibrant petal - a soft pink bloom signifying the dawn of a new beginning.
Tempted to take the flower and return to her home, she hesitated, choosing instead to witness its full bloom. As the flower transitioned from red to pink, Elara's resolve strengthened. She returned to her family, bearing the scars of her ordeal, only to be met with disbelief and rejection. Her mother's words, cruel and dismissive, cut deeper than any physical wound. With a heavy heart, Elara retreated to the fields where the Phoenix Flower continued its transformation. As it shifted from pink to purple and then to blue, so too did Elara's life take on new hues. She realized that her true rebirth wasn't tied to her past or the acceptance of others but to her own inner strength and the promise of new beginnings.
"The Phoenix Flower" collection infused with the colors of the flower, serves as a reminder that even in the aftermath of devastation, there is hope for renewal. Wearing these garments is not just a fashion statement but an embrace of one's own story of rebirth, resilience, and the undying spirit within. In this tale, Elara, once a victim of her circumstances, emerges as a symbol of hope and renewal, as she weaves her new life in the tapestry of Dualis, she becomes a testament to the enduring power of the human spirit to overcome, to heal, and to flourish anew.
"Elara's Exodus"
We now find Elara at a pivotal moment in her journey. She has been freed from the shackles of her tormentors and witnessed the miraculous bloom of the Phoenix Flower, both powerful symbols of her own rebirth and transformation. However, as she turns toward her uncertain future, new challenges await her in the world of Dualis. The sky above was a delicate shade of early dawn, a soft blue entangled with the warmth of the rising sun. The air still smelled faintly of ash, a lingering reminder of the destruction left in the wake of Shadow's vengeance. Elara stood there; the weight of her journey pressed against her chest. She had escaped the prison of the Tenebrae stronghold, free from the physical chains that had bound her, but not without scars, both seen and unseen. The memories of her tormentors lingered, and she knew that freedom was only the beginning. Reclaiming herself would be far harder, and the Tenebrae... they would not remain silent.
Elara began to gather resources for the perhaps dangerous journey that follows. During this time, other freed captives began to take notice and converge behind her. They had all escaped the fortress, their faces worn but resolute. With each of them carrying a different burden, some bore the marks of the Tenebrae’s cruelty on their bodies; others wore the weight of grief in their eyes. They chose to follow Elara into the wilderness, clinging onto the courage she radiated to keep fighting in the face of uncertainty. No one knew where they were headed, but all were united in the shared comfort of a new beginning. Among them was Jarin, a quiet man whose silence hid a deep well of rage; Rhea, whose once-lively spirit had been hollowed by her time in captivity; and Aric, a boy no older than twelve, who had seen horrors that should have never crossed a child’s path. As they began to walk, a sense of quiet understanding passed between them. They had all survived the nightmare of the Tenebrae, but they knew this was not the end. The Phoenix Flower’s bloom had been a moment of beauty in a world marred by cruelty, but it was fleeting. The Tenebrae would not just forget the massacre that had occurred in their stronghold.
Jarin’s voice broke the silence, gravelly and uncertain. “Where do we go now?” Elara turned, meeting his gaze, and saw in his eyes the same doubt that churned within her. The others looked to her as well, their expressions mirroring his question. She had no clear answer, but she knew that standing still would lead them back into the hands of their enemies. “We go forward,” she said, her voice steady but quiet. “The Tenebrae won’t stop until they’ve hunted down every single one of us. We can’t hide from them forever, but if we can escape Obscuran through the rift, we will have the best chances of making our way to Luminara.” Her words, though filled with resolve, were met with hesitation. Fear was a constant companion to them now. They had lived through too much to believe in hope easily and have only heard stories of Luminara with tales of millions being swallowed, killed by the very rift she speaks of crossing. But she could see the flicker of understanding in their eyes; the small, fragile seed of belief. They would follow her, not because she had all the answers, but because they knew she was the only one with an actual plan. Elara could feel the weight of their eyes on her. They had begun to look to her not as just another freed captive but as a leader, someone who had the strength to guide them through this broken world. Yet that very thought terrified her. She had never asked for this role and had never seen herself as anything more than a survivor. But they saw more in her, perhaps more than she saw in herself.
As they journeyed, memories of the stronghold and the mysterious cloaked figure haunted Elara. The ash that still clung to her clothes was a grim reminder of the massacre she had briefly witnessed; this Shadow, had embodied the vengeance they had all silently craved in their darkest moments. He had obliterated their tormentors with a fury that seemed almost divine, his actions resonating deep within her. Yet, with each step forward, Elara wrestled with conflicting emotions; the screams of the Tenebrae warriors, the relentless brutality of Shadow’s justice, and the overwhelming power that seemed to consume the very air around her. She had seen him, a figure cloaked not just in physical shadows but in the darkness of retribution, moving with the force of an unstoppable storm. This time, however, the destruction was not aimed at the innocent but at those who had brought unimaginable suffering. Silently, deep within her soul, Elara found herself thanking Shadow. It was a terrifying realization, but for the first time, she understood that darkness, this kind of destruction, could indeed be righteous; it could be justice.
In the shadows of our toughest trials lies a potent energy, waiting to be harnessed and transformed into a powerful force for change. The “Elara’s Exodus” collection is designed for those who forge ahead with heart and resolve, embodying their own narratives of steadfast determination and enduring bravery—a homage to the undying spirit of leadership and the relentless will to advance against all odds. These garments, imbued with the soft blues, hopeful pinks, and royal purples of the dawn, symbolize the strength required to persist in the face of relentless adversity. Crafted from fabrics that are both durable and comforting, the collection is meant for those who not only advocate for themselves but also illuminate paths for others, transforming the dark challenges they’ve endured into a dynamic force for justice and progression.
"Dead Of Winter"
Walking on the edge of the tree line, I could feel parts of my face blistering from the cold. My breath came out in short, shallow puffs, fogging in the freezing air. In certain parts of Dualis, two seasons could exist at once, side by side, as if the world itself couldn't decide which reality to embrace. Behind me, the thick air of the jungle clung to my skin, damp and heavy. But just ahead, lies a frozen wasteland that seemingly stretched endlessly. There was no slow transition, no blending of climates; just a clear, unforgiving divide between life and lifelessness. And we had no choice but to step forward. I pressed my palm to the frostbitten side of my face and squinted into the distance. The snow was undisturbed except for a set of footprints, half-buried by the wind. Someone had been here before. Maybe that meant safe passage. Maybe it meant a corpse somewhere up ahead. Either way, stopping wasn’t an option. Elara and the group had been traveling for days with little food. The winter stretch before them didn’t look rewarding, but they had to keep moving. Each step into the frozen wasteland was a battle. The wind cut through their clothes like blades, the cold seeping into their bones, their bodies aching with exhaustion. They followed the tracks ahead, trudging forward for what felt like an eternity. Miles of nothing. Just endless white swallowing the sky, the earth, and everything in between.
Then, the tracks stopped. “Did he die?” Jarin asked, his voice rough from the dry cold. No body. No sign of struggle. Just an abrupt end. “Did he turn back?” Jarin continued, scanning the snow. “Retrace his steps?” No one had an answer, but this meant they had to find their own way. They pressed on. Hours passed, maybe more. The wind howled through the open land, carrying whispers of something unseen. The silence was suffocating, unnatural. Suddenly we caught a glimpse of something in the distance. The Tenebrae usually stayed away from the cold, so we assumed it had to be help or maybe food. The realization hit the group at once. They barely had enough strength to keep walking, but the sight of fresh food sent a surge of adrenaline through their bodies. Meat! Their first meal in days. It didn’t matter what it was; whatever stood in the distance, it would be their salvation. As they got closer, the figure became bigger and bigger. At first, it looked like a boulder, unmoving in the snow. Then it lifted its head. Elara squints, what on the menu today she thinks? And suddenly, we weren’t starving anymore. We were fucking prey. “Snowbear,” Elara murmurs. It didn’t roar. It didn’t snarl. It just… ran. A silent death machine, gliding over the ice with the ease of something that had hunted for centuries. And today, it was hunting us. The ground shook beneath them, snow exploding into the air with every monstrous step. Their legs burned, their breath came in short, desperate gasps. The snow was thick, pulling at their feet, slowing them down. But nothing outran a snowbeast. It was closing in fast, moving with the kind of terrifying speed that made death feel inevitable.
Elara looked back. Someone was going to die. The bear wasn’t just chasing them; it was choosing. The kid. Snowbeast would always take the weakest first. The easiest prey. Elara knew it. She made a choice. Without hesitation, she clenched her fist and punched herself in the mouth. Hard. Her lip split open instantly. Blood dripped onto the ice. We need to split up on three!” she shouted. “It’ll come for me, Im bleeding!” One. Two. Three. The group scattered. But the bear ignored the blood. It didn’t stop. It was locked on the girl. “Noooo,” Elara ran harder, lungs burning, but she wasn’t fast enough. She wasn’t going to make it. Suddenly, BOOM! Blood brains and bones, the snow bears skull explodes, meat chunks and blood splattered across the ice. Abrupt silence fell upon us, what just happened? A low, ominous creaking sound comes from beneath them. Then one by one, they rose from the ice, bodies wrapped in thick, tattered furs, eyes blackened with war paint. They did not speak. They did not move. They simply aimed. Snowdevils. We stood frozen. No one dared move.
A man stepped forward, silent. He crouched by the beast’s body, pulled out a blade, and drove it deep into its flesh. He worked methodically, too fast for a casual kill, too slow for a ritual. He cut a chunk of raw meat, seared it with a lightning torch, and bit into it. Chewed. Swallowed. The others followed his lead, ripping into the bear like animals. Tearing. Devouring. No words had been spoken, but something in the air told me leaving wasn’t an option. The weight of the silence pressed against my chest like a slow, suffocating grip. Though Jarin had been too quiet for too long, he hated the silence, waiting for his fate to be determined by these savages. His jaw clenched, fists curled so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He was done waiting. Done being silent. Done feeling weak. Something in him shifted. He stood and said. “We’re leaving.” As he began to walk away, Elara reached for him. “Don’t.” He yanked his arm away. “Jarin, stoo…” A sharp crack. CHOWW!! Jarin doesn’t even scream. He just drops. One second, he’s there. The next, his blood is splattered against my face, steaming in the cold. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. They shot him. They shot him like an animal. No warning. No hesitation. The sound of his body hitting the ground echoed louder than the gunshot. I wanted to scream, to reach for him, to do something; but my body wouldn’t listen. I wanted to turn around, but my body refused to move. I was frozen, not from the cold, but from the sheer horror of what had just happened. A hand touched my back. I flinched, ready to fight, but it was just Aric. His face was pale, his breath shallow. He had seen it too. Jarin’s body lay crumpled in the snow, lifeless. The man who pulled the trigger hadn’t even looked at him. Hadn’t hesitated. Hadn’t flinched. It was as if he had stepped on an insect; something meaningless, something in his way.
Then, as if nothing had happened, the man extended his hand. Something dark rested in his palm. Not bear meat. But food. One by one, he handed out pieces. We were starving. Despite everything, our bodies ached for sustenance. With trembling hands, we took it. Chewed. Swallowed. It didn’t matter what it was. Hunger had no morals. The man gave a short nod, then turned his back to us, resuming his meal as if Jarin’s blood wasn’t still cooling in the snow beside him. Were we prisoners? Again? Maybe not. But if we weren’t, then why kill Jarin? Why feed us? What was this? The question barely had time to form before their savage hands grabbed Aric. He barely had a second to react before he was yanked backward, his body dragged across the ice. He screamed. Scratched. Kicked. I lunged forward and shout. "Where are you taking him?! What are you doing?!" My voice cracked, desperation cutting through the frozen air. No answer. I reached into my bag, my fingers finding the jagged rocks I had collected on our journey. Without thinking, I hurled one as hard as I could, striking one of them across the temple. He staggered, gripping his head in pain, but before I could take another step Crack!!
A sharp pain exploded in the back of my skull. The world tilted. The sky blurred into the snow. And then; nothing.
Darkness swam in and out of my vision. Distantly, I could hear Aric’s muffled cries. “No, please! Help!” His voice was weak, desperate. Then came a sound; low, sharp, and final. A swooshing noise, like something slicing through the air. My stomach twisted. I was being dragged. No, no, no, not again. I tried to fight, but my limbs were dead, useless. My fingers twitched, but my body refused to listen. Realization set in. It was the food. They drugged us. I was awake, I was aware, but I was trapped inside myself, a prisoner in my own skin. Tears welled in my eyes, rolling down my frozen cheeks as I understood what was coming. We stopped. Three men loomed over me. Their breath was heavy, reeking of old blood and something fouler. Hands grabbed at my shirt, tearing fabric, exposing skin to the cruel winter air. The man above me leaned in closer, and for the first time, I saw something flicker across his face. Amusement. A sick, twisted satisfaction curling his lips. But then; something changed. His expression shifted. His brow furrowed. His breath gasped. And then, I saw it; pure, unfiltered fear. "Aaahhhhhh, SHIING!" His scream was cut short. A metal spear tore through his skull, ripping through his entire face. The sheer force of it sent his body flying backward, dragging his twitching corpse with it, like a puppet yanked offstage. Even though this was justice. The sound of bone and flesh being split apart; made my skin crawl. Roars erupted. The men around me scrambled, weapons drawn, but it was already too late.
Splatters. Slashes. Spines snapping like dry branches. I couldn't lift my head, but I could hear everything. The frantic gasps, the gurgling of men choking on their own blood, the sharp crack of ribs shattering under brute force. My body was still, but I felt it; hot blood splattering against my skin, heavy, lifeless limbs crashing down beside me. A body landed next to me with a sickening thud, lifeless eyes staring into nothing. His throat ripped open. His chest hollowed out. I heard crawling. The man who shot Jarin. He wasn’t dead. Not yet. I could hear him gasping, his breath wet and ragged, as he dragged himself through the blood-soaked snow. His legs were twisted, shattered beyond repair. He was trying to escape, but there was nowhere left to run. Slow footsteps followed him. Deliberate. Unhurried. Merciless. I could hear him pleading, voice trembling, his last moments spent begging for a mercy he never gave. CRACK! The sound of his skull being crushed beneath a heavy boot was deafening. Silence. A silence so profound, it felt like the world itself had stopped breathing. Where was Rhea? Where was Aric? My vision blurred, black spots began overtaking the edges. But then I heard footsteps. I forced my eyes open, using what little strength I had left. A shadow loomed over me, blocking out the pale winter sky. I felt my body being lifted; effortless, weightless in his grip. The last thing I saw before the darkness took me was his face. Shadow.