Tyrannical and cunning, Hammerstone is a tireless undead who finds his pride in tormenting mortals, slowly crushing them with his own ingenious heart-piercing pain.

Those who are persecuted by him need to suffer far more than death, for the hammerstone will cause their souls to suffer excruciatingly, imprisoning their souls in their own lanterns and subjecting them to eternal torment.

In a time long forgotten by history, Hammerstone's predecessor was a member of a Order dedicated to collecting and preserving all the knowledge of the world.

The leader of the Order appointed him to guard a secret underground warehouse full of dangerous and depraved magical objects. At that time, the hammerstone was strong-willed and handy, and it was very suitable for this task.

The Hammerstone Warden's secret warehouse is located in the underground center of an archipelago, and is surrounded by runic sigils, arcane chains, and powerful magical sentry posts. After staying in this environment of black magic for a long time, black magic will evoke the dark side of people's hearts, and hammerstone will gradually begin to be affected.

For years, the magical relics fed on Hammerstone's inner restlessness and played with his deepest fears, allowing his resentment and resentment to grow.

Hammerstone's inner malice is initially manifested in his brutal provocations, while at the same time, his talent for finding flaws and weaknesses is brought into play and grows.

He had torn off pages and pages of a living magic book, torn them all out and glued them back together. He had scratched a mirror that had sealed the memories of an ancient mage until it was blurred, trapping the mage in darkness, and then polishing the mirror and starting over.

These magical objects are like secrets that are expected to be passed down by word of mouth, or like magical spells that are expected to be cast, yet Hammerstone denies their expectations every day.

He would suddenly recite a spell summoning the demon to incarnate into the world, provocatively reciting the last syllable, and then abruptly stop. He began to become adept at disguise, hiding all his cruel side, and everyone in the Order believed that he was still a dutiful guard.

There are more and more collections in the vault, and no one can treasure the contents like Hammerstone, and some unimportant magical objects are gradually forgotten by the entire Order, and even the existence of Hammerstone himself has begun to be forgotten.

He hated it all, he hated that he had to hide his carefully crafted craft. Everything he guards is evil or corrupt, why can't he do whatever he wants with them?

The vault contained many strange magical objects, but there was never a living person in the vault, until one day, a man chained down the catacomb.

He is a warlock who fuses native magical energy with his own flesh and blood, and this fusion gives him a powerful ability to heal himself, no matter how serious his injuries.

Hammerstone was very pleased with the new prisoner, finally having something that could feel the pain of normal humans in its entirety, while still not being damaged, and it was his favorite sadistic plaything for years to come.

He began to peel off the sorcerer's skin with delicate techniques, peeling the skin from the muscles with an iron hook, and then whipping the exposed wound with a chain until the wound healed on its own. He had become accustomed to dragging chains as he patrolled the vault, and the fear of the sorcerers at the sound of the chains approaching the floor made Hammerstone ecstatic.

Since there was no shortage of torturers in the vault, Hammerstone became increasingly alienated from the Order on the ground. He began to eat alone in the basement, accompanied only by a lantern, and almost never set foot outside of the catacombs.

As a result of the lack of sunlight all day long, his skin began to turn pale and his face began to become skinny. The members of the Order also began to distance themselves from him, so when a series of mysterious disappearances began within the Order, no one thought to investigate Hammerstone's lair.

When the catastrophe known as the Curse of Ruin strikes, a magical shockwave robs all the people who live on the island, turning them into immortality. Everyone else was wailing in pain, but Hammerstone celebrated in the ruins.

The cataclysm made him an undead abomination, but unlike the other ghosts who fell into the Shadow World, Hammerstone did not forget who he was.

On the contrary, his appetite for brutal torture and his ability to discern weaknesses became stronger. He was glad to have had the opportunity to break free from the confines of mortals, allowing him to continue his cruel habits without fear of reprisals.

As a wraith, the hammerstone can endlessly torment the living and the dead, rejoicing in their despair before taking their souls away from them for eternity.

Now Hammerstone is looking for special targets of abuse: the smartest, most tenacious, indomitable people. His pleasure lies in torturing his abusive partner to the point of losing all hope, and finally meeting the chains and hooks in his hands.

The terrifying sound of chains cutting across the ground echoed through the wilderness. In the wild, an unnaturally formed fog obscured the light of the moon and stars, and the insects that normally chirped were now eerily quiet.

Hammerstone came to a dilapidated shack. He held up the lantern, not to illuminate the surroundings, but to see inside the lantern. The inside of the lantern is like a twinkling starry sky, with thousands of small green balls flickering.

They flew wildly, as if trying to avoid Hammerstone's gaze. A strange smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, revealing glittering fangs.

Every starlight is his treasure. Behind the door of the shack, a man was sobbing. Hammerstone sensed his pain and was drawn to it.

He understood the man's pain, just like his old friend. Hammerstone had only appeared in front of this man once, decades ago, but ever since, the ghost has continued to rob the man of his loved ones:

From his beloved horse, to his mother, to his brother, all the way to the most recent servant who made him feel reliant. The ghost never disguised their death as a natural death;

He wanted the man to know who was causing him pain. The ghost walked through the door of the shack, chains dragging behind him. The inside of the shack was dark and damp, with dirt that had accumulated for years.

The man looked worse than the shack: he was unkempt, covered in pus, and vicious, some of them had just been scratched.

The clothes he wore were originally precious velvet, but now all that remained were tattered rags. The man saw the sudden green fluorescence and shrunk into a ball in horror, covering his eyes with his hands.

His body shook violently and retreated into the corner. "Please. Please, it's not you. He whispered.

"A long time ago, I identified you." Hammerstone's voice was sharp and piercing, like a voice that hadn't spoken a word in years.

"Now I'm here to collect my soul" "I'm going to die." The man said, his voice so low that it was barely audible.

"If you're here to kill me, you'd better hurry." He plucked up the courage to look directly at the hammerstone.

Hammerstone grinned. "I don't want your death." He opened the glass door of the lantern slightly, and a strange sound of dissonance of screams came from within.

The man didn't react at first. There were too many screams at the same time, mixed together as harshly as the sound of crushing glass slag.

But then his eyes widened in horror as he heard a voice he knew coming from the lantern of the hammerstone. He heard his mother, his brother, his friends, and finally he heard the most terrible voices.

His children seemed to be wailing as they were burned alive. "What have you done," he screamed.

He haphazardly picked up something from his hand, a broken stool, and threw it at the hammerstone with all his strength. The stool didn't hit anything, it passed through the ghost's body, and Hammerstone began to laugh eerily.

The man ran towards Hammerstone, his eyes filled with rage. The ghost threw off its chains, and the hook flew out like a viper. The barbed hook pierced the mortal's chest, shattering the ribs and piercing the heart.

The man fell to his knees, the pained expression on his face that made Hammerstone feel incomparably delicious. "I left them to protect them." The man cried. Blood poured out of his mouth. The hammerstone twists the chain with force. At first, the man didn't move.

Then he began to be torn apart. Like a coarse cloth being pulled out of his body in rows, he suffered from severe pain, and little by little he was pulled out of his body. His body was twitching violently, blood splattering all over the walls.

"Now, here we go." Hammerstone said. He dragged the hooked soul, which shimmered brightly at the other end of the chain, and was imprisoned in the lantern. The man's body collapsed to the ground, and Hammerstone left.

Hammerstone left the shack with the curling and churning black mist, holding its lantern high along the way. It wasn't until the hammerstone had disappeared and the fog had cleared that the insects resumed their night singing and the stars filled the night sky again.