The nobles set out for the Soulweaver trials a month later in their luxurious but slower carriages. Uncle Chen, Silas, Rowan, and Kael mounted their warhorses and pursued them, fueled by a darker purpose. They caught up with the noble procession near Bitter Creek, a desolate stretch of land that mirrored the grim intent in Silas’s heart.
Silas drew upon the earth’s energy with a sharp command, summoning a massive boulder with Dust’s help. With a violent surge of wind, Breeze hurled the boulder forward, crashing it down in front of the carriages. The sheer force sent the carriages flying, wooden wheels splintering, and bodies hurtling through the air. Screams filled the air as the nobles, bloodied and stunned, crawled from the wreckage.
“Don’t die too soon now,” Silas muttered, a cold glint in his eye. “Let’s have some more fun before I send you on your way.”
He dismounted his horse with deliberate grace, his eyes blazing with rage. Dazed and terrified, the nobles looked up at him, their arrogance shattered.
“You think yourselves untouchable,” he growled. “You think your titles and wealth protect you? Today, you’ll learn the truth—none of that matters in the face of real power.”
With a commanding gesture, he called upon Dust to raise the earth again. The ground trembled and responded with precise violence—spikes of stone shot up from beneath the nobles, not to kill but to maim.
The spikes pierced through their legs, lifting them from the ground and pinning them in place. The nobles screamed in agony, their regal demeanour shattered by the sheer terror and pain. Blood poured from their wounds, staining the earth red as they writhed, trying in vain to free themselves. Silas approached them slowly, his face a mask of cold, unrelenting fury.
The nobles’ guards wanted to help, but Silas raised his hand without warning, and the earth responded to his will. Jagged shards of rock burst from the ground, impaling those who were too slow to react. Blood sprayed across the broken carriages, painting the scene in a gruesome tableau of violence. Silas moved ruthlessly, his power ripping through the air as he tore through the guards.
As Silas raised his hand to summon more of the earth’s power, two of the nobles’ guards stepped forward, their presence immediately commanding attention. They were Soulweavers, their connection to the spiritual realm evident in the shimmering auras surrounding them.
One of the Soulweavers, a man with a lean, predatory build, called forth three Minor Soulbound spirits. The spirits hovered around him, their ethereal forms crackling with energy. He was likely an experienced Tier 1 Soulweaver.
The other Soulweaver, an older, more seasoned figure with a stern, calculating gaze, was accompanied by a greater soulbound spirit. This towering, shadowy figure radiated an aura of immense power. Alongside this greater spirit were three minor spirits, each a dark mirror of those summoned by his comrade. With a greater Soulbound Spirit, he was a Tier 2 Soulweaver, at the very least.
Without a word, the seasoned Soulweaver began weaving, his Greater Spirit amplifying his abilities. He reached out to the minds of the guards and other nobles with Empathic Manipulation, a technique that could turn the tide of any battle. Silas felt the shift in the air as the guards, previously disoriented and terrified, suddenly straightened, their fear replaced by a grim determination. They formed a human wall before the nobles, their eyes vacant yet resolute.
Silas snarled, “Dammit he’s taken over their souls,” realising what had happened. The seasoned Soulweaver had induced an unnatural calm in his allies, suppressing their fear and despair. The guards, under the influence of Empathic Manipulation, moved with eerie precision, their minds clouded by the Soulweaver’s manipulation.
The other Soulweaver, meanwhile, was not idle. He infused his blade with the essence of his spirits, using Spirit Infusion to enhance his attacks. As he moved forward, his strikes began to carry an ethereal effect, each swing of his blade creating minor illusions that distorted Silas’s perception. One moment, the Soulweaver was in front of him; the next, he was behind, a phantom image fading into nothingness.
Kael and Uncle Chen recognised the danger immediately. Both were Tier 2 Soulweavers, their abilities far more potent than their adversaries. Kael focused on the one manipulating emotions. “I’ll handle the older one,” he said, his longsword flashing as he struck out with calculated precision. As he moved, he called forth his Greater Soulbound Spirit, a hulking figure wreathed in spectral flame. The spirit’s presence bolstered Kael’s power, and with a flick of his wrist, Kael unleashed Soul Shackles.
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The older Soulweaver, who seemed fatigued from using a large-scale ability, couldn’t react in time. The spectral chains, imbued with the essence of Kael’s greater spirit, shot forward, wrapping around the seasoned Soulweaver. The chains constricted, tightening with every breath the man took, restricting his movement and severing his connection to the guards. The unnatural calm overtaking them began to wane, their fear returning in waves.
On the other hand, Uncle Chen moved with deadly efficiency, targeting the leaner Soulweaver. His Greater Soulbound Spirit seemed to be flickering in and out of existence. His twin daggers glinted with a sinister light as he activated Soul Infusion, imbuing his blades with the essence of his own four minor spirits. Each slash of his dagger disrupted the illusions around him, cutting through the phantom images and forcing the Soulweaver to retreat.
But Uncle Chen was relentless. He called upon Minor Soul Disruption, causing a wave of disorientation to ripple through his opponent’s soul. The lean Soulweaver faltered, his movements sluggish as his spirit writhed under the assault. Uncle Chen pressed the advantage, his daggers slicing through flesh and spirit alike. Blood sprayed across the battlefield as he drove his weapons deeper, his strikes quick and unyielding. In a quick succession of attacks, he punctured one of the man’s legs, rendering it incapable of moving freely.
Silas stood at the forefront, his heart pounding in his chest “No turning back now,” he murmured. The effects of the Empathic Manipulation were fading, leaving the guards disoriented and vulnerable. He took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly as he nocked one of the five arrows he had crafted. The weight of this moment was heavy upon him, but he knew he had no choice.
Silas released the arrow with a steady aim, its fiery tip illuminating the surroundings. The power of the arrows was undeniable. The explosions sent guards flying, their bodies twisting and contorting unnaturally. Several fell to the ground, charred and broken, their screams echoing through the chaos. The air was thick with the stench of smoke and burning flesh.
The remaining guards, some half of their bodies scorched, were paralysed by fear, their eyes wide with terror. They knew that they were no match for this power. One of the guards shouted, “Run!” but it was too late. The remaining arrows were shot down quickly, resulting in the guards being nearly wiped out. The survivors limped away, their bodies scarred and their minds broken.
Silas, didn't yet know, that the moment he straightened his resolve, and released the arrow, the sliver of a soul shrouded in nefariousness and madness erupted inside his heart. It might be small and insignificant now, but it was the start of a cruel and unfortunate scheme.
Meanwhile, Kael’s battle reached its climax. He advanced with the seasoned Soulweaver bound by Soul Shackles, his longsword carving through the man’s defences. The Greater Spirit accompanying him amplified his power, each blade strike resonating with soul-shattering force. The Soulweaver, struggling against the chains that bound him, was powerless to stop the onslaught.
Kael’s final blow pierced the man’s ethereal barrier, his blade cutting deep into the Soulweaver’s chest.
The seasoned Soulweaver's eyes widened in shock as Kael's blade pierced his chest. His barrier and Soulbound Spirits dissipated in a flurry of ethereal energy, their power fading into nothingness.
Kael didn’t pause. He turned to assist Uncle Chen, his Greater Spirit roaring as it joined the fray. Together, they overwhelmed the remaining Soulweaver. Kael used Soul Shackles once more, binding the man’s soul and immobilising him. Uncle Chen moved in for the kill, his daggers finding their mark with lethal precision. The Soulweaver’s eyes widened in shock as Uncle Chen’s blades sunk into his neck; he tried to claw at Uncle Chen’s face while trying to speak, but only gurgling blood came out of his mouth. Eventually, The spirits around him dissipated in a wail of ethereal energy.
As both Soulweavers fell, their influence over the battlefield crumbled. The disoriented and leaderless guards were easy prey for Silas and the others.
As the last of the guards fell, Silas turned his attention to the seven remaining nobles, each of them impaled and pinned to the ground by jagged spikes of stone. Their faces were twisted in agony, their once-untouchable arrogance shattered into fear. The earth beneath them was stained crimson.
The air was thick with the stench of burning flesh and the coppery scent of blood, a testament to the carnage they had unleashed. The scene was a massacre, with the earth seeming to rebel against the nobles’ procession. Blood pooled around the shattered remains of their guards, the cries of the dying mingling with the crackle of the group’s relentless power. Silas, his eyes blazing with cold fury, advanced on them, Ebonheart dripping with the blood of their fallen guards.
One noble, trembling and bleeding, begged for mercy as tears ran down his face. “Please... Please have mercy... this should be enough... I didn’t even want to hurt your friend, I... I...”
But Silas’s eyes held no pity. With a flick of his wrist, the noble’s body was crushed under the weight of another boulder, bones snapping like dry twigs, with a sickening crunch.
Despite the visceral reaction churning in his gut, Silas remained impassive. His hand, trembling slightly, steadied as he realised this would be his last act of weakness. If protecting someone he cared about required him to soil his hands with blood, then hesitation was a luxury he could no longer afford.
“Now,” Silas began, his voice low and deadly, “what I want to know is simple. Why did you attack Rowan? Anyone who answers first gets a quick death.”
The nobles, once so proud and untouchable, now faced the reality of their situation. Bloodied and broken, they trembled before Silas, knowing that their fate was sealed.