The entity behind the altar stirred, rising slowly with an aura that pulsed and rippled through the room like an impending storm. It was more shadow than flesh, yet a flicker of humanity twisted within its grotesque, demonic visage, as if some tortured remnant clung stubbornly to its form.
Jaeden felt a chill crawl down his spine as he took in the sight - this was no mere cultist, no ordinary dark priest. The figure was a hybrid, a vessel twisted by infernal power, neither fully demon nor human, yet exuding the malevolent energy of both. It exuded something he could only describe as pure pandemonium.
Jaeden’s instincts screamed at him to run, but he was rooted to the spot. He had faced horrors before - cultists, dark acolytes, even undead abominations – but that was a game, and this was real. Unbelievable, but real nonetheless.
The figure seemed to hover in place, its face flickering between human and infernal, an unholy puppet inhabited by a greater darkness. Shadow and flame wreathed its form, twisting around it in a nightmarish halo that filled the room with an oppressive, suffocating heat.
As he forced himself to study the figure, Jaeden’s mind raced, trying to make sense of the twisted ritual he’d interrupted. The cultists surrounding the altar were slumped, their eyes vacant, their life force siphoned away. He could see the faint, dying flickers of their energy drifting toward the entity at the altar, as though feeding it, sustaining it. Whatever this creature was, it was no longer bound to the laws of the mortal realm - it had slipped beyond, only tethered to the world by some dark, forbidden magic.
A voice from his past echoed in his mind - an old mentor’s warning: When facing something beyond understanding, look past the obvious. Seek the source, not the shadow.
The creature’s head turned, and though its eyes were pits of darkness, and he knew it couldn’t see him, just its presence alone pierced him, pinning him in place. He had thought the indomitable weight of the Kirin entity -Echo, was oppressive, but this was on an entirely different level.
A primal terror washed over him, crushing down on him like a metaphysical vice. He tried to move, to lift his sword, but his body refused to respond. His mind was locked in a loop, repeating one thought - move, damn it, move - as though the sheer force of his will could break him free.
Then he saw the young woman on the altar. She lay bound by thick iron chains, her skin pale and her breaths shallow. Her eyes were wide with horror, flickering between awareness and an eerie trance. The creature raised a black dagger, its wavy, obsidian blade alight with an unnatural, dark flame, and Jaeden’s heart clenched. He knew what would happen next.
Move! His mind screamed again, louder, more desperate. The terror seemed to tighten its grip, reaching inside him, anchoring him to the spot. But then, something in him snapped - a primal, raw surge of survival that shattered the terror’s hold. Dark Aether Ward pulsed and with it, his vision cleared, his senses sharpened, and he felt his own will settle over him, solid and unyielding. He was Jaeden Darkmor, bearer of the Orichalcum Sword of Asterius. He’d faced horrors before - he could do it again.
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With newfound resolve, he slipped into the shadows, moving with deliberate, silent steps, his blade glinting faintly in the dim, hellish glow that filled the chamber. The cultists were too far gone to notice him, their energy nearly extinguished, their bodies nothing more than husks. And the creature - it was fully absorbed in its ritual, oblivious to everything but the dark flame in its hand and the girl trapped beneath it.
Just a little closer, he told himself, inching forward, his grip tightening around his sword’s hilt. He’d seen enough rituals to know his time was limited - the creature wouldn’t wait long. Calculating his odds, he took a final, steadying breath and then sprang forward, Charge of Asterius launching him like a canon, driving his blade deep into the figure’s back.
The steel bit through muscle and bone, unleashing a torrent of dark blood that splattered across the altar, staining the girl’s skin with its foul warmth. Her wide, terrified eyes locked onto him, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.
Then came the unexpected - a surge of black energy spiraled out from the wound, wrapping around his sword and crawling up the blade like a living thing, creeping toward his hand. It sank into his skin, coiling around his arm, slithering into his very core. His sword now throbbed with a sinister, dark power, drinking in the essence of the creature, a blend of human and demon.
Jaeden staggered as the darkness seeped into him, its essence clawing at the edges of his mind, whispering promises of chaos and power. The entity hadn’t been fully bound to the cultist - it had been searching for something stronger, something more worthy. And now it had found him.
He fought to shake it off, but the demonic force was relentless, wrapping itself around his soul, gnawing at his very core.
The world plunged into shadow, a darkness so profound it seemed to consume light itself, clawing at the edges of his soul. He felt himself unraveling, sinking deeper as the void scraped at the heart of him, tearing into the essence of who he was. The weight of it threatened to hollow him out, leaving him nothing but an empty shell for the demon to possess.
But then, like a lifeline, a memory surfaced - the old man’s words, his parting lesson: Seeing is being. And that -is where the real magic lies.
He reached into his Null Gate with a thread of intention, desperate for what he sought. Then he felt a familiar weight in his hand - Echo’s dice - a gift from the crazy old man. They glimmered faintly in the void of darkness, a reminder of the power he held, of the chance he could take. It was a gamble, but it was his last hope. Roll the dice, he told himself, willing himself to take the leap.
With gritted teeth he clenched his hand around the dice that fell into it.
He had nothing left to lose, he’d risk it all on a throw of the dice.
With a final surge of will, he cast the dice into the darkness, watching as they spun through the void. Light and shadow, fire and chaos twisted around them, stretching out into an endless maelstrom. For a brief instant, he glimpsed something - a flicker of fear in the entity’s gaze, a glimmer of its own awareness that he held a power it hadn’t expected.
The dice tumbled through the darkness, each one carrying a weight of fate and fortune, and Jaeden braced himself, his heart hammering in his chest.