As the acolytes advanced, Jaeden flowed to his feet in a smooth, liquid motion, surprised at the difference in his physical abilities. When he had backstabbed the head cultist, piercing the demon within, he’d activated the Might of Asterius – an ability that heightened his physical attributes, allowing him to deliver a critical blow that felled the host instantly. Now, his body felt stronger, more attuned, his senses alive with newfound power.
He felt the connection to the demon now inhabiting his sword, marveling at the strange transformation as a tendril of liquid darkness crept up the blade, slithering down through the hilt and pommel before sinking into his hand. The darkness spread over his skin, seeking to encase him, rapidly climbing over his body like a living shadow. When it reached his head, it tried to form a second skin, but Jaeden’s will – and his Symbiosis, combined with the weapon – held it at bay. Instead, the darkness congealed around him, forming a cloak with a deep cowl that draped over his features. Now, he looked almost like the cultists - though his cloak seemed woven from living shadows.
Despite their undead nature, the cultists faltered, hesitating as if sensing the immense power radiating from him. Even Jaeden wasn’t sure if this transformation was entirely safe - or if it was a curse waiting to unravel. Reaching into his connection with the blade, he challenged its sentience in a minor contest of wills. Disoriented, the presence within offered little resistance, though Jaeden had a feeling it wouldn’t remain that way for long. Satisfied for the moment, he pushed forward, sweeping through his foes like a tide of darkness, his movements precise and deadly.
His martial arts training - the flowing, circular movements of his Pa Kua Chang discipline - came naturally to him, guiding his steps as he wove through the acolytes. His dagger flashed in one hand, his sword in the other, striking down his enemies with ruthless efficiency. Within moments, the cultists lay scattered around him, reduced to piles of Prismata dust and a few shards. He stood among the remnants, his pulse steady, his breath calm as he surveyed the aftermath.
Turning, he saw the bound woman on the altar, naked and trembling. Meeting her gaze, he saw her flinch, and at first, he didn’t understand why. He moved towards her with an unnatural grace, his steps flickering as though he weren’t fully traversing the distance, but instead shifting from one position to another like a candle flame whipped by an unseen wind. As he loomed closer, she recoiled in newfound terror.
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He tried to speak, to reassure her, but his voice came out hollow and guttural, inhuman. The sound startled him, snapping him out of the dark state he was in. Quickly, he threw back the hood, looking down at her with concerned, human eyes - the dark voids replaced by his normal blue hue.
“It’s all right,” he said softly, “I’m not here to hurt you.”
She blinked in surprise, meeting his gaze before scanning over him with a cautious, wide-eyed look. Realizing the issue, he reached out with his blade, slicing through the shadowy shackles binding her. They fell away as if made of nothing, unable to withstand the sword’s power. He helped her to a sitting position, his voice soft and concerned.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded, covering herself with a trembling hand, her body bearing dark marks where the tendrils had bruised her wrists, ankles, and neck. “I… I think so,” she said, glancing down at herself. “I… just…” Her words stumbled, the emotions tangled and overwhelming, but she finally looked back up at him, whispering, “Thank you.”
Jaeden smiled, nodding gently. “Of course.”
“Why did you help me?” she asked, her voice wavering. “Who am I to you?”
“No one,” he replied, his tone casual. “Just someone who needed help, and I thought I could offer it.”
She shook her head, not quite understanding. “Who does that? Who shows such bravery toward a stranger, someone they don’t even know?”
Jaeden shrugged, his voice laced with a touch of humor. “Me, I guess. Besides, I heard someone say once, you don’t fake bravery. Didn’t fully get it then, and I’m still not sure I agree with it, but… there it is. If you hadn’t needed help, and I hadn’t thought I could do something about it, I doubt I’d have been half as brave.”
She tilted her head, a faint smile forming at the corner of her mouth. “You’re modest… that’s rare.”
He shrugged again. “Not modest - just aware of my limits. I try to do what I think is right, but I’m no hero. I’m just… me.”
She looked him over, her gaze softening. “You look… rather intimidating.”
He glanced down, noticing for the first time the inhuman pallor of his skin, the unnatural sheen it had taken on. With a steadying breath, he willed the mantle of darkness back into the sword. The shadows bled away, receding into the pommel until the blade lay dormant once more.
“Better?” he asked.
She nodded slowly. “Yes… but… what are you? Who are you?”
He hesitated, offering a small smile. “My name’s-,” he said, then paused, choosing his words carefully. “…you can call me Jax.”