Instinct took over. He sprinted forward, the heat of the flames licking at his skin as he closed the distance. Time seemed to slow as the Greylock charged, its massive frame blotting out the chaos around it. Liam dove, sliding under the beast’s pounding hooves just as they came down where the girl had been standing. He grabbed her, wrapping her small, trembling body in his arms, and rolled to the side as the Greylock thundered past.
The girl clung to him, her tiny hands clutching his tattered tunic as she sobbed into his chest. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice rough but steady. “I’ve got you.”
A crash behind him snapped him back to the present. The Greylock had turned, its rider bellowing in rage as the beast reared, preparing to charge again. Liam didn’t wait. He scrambled to his feet, the girl still in his arms, and bolted toward the nearest building. A collapsing porch provided a momentary shelter, and he ducked behind it just as the Greylock barreled past, its rider cursing in frustration.
Through the haze of smoke, Liam spotted what he was looking for: the double doors of an underground shelter. They were partially hidden behind a pile of debris, but they were intact. He dashed toward them, his heart pounding in his ears as the sounds of destruction drew closer.
Reaching the shelter, he set the girl down and yanked the doors open. A cool, musty smell wafted up from the darkness below. “Go,” he urged, his voice firm. “Climb down and don’t stop until you find the others.”
The girl hesitated, her tear-streaked face looking up at him with wide, frightened eyes. “What about you?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“I’ll be fine,” Liam said, forcing a reassuring smile. “But I need you to be brave, okay? Go.”
She nodded, her small hands gripping the ladder as she descended into the shadows. Once she was safely inside, Liam slammed the doors shut and placed his hands on the seams. The Prismata Orb flared to life beside him, its facets glowing as he channeled his will into the wood and stone. The doors fused together, becoming a single, unbroken surface, and he bound it to the surrounding earth, sealing the entrance completely. Pressing his hand down flat, he mimed the flattening of the mound into the earth and it matched his motions.
He wasn’t done. With a wave of his hand, he drew dirt and debris over the sealed entrance, camouflaging it amidst the wreckage. Nearby, the remains of a collapsed building provided additional cover, and he worked quickly, his movements precise and efficient. It had taken mere seconds to work.
By the time he was finished, the shelter was invisible to even the sharpest eyes. He straightened, the Prismata Orb dimming as he turned back toward the chaos. However, his respite lasted only a moment. Another Greylock rounded the corner, its rider bellowing as it spurred the beast toward him.
Liam braced himself as the rider bore down on him, his hands tightening around the hilt of his dagger. “Come on,” he muttered, his jaw set. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Liam turned just as another Greylock raced past, its scaled beast leaving gouges in the earth with every step. The marauder’s guttural war cry pierced the air, a sound that seemed to curdle the very blood in his veins. The Greylocks were more than just a band of raiders - they were a force of nature, a rolling storm of destruction that swept across the land with unrelenting ferocity. Their savage reputation had spread far and wide, their name whispered in fear and loathing.
To Liam, they were reminiscent of Atilla and the Huns, or the warlike nomadic tribes of Mongols lead by Genghis Khan, who had once dominated the steppes of ancient Earth. Their methods were as brutal as their beasts - massive reptilian mounts with thick, leathery hides and razor-sharp claws that tore through cobblestones like parchment. The riders themselves were no less fearsome, clad in jagged armor that glinted in the firelight, their faces obscured by cruel masks shaped like snarling beasts.
He clenched his fists, the Prismata Orb pulsing faintly beside him as his anger swelled. The chaos, the destruction, the senseless slaughter - it had to stop. Deciding in that instant to end the massacre, Liam tapped into one of the facets of the Prismata, feeling its energy surge through him like a lightning storm held in check.
A thought crystallized in his mind, sharp and purposeful. Electromagnetic energy. Controlled currents. Chain lightning.
The orb responded to his will, hovering in front of him as arcs of pure energy leapt from its surface to his hands. The current crackled and hummed, a tangible force that made the hair on his arms stand on end. He raised his arms, the lightning coursing through him like liquid fire, and focused his gaze on the marauders.
The first bolt struck with precision, a blinding streak of light that arced from one Greylock to the next. Their armor, polished and cruelly spiked, became their downfall as the energy coursed through the metal, binding riders to their mounts in a deadly circuit. Screams erupted from the marauders, their bodies convulsing as the lightning burned through them. One by one, they fell, collapsing in tangled heaps of scorched flesh and smoking leather.
Liam didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The mana drained swiftly from his reserves, but he pushed through, his fury propelling him forward. He moved like a nightmare given form, his body wreathed in arcs of electric fury as he unleashed the wrath of the heavens. Each step brought another strike, another scream, another marauder reduced to ash and ruin. He was vengeance incarnate, a living tempest channeling the fury of Raiden, Thor, and Zeus combined.
When it was over, an oppressive silence descended on the village. Liam stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving, his body trembling with exhaustion. The air was thick with the stench of burnt flesh and the metallic tang of blood. The fires that had consumed the village still crackled, their embers glowing faintly against the smoke-filled sky. A crumbling wall of mortar and stone collapsed nearby, the sound jarring him from his daze.
He looked down, his gaze falling on a puddle at his feet. At first, he thought it was water, but the reddish tint told him otherwise. His reflection stared back at him from the pool of blood, distorted and haunting. The eyes that met his own were wild, filled with an intensity that both frightened and shamed him. The reflection of a man who had become a storm, who had let his anger take the reins.
Liam closed his eyes, drawing in a ragged breath. There was a place for vengeance, a time for pain and suffering - but this wasn’t that time. He couldn’t afford to let remorse consume him, not yet. With a grim determination, he forced himself to focus. The living came first. He turned away from the carnage and began his grim task of checking the hidden tunnels.
Liam moved swiftly through the wreckage, his boots crunching against the debris-strewn ground. The village lay in ruin around him, the once-vibrant streets now choked with ash, broken timbers, and the lifeless forms of those who hadn’t escaped the Greylock onslaught. His breath was steady but shallow, his focus laser-sharp as he scanned his surroundings for any signs of the underground entrances.
The tunnels were the village’s last hope. Every resident knew their location and the procedures to secure them in an emergency. Liam had been one of the few entrusted with their creation years ago - a network of passages dug deep beneath the earth, lined with stone and reinforced with timber. They were meant to provide safety in times of siege, a sanctuary for the persecuted. If the entrances were sealed, the villagers would have a chance. If not…
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He pushed the thought aside, unwilling to entertain it. His Prismata Orb floated beside him, casting an otherworldly light on the ashen ground. The faint glow illuminated scorch marks and the deep gouges left by the Greylock mounts, evidence of the chaos that had unfolded.
His heart lifted slightly when he reached the first entrance. The door was intact, sealed shut with layers of dirt and debris carefully camouflaging its surface. Good. He ran his hand along the ground, feeling the solid seal. Whoever had closed it had done their job well. He whispered a silent prayer for their safety and moved on.
The second entrance was the same - hidden beneath a collapsed wall, its location nearly imperceptible to anyone unfamiliar with the village’s defenses. Liam crouched to inspect it, tracing the edges with his fingers. No signs of disturbance. Relief washed over him like a cool breeze, but it was fleeting. He still had more to check.
He hurried to the next entrance, his footsteps quick but cautious. Once again, it was sealed. The dirt had been packed tightly over the doors, the camouflage perfect. He allowed himself a brief moment of hope. Maybe the villagers had all made it underground in time. Maybe they were safe.
But then he saw it.
At the far end of the village, beyond a crumbling stone wall and a pile of shattered pottery, lay another entrance. Unlike the others, this one was wide open, its heavy wooden doors flung apart as if they had been ripped from their hinges. The gaping black maw of the tunnel stared back at him, a stark contrast to the surrounding wreckage.
Liam’s stomach twisted in knots, a wave of dread washing over him. He forced himself to move closer, each step heavier than the last. His boots crunched against the loose dirt, and he crouched at the entrance, his eyes scanning the ground for signs of what had happened.
The story was clear in the tracks that marred the earth. Deep claw marks gouged into the dirt and stone - evidence of Greylock mounts. The prints were fresh, leading directly into the tunnel. His jaw clenched as he spotted broken fragments of armor and blood splatters near the entrance. The villagers had fought here, or tried to, but the Greylocks had overpowered them.
The knot in his stomach tightened as his eyes traced the trail of destruction. He saw a discarded scarf - a child’s, its edges singed - and a dented cooking pot, likely used as a desperate makeshift weapon. The scene was a silent scream of terror and resistance, a snapshot of the chaos that had unfolded here.
Liam’s mind raced. The villagers had been found. The marauders had descended into the depths, taking their slaughter underground. He gritted his teeth, fury rising to drown out the despair threatening to overwhelm him. The Greylocks had no right. This was sacred ground, a sanctuary meant to protect the weak and innocent. They had defiled it.
His hand hovered over the hilt of his dagger, trembling with the need to act. The Prismata Orb pulsed faintly beside him, responding to the emotions roiling within him. His lips pressed into a thin line as he stood, his body rigid with determination.
“They’re not going to get away with this,” he muttered, his voice low and cold. “Not one of them.”
Without hesitation, he descended into the darkness, his every step echoing against the stone walls. The tunnels were dark and damp, the faint smell of mildew mixing with the lingering scent of smoke from above. Liam moved quickly, his Prismata Orb now emitting a soft, steady glow that lit his path.
The air grew colder as he ventured deeper into the tunnels, the faint luminescence of the orb casting eerie shadows on the uneven walls. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat loud and insistent, spurring him onward. The tunnel network was a labyrinth of interconnected passages, some wide enough to hold a small crowd, others so narrow he had to duck to pass through.
He quickened his pace, the sound of his boots striking the stone mingling with the distant echoes of muffled voices. His fury built with every step. If the Greylock had gotten this far, it meant they had a guide - or worse, a betrayer. The thought chilled him even as it stoked the fires of his anger.
The chamber he entered was large, its stone walls lined with shelves holding provisions and supplies. The air was thick with the smell of fear. A group of villagers huddled in the far corner, their faces pale and drawn, their eyes wide with terror. Liam’s gaze swept over them before settling on the scene before him.
Two marauders stood in the center of the chamber, their imposing forms casting long shadows in the dim light. Their beasts - scaled, muscular creatures - were absent, their riders clearly having chosen stealth over spectacle. Between the marauders stood a figure Liam recognized immediately.
“Noel,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart.
His half-brother stood with his back to Liam, speaking in low tones to the Greylocks. The villagers looked on in horror, their expressions a mix of betrayal and despair. Liam’s chest tightened as realization dawned. Noel was the betrayer. It was his actions that had led the marauders here, his treachery that had put these people in danger.
The rage that filled Liam was unlike anything he had ever felt. His grip tightened around the hilt of his dagger, the Prismata Orb flaring brighter as his emotions surged. This wasn’t just a betrayal of blood - it was a betrayal of everything he had fought to protect. The villagers, the refugees, the innocent - they had trusted Noel, and he had handed them over to slaughter. It was treason.
Liam stepped forward, his footsteps deliberate and unyielding. The sound drew Noel’s attention, and he turned, his face a mask of feigned surprise and guilt.
“You shouldn’t be here, Liam,” Noel said, his voice steady but tinged with something darker. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Liam’s gaze hardened, the orb at his side sparking with raw energy. “It concerns everyone when you betray your own people.”
The villagers behind Noel recoiled at Liam’s words, their fear replaced by a flicker of hope. The marauders shifted, their hands moving to their weapons as they assessed the threat before them.
Liam’s lips curled into a grim smile. “You ready for some thunder, Noel?” he said, his voice low and menacing. “A little lightning? You’re about to get it.”
The chamber seemed to hold its breath as Liam raised his hand, the Prismata Orb’s energy crackling in anticipation.
Without hesitation, driven by instinct honed through pain and rage, Liam acted. There was no room for thought, no pause for consideration. He had seen this moment before - lived it, died in it - and he would not allow it to play out the same way again. This time would be different. This time, he was not the prey.
The Prismata Orb flared to life at his side, its facets glowing with an intensity that matched the storm within him. Liquid lightning surged through his veins, crackling at his fingertips as he extended his hands. Twin arcs of searing energy leapt forward, striking the marauders with unerring precision. The bolts punched through their chests, the smell of burning flesh mingling with the acrid tang of ozone. The electric plasma surged upward, lighting their skulls from within, their faces twisted into grotesque masks of agony -Jack-o’-lanterns locked in rictus’ of fright. They hung suspended in the air, their bodies convulsing like marionettes in a macabre dance, before collapsing lifeless to the ground with a heavy thud.
Liam didn’t flinch, his gaze already fixed on Noel. The fury in his eyes was palpable, a force unto itself. He took a step forward, his boots crunching on the stone floor, his every movement radiating purpose. Noel stumbled back, his face pale, his lips trembling as he babbled incoherently.
“Liam, please!” he cried, his voice cracking under the weight of his terror. “Mercy! I’m your brother! I made a mistake, a terrible mistake!”
Liam’s voice was ice, cutting through Noel’s desperate pleas like a blade. “I don’t care.”
Another step forward, and Noel’s panic reached a fever pitch. He turned, grabbing the nearest villager - a small girl, the one Liam had saved earlier. Her terrified eyes locked onto Liam’s as Noel dragged her in front of him, his arm wrapped around her trembling frame. The knife in his other hand gleamed menacingly as he pressed it to her throat.
This didn’t happen before, Liam thought, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Everyone died. I watched them die. But this time…
Noel’s voice was frantic, the words tumbling out in a disjointed stream. “Liam, don’t do this! She’ll die if you-”
He didn’t finish.
Liam’s response was as swift as it was precise. With a flick of his wrist, a tendril of lightning lashed out, faster than the blink of an eye. It struck Noel between the eyes, piercing his skull with a blinding flash of energy. His body convulsed violently, the knife falling from his lifeless hand. The girl tumbled free, collapsing to her knees, her small frame wracked with sobs that were a chaotic mix of terror, relief, and disbelief.
The girl’s mother raced forward, pulling her daughter into a fierce embrace. The two clung to each other, their tears mingling as the mother whispered words of comfort. When her eyes met Liam’s, they were wide with both gratitude and fear. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice trembling.
Liam didn’t respond. He gave the huddled villagers a brief, assessing glance, ensuring they were unharmed. Then he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the silence that followed.