After resting for a week, regaining his strength, Knox was ready to resume his campaign of destruction. The time spent recuperating had only intensified his resolve, and now he stood poised at the edge of the camp, a dark force of vengeance ready to be unleashed once more.
Knox strode into the camp, his fiery aura casting an eerie glow over the scene. The once-bustling camp was now a ghostly tableau of terror. Ordinary citizens scurried into the corners of the camp, their eyes wide with fear and desperation. Mothers and fathers clutched their children tightly, their faces etched with horror as they watched the man who had brought so much death and destruction into their lives.
Everywhere he looked, Knox saw the manifestations of his reign of terror. Families huddled together, their bodies trembling as they tried to shield their loved ones from his gaze. The camp, once a place of refuge and safety, was now filled with the palpable stench of fear and despair.
He could hear the whispered prayers, the choked sobs, and the faint gasps of those who recognized him. They knew. They all knew. This was the man who had slaughtered their soldiers, incinerated their comrades, and reduced their hopes to ashes. The soldiers' valor had been no match for his ruthless power, and now, the flames of his wrath had reached even the most vulnerable.
Knox's eyes scanned the huddled masses, his gaze unwavering and cold. There was no remorse, no pity in those dark depths. Instead, there was a chilling satisfaction, a twisted sense of accomplishment. He had brought them to their knees, and he relished the fear that radiated from their eyes.
A mother, clutching her infant tightly, met his gaze. Her eyes were wide with terror, her face pale and drawn. She didn't plead, didn't beg for mercy—she simply stared, the sheer horror of her situation rendering her mute. Knox's lips curled into a cruel smile, and he moved on, leaving a trail of despair in his wake.
The whispers grew louder as he walked further into the camp. Words of fear, curses, and desperate prayers followed him, but none dared to confront him. They had seen the fate of those who had tried, and the remnants of hope they clung to were too fragile to risk. Knox had become the embodiment of their nightmares, and as he moved through the camp, the realization that their world had irrevocably changed settled over them like a suffocating shroud.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
In the heart of the camp, Knox paused, surveying the extent of his impact. The destruction, the fear, the utter submission of these people—it was a testament to his power. And yet, behind his dark satisfaction, a flicker of something deeper and darker stirred within him. A sense of emptiness that even this carnage could not fill.
Knox continued his march more deeply into the camp, his senses sharp and focused. The further he ventured, the more he could feel the pervasive aura of dread that had settled over the place. Citizens cowered as he passed, some whispering fervent prayers to the so-called Elders, their last hope against the unstoppable force that Knox had become. The fear in their eyes only fueled his resolve, a grim satisfaction settling in his chest.
The camp seemed to stretch endlessly, a maze of tents and makeshift shelters. As he moved forward, the landscape began to change. The ground beneath his feet grew rockier, the path narrowing and rising. Knox noticed a series of steps carved into the stone, leading up to a towering mountain that loomed over the camp. It was here, at the base of these steps, that he felt it—a faint but unmistakable presence emanating from the top.
Knox's eyes narrowed as he focused on the mountain's peak. The air around him seemed to thrum with energy, a subtle but palpable indication that powerful beings awaited him. He knew instinctively that the Elders were there, their presence a beacon that drew him onward. The whispers of the citizens had hinted at their importance, their supposed strength, but Knox felt no fear—only a dark anticipation.
He began his ascent, each step taken with purpose and determination. The higher he climbed, the more evident the presence of the Elders became. It was as if the very mountain pulsed with their power, the air growing thicker with mana. The path wound its way up, steep and treacherous, but Knox moved with the grace and confidence of a predator, his fiery aura illuminating the way.
As he approached the summit, the steps gave way to a vast plateau. Here, the energy was almost tangible, crackling in the air like a storm about to break. Knox's eyes scanned the area, and there they stood—three figures cloaked in robes, their faces hidden in the shadows of their hoods. They were the Elders, the ones the citizens had pinned their hopes on, their last line of defense.
Knox's lips curled into a predatory smile as he stepped onto the plateau, his flames casting an ominous glow over the scene. The Elders made no move to retreat, their stances firm and resolute. They were ready for him, expecting him. But Knox felt no concern. If anything, their presence only excited him further. There were opponents worthy of his power, a final obstacle to overcome in his path of destruction.
"At last," Knox said, his voice echoing across the plateau. "The mighty Elders. Let's see if you live up to the prayers of your people."
The Elders remained silent, their figures unwavering. Knox could sense their combined power, a formidable barrier he was eager to break. With a final glance at the mountain path he had ascended, Knox dismissed any lingering thoughts of mercy. This was the culmination of his wrath, the final testament to his dominance.
With a surge of fiery energy, he prepared to face the Elders, the flames around him flaring in anticipation. The showdown was imminent, and Knox was ready to unleash his full might against the last defenders of the Aetherian camp.