Murmurs rippled through the chamber like restless waves, voices hushed yet urgent. Some spoke in heated agreement, others in quiet dissent, but all shared the same underlying anticipation. A decision needed to be made.

They couldn’t wait any longer.

Shadows flickered against the dimly lit walls, cast by the wavering glow of enchanted torches. The air hung heavy with expectation, every breath laced with a quiet, lingering tension. They needed orders. They needed direction.

Then, the sound of footsteps—slow, deliberate—echoed through the hall. The voices fell away instantly. Silence surged in like an unspoken command.

And then he appeared.

Their master.

The one who had gifted them power beyond imagination. The one who had shaped them into what they were. The one they would follow without hesitation.

To the ends of the earth.

To death, if necessary.

He entered the chamber, his footsteps slow and deliberate, the weight of his presence settling over the room like a heavy fog. Without hesitation, every figure in the chamber dropped to their knees, foreheads nearly touching the cold stone floor.

“Blessed be the Crazy Skull, harbinger of our rebirth,” they chanted in unison, their voices rising and falling like a sacred hymn. The sound reverberated through the chamber, each word carving itself into the very air, echoing like a pulse that refused to fade.

“Through chaos, we find order. Through darkness, we find light.”

The chant swelled, pressing against the walls as if the chamber itself breathed with their devotion. Shadows flickered wildly in the dim torchlight, stretching and twisting with each fervent cry.

A pause. Then—

“Did you find them?”

His voice, deep and commanding, cut through the air like a blade.

A hooded figure stepped forward, bowing deeply. “Yes, Master. We await your order.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the stone table before him, his fingers interlocked. His voice was calm, but it carried an undercurrent of wrath.

“Go, and avenge your master for what they took from him.”

Without hesitation, they dispersed into the darkness, vanishing like specters to carry out his will.

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Now alone in the chamber, he exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening into fists. The flames in the torches wavered, mirroring the storm simmering within him.

“First, they stole my prize. Then, they destroyed my work.” His voice dropped to a whisper, laced with venom. “I will take their lives as retribution.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Netherborne Covenant moved with purpose. This wasn’t mindless slaughter. This was elimination.

Their target wasn’t mere bandits—it was another cult. One that had begun to spread too far, whispering of its own ascension, interfering with the Covenant’s grand design. Their very existence was an insult.

And now, they would be erased.

The rival cult, known as The Blighted Dawn, had made their encampment deep in the wilderness. Their makeshift temple, a crude altar of bones and charred wood, stood at the heart of the camp, surrounded by crude tents and banners scrawled with sacrilegious symbols. Their followers gathered around fire pits, murmuring prayers to their false god, their chants twisting the air with a heavy, unnatural weight.

They had no idea they were being watched.

The Covenant struck with terrifying precision.

A sentry barely had time to gasp before a dagger pierced his throat, his body collapsing into the underbrush without a sound. Another guard, cloaked in ragged ceremonial robes, turned just as a shadow emerged behind him. A single snap of his neck sent him crumpling, his lifeless eyes still wide in shock.

The attack was silent—until the screams began.

The Covenant descended upon the cultists like reapers. Blades flashed in the firelight. The whispers of prayers turned to shrieks of agony. The ritual site was stained crimson as cultists scrambled for weapons, their illusions of divine favor shattered in an instant.

“Intruders! Kill them!” one of their high priests bellowed, his voice frantic as he brandished a staff laced with sickly green energy.

The air crackled as he tried to summon magic, but before he could unleash a spell, an arrow buried itself between his ribs. He staggered forward, gasping, blood spilling from his lips as he collapsed face-first into the dirt.

Panic overtook the remaining cultists. Some tried to fight back, calling upon their magic, their desperate attacks casting flickering lights across the trees. Others fled, their faith abandoned in the face of absolute carnage.

Neither were spared.

The Covenant was relentless. One by one, the Blighted Dawn fell. Those who attempted to flee were dragged back into the fray, their screams swallowed by the night.

The leader of the cult—a gaunt, sunken-eyed figure draped in a bloodstained robe—staggered backward, watching his followers fall. His hands trembled as he held out an amulet, its core pulsing with eerie light. “You… you can’t stop us,” he whispered. “Our god is watching. You will all be—”

A blade cleaved through the air, separating his head from his body. His final words died in the wind.

And with that, the Blighted Dawn was no more.

The Covenant wasted no time in ensuring their work was known.

They gathered the bodies, severing the heads of every fallen cultist. One by one, they impaled them onto sharpened stakes, forming a gruesome circle around the desecrated ritual site. At the center, they placed the cult leader’s head—his lifeless eyes still wide in terror.

Runic symbols were etched onto each stake, glowing faintly in the moonlight. These were no ordinary marks—they were seals, ensuring that no trace of the cult’s influence remained.

By morning, the news had spread.

The kingdoms heard of the massacre. But without understanding the Covenant’s intent, rumors swirled. Some whispered that a rogue faction had emerged, one that hunted down anyone practicing forbidden arts. Others believed it was a declaration of war—an unseen force sending a warning.

The kings and queens speculated, but one thing was clear:

This wasn’t the work of soldiers.

This wasn’t an act of simple vengeance.

This was eradication.

And no one knew who would be next.