The sun had passed its zenith, the clear Sprig day quickly turning cold as the rays of light hid behind the massive bamboo shoots, the canopy of thin bladed leaves above filtering the light out from reaching the forest floor.

It was quickly becoming cold, as adrenaline left Tyrian’s veins. He swallowed, feeling the burning bile in this throat simmer under the weight of his actions.

He had never taken a life — even in his past life — he was quite sure of it. He didn’t care much for the cultists he killed, yet there was some inherent revulsion in snuffing out the light of consciousness.

Even if said consciousness was a bunch of insane, murderous psychopaths.He thought, wiping away the vomit from his lips. He felt a hand on his back and turned to see Markus’ amber eyes filled with confused relief.

“Thank you, Tyrian — it is hard to take a life, your reaction is normal.” He said, speaking from experience. “I don’t know how you found us, but we must leave immediately, they’re not alone.” He informed Tyrian to go to Davio’s side.

The man was still breathing, if barely. His chest cavity rose slowly, depressing as warm breaths left his mouth.

The other two Sentinels were dead, covered head to toe in a gruesome tapestry of lacerations. “We were searching for the kid, until we ran into the group,” Markus said, ripping off parts of his robe to try and stem Davio’s wounds. “They had a poor villager tied up, taking him somewhere.” He said, and Tyrian stilled.

“Tall? White hair and mud-eyes?” Tyrian asked.

“You know him boy? I couldn’t see his eyes and we had to immediately engage in battle but he was indeed tall, they needed two people to carry him with rest staying back to fight us.” Markus stood after doing his best to patch Davio’s wounds.

“We must return to the Temple and alert High-priestess Elenar, these are no normal Cultists.” He said firmly, trying to lift Davio up. The man groaned, his wounds aching but was able to get his feet under him.

“Which way did they go?” Tyrian asked.

Markus looked at him incredulously, “You don’t mean to chase after them alone? You’re just a child—” He said, before his words caught in his mouth. He looked over to the aftermath of battle, the corpses left in said child’s wake.

Even so.

He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

Tyrian grit his teeth, his tiny jaw flaring. Markus was right, but who knows what they could be doing to old man Mendel.

And there was another thought.

A haunting notion that whispered at the back of his mind.

That… perhaps his father didn’t merely decide to leave, losing his way in the dark depths of the forest.

There’s no time for that now. He shook his head.

His concern right now was old man Mendel. He’d been nothing but nice to Tyrian these past years, helping him forage while also teaching him of the forest. His warnings about the forest's depths probably saved him from the cultists' grasps.

Tyrian turned to Markus resolutely. “I’m going after them.”

Markus stared into the boy's silver eyes, he could clearly see an iron determination behind them. He sighed.

“Good luck, little Tyrian.” He said, “I will move as fast as I can.”

The two nodded at each other before turning away. Markus with Davio slung over his arm, limping back to Laskir, while Tyrian sprinted away.

Deeper into the depths of the forest.

—

Three Orbs and a couple Motes.

Tyrian took stock of his Capacity as he stalked through the forest. His regeneration rate was painfully slow, it seemed the gap between Coalescence was the overwhelming chasm of Orb refill being five times the amount of pre-Coalescence.

He could only be careful with how he used his techniques; clearly in a destructive class of their own with what he had seen from his short battle experience.

The raw power of [Orb of Orb] showing its prowess against more than just bamboo finally.

He followed the obvious signs of travel, seeing bushes pressed down under passing feet, the deep impression of clawed toes in dirt and mud. It only takes two to make a trail and the cultists were carrying a whole person with them.

They were confident in winning the fight, it seemed to him. With how unbothered they were with hiding their tracks, they clearly put little thought in the Sentinels winning despite the number disadvantage.

His hand hurt, a throbbing pain radiating from using the full force [Push] but nothing he couldn’t handle. He took deep breaths to try and calm his pounding heart, but knew it was a futile attempt as his body was preparing for the worst with every step he took deeper into the forest.

Eventually, he caught up.

Peeking out from behind a bush, Tyrian laid eyes on what could only be described as an ancient ruin. Massive, dark weathered stone pillars, half crumbled and devoured by vine and moss lay scattered about, surrounding a large dilapidated temple standing alone in the large clearing.

There was a faint familiarity in its architecture, somehow reminiscent of the Temple of Light back in Laskir, but much simpler, as if the designers weren’t as skilled as they were today.

Though heavily weathered by the passage of time, he saw high above the columns, the image of the divines, though he couldn’t recognize the faces he noticed something rather odd.

Six columns, with six divines.

Tyrian thought it weird, but couldn’t put too much thought into the matter. For just below he saw movement leading into the ruined temple.

Through squinted eyes he could see the tail-end of Mendel’s captors. The old man's arms and feet were tied to a large length of bamboo, hanging like a boar to be roasted.

Two cultists carried him inside the complex with the old herbalists’ weight on their dark robed shoulders. As they entered a large figure came out to greet them.

Tyrian shuddered, as he laid eyes on the…

Demon.

Or half of one. It was a behemoth of a man, standing easily a full head over the Cultists who cowered in his presence. On either side of his long-white hair was two gnarly, fleshly horns protruding from his forehead. He was dressed in a dark, blood-crimson robe that covered his feet, and was checking over the old herbalist with fingers that had long lost their humanity.

They were more than sharpened nails, each finger having blackened into chitinous blades, giving the appearance that he was wearing gauntlets of wrought iron.

He waved the cultists away, smiling at the old herbalist who was thankfully out cold, as Tyrian was sure the sight of the half-demon would give the old man a heart attack.

Tyrian held his breath as the half-demon looked out from the temple, his black eyes scanning the area. Seeing nothing he turned around and walked back inside.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Tyrian breathed a sigh of relief as a thick, nervous sweat built along on his spine.

This was more than I bargained for. He thought to himself ruefully, but alas — in for a small Orba, in for a large Orba.

Tyrian scurried around the edge of the clearing, trying to move as quickly and quietly as possible. He was surprised to see a distinct lack of lookouts, with only two cultists standing guard at the front of the temple.

They stood on either side of the only entrance inside, perhaps if I was able to climb up to the roof, I could see inside. It was regrettable he hadn’t developed any kind of movement technique, something to keep in mind, if it was even possible.

Regardless, he quickly made his way to the side of the temple. Climbing up to the where the guards were stationed, he carefully peered over corner of the wall to see their side profiles aligning nicely.

He considered trying for a distraction, though the chances of the Cultists just breaking into cackling screams would most likely negate any advantage of surprise.

Instead he aimed his index and middle fingers’ carefully. Holding his breath, and supporting his right hand with his left to steady the nervous shaking. The subtle pull of a Mote from within was the start of his foolish ploy.

[Pierce]

The translucent bullet sped through the air in a blink of an eye.

FFHHTK!

Two flowers of blood blossomed out of the cultists heads. The cultists could only blink before both of them slumped to the floor, each with a fist sized hole tunneling through the sides of their heads.

Tyrian had to steady his stomach as he moved forwards, his eyes trying hard not to look at his collateral.

The entrance was empty, a sigh of relief escaping his lips.

Slowly, he stalked through the ruined temple.

He saw shattered statues and broken braziers. Vines hung down from the ceiling, clinging to the walls like parasites, even the bamboo had begun to break ground through the stone flooring in a couple places.

Tyrian quickly found himself staring into the main hall.

And just as quickly wishing he hadn’t been.

The ceiling of the hall had partially caved in, with only a few remaining pillars holding up the roof above. A smattering of daylight casted rays down onto the missing people. They were staked into the ground, awkwardly hanging from their arms and feet, some awake, groaning in pain while others seemed lifeless. At least six individuals, double than had been reported, all hanging like butchered meats to the slaughter.

He quickly sighted old man Mendel and the young children. The herbalist looked deathly pale, barely clinging to consciousness. He was battered beyond recognition, his face more blood than visible skin.

Tyrian had to battle his stomach against retching as he saw the other captives, as it would’ve undoubtedly alerted the many cultists in the hall.

At least ten cultists filled the great hall, with the majority crowding around the half-demon bowed in reverence. The half-demon stood on the far side with his back turned to Tyrian, his arms offered in prayer to the largest of the six statues in the hall.

A six armed figure clutching six stone orbs.

Three cultists were in the process of attaching something to old man Mendel, who squirmed and screamed in pain as they did.

Tyrian recognized the object, the usually long black root had taken an ominous, bloody colour.

Soothroot?

The parasitic herb had been warped into some kind of terrible leech. Instead of sucking the life-force of a host plant, it was sucking away the life-force of the unfortunate souls it was attached to.

How the fuck am I supposed to save them? He had swam far, far into the deep end and the water was already over his head.

“Umbra hear me.” The half-demon spoke, his voice guttural, as if he had raked his voice-box over a bed of burning coals.

“Hear me and witness the offerings I have brought unto you...”

“...Umbra hear me!” The half-demon pleaded, as if he was the one in pain.

“Bless ME, and I will take vengeance for your betrayal!” The very air had begun to quiver, a reverberation spreading through the great hall, dust and debris began to fall from the ceiling,

I have to do—SOMETHING, ANYTHING! Tyrian mentally screamed at himself. His body had locked up, his senses screaming at him to run, to hide and never return. To let the High-priestess save these people instead.

But he knew she’d be too late.

The cultists were unbothered for a reason, because they knew it was too late.

Tyrian took a deep, almost casual breath. His eyes darted around the great hall.

He saw the statue had begun to glow a sinister light, a sickly dark purple that warped the very air it touched.

He saw the falling dust glittering in the streams of light from the half-collapsed roof.

He saw only one pillar at the far end of the great hall, already half-crumbling.

He exhaled, tugging at his Capacity and broke into a sprint.

The cultists didn’t notice him at first, as they were all in cowered awe at the half-demon’s ritual. The sight of a ten year old child running into the hall amidst the chaos in comparison, was like a fever dream, an absurd sight that took time to process.

The closest three cultists turned to see him, taking gasping breaths of surprise, only for it to be their last.

Tyrian’s hands whipped outwards towards them, multiple small shockwaves was sent smashing into the stupefied cultists sending them hurtling backwards, spewing blood before they could react.

Tyrian quickly reached the altar, just as the half-demon had begun to register what was happening. The rest of the cultists turned, screaming in cackled confusion at their comrades sprawled across the floor.

Their many bloodied black eyes raged as they saw Tyrian, the half-demon screamed in anger realizing a rat had interrupted his ritual.

“SLAUGHTER THAT CHILD!” He ordered, but instantly realized something was wrong. The child was alone, facing down his small band of cultists and yet…

‘Why is he smiling?’

Tyrian couldn’t help it. It was a coping mechanism, to gamble his life like this felt — exhilarating.

He looked at the pillar behind the half-demon.

[PUSH]

A full Orb burned from his Capacity, a shockwave hurtling through the air. He saw the half-demon go wide-eyed, screaming something, he honestly couldn’t care to hear.

Time had slowed to a crawl in his eyes, as he watched the shockwave slam into the pillar. It snapped in half and the entire roof began to collapse.

“[WALL]!” He screamed, his intent filling his technique. A much thinner yet wider wall conjured into existence, protecting the captives from tons of stone crashing downwards.

BOOM!

A tsunami of grey dust filled the space, as Tyrian’s [Wall] was pelted with debris. The translucent barrier cracked and shimmered in multiple places but held on despite its thinned size.

Tyrian coughed, trying to breath as the dust began to settle. Through squinted eyes he could see no cultists, or the half-demon, all buried under tons of ancient temple stone.

“Tyrian? Is that you?” Mendel weakly called out.

Tyrian pulled out his father’s knife, and quickly began cutting the captives loose.

“Hey old man, haven’t you heard the forest depths are dangerous?” Tyrian said as he cut him down. The old man could only weakly laugh through pained coughs.

Four of the six captives were awake and able to walk, they thanked Tyrian profusely, nearly about to break down into tears before he stopped them.

“We have to leave, can you two carry the young?” He ordered two teenage boys. They nodded weakly, but were able to manage.

“Where are the Sentinels?” Mendel asked him, limping forwards.

Tyrian shook his head, “I came alone, I saw your house empty and your—” He said until a howl of anger pierced through the hall.

“GRRRRAAAAAAH!” The half-demon shrieked while bursting out from under the pile of roof debris. One of his fleshy horns was crushed, a puss of blood oozed out from the meaty stub among a myriad of other cuts and bruises. The half-demon extended his hand in an instant, conjuring a large Orb of violet energy that shot forwards in a blindingly fast beam of death.

Tyrian paled, stepping forwards to try and conjure a [Wall] with his last Orb before he felt a hand shoved him to the side.

He turned as he fell, staring at old man Mendel with wide eyes.

Mendel smiled back at him weakly, before the violet beam of energy decimated his upper body to ashes.

Tyrian stared at what remained of the old man, two legs that quickly collapsed like dominos.

A rage overtook Tyrian and he whipped around on his knee.

The half-demon was already in the midst of conjuring another Orb, baring a bloody row of teeth, hungry for more blood.

Tyrian’s hands clapped together, forming a hand-sign. Both of his index and middle fingers pointed forwards as he dumped his entire capacity into his hands.

He burned it all, a bullet forming at the tips of his fingers, rapidly spinning to size.

“[PIERCE]!”

A bullet the size of a bowling ball blasted from his fingers. The recoil of the shot exploding the tips of his nails off and cracking his bones.

The air split in half as a sonic boom filled what remained of the great hall.

The half-demon looked at the incoming projectile agape, his two chitinous hands desperately scrambling to conjure some form of protection.

BOOOOM!

The world shook on impact, creating a shockwave that sent Tyrian flying backwards. He landed roughly, his head snapping against the stone.

Through weak eyes Tyrian saw the Half-demon, the ends of both his arms had been blown off.

But he was still standing.

Tyrian’s vision swam, darkness fading in from its edges. He thought for a moment, that he saw a golden glow encroaching from above.

An... angel?

Then everything went dark.