The tension was palpable, an electric charge that hung heavy in the air.
Perseus’s sword gleamed with a brilliant light, while the Archetype’s blade seemed to drink in the darkness, casting an ominous pall over the ground beneath them. The silence was broken by a low, guttural growl from the Archetype, its eyes narrowing as it sized up its opponent.
‘Frail, yet determined,’ the Archetype mused, a shadow of contempt darkening its thoughts. ‘In this ephemeral struggle, he stands defiant, a fleeting spark against the eternal darkness. How curious...’
Suddenly, with a thunderous roar, the Archetype lunged forward, breaking the tense silence that had settled like a shroud over the battlefield.
The blade hissed through the air with deadly precision, aimed straight for Perseus’s head. Perseus, muscles taut and senses sharp, brought his sword up to meet the attack.
Clang!
The collision of metal on metal sent a shockwave rippling through the ground. For a heartbeat, everything seemed to freeze, the air thick with the echo of their clash, before the ground itself cracked and split beneath their feet.
The Archetype, momentarily thrown off balance by the impact, stumbled back.
Seizing the opportunity, Perseus took a brief moment to gauge his opponent's stance, then executed a swift riposte. He shifted his weight onto his back foot, angling his sword to deflect the Archetype’s blade to the side.
Whoosh!
With a quick pivot, he slashed upwards, his blade aiming for the Archetype’s exposed side. The momentary lull before the strike seemed to stretch, a tense prelude to the coming clash. The Archetype countered with a deft parry, its blade skimming just inches from Perseus’s torso.
‘A spark of defiance in this fleeting life,’ mused the Archetype, a flicker of annoyance tainting its eternal calm. ‘Yet, sparks are easily extinguished in the abyss of death.’ It adjusted its stance, preparing for the next exchange.
After a brief pause to catch his breath, Perseus pressed forward, his sword a blur of motion as he performed a series of feints and thrusts.
Swoosh, swoosh!
His blade sought the soft spot beneath the Archetype’s ribcage, but the dark warrior, anticipating his moves, twisted away with a fluid grace that belied its monstrous form.
Their swords clashed again resonating with metallic screams. Sparks flying as they pushed against each other, muscles straining, faces mere inches apart, eyes locked in a deadly contest of wills.
The Archetype snarled, dark energy crackling along its blade. With a swift motion, a second blade of shadow appeared in its other hand, its edge gleaming with ominous light. The Archetype lashed out with both weapons, a whirlwind of steel and shadow. Perseus’s eyes widened as he struggled to keep up with the relentless assault, his sword flashing in a blur of motion as he blocked and parried the onslaught.
Clang, clang, clang!
Perseus, feeling the power of the locket surging through his veins, gritted his teeth and swung his sword with renewed vigor.
Whoosh!
His blade, now glowing with a radiant energy, met the Archetype’s dark weapon with a force that sent tremors through the ground.
Boom!
He parried the Archetype’s dual blades with increasing confidence, countering with powerful blows that forced the dark warrior back, each strike sending a shower of sparks flying into the night.
‘Anomalous!’ The Archetype’s thoughts churned, an uncharacteristic hint of uncertainty creeping into its void-like calm. ‘A mortal matching the rhythm of death... intriguing, but futile.’
“All resistance is but a momentary diversion in the eternal dance of oblivion!” The Archetype shouted as it leaped back, avoiding a devastating overhead strike from Perseus.
Whoosh!
It landed in a crouch, its eyes narrowing as it gauged Perseus’s next move. With a snarl, it surged forward again, its twin blades whirling in a deadly dance.
Perseus met the charge head-on, his sword glowing with a brilliant light that clashed against the Archetype’s dark energy.
Clang, clang!
The ground beneath them cracked and splintered, the air around them humming with the sheer force of their clashing energies.
The Archetype, seeing its opening, struck with a vicious speed, its shadowy blades danced in a blur, cutting through the air with lethal precision.
Perseus, caught off guard, staggered back under the ferocious assault. The dark energy of the Archetype’s blades crackled and hissed, leaving trails of black smoke in their wake.
But Perseus was not one to be easily defeated. Drawing upon the power of the locket once more, he felt a surge of strength course through his body. His sword flared with a brilliant light, the radiance intensifying until it blazed like a miniature sun.
The Archetype’s form flickered, and suddenly there were three of it, each one a perfect copy of the original. They moved in unison, their blades cutting through the air with deadly precision.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
‘No mortal can withstand the myriad faces of death,’ the Archetype reflected, a cold satisfaction curling through its thoughts. ‘They are but transient actors on death’s eternal stage.’
Perseus’s eyes darted between the clones, his mind racing to discern the real one.
With a roar of defiance, he swung his sword in a wide arc, the light trailing in a brilliant arc that sliced through the shadows.
The clones faltered, their forms flickering and distorting under the intense radiance. Seizing the moment, Perseus advanced, his sword a blur of motion as he drove the Archetype back.
Wham!
Each blow pushed it closer to the edge of the battlefield, the death reaper struggling to maintain its footing.
‘How does he stand, defiant against the eternal silence?’ The Archetype pondered, a shadow of bewilderment casting across its otherwise detached demeanor. ‘Such resolve in the face of inevitability—fascinating, yet ultimately inconsequential.’
The Archetype’s black cloak quickly broke into a few behemoths of darkness hindering Perseus’ blows, finally allowing it some breathing space.
‘Ah, the locket—a thread tethering this ephemeral being to borrowed strength,’ the Archetype realized, a dark curiosity piqued. ‘Such fleeting alliances against the endless void of mortality.’
‘The conduit of his defiance,’ the Archetype discerned, its gaze fixing on Lorian with a predatory glint. ‘Sever the source, and the mortal will crumble into the dust of eternity.’
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Using this moment where the Archetype was distracted Perseus released a powerful swing.
The Archetype, caught off guard, quickly raised its sword to block the incoming attack. For a moment, time seemed to slow as Perseus’ strike descended.
Crack!
The shadowy blade shattered upon impact, a resounding crack echoing across the battlefield. The Archetype staggered back, the force of the blow propelling it into a sprawling retreat.
‘Now!’ Using the distance created by Perseus’ attack, the Archetype suddenly changed direction, charging towards the village walls at an incredible speed.
“NO!” Perseus shouted, seeing the Archetype moving towards the village walls.
He quickly moved to intercept, but a wall of Behemoths stood in his way.
Slash! Slash! Slash!
No matter how many Behemoths he slashed through, more and more appeared. The Archetype’s black robes and chains began breaking down into more Behemoths, continually hindering Perseus’ advance.
‘Embrace the void!’ In a surge of shadow, the Archetype reached the walls, its blade a harbinger of the final sleep, seeking the end of Lorian.
The black blade closed in on Lorian, the gale it carried hitting his face like a frozen breath of death. The air seemed to warp and scream around the weapon, darkness trailing in its wake.
Boom!
The Archetype’s sword struck with a deafening roar, a force that promised utter annihilation.
At the last possible second, the Priest intervened. He materialized in front of Lorian, his eyes blazing with resolve. His hand clutched an eerie looking purple stone that glowed brightly.
Chanting a powerful incantation, his voice grew into a crescendo, summoning an ethereal purple barrier that shimmered into existence. The Behemoth's blade crashed into it, unleashing shockwaves that tore through the air like a thunderstorm unleashed.
The barrier flickered, the very essence of its magic buckling under the sheer, malevolent force. It bent and shivered; the strain evident in the cracks that began to spiderweb across its surface.
The Priest’s face contorted in agony, muscles straining, his hands trembling as they held the barrier intact. “Arghhh” The priest screamed, as though the toll of holding the barrier in place was too much for him, however, if one were to observe closely, a sly grin tugged his lips.
With a final, desperate shout, the Priest poured the “last” of his strength into one ultimate incantation. A surge of arcane energy burst forth, a blinding explosion of light and force that clashed against the Archetype's blade, diverting its lethal arc.
Boom!
The barrier shattered in a spectacular burst of light, shards of magical energy dissipating into the air. The force of the backlash was too much for the Priest. His body, battered and drained, crumpled to the ground, a human shield that had absorbed the fury of death incarnate! Eyes glassy and breath shallow, he lay before Lorian, a bulwark against the darkness.
The shockwave threw the Archetype back, its monstrous form crashing into the ground, stunned and disoriented. The tattered cloak it wore, weakened from the loss of countless Behemoths, could no longer shield its body from the impact. A guttural scream of pain echoed through the battlefield as its form began to morph, shrinking and transforming. With a sickening thud, the Archetype's body hit the ground, its once towering presence now reduced to a frail, human-like figure.
Perseus, closing the distance swiftly, reached the edge of the crater. He expected to see the monstrous Archetype readying for another attack. Instead, he was met with a sight that shook him to his core: Uncle Linden, lying in the crater, his face ghastly pale, blood trickling from the corners of his lips. The stark transformation left Perseus reeling.
“...Another illusion?” Perseus muttered, his grip tightening on his weapon. The sight of Uncle Linden's pained expression, the tears welling up in his eyes, gnawed at Perseus's resolve.
“Perseus… help me…” Uncle Linden's voice was weak, filled with desperation. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the blood.
Perseus's mind raced, torn between the dire need to act and the haunting possibility of another cruel trick. He glanced toward Holmes, who lay battered and unconscious some distance away, the evidence of the Archetype's treachery all too clear.
“NO! You are not real. You cannot trick me again!” Perseus shouted, trying to steel his resolve against the tormenting scene before him. The image of Uncle Linden, broken and pleading, tugged at his heart, but he knew he couldn’t afford to falter. If this was another deception, the consequences would be dire.
Summoning every ounce of his strength, Perseus roared, “Persistent Strike!” His mind entered a state of flow, an innate gift he had refined over the years. This special attack made him impervious to any outside influence, focusing solely on the precision and power of the strike. His surroundings blurred as his body moved with purpose, his blade becoming an extension of his will.
“No!! Perseus… that is the real Linden, I can save—” The priest, witnessing the scene before him, shouted in desperation.
Slash!
“—him…” But it was too late.
The blade sliced through the air with a deadly grace, connecting with the figure in the crater. Time seemed to slow Perseus’s blade connected with the figure of Uncle Linden, slicing through with a chilling precision. For an agonizing heartbeat, time seemed to hold its breath. The body crumpled to the ground, a deep, grievous wound stark against the pale flesh. Perseus’s heart lurched, the weight of his actions crashing down on him like a tidal wave.
“Quickly, take me down to him… I must heal him… I must try!” the priest cried out to the villagers, his voice cracking with urgency. He coughed, spitting blood from his mouth, his face pale but determined.
“But esteemed priest… you’re severely injured…” a villager responded; his voice filled with concern.
“I am the priest of this village; my duty is to serve the god and save lives. If I die doing so, I will be happy,” the priest declared, his voice brimming with conviction and sincerity. His words, infused with a deep sense of duty and compassion, moved the villagers. They saw a man willing to sacrifice everything to save another, a beacon of hope and dedication.
Moved by his resolve, the villagers hastily set up ladders and carried the priest down to where Linden’s battered body lay. The urgency in their movements reflected the priest’s determination.
As the priest reached Linden, his hands began to glow with a purple light, his lips murmuring ancient incantations. His face was a mask of concentration, his every gesture radiating a genuine desire to heal and save.
Meanwhile, Perseus staggered and then fell to his knees, his mind reeling from the realization of his actions. His sword clattered to the ground as he stared blankly at the blood on his hands. Overwhelmed by guilt and confusion, his vision blurred, and he fainted, collapsing to the ground.
The villagers, focused on aiding the priest and saving Linden, did not notice Perseus’s fall. Their attention was riveted on the priest’s efforts, their hope resting on his unwavering dedication to saving Linden’s life.
----------------------------------------
Inside Linden’s body:
A tenuous, ethereal white light hovered, ensnared by an encroaching darkness that sapped its brilliance. Each passing second saw the light's glow diminish, as if suffocated by the pervasive blackness. Yet, suddenly, the darkness that held it captive began to quiver, losing its oppressive grip. As the shadows faltered and disintegrated, the white light started to reclaim its space, flickering back to life. Concurrently, Uncle Linden’s fragmented memories reassembled, and he began to regain control over his own body.
Outside, the priest hovered over Linden, his hands aglow with a sinister purple light, ostensibly healing Linden’s wounds. His voice rang out, laden with false urgency, “Fight the black light of the Behemoth within and come back to us, Linden!” His words, seemingly filled with concern, were delivered with such conviction that none could doubt his sincerity. As though responding to the priest's call, Linden’s eyelids fluttered open, the light of recognition slowly rekindling in his eyes.
‘What just happened…?’ In the fog of his returning consciousness, Linden saw the priest's face, a mask of earnest determination, as if he were fighting to save him. The priest leaned in close, his breath warm against Linden’s ear. “Linden..., pull through!!” he shouted, desperation lacing his tone. But then, a flicker of triumph crossed the priest’s face. His expression shifted in an instant, his eyes narrowing with malice. “Goodbye,” he whispered, a cold smile curling his lips.
Unnoticed by the gathered villagers, a green snake slithered out from within the priest’s robes, its fangs glinting as it struck, sinking into Linden’s flesh.
‘Quite a plan, priest,’ the snake hissed telepathically, a note of begrudging admiration in its tone. ‘Weakening such a strong persona and aiding in his consumption… your machinations are impressive, though I wonder if our paths will continue to align once our goals diverge.’
‘Although I could control Linden’s body,’ the priest responded slyly, ‘I couldn’t help you digest his will. By converting him into an Archetype, his will had to continuously fight against the Behemoth, weakening it significantly. Now, it will be easy for you to digest him.’
‘I must say, you’re quite the schemer,’ the snake laughed, its sinister amusement palpable as it began absorbing the white light within Uncle Linden’s body, ‘I suppose you will term Perseus a murderer and exile him?’
‘Once you finish absorbing the villagers, you’ll be strong enough to crush Perseus and Holmes,’ the priest whispered, his eyes flickering with a hidden calculation. ‘That is, unless they still possess the locket. Deal with them, and your escape from this world—and all the power you desire—will be within reach. But hurry, my audience is growing restless.’
The snake’s eyes gleamed with a cold satisfaction as it drained the life from Linden more rapidly, a sinister glint betraying its eagerness. It hissed softly, the corners of its mouth curling up in what might have been a smile, or a sneer.
The priest resumed his theatrics, his voice rising in a litany of spells and chants, his expression a mask of resolute despair. His performance was flawless, convincing anyone who might doubt his sincerity. As the snake continued its consumption, the light in Linden’s eyes gradually dimmed until it was completely extinguished.
‘It’s done,’ the snake reported, retreating swiftly into the priest’s robes.
“No, no, NO!!” the priest wailed, clutching his chest and coughing up blood for added effect. Slowly, he rose to his feet, his posture heavy with simulated grief as he staggered towards the villagers who had gathered around.
“Sorry… I have failed…” His shoulders drooped, and he collapsed to his knees, his voice a broken whisper. “Linden… is no more.”
The villagers gasped and murmured among themselves, their eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and confusion, entirely unaware of the treacherous performance and the malevolent alliance that had just sealed Linden’s fate.