As the ship began its slow descent toward the marked infestation zone, Erik turned back to his team. Berndhardt was already strapping on his gear, a familiar grin plastered on his face. Vesper checked her weapons, her movements precise but tense.
Erik glanced at Kaelara one last time, her stern demeanor masking the uncertainty in her eyes.
“This is your chance to see what’s coming,” he said.
“I hope you’re ready for it.”
Kaelara didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stepped closer to the map, her gaze fixed on the pulsing green mass that awaited them.
“I hope you’re ready,” she said finally.
“Because if what you say is true, the Concord may not be able to help in the way you’re hoping.”
Erik’s lips twitched into a faint, humorless smile.
“I don’t need your help to fight this. I need your help to stop it from spreading.”
As the ship’s hum grew louder and the cityscape came into view, the tension among the group was palpable. Erik rested a hand on the console, the faint glow of his crimson eyes deepening.
The ship came to rest above a broad, open square that should have been alive with merchants and citizens. Instead, the air was heavy, thick with an unidentifiable tension. The warriors disembarked one by one, their ceremonial armor catching the faint glow of the ship’s runes. They formed a loose perimeter around Kaelara as Erik and his team emerged.
The Erik moved with a calm confidence that unnerved some of the newer recruits. The stories they had heard of the Crimson eyed Atherian had painted him as a weapon, a destroyer. Seeing him now quiet, composed, and entirely in control was far more intimidating than they had expected.
Berndhardt followed, his massive axe resting on his shoulder, the grin on his face betraying none of the gravity of the situation. Vesper was next, her sharp eyes scanning the surroundings with a precision that suggested she missed nothing. The Grand Magus Oswin trailed behind, his curiosity evident as he scribbled notes on the glowing ruins visible on nearby buildings.
Erik gathered the group in a loose circle near the base of the ramp. His voice was calm but carried an undeniable authority as he began to speak.
“This isn’t a duel in a training yard. We are on the outskirts of the infestation zone. We don’t know how many we will see, but it will be more than you are likely think you are prepared for” he said, his crimson eyes sweeping over the group.
“The eldritch doesn’t fight fair. It doesn’t care about your rank or your skill. It exploits weaknesses; fear, arrogance, and hesitation. If you’re not prepared for that, you won’t survive.”
One of the younger warriors, a man with a polished longsword and an easy smirk, muttered under his breath,
“Is he giving us a lecture? We’re the Concord’s best.”
The others nearby chuckled softly, their confidence bolstered by numbers. Erik’s gaze flicked to them, but he said nothing.
He continued.
“We’re walking into an infestation zone. That means you stick together. You follow orders. And you don’t engage without knowing what you’re dealing with.”
A veteran guard, his scarred face showing years of experience, nodded and stepped closer to listen.
“What kind of defenses are we using?” he asked.
“Anything specific to counter the corruption?”
Vesper took over, her tone sharp.
“Stay within reach of Erik. He can deal with threats that become out of hand, but the expectation is that you all need to see what you are up against. We are here to help and teach you. The moment you start to feel… wrong, you pull back. No heroics.”
The younger warriors exchanged glances, their expressions skeptical. One of them, the man with the longsword, rolled his eyes.
“With all due respect, we’ve faced plenty of threats before. Whatever this is, it can’t be that different.”
Another warrior, a woman with twin daggers, smirked.
“If it’s so dangerous, why haven’t we heard more about it? Sounds like someone’s trying to scare us into behaving.”
The veterans didn’t share their confidence. They remained silent, their expressions grim as they took in Erik’s demeanor and the palpable tension in the air.
Erik let the doubters talk, his patience unshaken. When they quieted, he looked directly at them, his tone sharp but controlled.
“You’re free to dismiss what I’m saying. But the eldritch won’t. And when it decides to show itself, you’ll wish you had listened.”
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The veterans nodded and began adjusting their weapons and gear, making a point of standing closer to Erik and his team. The younger, cockier fighters moved further toward the edges of the group, their overconfidence written in every motion.
As the group began to move into the eerily quiet streets, the tension grew thicker. The oppressive silence was punctuated only by the faint hum of the ship hovering above, its runes glowing faintly as it provided overwatch. The streets were empty, but the shadows seemed to move with a life of their own.
One of the veterans, a grizzled woman with a shield strapped to her back, muttered to her companion.
“Feels wrong. Like we’re being watched.”
“We are,” Erik said quietly, his voice low but clear.
He didn’t turn around, but his hand rested lightly on the hilt of his blade.
“Stay alert.”
The younger warriors scoffed, one of them whispering,
“Dramatic, isn’t he?”
As if in response, the shadows around the group seemed to deepen, a faint, sickly green glow flickering at the edges of the ruined buildings ahead. The air grew heavier, and an unnatural chill seeped into their bones.
One of the younger warriors shivered, his earlier bravado slipping.
“What the hell is that?”
Erik stopped, turning to face them. His expression was calm, but his crimson eyes burned with intensity.
“That,” he said, gesturing toward the faint glow,
“is what you’re dealing with. And it hasn’t even noticed us yet.”
Kaelara stepped closer to Erik, her earlier confidence tempered by the oppressive atmosphere.
“This is the infestation? It doesn’t look—”
“It’s not what you see that’s dangerous,” Erik interrupted.
“It’s what you don’t.”
Berndhardt shifted his axe on his shoulder, his grin still present but his tone more serious.
“You’ll see it soon enough.”
The younger warriors exchanged uneasy glances, the reality of the situation starting to sink in. The veterans adjusted their stances, their weapons at the ready as they moved closer to Erik’s group.
“Stay close,” Erik ordered, his voice low but firm. “And remember; this isn’t a fight you win by force. You win by surviving.”
As they continued deeper into the corrupted zone the air around them grew heavier with each step. The cocky warriors who had dismissed Erik’s briefing now found themselves inching closer to the veterans, their earlier confidence replaced by a growing sense of unease.
From a darker alleyway, faint tendrils of mist began to descend, curling around the ground like grasping fingers. The sound of slow, deliberate footsteps echoed through the alley, and a figure emerged, shrouded in the dim light.
It was an old man, hunched over and moving with the fragile gait of someone who had seen too many winters. His ragged clothing hung off his thin frame, and his skin was pallid, almost waxy. His glassy eyes locked onto the group, and a faint, rasping sound escaped his lips, like an aborted attempt to speak.
The younger warriors tensed, their hands flying to their weapons. One of them, the man with the longsword, muttered,
“What the hell is this?” His earlier bravado was replaced with unease as he raised his blade.
“Hold,” Erik commanded, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. His crimson eyes flickered with a faint glow as he activated his demonic eyesight, scanning the figure.
What he saw made his jaw tighten. The old man wasn’t human; not anymore. His form was suffused with green energy, the eldritch corruption radiating from him in pulsating waves.
Erik turned to Kaelara, his voice steady but grim. “That is an eldritch being.”
Kaelara’s brow furrowed as she looked at the old man, her expression a mixture of confusion and disbelief.
“He looks... normal. Frail, even.”
Erik shook his head.
“That’s the danger. It looks like anyone else. It can talk like anyone else. The stronger the host, the more articulate and dangerous the eldritch being becomes. This old man…”
He paused, glancing back at the figure.
“This one has been completely consumed.”
The old man stopped walking and hunched over slightly, his body trembling as a guttural sound began to build in his chest. It started as a low, wet cough, hacking and uneven, before growing louder and more violent. His entire body convulsed with each heave, his thin frame shaking as if it might collapse under the strain.
The younger warriors exchanged nervous glances, their grips tightening on their weapons.
“What’s wrong with him?” one of them whispered.
Before Erik could answer, the old man’s body lurched forward with a sickening crack, and something horrific spilled out of his mouth; a writhing amalgamation of flesh, ichor, and bone. The thing landed on the ground with a wet splat, its form convulsing as it began to take shape.
The group watched in horror as the skeletal structure emerged, composed of jagged bones fused together with sinew and dripping green-black ichor. It screeched, a sound so piercing it seemed to vibrate through the air, sending a shiver down everyone’s spine.
“What in the gods’ names is that?!” one of the younger warriors shouted, stumbling back.
Erik remained calm, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.
“An eldritch creation,” he said, his tone cold.
“When the host is fully consumed, the corruption can manifest physically. And it’s never alone.”
The skeletal abomination rose to its full height, its malformed limbs twitching as it turned toward the group. Its hollow eye sockets glowed faintly with the same sickly green light that suffused the buildings around them. It let out another screech, its maw stretching unnaturally wide as if tearing itself apart in the process.
The sound echoed through the desolate streets, followed by an eerie silence that lasted only a moment. Then, faint moans began to rise in the distance… low, drawn-out sounds that seemed to come from all directions.
Erik’s expression darkened.
“It’s calling for others.”
From the surrounding streets and alleys, figures began to emerge. Their movements were slow and shambling at first, but as they drew closer, their unnatural nature became more evident. Their skin was discolored, their limbs twisted, and their eyes glowed faintly with the same green light.
The younger warriors panicked, raising their weapons.
“There’s more of them!” one of them shouted, backing away.
The veterans held their ground, their faces grim but steady. The grizzled warrior with the shield glanced at Erik.
“How many are we looking at?”
“Enough to be a problem,” Erik replied, drawing his blade. The demonic energy around him flared faintly, casting crimson patterns across his body. He turned to Vesper and Berndhardt.
“Stay sharp.”
Berndhardt grinned, hefting his massive silver axe.
The eldritch creatures closed in, their moans growing louder as their twisted forms became clearer. Some were barely human anymore, their bodies warped into grotesque shapes. Others looked almost normal, their corruption visible only in their glowing eyes and the ichor that dripped from their mouths.
Kaelara’s voice was steady but tense. “What’s the plan”
Erik stepped forward, his blade glinting faintly in the sickly light.
“We hold the line. Stay close, and don’t let them separate us. The moment you lose formation, you’re dead.”
He glanced at the younger warriors, their faces pale with fear.
“This is what you dismissed earlier,” he said pointedly.
“You’re about to find out why that was a mistake.”
As the eldritch horde closed in, Erik’s demonic aura flared brighter, and his Aura pushed out with commanding presence ready to take on the corruption.