"When gods descend from forgotten realms and champions rise from dust,
The seal shall break, and shadows will unfurl upon the earth."
OUTSIDE SPOKANE POLICE STATION, SPOKANE WA.
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The night pressed down on them, thick and suffocating, as Joel stood in the shadow of the police station. His gaze locked on the two figures suspended in the sky, dark silhouettes against roiling clouds that seemed to writhe and churn around them. The prophets hung there, repeating the same judgment for all to hear. Their presence filled the air with a weight that made Joel’s skin prickle. Jamie shifted beside him, her stance as taut as his own, her breath shallow and quick. He didn’t need to look to know she felt it too—the heavy, unspoken warning that vibrated through the air, telling them that this wasn’t just any fight.
A bead of sweat slipped down his neck, and he swallowed, his voice low as he spoke. “Whatever we do, we can’t let up once we start.” He felt his throat tighten around the words, their weight heavier than the air itself.
Jamie’s gaze didn’t waver from the prophets. “I’m with you..” Her voice held an edge, like steel drawn from a sheath, and he caught the flicker of fire in her eyes, her power thrumming beneath the surface, barely contained. She was ready. She needed only his signal.
Joel’s mind raced through their abilities, piecing together a plan with what little he knew. They’d need everything they had, every ounce of strength. His jaw clenched. This first strike had to count.
“I’ll hit them with an air burst,” he muttered, his voice a growl against the rising tension. “It’ll knock them off balance, keep them off us. You follow it up with your fire—feed it into the wind.” He paused, trying to catch her gaze. “We hit them with everything right from the start.”
Jamie’s mouth quirked into a half-smile. “Let’s do it.”
He forced a grin, though his stomach churned. His pulse thundered in his ears, echoing his heartbeat. He couldn’t let Jamie see the uncertainty clawing at him, the dread that weighed his limbs. This fight—it wasn’t one they could afford to lose.
He sucked in a deep breath, steadying himself as he summoned the energy from his air rune, feeling the familiar surge swell within him. He stole a glance at Jamie, her gaze steady on the prophets, her shoulders squared, unflinching. She looked fearless, and somehow, that steadied him too.
“On three,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the ominous hum in the air. “One... two…”
He barely heard her soft “Three” before he thrust his hand forward and uttered two words, feeling the power vibrate through his lips as he did.
“Silim giri!”
The air and motion runes ignited, and a blast of wind exploded from his palm, raw and powerful, rocketing toward the nearest prophet. The force kicked up a cloud of dust and gravel, spiraling upward in a sharp, relentless gust that cut through the night.
Beside him, Jamie’s flames roared to life. She lifted her hands, feeding the fire into his cyclone of wind, her power twisting and merging with his, fueling the torrent. Flames licked and surged higher, fierce and unrestrained, spiraling in a blaze that turned the dark night red and orange. Together, they watched as the inferno consumed the prophet’s form, the fire twisting around him like a living thing, alive and hungry.
The heat washed over Joel, dry and searing. Smoke billowed up, thick and black, swallowing the prophet from view, and for a heartbeat, they held their breath, the silence around them dense and charged. Joel’s chest rose and fell with quick breaths as he glanced at Jamie, catching her eye as relief softened her face, a small, triumphant smile breaking through her tension.
“Think that did it?” Her voice was light, edged with disbelief.
A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe we’re better at this than we thought.”
But before he could savor the victory, a sound rose from within the smoke—low, dark, and mocking. The laughter reverberated through the air, curling around them like cold fingers, twisting its way into his spine. The smoke parted, blown back in a sudden, violent burst, and there, untouched, stood the prophet. His eyes glinted with amusement, sharp and cruel.
Joel’s throat went dry as a flicker of movement drew his gaze. The second prophet descended smoothly, hovering just above the ground, his form a shadow cut against the unnatural clouds swirling above. Their gazes bore down on him and Jamie, relentless and unyielding, their faces sculpted from shadows and malice.
A cold sweat broke across Joel’s skin as he felt the weight of their stare—a pressure so tangible it felt as though it might crush him where he stood. His pulse hammered, each beat echoing louder as his confidence drained, slipping from his grasp like sand through fingers.
One of the prophets raised his hand, and Joel felt the shift in the atmosphere—the tension tightening, condensing, until the air itself buzzed with anticipation. Above, the clouds gathered, thick and ominous, swallowing the stars until only darkness remained. Light flared within the clouds, a sizzle of electricity coiling through the mass, as the storm came alive, crackling with a volatile energy that made his skin prickle.
He felt his muscles tighten as the urge to flee surged through him. His instincts screamed at him to run. But where?
He took a step back, his arm reaching for Jamie, his voice rough and urgent. “Run.”
But the words had barely left his mouth when a brilliant arc of lightning slashed down from the sky, splitting the darkness in a blinding flash. Joel lunged sideways, pulling Jamie with him as the bolt crashed into the ground where they’d just been standing, shaking the earth beneath them with a thunderous roar. Heat seared his face as he hit the pavement, the impact jarring his shoulder, pain spiking up his arm.
Dazed, he forced himself to his feet, his vision swimming as he tried to find his bearings. Above, the prophets hovered, their forms outlined against the storm, backlit by the fierce, crackling light that seemed to wait in the clouds, poised to strike. His pulse thundered as he tried to ignore the ache pulsing through his shoulder. We’re not going to make it if this keeps up.
Gritting his teeth, he reached for the motion and space runes, desperation flaring as he summoned their power, the energy flooding his veins as he pictured escape. Anywhere but here.
“An giri!”
The runes pulsed, responding to his call, and he grabbed Jamie, willing the world to blur, to pull them to safety.
Then the pain hit—sharp, searing, slicing through his side like a blade of fire. His vision dimmed, the teleportation slipping from his grasp as he stumbled, the agony forcing him down to one knee. He pressed his hand against his side, his fingers slick with heat as the ache pulsed, relentless, burrowing deeper.
Forcing himself to look up, he saw the prophets watching them, smiling, their eyes keenly interested in him. A chill clawed through him as he stared into those dark, endless eyes—eyes that held no fear, no doubt, only the quiet fury of something far beyond human.
His pulse hammered as his mind raced, grasping for something, anything that could turn the tide. There has to be a way—
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Ignoring the fire in his side, Joel summoned the energy rune, feeling its hum throb against his fingers as he reached out with his other hand to call upon air. The two runes crackled together, surging through him, sparking under his skin. He poured every ounce of his focus into the energy building in his veins, feeling it coil, tighten, and then, like a dam breaking, he unleashed it.
A jagged bolt of electricity ripped through the air, arcing toward the nearest prophet in a blinding flash of blue-white light. The prophet raised his hand, but Joel pressed on, pouring everything he had into the strike, feeling the electric surge strain his senses. The smell of ozone filled the air, sharp and biting, as the lightning connected, splitting the night with a deafening crack.
But the prophet didn’t falter. He absorbed the hit, his form illuminated by the electric tendrils that danced across his skin before dissipating harmlessly. A slow smile spread across the prophet's face as he took a step forward, unhurried, unbothered.
“Joel!” Jamie’s voice cut through his haze of pain and desperation, and he caught a glimpse of her, flames coiling around her arms as she thrust her hands forward. Her fire roared to life, joining his assault in a fierce burst, flames licking at the prophet’s robes, crackling around him as her fire and his energy mingled into a deadly storm.
The prophet paused, almost seeming to consider them for a moment, before he took another step, unphased. The flames barely touched him, sloughing off his form like water rolling down glass.
A surge of frustration rose in Joel’s chest, raw and desperate. He let go of the energy rune, feeling it flicker out as he brought up earth, switching tactics. He raised his hands, calling on the power of the earth rune and summoning the air rune alongside it. The ground trembled beneath his feet, rumbling as he clenched his fists and willed the earth to rise. Stones and dirt coalesced, shooting up into a wall in front of him and Jamie, thick and solid, a barrier meant to shield them, if only for a moment.
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As the barrier rose, he felt the vibrations through his body, each tremor resonating with his heartbeat. Hold—just hold. The barrier was tall, sturdy, reinforced with the strength of both air and earth, but he could still feel the prophets on the other side, their presence like a weight pressing against him.
Beside him, Jamie's hands flared with fire again, and she pressed her palms against the ground, sending a ripple of flames through the earth. It spread out like a wave, erupting in small bursts around the prophets, searing and snapping at their feet. She glanced at him, determination hardening her gaze. “Keep it up, Joel. We’re not done yet.”
But even as she spoke, the barrier quivered. The prophets hadn’t stopped. Joel could sense them pushing forward, their energy pressing against his shield with a force that seemed almost effortless. He braced himself, feeling the strain in his body as he fought to maintain the wall, his muscles trembling with the effort.
The earth buckled, cracking as the first prophet pressed his hand against it. Joel grit his teeth, pouring more power into the earth rune, reinforcing the barrier as much as he could. Sweat slicked his brow, his side throbbing where the earlier strike had landed, but he pushed the pain aside, focusing only on keeping them at bay.
The barrier cracked again, splintering as the prophets bore down on it. Jamie’s fire flared, bright and fierce, joining with the fractures in the wall, wrapping the stone and dirt in a searing coat of flames. For a moment, Joel thought it might hold.
Then the first prophet stepped through, his form emerging from the flames, untouched. He brushed aside the remaining debris with a flick of his hand, his expression one of mild curiosity, as if he were swatting away an insect.
“Damn it!” Joel spat, releasing the earth rune and instead summoning motion, pairing it with the air rune to form a whirlwind around them. The gust swirled around him and Jamie, lifting dust and debris in a frenzy, creating a temporary shield of wind that whipped at their clothes, their skin. The roar filled his ears, drowning out the steady footsteps of the prophets.
But even as the wind howled around them, Joel knew it wouldn’t last. He felt the prophets’ presence pressing closer, an unstoppable force pressing down on his barrier of wind, inch by inch. He glanced at Jamie, desperation filling his gaze. She was pushing her fire into the vortex, adding heat to the storm, but he could see the strain in her eyes, the way her jaw clenched with exhaustion.
“Joel,” she gasped, her voice barely audible over the roar, “we can’t keep this up.”
He knew she was right. They were running on borrowed time. But he wasn’t ready to give up—not yet. Summoning every ounce of strength left in him, he dropped the air rune, feeling the wind die down as he summoned the earth rune again, the ground beneath him shuddering as he raised it in a final desperate attempt. Stones erupted from the ground, forming jagged spears that jutted toward the prophets like a line of defenses.
But the prophets moved through it, their forms gliding around the stones with an almost fluid ease. They reached out, brushing the rock aside as if it were nothing but mist. Joel’s chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, his energy draining fast. There has to be something more—
The first prophet stepped forward, close enough now that Joel could see the gleam in his eyes, the faint curl of amusement at the edge of his mouth. Joel’s heart pounded, each beat echoing the sense of dread clawing up his spine. He felt Jamie beside him, her flame dwindling, her breaths coming in short, pained gasps. She sent another burst of fire toward the prophet, a desperate flicker of orange and gold, but he swatted it aside as though it were nothing more than a spark.
Pain flared again in Joel’s side, and he staggered, nearly falling to his knees. He clenched his fists, feeling the power slipping from his grasp, his runes flickering like dying embers. The prophets loomed above them, their expressions calm, almost bored, as if this struggle were nothing more than a passing amusement.
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As the darkness closed in, Joel felt a chill settle over him, heavier than before, pressing down like an iron weight against his chest. This wasn’t just a fight—it was a message. A demonstration of how little he and Jamie mattered in the face of such overwhelming power.
The prophets stopped their approach, standing side by side, and lifted their hands in eerie unison. A gust of wind swept around Joel, swirling in a cold, relentless spiral that tightened around his body. He felt himself rise, lifted by an invisible force, his feet leaving the ground as the wind pressed him upward, his limbs pinned by their power.
“Behold,” their voices intoned as one, a hollow, resonant echo that filled the night. “The Inheritor stands before us. The Champion of Tehom-Raash.” A low, mocking laughter rolled through the air, resonant and dark. “And yet, what pitiful creature is this? A child grasping at the fragments of power, unable to wield even the simplest of the gifts bestowed.”
Joel strained against the unseen force, his muscles aching as he fought to break free, but the wind held him fast, binding him as the prophets’ eyes bore into him, their words cutting into him like sharpened blades.
“Hearken, Chosen of Tehom-Raash,” they sneered, their voices woven with contempt. “You were anointed to stand against the gods, to rise as the bulwark against the end of all things. Yet we find you here… frail, faltering, lost in the shadows. You are no champion; you are but a spark flickering in the storm.”
The weight of their words pressed deeper, each syllable sinking into his mind like a stone dropped in water, spreading ripples of doubt and despair. Inheritor. The title echoed within him, hollow, mocking. He could feel his heart pounding, his pulse a desperate, frantic rhythm as the prophets’ wind-bound grasp squeezed tighter, pressing the breath from his lungs.
“This world is condemned,” they continued, their voices a thunderous, ancient chorus, echoing across the void of night. “The gods shall descend, and with them comes reckoning. The heavens will split, the seas will boil, and the lands will shatter beneath their tread. Mankind shall bow in submission, or be swept away in the tide of divine wrath.”
They leaned closer, their dark eyes glinting with a cruel amusement. “Tehom-Raash has erred,” they intoned, each word laced with disdain. “To place his hopes in you, a frail vessel, unworthy of the mantle you bear. You, who play at power, stumbling in the dark.”
He gasped, struggling to pull air into his lungs, his vision blurring as the prophets’ words filled his mind with visions of ruin—a world consumed by fire and darkness, oceans churning with shadows, the sky torn asunder, raining destruction. His head spun, the weight of their power bearing down on him, smothering him in despair. Through the haze, he caught sight of Jamie below, her fists clenched, her face pale and tight with helpless rage, weak flames flickering at her hands as she tried to break the prophets’ hold on him.
Then, as his vision dimmed, he heard it—a distant roar, faint but growing, cutting through the prophets’ cruel voices and the suffocating wind that held him aloft. What…?
The sound grew, swelling until it vibrated through the air, a thunderous symphony of power. And then, out of the darkness, a flash—followed by the scream of engines overhead. Jets.
The sky exploded as fire tore through the night, bright and fierce, a burst of light and debris that sent Joel tumbling free from the prophets’ grip. He crashed to the ground beside Jamie, the blast throwing them both backward in a cloud of dust and splintered earth. He gasped, lungs heaving, each breath raw and desperate as he fought to steady himself, his limbs weak and trembling.
Through the haze, he caught the rumble of engines, closer this time, pounding against the ringing in his ears. Blinking against the dust, he lifted his head just as a dark shape barreled through the cloud of debris. Tires screeched, and a military truck emerged, skidding to a halt mere feet from where they lay.
The truck’s doors flew open, and Joel saw the colonel—Radford—leaning out, his face hard and fierce. “Get in!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the noise, urgent and unyielding. Behind him, several soldiers raised their weapons, covering Joel and Jamie as they staggered to their feet.
Jamie grabbed his arm, pulling him up, her face streaked with dirt and sweat but lit with fierce determination. Together, they stumbled to the truck, tripping over broken ground as the soldiers hauled them in, hands reaching out to pull them to safety.
The prophets, their robes fluttering in the aftermath of the explosion, cast their dark gazes upon the soldiers with a flicker of something almost resembling mild annoyance. One raised an eyebrow, his mouth twisting in a faint, humorless smile, as if amused that these human insects would even dare to interfere.
"Such insolence," they murmured, almost to themselves, their voices laced with ancient scorn. "These creatures know not their place."
One of the jets looped back, angling for another pass, its sleek form cutting through the clouds with deadly precision. The pilot banked, releasing another missile that streaked toward the prophets, leaving a trail of white smoke in its wake.
With a synchronized motion, the prophets raised their hands. The air around them rippled, bending the missile’s path as it veered off course, spiraling away before exploding harmlessly in a burst of light above them. Without a moment’s hesitation, one of the prophets flicked his wrist, and a blinding spear of energy erupted from his hand, slicing through the sky. The jet barely had time to dodge before the beam tore through its wing, sending it spiraling down in a plume of smoke and flame.
Joel’s heart hammered as he watched the jet disappear, a cold shiver rippling through him. The prophets hovered there, untouched, their eyes following the fleeing truck with a calm, predatory focus. They hadn’t given chase, but he could feel their gaze, pressing down on them even as they sped away.
Radford’s voice cut through his thoughts. “We don’t have much time,” he barked, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, his jaw clenched tight. “Those… things won’t stop until you’re gone.”
Jamie, still catching her breath, turned back toward the prophets, her eyes narrowing with a final spark of defiance. She tightened her grip on Joel’s arm. “We need more time.”
Without waiting for a response, she leaned out the window of the truck, her gaze never leaving the looming figures as her hands ignited once more. She threw her arms forward, and a wall of fire erupted between the truck and the prophets, the flames surging high, fierce and bright. The fire stretched, licking up into the night like a barrier of molten fury, a last desperate attempt to slow their relentless approach.
“Keep going!” she shouted, her voice raw, fierce, and unyielding, as she mustered the last of her strength.
The truck’s engine roared, and they lurched forward even faster, speeding down the battered road. Joel barely had time to catch his breath before they were hurtling away, the flames growing distant behind them.
As he looked out the back window, he could see the prophets rising above the flames, their forms untouched by the heat, their faces betraying the faintest hint of disdain. Yet, they made no move to pursue, their eyes glinting with a promise that this was far from over.
Jamie slumped beside him, her breaths ragged, the last remnants of her energy spent in that final act of defiance. Joel reached out, squeezing her hand, grounding himself in that single, steady touch, reminding himself that they were still alive.
And as the truck thundered down the road, Joel felt a spark within him—a defiance, fierce and unyielding, buried beneath the fear. This wasn’t the end. Not yet.