Within a grand hall adorned with opulent tapestries and towering marble pillars, thirty men clad in burgundy robes stood in a solemn formation, encircling a massive magic circle etched intricately on the floor. The air crackled with anticipation as their gazes fixed upon the figure seated upon a lofty throne, an aged man draped in flowing black robes adorned with intricate golden embroidery. The mood in the hall was heavy, a palpable mixture of determination and trepidation.
"It's coming," the old man sighed, his voice carrying the weight of ages as he rose from his regal seat, holding aloft a staff that hummed with latent power. The gemstone atop the staff glowed, casting an ethereal light upon the room. With a sweeping gesture, he directed the attention of all present towards the giant magic circle before them.
A few seconds later the magic circle shimmered to life, its intricate lines and symbols aglow with an oppressive energy. The air itself seemed to constrict, squeezing against the chests of the gathered magicians. Beads of sweat formed on furrowed brows, and strained expressions etched themselves onto their faces. Each breath became a laborious task, yet not a single soul faltered or wavered in their resolve.
As the magic circle continued to radiate its mesmerizing glow, the walls of the grand hall began to crumble, disintegrating into a cascade of shimmering particles. The once sturdy structure succumbed to the overwhelming power unleashed within its confines. The air crackled with raw energy, thickening with each passing moment.
The task at hand grew increasingly arduous, as if the very fabric of reality strained under the weight of the magicians' collective effort. Their bodies, conduits for the immense power coursing through the magic circle, trembled with the strain. Skin turned translucent, revealing veins of pulsating energy beneath their surfaces. And yet, even as their physical forms started to disintegrate, they pressed on.
The oppressive pressure that had weighed upon them for what felt like an eternity gradually began to dissipate, like a heavy fog lifting from their weary souls. The magicians exchanged glances of relief, their strained features softening into weary smiles. But amidst the collective sighs of release, the old man remained vigilant.
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His face furrowed with concern as he observed the fading remnants of the immense power that had consumed them. His eyes widened in horror as the magic circle suddenly exploded with a surge of unprecedented energy, engulfing the thirty surrounding magicians in a devastating wave.
Time seemed to slow as the shockwave of power rippled outward, threatening to reach the old man. In a desperate act of defiance, he snarled, his aged voice filled with determination, and unleashed the full extent of his abilities. With a wave of his staff, he halted time itself, freezing the destructive energy surge and suspending everything in motion.
Knowing that his act of stopping time came at a great cost, the old man reached into the folds of his robe and produced a small vial filled with unknown blood. His weathered hands traced intricate symbols in the air, forming a series of delicate magic circles. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he poured his fading life force into the arcane rituals, channeling his remaining strength into a desperate attempt to redirect the power, in the end granting humanity 2 boons in addition to saving them.
As the last vestiges of his life force waned, the old man's form began to fade, his existence intertwined with the magic he wielded. The world around him blurred and distorted, as if reality itself struggled to comprehend his sacrifice. With a final, strained breath, he disappeared from the frozen tableau, leaving behind only stillness and an invisible energy surge that would go unnoticed by the world.
With the old man's disappearance, the threat that had loomed over the grand hall and the entire world dissipated, vanishing into the depths of the unseen. The hall remained in a frozen state of suspended animation, an eternal monument to the sacrifice made by the old man.