---
The tremors shook the very foundation of the dungeon, reverberating through the stone walls as the ancient structure began to collapse. Gabriel’s voice cut through the chaos, a stern warning that echoed above the rumble of falling stone.
“We must leave, now!” he shouted, already sprinting toward the exit, his wings momentarily flickering into view before retracting as if to avoid notice.
Kain and Selena exchanged a brief glance with Kaelus, whose face was still locked in concentration, his body tense after the grueling battle with Dagon. They nodded in unison, their bodies moving almost on instinct as they followed Gabriel out of the crumbling dungeon.
The floor beneath them shook violently, cracks spreading like veins of decay through the once-grand structure. Behind them, Dagon’s warlord castle—a towering monument to his strength—was collapsing in on itself. Kaelus spared one glance back over his shoulder, catching the sight of the castle falling into ruin as if the very essence that had held it together had been tied to Dagon’s existence.
“We’re almost there!” Kain shouted, his voice strained with the effort of keeping his footing amidst the quaking earth.
Just as they neared the exit, a section of the ceiling came crashing down, sending a plume of dust into the air. Gabriel’s wings flickered once more, as though he was fighting the urge to reveal them fully to shield the group. With a grim expression, he dashed forward, urging the others to keep moving.
They burst out into the open just as the entrance behind them crumbled, the final remnants of Dagon’s domain falling into dust. Outside, the cool night air was a welcome relief from the oppressive atmosphere inside the dungeon.
They stood at a distance, watching as the once-mighty castle of Dagon, the warlord who had commanded the first abyss rift point, crumbled into a pile of rubble. The oppressive aura that had suffused the place was now gone, but the weight of their victory still lingered heavily on their minds.
“We did it,” Kain muttered, dropping to one knee, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “But damn, that was close.”
Selena moved beside him, her hands already glowing with a soft, green light as she summoned her healing magic to tend to the various cuts and bruises they had sustained in the fight. “Hold still,” she whispered gently. “We need to recover before anything else happens.”
Kaelus, still catching his breath, sat down on a nearby rock, his eyes staring vacantly at the ruins. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword, still stained with the remnants of the battle against Dagon. He hadn’t spoken much since they had escaped the dungeon, and his silence felt heavy in the air.
Gabriel, standing a little distance away, was pacing. His brow was furrowed, his eyes scanning the horizon as though he expected another attack at any moment.
Elias, however, was not watching the ruins or the sky. His gaze was fixed firmly on Gabriel, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. He had seen it, if only for a fleeting moment—*the wings*. They had flickered into view during their escape, and even now, the memory of the radiant energy that had emanated from Gabriel haunted his mind.
“I’m telling you,” Elias muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible to anyone but himself. “There’s something…off about him.”
---
The group settled down to rest, gathering around a small fire that Selena had conjured. The night was eerily quiet, the stars above twinkling in a dark sky that had borne witness to their battle.
Kain, leaning back against a boulder, let out a deep sigh. “So…what’s next?” His tone was light, but there was a weight behind his words that hinted at the enormity of the task ahead of them.
Kaelus finally spoke, his voice low and weary. “We have the first rift point. But that was only the beginning. There are more out there, and they’ll only get stronger from here.”
“The second rift point is further north,” Gabriel said, his voice steady but distant. He hadn’t sat with them, standing apart as though he didn’t quite belong with the group. “From what I’ve gathered, the next warlord is even more dangerous than Dagon.”
Kain groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Fantastic. And here I was hoping we could take a breather before we dive into another life-or-death struggle.”
Selena chuckled softly, the sound a rare moment of levity amidst the tension. “Isn’t that what we signed up for? We knew this journey wasn’t going to be easy.”
“Well, I for one wouldn’t mind a little easy now and then,” Kain replied, though there was a smile on his face. “I’m starting to miss the days when our biggest problems were bandits and wild beasts.”
Elias, who had been quiet up until this point, couldn’t hold back his thoughts any longer. He glanced around at the others, his gaze eventually landing on Gabriel. “We’ll need to be prepared. There’s no telling what kind of forces we’ll be up against. And,” he hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowing, “we need to trust each other fully if we’re going to survive.”
His words were pointed, directed at Gabriel, though he didn’t say it outright. Gabriel’s back was turned, but Elias knew he had heard him.
Kain raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two. “What’s that supposed to mean, Elias?”
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Elias shook his head slightly, his brow furrowed. “Nothing. Just…thinking out loud.”
Selena finished healing Kain and turned her attention to Kaelus, her magic washing over him as she tended to his wounds. “Do you really think the next warlord will be stronger than Dagon?” she asked, trying to steer the conversation away from the tension that was starting to build.
Kaelus nodded slowly. “If Dagon was the guardian of the first rift point, it stands to reason that the others will only get more powerful. We need to be ready for anything.”
Elias, however, wasn’t ready to let his thoughts go. He stared at Gabriel’s back, replaying the fleeting moment when he had seen the wings—radiant, ethereal, and unmistakably holy. *What are you hiding?* he thought to himself.
---
As the night wore on, the group fell into more casual conversation. They talked about their lives before they had been pulled into this world—the trivialities that had once made up their day-to-day existence now seemed like distant memories.
“I miss home sometimes,” Selena admitted quietly, staring into the fire. “Not that I had much of a life back there. But still…things were simpler.”
Kain snorted. “Simple is one word for it. Boring is another. I mean, don’t get me wrong, this whole ‘saving the world’ business is a bit much, but back home? I was just another face in the crowd. At least here, we matter.”
Kaelus remained silent, his mind far away. He had never spoken much about his past life, and now was no exception. Instead, he focused on regaining his strength, knowing full well that the battles ahead would only be more difficult.
Gabriel, still standing apart from the group, glanced back at them briefly, his expression unreadable.
Elias couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. The brief flash of wings, the aura of power he had sensed…Gabriel was more than he seemed, and Elias was determined to find out the truth.
But for now, they had to rest. The road ahead was long, and the abyss rift points weren’t going to seal themselves.
---
As the night deepened, the heroes allowed themselves a moment of peace, though the weight of their quest never fully left their minds. The battle with Dagon had been a brutal reminder of the forces they were up against, and the road ahead would only grow darker.
Elias’ suspicion of Gabriel lingered, gnawing at him, but he kept it to himself for the time being. There would be a time for answers, but for now, they needed to focus on surviving the journey ahead.
And somewhere, in the shadows beyond the firelight, forces beyond their comprehension were already moving, preparing for the next test of their strength. *---
Far to the north, beyond the frozen peaks and tundras, where the sky bled an unnatural shade of green, stood a castle that defied all logic, towering against the horizon like a monument to something long forgotten by time. The air around it shimmered with an eerie distortion, as though the very laws of nature warped in its presence. This was no ordinary castle—*Tartessos*, named after the ancient city lost to the gods, was a place where the fabric of reality itself seemed to unravel and re-stitch, an abyssal stronghold that existed both in the physical realm and in the void beyond.
The external structure of Tartessos was unlike anything in the known world. The monoliths that composed the castle's walls rose high into the sky, black as night, yet they pulsed with a dim, sickly green light that ran like veins through their surface. These stones seemed to be breathing, an almost imperceptible expansion and contraction, as though the castle was alive—feeding on the surrounding darkness. At a glance, the walls appeared solid, but upon closer inspection, they twisted and shifted subtly, creating the illusion that the entire fortress was moving, though it remained rooted in place. The sky above swirled unnaturally, a vortex of shifting clouds and ethereal lights, as though the very heavens had been torn open.
The spires of Tartessos reached far into the heavens, tapering off into thin, jagged points that flickered in and out of existence, like shadows cast in the flame of a dying candle. Around the castle, the landscape was barren, devoid of any signs of life. The earth had been scorched black, twisted into grotesque shapes as though it had been melted and reshaped by some unholy power. Jagged rocks jutted from the ground like the teeth of a ravenous beast, and the only sound was the faint, unsettling hum of the vortex above, like the universe itself whispering its decay.
Inside the castle, the structure was even more disorienting. The walls were lined with strange symbols, glowing runes that pulsed with an alien light, casting distorted shadows that seemed to shift and twist independent of the flickering flames in the torches that lined the corridors. The halls were vast and labyrinthine, with ceilings that stretched far beyond what should have been possible, giving the unsettling impression that the interior was far larger than the outside. Every step taken within the castle echoed unnaturally, a sound that reverberated through the very bones of anyone who dared to walk these cursed halls.
In the heart of this grotesque monument sat the Enchantress, an enigmatic and fearsome figure. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, with an ethereal glow that seemed to radiate from her very essence. She was adorned in translucent fabrics that clung to her form, exposing much of her bare skin and leaving little to the imagination. The fabric itself seemed alive, shifting and moving as though woven from the very darkness around her, and where it covered her, it only highlighted the raw sensuality of her figure. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, glowing faintly in the dim light of the room, and her eyes—two burning green orbs—shone with a cruel amusement.
In her right hand, a flickering green light pulsed, forming a swirling vortex that opened into a window across space and time. Through this window, the enchantress could see the collapse of Dagon’s fortress, *Durandal*, reduced to rubble as the hero Kaelus and his party left it behind.
She smiled—a slow, malicious smile that curled at the edges of her lips. Her voice, soft and mocking, echoed through the eerie silence of the room.
“Dagon has fallen,” she whispered to no one in particular, her tone laced with mockery. “He who always craved the thrill of battle has finally met his end. How fitting. He must have relished that final fight.”
Her amusement echoed in the cavernous chamber, a haunting melody that seemed to weave itself into the very stones of Tartessos. Around her, kneeling in silent reverence, were her warrior women—her most loyal servants, the *Anakim* these women were towering figures, each one more than seven feet tall, with muscular frames and cold, unyielding expressions. Their eyes, glowing faintly in the dim light, were fixed on their mistress with unwavering devotion. Each was clad in black armour that shimmered with a strange, oily sheen, and from their hands, dark weapons hung—swords forged from voidstone, enchanted to cleave through both flesh and spirit.
The Anakim were fearsome, but their loyalty to the Enchantress was absolute. They did not speak, they did not question. They lived only to serve.
The enchantress, whose name was Circe was more than just a sorceress. She was a master of the arcane ,a wielder of powers that transcended the understanding of mortals. Her very presence warped reality, bending it to her whims. She had ruled the northern regions for centuries, her influence spreading through the darkest corners of the world. Her magic, drawn from the void itself, allowed her to manipulate space, time, and even the very fabric of existence.
As she watched Durandal crumble, her fingers traced the air lazily, her expression thoughtful. “It was inevitable, I suppose,” she mused aloud. “Dagon was always a brute, but useful. Now, he is gone…and the hero is still alive.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, the amusement never leaving her voice. “Kaelus…”
She let the name linger on her lips, tasting the sound of it. “He and his little band of mortals think themselves powerful. Perhaps they are, by the standards of this broken world. But they have not yet seen true power.”
She closed her hand, the vortex vanishing into nothingness. Around her, the Anakim remained silent, their heads bowed in submission.
Circe stood, her translucent robes swirling around her as she moved gracefully through the chamber. The castle around her seemed to respond to her every movement, the walls shifting subtly as though bending to her will. Her fingers traced one of the runes carved into the stone, and it glowed faintly beneath her touch.
“Their journey will bring them here,” she said softly, more to herself than to the warriors around her. “And when they arrive, I will be waiting.”
She turned to face her loyal followers, her eyes gleaming with cruel delight. “Prepare yourselves,” she commanded. “The hero’s party will come, and we will test their worth.”
The Anakim rose as one, their movements precise and calculated. They bowed low, acknowledging their mistress’s command, and then began to move through the castle, their heavy footsteps echoing through the vast halls.
Circe watched them go, her smile returning as she thought of the battle to come. But there was something more—something deeper. A loneliness that gnawed at her, buried beneath her cruel amusement.
Dagon had been a companion of sorts, as much as one could be in a world of demons and forgotten gods. They had both sought power, both transcended the boundaries of mortal understanding. But now he was gone, and Astarte, though she would never admit it, felt the weight of his absence.
Her eyes flickered to the Warhammer that Dagon had once wielded—the mighty weapon that had shattered countless dimensions, forged in the heart of a dying star. It lay discarded in the corner of the chamber, its dark metal gleaming faintly in the green light.
“Power is a lonely thing,” she murmured to herself, her voice barely audible. “But I will not fall as he did. I will rise higher, and I will claim what is mine.”
The wind outside the castle howled, and the sky above Tartessos swirled with green light, as though the very heavens themselves were reacting to the enchantress’s thoughts.i
Circe, the ruler of the north, stood at the precipice of something greater than she had ever imagined. The hero was coming, and with him, the chance to transcend even her own power.