Extract from the -{ Tome of the ‘Forgotten One’ }- Divine scripture of the Church of the ‘Forgotten One’.
"When the celestial spheres align in solemn vigil, the veil of oblivion parts to reveal the emissary of redemption. Through the rift of time, behold the guardian whose footsteps echo with the promise of salvation and restoration." (The Descent of Darkness - 4:9)
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The acrid scent of smoke and charred earth filled Clover's nostrils as he struggled to open his eyes. His body felt as though it had been pummeled by a relentless storm, every muscle screaming in protest as he tried to move. The world around him spun in a dizzying blur, a cacophony of indistinct sounds assaulting his ears from all directions.
*HOWWWLLLLL*
The bone-chilling cry of the shadow stalker cut through the haze like a knife, sending a jolt of clarity through Clover's muddled mind. With that clarity came a single, terrifying thought:
"Sarah..."
His sister's name fell from his lips in a hoarse whisper as his eyes darted frantically across the scorched ground. Relief washed over him as he spotted her still form a short distance away, quickly replaced by a surge of panic when she didn't stir.
"Sarah... Sarah!"
Clover's voice grew more desperate with each unanswered call. The silence that followed felt like a physical weight on his chest, crushing the air from his lungs. He strained his ears, hoping to hear even the faintest hint of her usual irritated response, but nothing came.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Clover summoned every ounce of strength he possessed. His fingers clawed at the earth as he dragged himself towards his sister, leaving a trail of sweat and blood in his wake. Each inch felt like a mile, time stretching into an agonizing eternity as he inched closer to Sarah's motionless form.
"Sarah..." he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper now.
Finally reaching her side, Clover gathered Sarah into his arms with trembling hands. He cradled her against his chest, as though his embrace alone could shield her from the horrors that surrounded them. His breath caught in his throat as he held perfectly still, focusing every fiber of his being on detecting even the slightest sign of life.
The seconds ticked by like hours until, at last, Clover felt the faintest whisper of breath against his hand. A choked sob of relief escaped him as he allowed himself to breathe again, the knot of terror in his chest loosening ever so slightly.
With Sarah secure in his arms, Clover finally took stock of their surroundings. The question that had been nagging at the back of his mind since regaining consciousness bubbled to the surface: Why were they still alive?
His eyes fell upon the shattered remains of the pills they had been about to take, now scattered across the ground a short distance away. The memory of the impact that had knocked them unconscious flickered through his mind, a small mercy that had inadvertently saved their lives.
Where the enchanted fire from his uncle's spear had raged, an eerie mist now blanketed the area. The thick, ghostly tendrils seemed to writhe with a life of their own, obscuring the landscape and muffling sounds in an otherworldly haze.
*ROAAAAARRRRRR*
A blood-curdling roar shattered the unnatural silence, causing Clover to whip his head around so quickly he felt a twinge of pain in his neck. Through gaps in the mist, he witnessed a nightmarish scene unfolding before him.
A shadow stalker, its powerful form now reduced to a struggling, pitiful creature, was impaled by four ghostly blue chains. The ethereal bindings pulsed with an unearthly fire, casting a dim, haunting glow across the misty landscape. Clover's eyes widened in horror as he watched the chains begin to retract, dragging the whimpering beast with them.
The mist parted like a curtain, revealing a sight that made Clover's blood run cold. An enormous serpentine creature emerged, its scales shimmering like captured starlight. A mane of pristine white fur flowed along its back, moving as though caught in an invisible breeze. The beast's face defied description, a chimera of features that Clover's mind struggled to comprehend. Two massive horns crowned its head, and a lion-like mane framed its terrible visage.
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Clover's gaze fell upon another shadow stalker corpse, its head gripped in the monstrous jaws of the serpentine horror. With fluid grace, the creature's elongated body coiled around its freshly caught prey, ready to consume its meal.
A violent shudder wracked Clover's body, a primal fear taking hold as the mist seemed to grow colder and more oppressive around him. He tightened his grip on Sarah, using what little strength he had left to drag them both away from the gruesome spectacle.
But as Clover turned, he realized with sinking dread that they had merely traded one nightmare for another.
A figure stood in the distance, its form vaguely humanoid yet utterly wrong. Dense darkness clung to its body like a second skin, writhing and pulsing with malevolent energy. Where hands should have been, wicked blades gleamed in the dim light. Surrounding the figure were the mangled remains of four shadow stalkers, their once-fearsome bodies reduced to unrecognizable chunks of flesh and fur.
The figure's face turned towards Clover, revealing a visage of unsettling beauty. A gentle smile played across its lips, a stark contrast to the carnage at its feet. The being wore an impeccable black suit, an incongruous touch of civility amidst the chaos.
But it was the darkness clinging to the figure that truly captured Clover's attention. From within the inky depths, faces began to emerge – pale, featureless masks with empty black holes for eyes. More and more of these haunting visages materialized, each bearing a different expression of human emotion. The sight sent waves of revulsion through Clover, every instinct screaming at him to flee.
As Clover struggled to drag himself and Sarah away from this new horror, he felt his sister begin to stir in his arms. Sarah's eyes fluttered open, confusion giving way to fear as she took in Clover's ashen face and their dire surroundings.
Before either sibling could speak, another desperate howl pierced the air behind them. Clover twisted around, his body protesting the movement, to face this new threat.
A vast, roiling pool of shadows spread across the ground before them, its surface churning like a storm-tossed sea of darkness. From within this inky maelstrom, a massive figure began to emerge – the shadow stalker leader, its maw still bearing the ghostly imprint of their uncle's final moments.
Clover and Sarah froze, paralyzed by the sight of the beast that had haunted their nightmares. Yet the pack leader paid them no heed, consumed by its own desperate struggle for survival. It clawed at the earth, trying to drag itself free from the pool of shadows that sought to claim it.
Four enormous tentacles burst from the darkness, wrapping around the shadow stalker's thrashing body. The beast's frenzied howls filled the air as it fought against the inexorable pull, its claws leaving deep furrows in the ground.
Two more tentacles emerged, these ones slender and tipped with razor-sharp blades. With terrifying precision, they plunged into the shadow stalker's back, piercing through to its chest. The mighty creature's strength ebbed away, its final, mournful howl echoing across the battlefield as it was dragged beneath the surface of the shadow pool.
Clover and Sarah stared at the now-silent pool, their bodies trembling uncontrollably. They dared not move, scarcely daring to breathe, lest they draw the attention of whatever horror lurked within those depths.
But it was already too late.
A single arm rose from the inky blackness, reaching towards the siblings with agonizing slowness. Clover and Sarah could only watch, all hope of escape or resistance long since abandoned, as death inched ever closer.
"That's enough, Inky. You're scaring the children."
The unexpected voice shattered the moment like glass, warm and gentle amidst the surrounding chaos. Clover and Sarah felt a soft cloth drape over their bodies, and they turned to find the source of this unexpected kindness.
A man knelt beside them, unremarkable in appearance save for the depth of empathy and sorrow in his dark eyes. His pale skin seemed to glow in the dim light as he placed a comforting hand on each of their heads.
"Don't worry," he said, his voice as soothing as a lullaby. "You're safe now."
The simple words, coupled with the warmth radiating from the man's touch, were all it took to shatter the last of the siblings' resistance. Exhaustion crashed over them like a tidal wave, and they fell into a deep slumber, still clinging to each other beneath the protective cloth.
………………………………………………………..
Moments before this…..
Asher and his companions arrived at the site of carnage, the pack of shadow stalkers still feasting on the remains of their victims. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid stench of fear. Asher's jaw clenched as he realized they were too late to save the unfortunate souls who had fallen prey to the beasts.
With a heavy heart, Asher prepared to join the fray and put an end to the gruesome feast. But Winston stepped forward, a glint of determination in his eyes.
"Let me handle this," Winston said, his voice low and resolute.
Curiosity piqued, Asher nodded his assent, eager to witness Winston's abilities firsthand.
Jormu's ghostly mist began to creep across the battlefield, growing thicker by the second. The shadow stalkers, their muzzles still stained with the blood of their victims, quickly regrouped around their leader. As the mist intensified, spectral figures began to materialize, their ethereal forms darting through the haze.
The pack retreated slowly, pressed back against the abandoned carriages that blocked their escape. One of the mist figures lunged at a shadow stalker, causing it to leap backwards and collide with the carriage behind it. The entire structure shuddered ominously from the impact.
The pack leader, its eyes gleaming with primal intelligence, quickly discerned the harmless nature of the mist figures. It let out a series of commanding howls, steadying its unnerved pack.
From his vantage point, Asher focused his skill on the shadow stalker leader, assessing the threat they faced:
[ Shadowstalker: (Tier 1) Sleek, black-furred predators with glowing eyes that stalk their prey silently through the underbushes. They attack in coordinated packs, using ambush tactics to overwhelm their victims. This shadow-stalker has mutated and awakened its affinity for the shadow element, and is the pack leader of the group.
Current state: Cautious, Angry.]
Despite the formidable foe before them, Asher felt a sense of calm knowing Winston was on the scene. Still, a pang of regret tugged at his heart, knowing they had arrived too late to save the shadow stalkers' victims.
As the pack began to shake off the disorienting effects of the illusionary mist, a new voice cut through the air. Inky leaped into view, his form shimmering and changing as he assumed his true appearance.
"The big one is mine!" Inky called out, his voice thrumming with eager anticipation.
And so they began the battle to bring justice to those departed souls.