Markus closed his eyes, picturing Sharon's face and her kind smile then his parent worried face who were always proud of him. He sometimes heard people talking behind their back about him, did he really their son because how he looks like a knight figure when he barely sixteen when both of his parents were simple farmer with thin body. As long as he could remember he always good at everything he does be that plowing field and milking goat or fishing in the lake and fighting. No one in the village could beat him, he was handsome, has great body and good at everything. He sometimes wondering how it felt to live in the big city, join the legendary knight order or even became champion in the Solus kingdom, they said anyone would be treated like a royalty if they became champion.
He good at everthing so he maybe had change to became one if he put his mind into it. But contrary to everyone believe Markus didn't go to the big city or join the knight order instead he keep doing his hunter job and life in mediocre because he loved his home and his love was here so how could he go anywhere but here.
But now that life was about to be taken from him. He felt a surge of regret, not for his impending death, but for the things he would never do, the life he would never live. He had wanted to protect them all, but he had failed.
He waited for the blow, for the searing pain, for the darkness to consume him. But it didn't come.
Instead, he heard a sound – a faint, almost imperceptible sound – a whisper of wind.
He opened his eyes, and saw, through his blurry vision, a flicker of light in the chamber. Not the sickly green glow of the torches, but a bright, pure light, like the light of the sun.
The light grew stronger, brighter, pushing back the darkness that filled the chamber. The chanting of the cultists faltered, their voices filled with confusion and fear.
The high priestess turned, her eyes widening in alarm. "What is this?" she hissed.
The wind intensified, swirling around the chamber, creating a vortex of energy. The torches flickered and died, plunging the chamber into darkness, but the bright light remained, illuminating the scene with an ethereal glow.
And then, Markus saw him. Gordon. He was standing at the far end of the chamber, his form wreathed in swirling wind, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly light.
"You will sacrifice no one, bitch," Gordon said, his voice echoing through the chamber. "Not tonight. Not ever."
The high priestess snarled. "You dare?" she shrieked. "You are just a boy !"
"Fuck you!" Gordon replied. "I am the wind. I am the storm. I am your....dead."
He raised his hands, and the wind responded, intensifying into a raging tempest. The dark symbols on the walls flickered and faded, their power weakened by the pure energy of the wind. The cultists cried out in fear.
The high priestess, her face contorted with rage, unleashed a wave of dark energy towards Gordon. But the wind deflected it, the dark magic dissipating harmlessly against the force of nature.
Gordon then directed the wind towards the bound villagers, gently lifting them from the altar. He used the wind to carry them towards Markus and Sharon, freeing them from their bonds.
"Get them out of here," Gordon yelled, his voice filled with urgency. "I'll hold her off."
Markus and Sharon, their strength renewed by the sight of Gordon's power, helped the villagers to their feet. They knew they had to escape, to get away from this place of evil.
"But Gordon…" Sharon protested.
"Go!" Gordon insisted. "I'll be right behind you."
Markus and Sharon, along with the rescued villagers, fled the chamber, disappearing into the maze of tunnels.
Gordon turned his attention back to the high priestess, who was seething with rage.
"You cannot win," she shrieked. "Our dark god is with us!"
"Your god is a lie," Gordon replied. "And you talk too much, bitch. With this awesome power of mine i would fuck you up!"
The high priestess glared at Gordon, her eyes burning with malevolent fury. "You midget toddler!" she hissed. "You are nothing but a baby who is born yesterday!"
"Compared to an old woman like you, I am indeed born yesterday" Gordon retorted, his mockery echoing through the chamber. "And today this toddler with give you the best beating in your lifetime."
He raised his hands, and the wind responded, intensifying into a raging tempest. The chamber shook, the dark symbols on the walls flickered and faded, their power weakening in the face of the storm. The high priestess staggered back, her dark robes swirling around her.
"You cannot beat me!" she shrieked, unleashing a wave of dark energy towards Gordon.
But the wind was his shield. The dark energy slammed against the swirling vortex, dissipating harmlessly. Gordon, moving with the speed of the wind itself, dodged her attacks, his movements fluid and graceful.
"You are too old," he said, his voice filled with confidence. "And too slow."
He focused his will, drawing on the energy of the storm, channeling it into a single, devastating blast. The wind roared, a deafening crescendo of power, and slammed into the high priestess.
She cried out in pain, her body convulsed by the force of the blast. Her dark robes were torn, her face exposed, revealing a visage twisted with hatred and fear.
"This… this is impossible!" she gasped, her voice weak.
"Nothing is impossible," Gordon replied.
He raised his hands once more, and the wind gathered around him, forming a swirling vortex of pure energy. The chamber was filled with the roar of the storm, the air crackling with raw power.
"This is the power of the wind," Gordon said, his voice echoing through the chamber. "A power that you cannot comprehend. A power that will cleanse this place of your darkness."
He unleashed the full force of the storm, a devastating blast of energy that tore through the chamber, shattering the altar, sending the dark symbols crashing to the ground. The high priestess, caught in the blast, screamed in agony as her body was consumed by the wind's fury.
The chamber fell silent. The only sound was the gentle whisper of the wind, a soothing balm after the storm. Gordon stood in the center of the chamber, his form wreathed in swirling energy, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. He had won.
The darkness that had permeated the chamber began to recede, replaced by a sense of peace and tranquility. The air felt cleaner, lighter. The evil that had held this place captive was gone.
Gordon lowered his hands, the swirling energy around him subsiding. He looked around the chamber, at the shattered altar, at the fallen cultists, at the freed villagers who were slowly emerging from their hiding places. He had done it. He had defeated the high priestess, cleansed the stronghold of its evil.
But
The peace that had settled over the chamber was fragile, a thin veil stretched over the lingering echoes of dark magic. Gordon, his power waning, felt a sense of relief, but it was short-lived. The air grew heavy once more, the temperature plummeting. A low, guttural tremor shook the very foundations of the stronghold.
"You… you think it is over?" a voice rasped, laced with an unnatural power. It was the high priestess, or what was left of her. She was no longer the woman Gordon had fought. Her form was twisted, contorted, radiating an aura of pure, unholy power. The dark energy that crackled around her was no longer the flickering flame of a torch; it was a raging inferno. The Shadow Lord, denied his sacrifice, had intervened, imbuing his chosen servant with a fragment of his own terrifying power.
The chamber trembled, dust and debris falling from the ceiling. The rescued villagers huddled together, their eyes wide with terror. Markus and Sharon, though weakened, instinctively moved to protect them, but they knew they were no match for what the high priestess had become.
"You have defied me," the high priestess’s voice boomed, no longer human, resonating with the power of the dark god. "You have dared to challenge my master. Now… you will pay with your thousand scream!"
Gordon, his body aching, his magic still unstable, knew he was facing something far greater than he had encountered before. This was no longer just a priestess; this was a vessel, a conduit for the Shadow Lord's power.
He tried to summon the wind, but the dark energy radiating from the high priestess resisted his magic, pushing it back, corrupting it. He felt his control slipping, his power flickering and fading.
The high priestess raised her hand, and the very stones of the chamber seemed to obey her will. They rose from the floor, forming sharp, jagged projectiles. She hurled them at Gordon, each one imbued with dark magic, carrying a force that threatened to crush him.
Gordon dodged and weaved, but the projectiles were relentless, their movements unnatural, guided by the high priestess’s dark will. One struck him in the shoulder, the dark magic searing his flesh, disrupting his control further. He cried out in pain, stumbling back.
He knew he couldn't fight her like this. He was outmatched, outgunned, facing a power beyond his comprehension. He had to protect the villagers, he had to protect Markus and Sharon, but he was running out of options.
The high priestess laughed, a chilling, triumphant sound. "You are nothing," she hissed. "A mere mortal, a boy toddler, a fleeting spark of power against the eternal darkness."
She raised her hands again, and the chamber began to shake violently. Cracks appeared in the walls, and the ceiling threatened to collapse. The air was thick with dark energy, choking him, suffocating him.
She unleashed another wave of dark power, a devastating blast that slammed into Gordon, throwing him against a wall. He collapsed to the ground, his body broken, his magic extinguished. He was an inch from death.
The high priestess turned her attention to Markus and Sharon, her eyes burning with malevolent triumph. "Now," she said, her voice dripping with malice. "It is your turn."
Markus and Sharon, though terrified, stood their ground. They knew they were facing certain death, but they refused to cower before this monstrous being. They had come this far, they had fought so hard, and they would face their end with courage.
But just as the high priestess raised her hand to unleash her dark power, a new voice echoed through the chamber, a voice that was ancient, raspy, and filled with a chilling malice.
"What a nice show." the voice croaked.
The high priestess turned, her eyes widening in surprise. From the shadows at the back of the chamber, a figure emerged. It was the hag.
She was even more grotesque than they remembered. Her skin was stretched taut over her bones, her eyes were milky white, and her gnarled hands were like claws. She leaned heavily on her twisted staff, her breathing ragged and shallow.
The high priestess, momentarily stunned, lowered her hand. "Hag," she hissed. "What are you doing here?"
The hag cackled, a dry, rattling sound. "You think you can claim his soul?" she rasped, her gaze fixed on Gordon, who lay broken and bleeding on the floor. "He is mine."
The high priestess scoffed. "He is nothing to you, old woman. He is a sacrifice to our dark god."
"He killed one of my kind," the hag snarled, her voice filled with a primal fury. "He will pay for that transgression. I will have his soul."
The high priestess laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. "You? You think you can challenge me? I am imbued with the power of the Shadow Lord! You are nothing but a withered crone!"
"I am older than your god," the hag rasped. "I have seen empires rise and fall. I have witnessed the birth and death of stars. And I will not be denied my vengeance."
She raised her staff, and a surge of dark magic erupted from it, a raw, primal energy that clashed with the refined power of the high priestess. The chamber shook, the very air crackling with the force of their colliding magics.
The high priestess, her face contorted with rage, unleashed a wave of dark lightning towards the hag. But the hag was ready. She countered with a blast of her dark magic.
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The two forces collided, creating a shockwave that sent the cultists scrambling. The chamber was filled with the clash of their magics, a battle between two ancient evils, a struggle for dominance.
Markus and Sharon, though still weak and injured, watched in awe as the two powerful beings clashed. They knew this was their chance. While the hag and the high priestess were locked in their struggle, they might be able to escape.
But they also knew that their escape was far from certain. They were caught in the middle of a battle between two powerful forces, a battle that threatened to destroy them all.
The two powerfull beings clashed, their magics tearing at the fabric of reality. The high priestess, empowered by the Shadow Lord, wielded dark energy with terrifying precision, her attacks focused and controlled. The hag, drawing on the primal power of the forest, unleashed raw, untamed magic, her attacks wild and unpredictable.
The chamber was a whirlwind of conflicting energies, dark tendrils lashing out, ancient runes flickering and glowing, the very air crackling with power. The cultists, caught in the crossfire, were thrown about like rag dolls, their screams lost in the cacophony of magical warfare.
Markus and Sharon, seizing the opportunity, scrambled towards the narrow passage where the villagers had fled. They moved quickly, silently, trying to avoid the chaotic blasts of magic that ripped through the chamber.
As they reached the passage, they glanced back. The battle between the hag and the high priestess was reaching a fever pitch. The high priestess, her form flickering and distorted, unleashed a wave of dark energy that slammed into the hag. The hag staggered back, her staff clattering to the floor.
But the hag was not defeated. With a guttural roar, she summoned the very essence of the forest. Vines erupted from the stone floor, lashing out at the high priestess. Thorns pierced her flesh, and dark energy crackled around her, trying to corrupt the hag’s primal magic.
The high priestess screamed in rage, her power waning against the hag’s untamed fury. The vines tightened around her, constricting her, and the dark energy that surrounded her began to flicker and die.
With a final, desperate surge of power, the hag unleashed a torrent of green acidic magic, a force that ripped through the chamber, tearing at the very foundations of the stronghold. The high priestess, her power overwhelmed, let out a final, agonizing shriek as the hag’s magic consumed her. Her form dissolved into ash, leaving only her dark robes and the obsidian knife lying on the floor.
The chamber fell silent. The only sound was the rustling of the vines as they retreated back into the stone floor. The hag stood in the center of the chamber, her breathing ragged, her form trembling. She had won.
But as she looked around the chamber, her gaze fell upon Gordon, who still lay broken and unconscious on the floor. Her eyes narrowed, and a cruel smile spread across her face.
"You are mine," she rasped, her voice filled with a chilling malice.
She raised her staff, and Markus and Sharon knew what was about to happen. They had escaped the high priestess, but they were now at the mercy of the hag, a creature even more ancient and more terrifying.
Seeing Gordon, broken and unconscious, about to be the target of the hag’s cruel intentions, Markus acted instinctively. He knew he was no match for this creature, but he couldn't stand by and watch his friend die. He lunged forward, throwing himself between Gordon and the hag’s raised staff.
The hag, her eyes fixed on Gordon, barely registered Markus’s movement. She brought her staff down, and the dark magic that surged from it slammed into Markus. The force of the blow was devastating, far greater than anything he had ever experienced. He felt bones break, flesh tear, and a searing pain that engulfed his entire being. He cried out, a sound quickly swallowed by the echoing silence of the chamber.
He crumpled to the ground, his body broken and twisted. He could feel the life draining from him, his vision blurring, the chamber spinning around him. He could hear Sharon’s scream, a desperate cry of anguish, but it seemed distant, muffled, as if she were miles away.
He looked up at Gordon, who was still unconscious, oblivious to the sacrifice Markus had made. A wave of bittersweet emotion washed over him. He had saved his friend, but at what cost?
The hag, her attention now fully on Markus, sneered. "Such a noble gesture," she rasped, her voice dripping with mockery. "But ultimately… futile."
She raised her staff once more, preparing to deliver the final blow. Markus closed his eyes, accepting his fate. He thought of Sharon, of the villagers, of the life he had lived, however short it had been. He had tried his best.
But the blow never came.
Instead, he heard a different sound – a soft, almost mournful sigh. He opened his eyes and saw the hag staring down at him, her face… different. The cruel, malicious gleam in her eyes was gone, replaced by something… else. Sadness? Pity? He couldn't be sure.
She lowered her staff, her gnarled hand trembling slightly. She looked at Gordon, then back at Markus, her gaze lingering on his broken body.
"You… you would sacrifice yourself for him?" she rasped, her voice barely a whisper.
Markus nodded weakly, unable to speak.
The hag was silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed on Markus. Then, she turned away, her movements slow and deliberate. She walked towards the far end of the chamber, her staff tapping softly on the stone floor. She paused at the edge of a dark chasm, a gaping maw that seemed to lead down into the very depths of the earth. She looked back at Markus, her expression unreadable.
"The debt is paid," she rasped, her voice echoing through the chamber.
Markus, his vision fading, felt a wave of relief wash over him. He had saved Gordon. He had paid the price. He closed his eyes, the pain receding, a sense of peace settling over him.
But the peace was an illusion.
The hag's words were a lie, a cruel, calculated deception. She had not been moved by Markus's sacrifice. She had not been swayed by his selfless act. She was playing a game, a twisted game of cruelty and despair.
She had seen the love, the loyalty, the unbreakable bond between Markus and Sharon. She had seen the pain that Markus’s death had inflicted on the young woman, the raw, agonizing grief that tore through her. And the hag, a creature of ancient malice, craved that pain. She wanted to savor it, to amplify it, to draw it out like a slow, agonizing torture.
She turned back from the chasm, her face no longer a mask of sorrow, but a grotesque caricature of triumph. Her eyes, milky white and cold, gleamed with a cruel, predatory light.
She moved towards Sharon, who was kneeling beside Markus’s body, sobbing uncontrollably. Sharon looked up, her eyes red and swollen, her face streaked with tears. She saw the hag approaching and a fresh wave of terror washed over her.
"No…" she whispered, her voice trembling.
The hag chuckled, a dry, rattling sound that sent chills down Sharon’s spine. "Oh, yes," she rasped. "It is your turn now, little one."
She reached down and grabbed Sharon by the arm, her grip like iron. Sharon cried out, struggling against the hag’s grasp, but it was no use. The hag was too strong, her power too great.
The hag dragged Sharon towards Markus’s body, forcing her to look down at his lifeless form. Sharon screamed, a raw, guttural sound that echoed through the chamber.
"He sacrificed himself for his friend," the hag rasped, her voice filled with a chilling amusement. "Such devotion. Such love. It's… touching."
She tightened her grip on Sharon’s arm, her claws digging into her flesh. "But love… is a weakness," she hissed. "And weakness… must be punished."
She forced Sharon to her knees beside Markus’s body, her face inches from his lifeless eyes. Sharon sobbed uncontrollably, her body shaking with grief and fear.
The hag smiled, a cruel, triumphant smile that stretched across her gnarled face. "Watch," she whispered to Sharon, her voice laced with malice. "Watch as I show you… the true meaning of pain."
She raised her staff, and Sharon braced herself for the inevitable. She closed her eyes, waiting for the darkness to consume her. But the blow never came. the staff was not aimed at her. It was aimed… at Markus’s body.
The hag brought the staff down, and a wave of dark energy surged through Markus’s lifeless form. His body convulsed, his eyes snapping open. He was alive! But not truly alive. He was animated, a puppet, controlled by the hag’s dark magic.
Markus’s body rose to its feet, his movements jerky and unnatural. His eyes were no longer filled with warmth and kindness. They were cold, empty, lifeless. They were the eyes of a puppet.
The hag turned to Sharon, her smile cruel and triumphant. "Now," she whispered. "Let the games begin."
Sharon watched in horror as Markus’s body, animated by the hag’s dark magic, moved with unnatural, jerky movements. His eyes, once filled with warmth and kindness, were now cold, empty, lifeless. They were the eyes of a puppet, a vessel controlled by the hag’s will.
The hag raised her staff, and Markus’s body mimicked the gesture, raising its own hand in a grotesque imitation. Sharon screamed, a raw, guttural sound that echoed through the chamber. She lunged at the hag, her fury overcoming her fear, but the hag simply flicked her wrist, and Markus’s animated body intercepted Sharon, throwing her to the ground.
"No!" Sharon cried, her voice filled with despair. She scrambled to her feet, but Markus’s body stood between her and the hag, a silent, unseeing guardian.
The hag chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. "Such spirit," she rasped. "But it is… misplaced."
She gestured with her staff, and Markus’s body moved towards Sharon, its movements unnatural and menacing. Sharon backed away, her eyes fixed on Markus’s lifeless face. She knew it wasn't him, not really, but the sight of his body being used as a weapon, a tool of torture, was almost unbearable.
As Markus’s animated body reached for her, something unexpected happened. A flicker of warmth, a spark of life, ignited within Markus’s empty eyes. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
Deep within Markus’s being, something ancient stirred. Something that had lain dormant for generations, a power inherited from his ancestors, a lineage shrouded in mystery and whispered legends. It was a power that resonated with life, with fire, with a fierce, untamed spirit.
The hag’s dark magic, though powerful, was an intrusion, a foreign force that violated the very essence of Markus’s being. It was a parasite, clinging to his body, controlling his movements, but it could not extinguish the spark within him.
As the hag’s magic touched the dormant power, it was like throwing fuel on a fire. The spark erupted into a flame, a raging inferno that burned through his veins, pushing back the darkness, reclaiming his body, his spirit, his soul.
Markus’s eyes snapped open, no longer empty and lifeless, but burning with a fierce, inner fire. He looked at Sharon, his gaze filled with warmth and love.
He then looked at the hag, his eyes hardening with a righteous fury. The hag recoiled, sensing the change, the shift in power. Her smile faltered, her eyes widening in alarm.
"What… what is this?" she stammered.
Markus didn't reply. He simply raised his hand, and the dark magic that had controlled his body dissipated, like smoke in the wind. He was free.
He stood tall, his body still battered and bruised, but his spirit unbroken. The power of his ancestors flowed through him, a force that was both ancient and untamed. He was no longer just Markus, the hunter. He was something more.
He looked at Sharon, offering her a small, reassuring smile. Then, he turned his attention to the hag, his eyes burning with a fierce determination. The game was over. It was time for the reckoning.
