As the blinding light faded, the emptiness was quickly filled by the ringing clash of steel. Lucas and Alaric surged toward one another, their swords colliding again and again in rapid succession. Sparks scattered across the chamber as their blades met, the echoes of metal striking metal reverberating through the ritual hall.
At first glance, the fight seemed evenly matched. Yet it was clear from Alaric's expression that he wasn't giving his all. His movements were precise, controlled almost leisurely. Lucas noticed it, and the realization only fueled his frustration. No matter how hard he pushed, the gap between them refused to close, and the longer the fight dragged on, the more agitated he became.
Alaric's lips curled into a clearly malicious smile.
"Now, now," he said calmly, deflecting another strike. "Aren't you one hell of a fighter? Even though I'm holding back, the fact that you can keep up is an achievement in itself."
Lucas snapped.
"Would you just shut the hell up?" he shouted, forcing his blade forward. "You talk as if you earned your strength. You cheated, slaughtered people just to gain a scrap of power!"
Their swords crossed again, the impact rattling Lucas's arms.
Without warning, Alaric released a burst of crimson energy.
The shockwave slammed into Lucas, hurling him across the chamber and into a stone wall. The impact knocked the air from his lungs as he coughed up blood, his vision blurring. His body slid down the cracked stone, consciousness slipping away.
Alaric stood tall within the crater left by his power, sparks of crimson energy still drifting lazily around him. His grin remained unfaded as he spoke in a calm, almost bored tone.
"Tch. What do you know about the struggles of an untalented person?" he said. "Someone who can fight their entire life and still remain at the bottom yearning for even a single fragment of the talent people like you take for granted."
His eyes burned red as his smile twisted into something ugly, disgust and contempt etched deep into his expression. Turning toward the robed cultists, he pointed at them and roared,
"WHAT ARE YOU LOT WAITING FOR?! GET STARTED!!"
The once-frozen cultists jolted into motion. Nodding frantically, they resumed the interrupted ritual in a panic. They stretched their hands outward, chanting in an ethereal language, their voices synchronizing into a disturbing harmony.
Alaric tilted his head upward, gazing at the ceiling. At its center was a strange symbol carved deep into the stone, a dark hole drilled precisely at its core. Raising his hand, he beckoned, and the same mana stone Lucas and his companions had been sent to deliver began to float.
The crystal rose into the air, glowing ominously, before embedding itself into the hole at the center of the symbol.
As the chanting grew louder and louder, Alaric threw his head back and laughed maniacally. The composed noble young master was gone. In his place stood a madman, intoxicated by forbidden, corrupt power.
"YES!!" he screamed. "YES!! THIS!!!!--THIS IS THE POWER I, THE GREAT ALARIC, WAS MISSING TO ACHIEVE PERFECTION! NOW I.AM. ABSOLUTE!!"
Then, suddenly his body stiffened.
An immense pressure descended upon the chamber. Fear crawled up his spine, raw and primal. A sensation of contempt and opposition crashed into him, as if his very counter had manifested.
Alaric's laughter died as he looked up.
Above the castle, blazing through stone and shadow alike, a massive golden holy symbol materialized in the sky, radiating overwhelming divine authority.
A familiar silhouette cut through the light.
Hugin circled overhead, his wings spread wide as his voice echoed down into the chamber.
"Looks like I was a bit late," the raven said casually. "Sorry, Lucas. It's just that the castle is too damn big."