Here in this cold, wretched place, time seems to be forgotten when survival is in peril… or perhaps dawdling. Hiding in the shadows, keeping the fragile life he held was all Natalak could ponder. The cultist's clothes he wore—now tainted with blood, as to his bare feet.
Already tasted what the dungeon had offered, and though what he felt is different, as if a man whispers himself in death, a path unturned.
In his stroll of only a few three meters from the chamber, he left. He noticed that his feet were forming bloody footprints. Particularly, it was slippery when stepping on the smooth stone path.
He didn't mutter, he didn't speak; Natalak quickly cleaned his feet before resuming his journey. Most of all, Riya's reinforcement prayers were completely forgotten, driven by instinct.
Trailing where the three lords of the dungeon enter. Still in the sense of prodding through the corners. Quite sceptical how no cultists are rummaging the place, Natalak clenched his doubt and crossed the threshold—what he found was an empty inn-like place. A place, hurriedly left abandoned.
Perchance not when Natalak saw little of the scraps of food left on the table. Dozens of ale bottles linger in every corner. The light was even brighter than the usual old-fashioned torches. He wanted to see what little treasure this area had left, but his survival is more notable.
Discarding his desire, he marched forward—dagger's clutch tightly, bracing himself from whoever or whatever he came across.
Again, he approached another complex tunnel that divided into three ways. Unexpectedly, two men—the men who led him into entering this godforsaken dungeon.
Emerging from the right side of the tunnel, even to this day, the two were in an argument. Enough that they were unbothered about seeing or probing Natalak. They didn't enter the centre but went straight to the left side.
Following them would be a good choice, but then again—
Watching the centre of the shaft, the black book suddenly shuddered. Drawn by whatever is lurking within that passageway. Combined with his insatiable curiosity, he pushes forward without thinking twice.
Upon entering, he was led into another open space. This, however, was different; its architectural design had a more lurid form. At the ceiling lies a strange look, as if he were staring through the night sky—the universe itself.
Rotten furniture lay waste on the corner, though some of them are new, and certain tables are made of stone.
It was quiet, too quiet for him even to hear three men in conversation. Not from behind but in front of another passageway. It was there that he knew the voice; the tone belonged to the three men whom he had peered at.
His senses screamed that he needed to act fast as the sound of their footsteps drew closer.
"Eureka..." once he saw the space at the keystone of the arch. An idea came.
Climbing to the top of the archway, he steadily positioned himself in the small space of the keystone. Aligning the two daggers in a fang-like pose, there he waited for them to emerge. By Shar's luck, the lights were against his shadow, which was cast not on the floor, but behind. And pray that no person will enter where he originated.
Not long after, Tharan and Verena emerged. Their napes were wide open, welcoming Natalak to take. And fall he did—
Like a tiger's fang that descends, it plunges through their scruff.
Skin opens, bones crack… the blades were sharp enough to penetrate their neck. But he didn't stop there—heaving the blade, twirling, and like a propeller, the blade sliced through their throat. Sharp, maybe, but the daggers didn't have the weight, the length to decapitate their head.
Impulsive and precise, the two men now squirm through the floor. Their hands tried to bandage, tried to heal their open throat, but the sprinkling blood was too much to be held.
Natalak's luck, however, was now over when master Korveth sent an unrelenting force, hurling Natalak through the piles of furniture. No armour to shield from the rubbish, his skin now bore the wooden splinters.
Injured, but his adrenaline was overwhelming, sufficient for him to run towards the exit.
"That won't do," Korveth mutters, amused by Natalak's action.
Validly, the passage was blocked by an invisible force. Even if Natalak tried to smash the daggers, the barrier ricocheted his weapon.
"Who are you?" Korveth said, calmly passing his companion's body, unmoved by their gruesome death. "You're from the Thieves' guild, no? Or perhaps the Adventurers' guild?" He continues with his hand behind his back.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm neither of those." Natalak gasps for air, and the wooden splinters now begins to take their effect.
"Are you now…" Korveth raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps I need to extract your mind after all." He continues, his arms peeled a portion of his soul.
As Korveth passed the corpses of his brethren, Tharan's body twitched, his sliced tissues joined together as if two parted waters being combined. The blood that spilt from the floor slowly heaved towards his body.
To the room where Noxar was tied, he arose to see the corpses of his companions gently being consumed by the abyssal curse. From the body did his spirit emerge, yet bound by chains not of iron but the sigils of the abyss. It twists and struggles to escape, but soon his soul was consumed by the abyss.
It was at that moment that Noxar didn't fear death but something far worse. And he knew that his soul might soon follow.
Tharan sighs, "Ah… I felt that." He said, whilst rubbing his now completely healed neck.
He looks at Verena's corpses and shows a saddened expression…
Tharan shakes his head. "Feel sorry for you, Verena. Should you have heeded my counsel, your life would have been given a second chance." He said before shifting his gaze towards the man.
"I need him alive," Korveth suggest.
Cornered and with nowhere to escape, Natalak had two options left. To cut his own life or gamble his soul in a fight… He chose the struggle.
Tightly gripping the only weapon he had, Natalak dashes into a battle he cannot win.
"I'll take care of him. I want to see what entertainment he had in store," Tharan said, stepping forward without stopping, undaunted to meet Natalak's blade.
By the time Natalak delivers a blow, Tharan's body splits into five. The blade that should cut flesh now glides through Tharan's body as if it were air.
"Illusion!"
Maybe, but the movements of Tharan's five images act differently. Casting different spells of different elements. Grabbing any debris from the floor, Natalak then hurls dozens of rocks at Tharan's five images. One by one until it bounced at the farthest copies, unravelling the mist of his illusion.
Natalak's action, however, was far from hopeful. Just like before, his attack glides through the man's body when he tries for a stab in the throat.
"Let's see, how would you look like when you yourself butchered your own?" Tharan whispered, emerging from the shadows as his fingers curled slowly.
Natalak felt it immediately. The dagger in his hand twitched, and no longer is he in control.
He froze. "What the—"
Before he could continue, the blade jerked upward. Not by his will, but the dagger's own. His grip tightened instinctively, but the weapon did not obey him.
It pulled against him. His arm strained as he forced it back… his muscles trembling, his teeth clenched, but the dagger turned in his hand. Slowly, deliberately, until its edge faced him.
Tharan smiled faintly, pleased at Natalak's struggle.
"Tharan." Korveth raised an eyebrow.
The blade moved again, driving forward toward Natalak's abdomen.
Natalak's fixed eyes tremble as the blade plunged into his guts. It pierced so deeply that it emerged from his back.
Again, Tharan gestures his fingers, and Natalak was lifted from the air, not by some magic but by the blade itself.
Natalak groans, still trying his best, his greatest strength, but he couldn't. The dagger was stuck like a nail in wood.
Tharan waved his fingers, commanding the daggers to heave Natalak on the piles of furniture. The force was brutal enough that his book strap was removed. His bag, however, was still intact.
"Tharan, that's enough." Korveth intervenes; his eyes give him a commanding presence. "I need to know what this man is hiding; there's something from him which I cannot tell." He continues.
"Now, who are you working with?" Tharan steps forth, hands of flesh and soul gradually develop a cube made of energy. "Speak before I imprison you and your soul."
Gasping for air. "Can you at least remove the dagger from my abdomen? And a sprinkle of healing, that way I may talk." Natalak said, hand still clutching the dagger's handle.
Korveth stops his tracks, unsure if he was astounded or in disbelief at Natalak's words. He measured Natalak for a moment and quickly concluded Natalak's plea.
Pondering how such a man enters their hideout undetected isn't something an ordinary man could do.
"Perhaps I should imprison you… There's going to be more important work to be done here." Korveth said. "As for this place… we won't be needing this anymore, our location has been discovered." He continues, then bellows forth the energy cube.
Towards Natalak, his mind was screaming for the black book—
"What if—"
"What if—"
Natalak didn't finish the thought. Mustering what little strength remained, Natalak tore the black book free from his side and raised it for what may come—
Just as the cube of energy surged toward him, an impact occurred, but no explosion came.
The moment the spell touched the book, it stopped. As if caught, and quickly the cube's energy bent, twisted, and then sank into the pages, swallowed by the book itself. And then, silence followed, a wrong kind of silence, as too, the atmosphere changed.
Even Korveth was still by the sudden change of the air.
"W-What?" For the very first time, Korveth stammered.
The book trembled in Natalak's hand. It didn't spew violently, but hungrily it devours the spell. A low hum bled into the air. Then the pages began to turn on their own, one after another, accelerating, until they blurred from the endless page. From between them, something seeped out. Not light, not shadow, but something older, something ancient had joined the fray.
The book dissolves into shadow smoke, an energy that coiled outward. It was slow at first, then quickly it turned chaotic, like something long imprisoned finally tearing free. It wrapped around Natalak's arm, climbed onto his shoulder, and crawled across his chest.
"Ngh—!" Natalak was suddenly seized, his body seized by something he could not explain, something he could not fight. His vision fractured, not into darkness…but into something far deeper.
The air in the room distorted to the point that even Tharan took a step back. And for the first time, Korveth's expression shifted. Not curiosity, not control, but unease.
At the great castle of Keshoval, the priestess of Endregar felt it. The lingering essence that distorts her power is far more ancient than her. It is the same energy that she felt upon arriving in the city, a power that is far more ancient than her, far more prominent than her. The only thing she can relate to such dreadful force is none other than The Man Who Cannot Be Understood.
"M-my lady?" Serin calls, "My lady, is there something bothering you?" She continues, hoping the priestess could give her a reason.
She didn't give any. Ferish only gawked at the cultist's location.
The dark energy coiled around Natalak, tightening, seeping into his flesh, deeper into his bones… and then it went still. For a single, suspended moment… nothing moved. Then Natalak's head lifted.
The dagger still buried in his abdomen… did not seem to matter anymore. His breathing slowed, too slow, then it spoke.
"Ahh… Finally." The voice that came out was not his alone.
Korveth, intrigued by Natalak's change, cast his most powerful magic, but when he blinked his eyes, Natalak was already grasping his hand, extinguishing the spell.
"T-time Divergence! You—what are you?!" Korveth's calm and commanding voice shifted with anxiety, with fear.
Tharan intervenes, sending an arrow made of pure energy. And from his doings, his actions sealed his fate. The arrows he sent forth slowed, not just the arrow, but everything around them, except Natalak.
"The Muddle of Time!" Tharan's expression turns sour when Natalak looks at him with interest.
"Petty trick you got there," The entity said, mixed with Natalak's voice
Casually striding towards Tharan, impassive by the slowness of time that he created. But the entity that possessed Natalak was still unsatisfied—it hungers for more, perchance it wasn't fully released yet.
He looks through Tharan, and the entity already senses the contract Tharan made.
Plunging his hand towards Tharan's chest, Natalak dragged his soul. What emerged was a soul marked by an abyssal curse: the Pact of the Abyss. Not only did he reveal what's inside, but also the true image of his appearance, his true face.
Effortlessly peeling the demon's insignia, the mark that wrapped Noxar swiftly crumbles, freeing him from Tharan's curse. Not just him, but the others too, the peasants even towards the other cultist.
"Now… not so immortal no more." The entity said, before completely yanking his essence, sending him to his fate.
Once the muddle of time, or the slowness of time, concludes… Tharan lay dead on the ground, eyes still open, but it's nothing more than an empty shell.
Korveth cast fortification magic, turning his skin into golden scale armour, that of a dragon. So forth, the entity was even more amused.
The entity groans. "So, you want to last longer?"
"I am Korveth Vaal, master of a hundred spells. I am he who—" Before he could continue, Natalak's hand gripped his mouth.
"He who what? When you couldn't even stop my actions." The entity scoffs, as if maddened by Korveth's word. "Men like you, I despise the most. You talk as if you are God, yet cannot even prove your worth… You disgusted me." He continues, effortlessly lifting the man.
"I'll show you what you cannot comprehend."
The walls crack, the night ceiling crumbles. An earthquake erupts, slow at first, then gradually increases, collapsing the parts of the dungeon.
"Now… let's see that unique armour you have."
By the time Chifya arrives at the cemetery, the ground has begun to shake, bursting a hole. Shards of stone hail through the buildings, soil splattered.
By erecting a barrier, Sheila succeeded in sheltering her companions from incoming shrapnel. It was there that they saw Natalak hovering in the air, holding and crushing the man's jaw before slamming Korveth back into the dungeon.
In the destruction that followed, the entity summoned a spark of lightning, not from his hand but from the sky above.
Veils gathered, forming a funnel of clouds that blinds the sun's light. Then came a rumbling roar of thunder.
To the citizens of the city, they felt it, and to the followers of the virtuous gods, gist the entity's power. And even they are stunned much the same as what Ferish had felt.
The disturbance did not stop at Keshoval. It spread… across land, across sky. Until even those far removed… felt it.
Far away from Keshoval… an old wizard silently strolls through a comforting forest. The clothes he wears and the way he moves are none other than Azageis himself. Abruptly, he stops his track—he did not utter any word, nor did he have an internal monologue. It was as if he sensed the return of the past, unfazed by what he felt, however.
The sky was warm to the skin, to the senses… and after ten seconds of gazing up, he calmly returned to his journey.
Right after thunder spoke, harrowing lightning spears through the city of Ravalind. Partly, a few strikes of lightning forthwith gather at the palm of Natalak's hand. What emerged was a golden orb, the very thing Sheila seeks to master.
Straightaway… Natalak vanished even if they didn't blink.
He did not vanish; he appeared back in the dungeon, standing, gazing at Korveth's body.
"Devour this, if you can, mister master of a hundred spells."
Tugging the cultist's garment, like a hand pulling an item through stagnant water, Natalak pulls his very essence, his very soul. And with it, he forced the golden orb into his soul, afore assigning it back.
It didn't take long for Korveth to scream in agony, his flesh forming white veins—eating his tissues. His eyes were devoured by silverly water, blinding him.
Baring teeth through a sinister smile. The entity was unaware that Korveth had one last trick up its sleeve.
Crawling away, like a maggot, he was—a nick of fortitude was all he needed to pull out a crest from his pocket, the symbol of Adra.
Cast in golden metal, yet old as an ancient relic, possibly a hundred-year-old artefact. He cannot see, for his eyes now cry in white lead. Nonetheless, his mind still clings to hope—
"So, I became something it could not devour." Korveth smiled. "Pity me." He scoffs, grasping Adra's crest.
Crushing the totem symbol, the core flashes a mix of golden white light. Enough that it tosses Natalak. When the light dissipates, Korveth's body is now painted in veins of shimmering alloy.
For Natalak, the entity was no longer taking control, feasibly purged by the totem. Sitting on the sopping, desolate floor, the traveller heaves a desperate breath. Then a familiar voice came, a woman's shout.