Markus closed his eyes, picturing Sharon's face and her kind smile, then his parents worried faces, the faces of those who were always proud of him. He sometimes heard people talking behind their back about him, questioning if he was truly their son because he looked like a knight even though he was barely sixteen, while both of his parents were simple farmers with thin bodies. As long as he could remember, he was always good at everything he did, be it plowing fields and milking goats, 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 everything so he maybe had change to became one if he put his mind into it. But contrary to everyone's belief, Markus didn't go to the big city or join the knight order. Instead, he kept doing his hunter job and lived a mediocre life because he loved his home, and his love was here, so how could he go anywhere else?"
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 will 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 screams!"
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.