Chapter 81

  Vin's hands instantly began to glow. It wasn't a dazzling, chaotic flare, but a uniform, controlled light source. The luminous green of her nature magic pulsed in a rhythm that synchronized with her calm breathing, and the first, invisible tendril shoots silently broke through the cold, alien stone floor beneath her feet. She felt the connection to the depth, to the earth, even here—hundreds of meters beneath the rock, in this massive, unnatural hall full of dark architecture.

  Behind her, the entire rebel force began to move into their final positions. The ranks formed up on the black stone bridge: the close-combat fighters with their spears at the front, the few mages tightly behind them. Vex gave short, sharp hand signals, and a few fighters moved to the side positions to form a wider front. No one spoke aloud. Everyone understood what was now inevitably at hand.

  Vin herself did not move. Not yet. “This is the moment,” she thought, as the heat gathered in her fingertips, “the fight I have been preparing for.” Yet, she wasn't even sure how long she had actually been prepared for this opponent. Less than three weeks ago, she hadn't even known who Reyn was. And only for about ten days had she truly begun to grasp him for what he was: not an abstract threat, but a real, tangible danger—a man who wanted to tear down the foundation of the world. She fixed her gaze on him. She wanted to give the first command. Fire the vines, pin him down, disrupt, interrupt—at least create a gap.

  But then... something changed. Shadows. Suddenly. Silently.

  Dark shapes appeared at the edge of the pyramid platform—first one, then two, then ten.

  -

  Maira felt it first. Not with her eyes, but with her inner sense. What was unfolding there was no normal summoning. She knew the rules. This was different. Reyn didn't even raise his hand. He spoke no syllables. No complicated circle appeared on the floor. He just stood there. And the shadows formed. They trembled, vibrated like ink in water. They rolled over the steps of the pyramid, gathered on the bridge, and condensed into initial outlines.

  Then—slowly, deliberately—they took shape.

  Humanoid bodies. Shoulders, heads, arms. And they weren't just humans. Also Orcs, Trolls, Dark Elves, Dragonborn. Races from all corners of Tirros. Fighters, mages, beasts—each shadow being seemed to carry a fragment of a real life within it. The faces were blurred, but there was clarity in the movement. Each of them carried themselves like someone who once lived.

  Maira couldn't look away. It would have been logical to attack. Now, before the shadow army was complete. Before they became real. But no one moved. Everyone stood there. The rebels. Vin. Luken. Even Arik.

  Silence.

  “Those he subjugated…” Luken murmured next to Maira. His voice was toneless, almost hoarse. “Whose souls are no longer their own.”

  Next to Maira, the first shadow beings began to move. Some writhed as if following a silent command, while others synchronously formed weapons—spears, blades, whips.

  Luken’s transformation began. Slow, heavy. Gravor fully awakened. The black, glossy scales slid over one another, growing from his back, covering the armor, connecting with him. Claws formed on his hands. The blade of pulsating flesh and blood struck its first pulses.

  And in Maira, too, something began to awaken. Not physically. Not visibly. But the plagues… they were moving. Inside her. Deep.

  Ready to wait. Reyn was still motionless.

  But that was only a matter of seconds.

  -

  And it never happened.

  Even as the two armies—the rebel hundred, ready for the assault, and the growing phalanx of shadow creatures—stood facing each other, every movement just a heartbeat away from collision, Reyn remained motionless. He didn't budge. Not a finger, not a twitch in his golden eyes. He simply stood there, as if he wasn't even physically present, but merely a perfect illusion, a shadow of himself, mocking reality by punishing it with utter indifference.

  So I roared.

  “Attack!”

  My voice, amplified by the nascent transformation, echoed across the bridge like a hammer blow, tearing the tense silence to shreds. The rebels charged. I myself dashed straight ahead, the fleshy demonic sword before me, ready to break through Reyn's line. Maira pushed forward to my right side, her hands already raised. Vin—devoid of any physical weapon—moved to the left with an almost frightening calmness, her hands glowing green, ready to drive her power through the rock. Arik moved silently behind us, watchful, a living flank.

  But before our front line even came close to the shadow army, the bridge changed.

  A glowing circle—massive, spanning the entire width of the bridge—appeared directly beneath our feet. Purple. Stark lines that connected instantaneously into a complex runic circle. The entire floor vibrated beneath us. A terrifying moment of weightlessness. I felt my body lose its bond to the earth, a sensation that even the demonic essence couldn't immediately correct.

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  “Heads up!” Gravor shouted inside me—sharp, warning, but already too late.

  I instinctively raised my blade, ready to sever the head of the first shadow form, but it never came to that. A light exploded. Not like an explosion of fire or magic—but like the pure, unleashed essence of a star. Everything turned white. Not glaring, not blinding—but complete. An absolute void that devoured the entire world within it. My eyes would have failed, turned to ash forever, had not Gravor's power shielded them in that moment. The air seemed to dissolve itself. The floor became a mere concept.

  Then: Silence. And when the white vanished, we stood in a different place.

  I staggered. Gravity returned, but too late—my balance was shattered. I stumbled, reeled two steps, almost knelt. Almost. But I caught myself just in time, my palms braced against the cold, smooth stone.

  The first thought shot through my confused brain: Something is missing.

  My fingers felt it first. No claws. No chitin. No familiar pulsing of the blade of flesh. I looked up, down at myself. The Gravor form was gone. No demonic tail. No scales. No massive bulk around my arms. Only the smooth, black metal of my Paladin armor. And in my hand—not the living weapon. Only my old sword. The Blessing of the Legion, which had once been presented to me in the Fortress of the Eagle Order.

  Panic. Brief. Violent. I sharply inhaled. Turned around. Searched.

  “Gravor!?”

  “Don't panic, buddy,” his voice came, groggy but clear. “Still here... but need a moment…”

  He sounded exhausted. Like after the worst visions. Not injured, but drained. The demonic essence had been sucked out in one go.

  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath. The shock subsided. My heart started beating more controlled again.

  Then I looked around. We stood on the platform. Right at the top. The apex of the semi-pyramidal structure—smooth, flawless, unadorned. All made of black Tharnite that lived within it. Runes ran along beneath my feet, in geometric perfection.

  It was quieter up here than anywhere else. No voices. No echo of battle. Only wind—artificial, gentle, circling, as if the platform breathed in a steady rhythm.

  I slowly stepped toward the edge. From up here, everything looked even bigger. The bridge was an endless stream of movement, of running bodies, of light, shadow, and shapes.

  And far, far down there: The rebels. Like toy figures. A battle had begun, but we were separated.

  I felt Maira at my side. Her aura was still there—weaker, but present. Vin was there too, kneeling with one hand on the ground, her face tense but not panicked. Arik stood calmly, observing.

  We were separated from the army. Separated from the battle. But we were there. Right next to Reyn.

  He stood there, on the smooth, red Tharnite platform, waiting. He gave us time to orient ourselves, to regroup our strength, to mentally prepare for the inevitable attack. Vin's hands began to glow again, in that steady, determined green. Maira took a deep breath and gathered her external power. Arik stood ready to dissolve into ash and make the combat zone unpredictable. And my transformation started over, the tremor of power returning.

  As the first, dark claws were just beginning to form on my fingertips, Reyn slowly and assessing looked us over. He barely paid attention to Vin, just a fleeting glance. He examined Maira briefly and curiously, as if she were a rare but not yet fully evaluated artifact. Arik, however, he looked at with a gaze that clearly stated: You are not invited. A factor that doesn't belong, a disturbing variable that he would ignore.

  But his gaze lingered on me the longest. He smiled at me, a slight, unsettling smile, like a good friend you are about to hug. Only, we both knew we were about to kill each other.

  And then the bastard of Shadow and Storm began to clap. Twice, slowly, loudly. A theatrical act of disrespect, while the golden lines on his deep black breastplate lit up in a brief rhythm.

  “I am… surprised,” he said, his voice as arrogant as possible, yet with an unshakeable calmness. He began to walk back and forth, relaxed, his steps almost silent on the Tharnite. Everything about him seemed like composure and order personified.

  “Not that you've infiltrated my humble place, not at all,” he narrated, as if it were a mere anecdote. “Admittedly, that you managed to arrive in time to have a chance to stop Phase One… that was a very improbable scenario.” He paused briefly and looked directly at me. “What surprised me more is that you survived my little trap.”

  “But well,” he clapped his hands loudly again, the sound mocking the platform's silence. He looked at us like guests he was politely greeting in his home. “Now you are here,” he continued and stepped slightly aside, giving us an unobstructed view of the structure in the center of the platform.

  All the energy from the surrounding runes flowed into a large crystal, which now glowed with an insistent blue. Around it, a dozen large rings rotated in the air. The things looked almost like decorative ornaments, but the way Maira stared at them with wide eyes, I knew they were damn important.

  On the floor, arranged in a perfect triangle around the crystal, were three disk-shaped relics that also pulsed darkly. I knew this energy from somewhere... a dull, deep memory.

  “Don't even try to stop it,” Reyn suddenly said, his voice sharply interrupting my thoughts. Then he made a gentle movement, as if to place a hand on the glowing crystal, but at that exact moment, a transparent shield appeared, an inconspicuous, thin field between his hand and the ritual's target.

  Finally, Reyn stepped back to the center of the platform, his black cloak seeming to gently catch the artificial breeze, and he sighed—a purely theatrical sound underscoring his absolute superiority.

  “Unfortunately, unfortunately, you will try anyway and waste your talent senselessly,” he said, his voice filled with feigned melancholy. “Am I right?”

  We did not give him the satisfaction of confirming his assumption with a nod or even a word. Instead, we were already almost ready to fulfill his prophecy with our attack. Vin's magic crackled, Maira's aura condensed, and the scales on my back were halfway formed.

  Reyn surveyed us one last time, but this time, his gaze unexpectedly lingered on Arik. The slight, mocking smile gave way to a sudden, clinical coldness. I immediately felt an unease, but the short time it took for my claws to finish forming had already elapsed.

  Because in the next moment, Reyn said, for once monotonously and without any theatrical emphasis—as if stating a simple fact:

  “I have no use for you.”

  Then he snapped his fingers. It was not a gesture of magical power, not a call to another dimension—it was a casual, utterly final movement. A short, dull sound tore the silence, and Arik was gone.