Those were like a sweet whisper.
'You have done well, little human. But you have only scratched the surface. There is so much more power waiting for you. All you have to do is reach out and take it.'
Barak's golden eyes gleamed in the darkness. He was not done. Not yet.
The demon smiled, its purple tongue flickering. The storm was growing. And soon, it would break.
The demon's influence spread through the dungeon like a slow poison. Barak stood amidst the fallen orcs, his chest heaving, his sword still crackling with residual lightning. The chamber was quiet now, the only sound the drip of water and the echo of his own ragged breathing. He had won. He had triumphed. But the satisfaction was hollow, fleeting, quickly replaced by the familiar gnawing of resentment.
He was still not strong enough. He was still not enough.
