(Chapter 3)
The trail was far too easy.
The Purge Knights, weary but resolute, followed the lingering trace of mana left behind by the shadow that had stolen their prisoner. It cut through the forest like a glowing scar, impossible to lose, impossible to resist.
Aven clenched his fist around his blade hilt. "He wanted us to follow," he growled.
Eldhar's gaze was heavy. "Yes. This reeks of a trap."
Yet what choice did they have? Their captive was gone, stolen before their eyes. Honor and duty left no room for retreat. Step by step, they descended deeper into the forest's heart, where the shadows grew thicker, the trees warped, and the air itself seemed to whisper.
When they reached the clearing, the truth revealed itself.
The bandit hideout, cloaked by illusion, loomed before them—walls of rotting wood and blackened stone veined with flickering runes. At its center, Holon sat upon a crude throne of bone and iron, crimson eyes now open, burning like embers of a cursed fire.
"You came," he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "So eager. So predictable."
The ground trembled as his hand rose. The forest floor split, and from the rift bled shadows that coiled upward into bars of smoke and steel. In an instant, a cage of phantoms closed around the knights, its prison woven not of metal but of illusion.
Aven's sword struck the bars, yet his blade passed through as though cutting mist. Then he froze.
The bars pulsed, and visions spilled forth.
Aven staggered, eyes wide. Before him appeared the lifeless body of his wife, her blood on his hands. "Why… why didn't you save me, Aven?" her voice cried, broken and accusing. He roared in anguish, swinging blindly, lost in torment.
Eldhar, too, faltered. He saw the faces of comrades long dead, soldiers he had failed to protect, each blaming him for their demise.
Azre clutched her chest, watching her mother's last moments replay again and again—the frail cough, the hand slipping from hers, the light fading from beloved eyes.
Every knight was dragged into their darkest memories, their strength stripped away by despair.
And within the real world, their bodies slumped, helpless, unconscious in the phantom cage.
Holon rose, his crimson gaze sweeping over his captives with delight. "The mighty Purge Knights," he sneered. "Broken by their own shadows."
From the darkness, Darkan stepped forward, blade in hand, his grin twisted. He paced before the fallen knights, savoring the moment.
"Which one first, Master?" he asked eagerly, raising his weapon over Aven's unmoving form.
But before the blade could fall, the air split with a crack of light.
Arrows of golden flame rained down, shattering the creeping shadows. Darkan recoiled, cursing, as the phantom bars flickered. From the treeline emerged Rowan, sword gleaming with silver light, and at his side Thalia, her bow drawn, divine runes glowing upon her arrows.
"You'll not have them, Darkan," Rowan declared, stepping between the knights and their would-be executioner.
Thalia loosed another arrow, the shot striking the phantom cage. The runes etched in its bars hissed, splintering as light burned through the darkness.
Holon's eyes narrowed, fury flashing across his face. "Ah… the strays," he said coldly. "Eldhar sends lambs to save his lions?"
Rowan lifted his blade, meeting the Plague's gaze without flinching. "Better lambs than a beast like you."
Behind him, the unconscious knights stirred faintly, their torment beginning to waver under Rowan and Thalia's assault upon the cage. But Darkan lunged again, teeth bared, ready to carve his master's vengeance into the helpless Purge Knights.
Rowan intercepted, steel clashing against steel. Sparks lit the night.
The trap had been sprung, but the fight was far from over.
Rowan's blade met Darkan's again and again, each clash echoing like thunder within the cursed forest. Sparks lit the shadows as the bandit leader pressed his advantage, driving Rowan back step by step. Darkan's strength was monstrous, his grin wild as he struck with savage, unrelenting force.
"Pathetic knight!" Darkan snarled, slamming his axe against Rowan's sword so hard it rattled through his bones. "You think you can stand against me?"
Rowan gritted his teeth, his arms shaking. His breath came ragged, vision blurring as the weight of every blow tore through him. He had fought hard battles before, but never had his body felt so close to breaking. Darkan's next strike sent him crashing to his knees, sword trembling as he struggled to lift it again.
The bandit leader raised his axe high, eyes gleaming with bloodlust. "Die screaming, little lamb!"
But the killing blow never landed.
An arrow, blazing with silver fire, pierced Darkan's shoulder. He roared in fury, staggering back as Thalia leapt from the treeline, bowstring drawn once more. Her eyes burned with fierce determination.
"Over my dead body," she hissed, loosing another arrow.
Rowan gasped for breath, his sword slipping from his weakening grip. "Thalia…"
"Get up," she said, voice sharp as steel. "We're not finished yet."
Together they pressed the assault, Rowan's blade finding new strength beside Thalia's covering fire. Darkan fought like a cornered beast, his rage only feeding his power. Steel and flame clashed in a storm of violence until at last Rowan's blade pierced through Darkan's chest.
The bandit leader's grin faltered, blood spilling from his lips as he dropped to his knees. "M-master… forgive me…" His weapon slipped from his hand, clattering against the stones before his body collapsed, lifeless.
Rowan nearly fell beside him, every muscle screaming in agony. Thalia caught his arm, her face pale but resolute. "It's over… at least for him."
But around them, the phantom cage still pulsed with shadows. The other knights remained trapped in their torments, bodies limp and unmoving. At the heart of it, Azre stirred.
Within the prison of her dreams, she stood in a meadow of golden light. Her mother smiled at her—alive, whole, radiant. A perfect illusion.
"Stay here, Azre," her mother's voice whispered gently. "Here, there is no pain. No loss. Only peace."
Azre's heart ached. Tears welled in her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to fall into her mother's embrace. But deep inside, fury kindled.
"This… isn't real," she whispered, voice trembling. "This is his doing."
The meadow shimmered, cracks of darkness splintering through the dream. Azre clenched her fists. "How dare you," she growled, her sorrow hardening into wrath. "How dare you show me a world where she lived… only to rip it away again!"
Her black hair shimmered, strands glowing like molten sunlight. Her eyes blazed with divine fire as her body lifted, radiant wings of gold unfurling from her back. The dream shattered.
In the real world, light erupted.
The phantom cage shook violently as Azre rose, her transformation burning away the illusions. Her black hair streamed into brilliant gold, her armor gleaming like dawn forged into steel. In her hands formed the greatsword of her bloodline—the Executioner—its blade engulfed in radiant flame, a weapon of pure judgment.
Rowan and Thalia shielded their eyes as the light poured forth, searing away the shadows. The knights stirred, freed momentarily from despair's grip.
Holon's eyes snapped wide, crimson fury meeting Azre's golden blaze. "So… the daughter awakens," he spat, his voice like venom. With a wave of his hand, the shadows thickened, tightening their grip on the remaining knights, forcing them deeper into their nightmares. "No matter what you become, girl, they are mine."
Azre's wings unfurled in fury, her greatsword raised high, its edge glowing like the sun itself. "No more illusions. No more chains. I'll tear your nightmare apart, Holon."
She launched forward, wings propelling her like a comet. The Executioner cleaved through the air, every strike burning with righteous fury. Holon met her with shadows, chains of darkness lashing from the ground, his crimson eyes blazing as he fought back.
Light and shadow collided, the forest itself trembling beneath their clash.
Rowan, still barely standing, watched in awe. "By the gods…"
Thalia, breathless, whispered, "She's become a Valkyrie."
And as Azre pressed the attack, her fury unchained, Holon—Plague, Tormentor, master of despair—found himself facing a force he had never known before.
The air cracked with the clash of forces too great for mortal men to bear.
Azre soared, wings ablaze in golden fire, her sword Executioner raised high. Holon met her with a storm of shadows, crimson eyes glowing like coals in the abyss. Chains of darkness whipped upward, writhing like serpents as they sought to bind her.
"Do you think your light can banish me?" Holon roared, his voice echoing like a plague wind. "I am despair itself!"
"Then despair will fall to justice!" Azre cried.
She brought her blade down. The Executioner blazed, severing the first wave of shadow chains in an eruption of light. The ground shook, trees splintering under the weight of their duel. Each strike of her blade left trails of radiant fire across the battlefield, each counter of Holon's shadows split the earth into black scars.
Rowan and Thalia, battered but conscious, could only watch from beyond the cage. The other knights still lay bound in their nightmares, their bodies convulsing as if fighting unseen battles.
Holon thrust his hand forward. The shadows surged like a tidal wave, engulfing Azre, binding her wings, dragging her down. She struggled, the Executioner flaring, but the weight pressed against her with suffocating force.
As she faltered, the phantom cage pulsed—and the visions of the knights grew sharper.
---
Nilda's Illusion
She stood in the courtyard of her youth, training sword in hand, eyes full of hope. She struck again and again, but every master shook their heads.
"You're weak, Nilda," voices whispered.
"You'll never be more than a disgrace."
Her father, cold and distant, turned away from her. "I have no daughter who can stand among the Purge Knights."
She screamed in denial, but the words clawed at her heart.
---
Aven's Illusion
He knelt in the bloodstained ruins of his home. His wife's lifeless body lay in his arms, crimson staining her gown. Over and over, the moment replayed. Holon's laughter echoed through the memory.
"You failed her, Aven. You will always fail her."
Her eyes, once so full of love, now stared blank and cold, her lips forming words of blame.
"Why didn't you save me?"
---
Eldhar's Illusion
Smoke and screams filled his ears. He stood on the battlefield twenty years past, his armor stained with the blood of fallen comrades. Men trusted him, followed his command—only to be led into slaughter. He remembered the young knight who had defied him, whose rashness had cost hundreds of lives. He remembered his own hesitation, his mistake.
"You were weak,"
the shadows whispered.
"You killed them all."
The faces of the dead encircled him, their hollow eyes condemning him.
In the real world, their bodies twisted, lips muttering broken cries. The cage fed on their pain.
Azre saw it all. She felt their torment, the same way she had faced her own mother's illusion. Her fury burned, but the shadows coiled tighter, her golden light flickering as Holon pressed his attack.
"You see?" Holon hissed, chains constricting around her limbs. "Your light falters. You cannot save them. You cannot even save yourself."
Azre fell to one knee, breath ragged, her sword trembling. Darkness closed around her, suffocating, choking. For a heartbeat, it seemed her light would fade.
And then—
A soft voice pierced the void.
"Azre."
She looked up. Before her, within the shadows, stood the ghost of her mother. No illusion this time—there was no cruel trick in those eyes. Warmth radiated from her presence, a gentle strength that lifted Azre's heart.
"My little star," her mother whispered, kneeling before her. "You carry my light. Do not let him steal it from you. You are stronger than sorrow. Stronger than despair."
Tears streaked down Azre's face. "Mother… I miss you."
"I know," her mother's ghost said softly, brushing her cheek with ethereal fingers. "But you must fight. Not for me. For them."
Azre's trembling ceased. Her sorrow became steel, her wrath a blazing inferno. She rose, wings flaring, light exploding from her body. The Executioner roared in her hands, the blade now burning with pure, ethereal fire—justice given form.
Holon staggered as the chains of shadow shattered in a single, radiant burst.
"Enough!" Azre cried, her voice thundering like the heavens themselves. "Your illusions end here!"
She charged. Each strike of her blade tore through shadow, forcing Holon back step by step. He countered, crimson eyes blazing, hurling waves of despair to crush her spirit—but the Valkyrie did not falter. The Executioner sang as it struck, light devouring darkness.
At last, Azre brought her sword down in a final, sweeping arc. Holon roared, his form splitting as light carved into him. Shadows exploded outward, the phantom cage shattering into fragments of night.
The knights gasped awake, chains dissolving, visions tearing apart.
Nilda collapsed to her knees, tears streaming as the voice of her father faded, replaced by the strength she had always carried but never believed.
Aven lay gasping, pale and broken, as though death itself had nearly claimed him—but his heart still beat. His wife's accusing voice was gone.
Eldhar bowed his head, tears hidden beneath his gauntlet, as the faces of the fallen vanished, leaving only silence.
Holon, wounded but not destroyed, staggered back, crimson eyes seething with hatred. "This isn't over," he hissed, shadows consuming his form. "Your light cannot reach every corner… and I will return."
In an instant, he vanished into the darkness, leaving only silence and ruin in his wake.
Azre lowered her blade, golden hair flowing, her wings fading as exhaustion set in. Yet her eyes still blazed, not with sorrow, but with unyielding resolve.
The Purge Knights were free, but the shadow of Holon's escape lingered. The war between light and despair had only begun.
The battlefield lay silent.
The phantom cage was gone, its illusions torn apart by Azre's blazing light. Smoke curled from scorched earth, trees bent and broken from the fury of the clash. The Purge Knights stirred weakly, their breaths shallow, their faces pale.
Rowan leaned heavily on his sword, his body aching from every wound, yet relief softened his expression. Beside him, Thalia steadied her bow, though her hands trembled from exhaustion.
"We made it…" Rowan whispered hoarsely. "Gods above, we actually made it."
Thalia glanced at him, managing a faint smile. "Barely. But yes."
Azre stood in the center of the ruin, golden hair fading back to black, her radiant wings dissolving into sparks of light. The Executioner dimmed, settling once more into steel. Though her body quivered from fatigue, her eyes still burned with resolve.
Eldhar staggered to his feet, gaze lingering on her. "Azre…" he murmured, pride and awe mingling with fear. "You… you've become something more than even I imagined."
Nilda sat slumped against a shattered wall, tears drying on her cheeks. She whispered to herself, her voice cracked, "I'm not a failure. Not anymore…"
Nearby, Aven gasped for breath, sweat beading on his brow. His body trembled violently, as if still trapped in the nightmare he had escaped. Rowan hurried to his side, pressing a hand against his shoulder.
"Aven—stay with us!" Rowan urged.
The older knight's eyes fluttered open, filled with both torment and fierce determination. "Holon… he showed me her death again… over and over…" His voice broke, but he clenched Rowan's arm with surprising strength. "But I lived. I won't fall until he does."
Azre turned toward him, voice steady though her heart still ached from her own visions. "We all faced his illusions. We all bore our scars. But we are alive—and as long as we breathe, we fight."
The knights gathered themselves, battered but unbroken. For a fleeting moment, hope flickered among them.
Far from the battlefield, in the depths of the forest, shadows rippled.
Holon stumbled through the undergrowth, crimson eyes dimmed, blood trailing from wounds carved by Azre's radiant blade. His breath came in ragged snarls, his once-arrogant stride now limping. Rage and humiliation burned in him like acid.
"She dares…" he spat, clutching his chest. "That girl… that cursed girl dares…"
Then the air grew colder. The forest itself seemed to hold its breath.
Before him, the shadows coalesced, forming into a tall, hooded figure draped in black. Its presence was suffocating, a darkness far deeper than Holon's own. Slowly, the figure lowered its hood.
Holon's breath hitched. For the first time in years, his crimson eyes widened—not in fear, but in awe.
The face revealed was something beyond mortal terror, a visage twisted in inhuman perfection, as though despair itself had taken flesh. Power radiated from the figure, ancient and absolute.
A silence hung. Then Holon began to laugh. Low at first, then rising, until it echoed madly through the trees.
"Yes…" His voice cracked with frenzy. "Yes! Absolutely, yes!" His laughter grew, wild and unrestrained, echoing into the night. "Let us bring destruction upon mankind!"
The hooded figure smiled faintly, the forest quivering beneath its presence.
And so the shadow of a greater terror fell upon Etherissia, waiting for the day when despair would return, stronger than ever.