Chapter 20
The camp lay in uneasy silence, the night thick and heavy, as if the world itself held its breath. Every torch flickered like a heartbeat, casting long shadows that stretched like claws across the earth. Soldiers shifted uneasily, gripping sword hilts until their knuckles whitened, ears straining for any sign of movement. The recent battles had left their marks scorched earth, shattered tents, and the faint odor of burnt magic lingering in the air. A sense of dread permeated the camp, a feeling that something terrible was about to happen.
King Almenac rose slowly, the weight of command heavy on his shoulders. He unrolled a sealed parchment, his eyes scanning the ink with practiced precision, but the words never reached his lips. The air had thickened, oppressive and suffocating, as though some unseen force pressed down on the camp itself. He felt a chill run down his spine, a premonition of disaster.
Then a horn.
A shrill, unnatural note rang out, slicing through the night. Horses reared, metallic screams of armor echoed, and knights grabbed their weapons. The sound lingered, stretching impossibly, vibrating with something ancient and cruel. Torches guttered and died. The camp was swallowed by absolute darkness. The soldiers cried out in fear, their voices swallowed by the oppressive silence.
From the shadows, eight figures emerged. No sound heralded their steps, yet every eye felt their presence. Cloaked and hooded, they moved with an unnatural grace, the very ground trembling beneath their silent approach. One by one, they lowered their hoods. The darkness seemed to cling to them, as if they were creatures of the night itself.
Scarred faces, glowing sigils etched into skin, eyes burning with unnatural fire. Even the most seasoned soldiers felt courage falter. Fear clutched their hearts like icy hands. They were not human, not anymore. They were something else, something far more terrifying.
Azre froze as her gaze locked on one familiar figure Holon. His face was gaunt, sharpened, inhuman. The scar she had carved into his chest glinted in the faint light, a cruel reminder of their last encounter. His crimson eyes found hers instantly, burning with recognition. He smiled, a chilling expression that sent shivers down her spine.
"Still alive, little viper?" Holon's voice dripped venom. "I almost thought you'd finished me last time… almost." He traced the scar at his collar with a deliberate finger. "But look at me now… stronger. Chosen. Perhaps Daath deemed me too… useful to discard." He laughed softly, a sound that was both mocking and triumphant.
The camp seemed to shrink around them. Shadows lengthened unnaturally, wrapping around tents and weapons. Horses screamed, rearing in terror. The air itself vibrated with the presence of the Apostles. The very fabric of reality seemed to warp and twist around them.
Azre gritted her teeth. "We… will not let you" She stood tall, her hand gripping her sword tightly, her eyes burning with defiance.
Holon's grin widened. "You? Stop me?" He laughed, a sound that twisted and echoed in the minds of all who heard it. "Little viper… your courage is delicious, but utterly futile." He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, as if she were nothing more than an annoying insect.
The final figure, the leader of the Apostles, stepped forward. Silent and pale, his presence pressed down like a storm ready to crush. Time seemed to pause. The flames of torches froze mid flicker, banners hung stiff in the wind, and the knights themselves were trapped mid motion. He exuded an aura of immense power, a sense of cold, calculating intelligence.
He raised a pale hand, and King Almenac's parchment ignited in ghostly flames, curling into ash before he could react. The air pulsed with a low, oppressive hum, as though reality itself bent to the Apostles' will. He was in control, orchestrating the events to his own design.
The leader's eyes, violet and unnervingly calm, met the king's. Cold, ancient, incomprehensible. They seemed to see through him, to strip away his defenses and expose his deepest fears.
When time resumed, the world roared back into motion. Fire blazed, knights staggered, chaos erupted but the leader's calm smile remained. He was unfazed by the chaos, as if he had anticipated it all along.
"Now you have seen us," he intoned, voice like glass over stone. "We are not whispers. We are not shadows. We are the Apostles of Daath." He spoke with an authority that brooked no argument.
He bowed, mock courtesy sharp against the fear stricken camp. His movements were fluid and graceful, yet they held an underlying menace.
The king's hand twitched toward his sword, but Holon's laughter cut through the air, low and wicked. He relished the king's fear, his helplessness.
"Look at me, little viper," Holon hissed, eyes glinting. "I've survived. I've grown. And you? You cannot stop what is coming. Not you… not your precious knights… not even your king." He reveled in her frustration, her inability to stop him.
Azre drew her sword, divine energy crackling along its edge. "We will fight… we will" She stood ready to defend her king, her comrades, her world.
"Fight?" Holon's voice was a hiss, silk wrapped around steel. "You're already too late." Shadows writhed around him, suffocating, cold, living. He was a master of darkness, able to manipulate it at will.
A soldier cried out, swallowed instantly as the leader moved. With a single gesture, shadows surged forward. The ground trembled. Horses screamed. Tents tore. Reality seemed to twist beneath the Apostles' presence. They were reshaping the world to their own design.
"Hold the line!" King Almenac shouted, voice shaking but resolute. Knights formed ranks, blades clashing against the unseen force. They stood as a bulwark against the darkness, their courage unwavering.
Rowan shouted to Azre, "Focus your light! Push them back!" He knew that their only hope was to fight back with the power of the light.
Azre's divine energy flared, carving through advancing darkness. Sparks of holy fire collided with shadow, yet Holon stepped through the melee unscathed, presence warping the battlefield. The sigil beneath their feet pulsed like a heartbeat, ripples of dread bending reality itself. He was protected by the power of Daath, immune to their attacks.
Holon lunged toward Azre, shadows curling around his fingers like tendrils. She countered with radiant energy, yet his grin only widened. He seemed to revel in the battle, in the chaos and destruction.
"You cling to hope… quaint," he whispered. Shadows surged, devouring space between them and the knights. He was confident in his victory, certain that they could not stop him.
Then the leader stepped forward, approaching the king. His third eye opened, violet light cutting through the night. "Daath sees everything… through me," he intoned. The king froze. He knew speaking the name of this being meant certain death. His hands trembled. The violet light pierced his soul, exposing his deepest fears and desires.
"You… dare speak it?" King Almenac's voice was hoarse, taut with dread. "Your name… I" He struggled to speak, his mind battling against the leader's power.
"You will not speak it, King," the leader said calmly, smiling faintly. "I arranged it so the parchment would reach you. One word, one slip… and death comes swiftly." He had orchestrated this entire encounter, manipulating them like puppets on a string.
The Apostles whispered in unison, voices chilling and hollow. "We are inevitability. We are the abyss incarnate. None shall defy our path." They spoke with a chilling certainty, a belief in their own invincibility.
Enix, napping under the shade of a tree nearby, stirred. The opening of the leader's third eye pierced through the haze of his sleep. Awareness snapped into him. He leapt to his feet, sprinting toward the camp, heart hammering. He sensed the danger, the overwhelming darkness that threatened to consume everything.
The knights remained frozen, even Eldhar, as if the leader's presence bound their will. Only Enix moved. He drew his sword without hesitation and slashed toward the leader, a brilliant arc of fire cleaving the night. He acted on instinct, driven by a need to protect the innocent.
"Oops…" the leader said, stepping back effortlessly. The slash missed, sizzling harmlessly in the air. His smile widened, faint amusement flickering in his cold eyes. "Impressive… but naive." He recognized Enix's power, but dismissed it as insignificant.
The Apostles began withdrawing. Shadows swirled around them as a dark rift tore open, like a zipper slicing through the night. One by one, they walked into the void, deliberate, controlled, leaving the camp in stunned silence. They were confident in their escape, knowing that they could return at any time.
The leader was the last to move. Before vanishing, his gaze pierced Enix and Azre. "Live long… until I devour both of you." Then he stepped into the rift. It snapped shut behind him, leaving a suffocating stillness. His threat echoed in their minds, a promise of future torment.
Enix lowered his sword, chest heaving. Azre's light flickered faintly. Eldhar exhaled, tension leaving him slowly. The knights blinked, processing that the immediate threat had vanished but the warning remained. They knew that this was not the end, that the Apostles would return.
Holon's laughter lingered, echoing cruelly. The camp was scarred: tents shredded, ground torn, residual shadows curling like smoke. The damage was a testament to the Apostles' power, a reminder of their vulnerability.
Rowan spoke first, voice rough, "They… they're gone… for now." He tried to reassure his comrades, but his voice lacked conviction.
Thalia exhaled shakily. "For now… but the warning… until they return…" She knew that they had to prepare for the inevitable, that the Apostles would not rest until they had achieved their goals.
Nilda stepped close to Azre, voice trembling but firm. "We need to prepare… again. And we will. No matter how terrifying… we will face them." She stood tall, her fear overshadowed by her determination.
Enix gripped his sword, eyes fixed on where the rift had been. "Next time… I won't let them walk away." He vowed to be ready, to be stronger, to protect those who could not protect themselves.
Azre's light flared, steady and piercing. "Next time, we fight with everything and we survive. No excuses. No retreat." She stood resolute, her eyes burning with determination.
The camp exhaled collectively, fear slowly transforming into resolve. Somewhere deep in the night, a whisper of shadow remained. The Apostles' presence and the leader's chilling threat had seeded terror that would not vanish until the final reckoning. They knew that they had to be prepared, to be vigilant, to stand together against the darkness.
And in the distance, Holon's faint, mocking laughter reminded them all: the darkness was only biding its time. It was waiting, watching, growing stronger, preparing to strike again.