Chereads / LEON:How to become the God of Destruction / Chapter 18 - Chapter 18: Lair of the wicked

Chapter 18 - Chapter 18: Lair of the wicked

"We stand before our elusive quarry," Petre declared, his gaze locked onto the fortress looming like a beast on the horizon. Its towering form cast an ominous pall over the surrounding jungle, steel spires twisting upward as though clawing at the sky. Shadows dripped from its edges, bleeding into the verdant green of the jungle, a stark contrast that hinted at the decay within. The fortress was not merely a structure; it was a malignant presence, exuding an aura of despair that seeped into the very air, making it taste like rust and ash.

The vines clinging to its walls appeared blackened, lifeless—a parasite feeding on what little life remained within its walls. Dark turrets and watchtowers rose like sinister sentinels, their silhouettes sharp against the bruised evening sky, as if the fortress itself was a wound upon the land. Even the jungle around it seemed subdued, the usual calls of creatures silenced as though they, too, were wary of the malevolence emanating from this place.

Rudo, with the instincts of his lupine heritage, inhaled deeply, his nose twitching as he sifted the air. "Reeks of decay and desolation," he growled, his wolfish visage contorted in revulsion. "The stench of ZoZo's treachery."

Drill, his massive frame bristling with readiness, turned to us. "We must strategize," he urged, his voice a rumble of calm amidst our rising storm of adrenaline. "A frontal assault would be folly. We are but a handful against a bastion brimming with foes."

Rad, a glint of wild excitement dancing in his eyes, let out a low chuckle. "And since when did we shy away from the impossible?" Yet, as he spoke, his hands moved with a practiced ease, checking his weapons, adjusting his grappling hook, and recalibrating his communicator. The spark of reckless courage in his gaze was tempered by a meticulous scan of the fortress's walls, his gaze calculating as he assessed potential entry points. Rad might wear the face of a daredevil, but beneath the bravado was the mind of a strategist, honed by years of slipping through enemy lines and beating impossible odds.

"Reason must guide us," Drill countered, his hand resting on the hilt of his weapon. "The fortress is surely teeming with sentinels. We must employ cunning as well as strength."

"Very well," Rad conceded, his mind already weaving a web of strategy. "Behold the apex of yonder spire," he said, pointing to a high window that glinted like an eye in the fortress. "I shall ascend to that vantage point. While I infiltrate the upper echelons, you shall make your way to the rear."

Rad produced a compact device, no larger than a pistol, but at its end was a grappling hook, engineered with precision and purpose. "With this, I'll scale the walls as nimbly as a spider," he boasted, his grin a flash of confidence.

"Our rendezvous point will be within the belly of the beast," Rad continued, his plan unfurling like a battle standard. "Once I locate ZoZo, I'll signal your advance. Together, we shall strike at the heart of this floating fortress."

We nodded, each man steeling himself for the daunting task ahead. The fortress, a monolith of dark intent, stood sentinel over us, its secrets and dangers veiled behind walls of iron and malice.

Rad, with the deft precision of a seasoned infiltrator, took aim at the fortress's high window. His grappling hook, a marvel of engineering, shot forth, soaring like a falcon before clasping the window's edge with unerring accuracy. He flashed us a rogue's grin, the thrill of the heist alight in his eyes, before launching himself skyward. His lithe goblin frame made short work of the ascent, and with a theatrical wink, he vanished into the stronghold's shadowy maw.

"I'm in," Rad's voice crackled through our communicators, a hint of triumph lacing his words.

"No surprise there," Rudo replied dryly, his tone laced with his characteristic sarcasm.

We, the remaining assault team, melded with the night, our forms mere whispers in the fortress's imposing shadow. Stealthily, we approached the rear, where two guards clad in obsidian space armor patrolled. They paced the steel walkway, flanked by towering pillars, their movements betraying a facade of diligence.

"Hold," Rudo murmured, a predatory gleam in his eyes. We hunkered down, our bodies taut with anticipation. From his arsenal, Rudo produced a dart gun, its design as silent as it was deadly. With a measured breath, he blew into the weapon, sending a dart slicing through the air. Mid-flight, it split into two, each finding its mark in the necks of the unsuspecting guards. They crumpled like marionettes severed from their strings, their bodies twitching in their final moments.

We sprang into action, swiftly securing the fallen adversaries. Stripping them of their armaments and valuables, Petre couldn't resist pocketing a gold watch with a sardonic quip. "Won't be needing this where you're headed."

Before us stood a formidable gate, its design both elegant and unyielding. Rudo tested its strength, his hands grappling with the cold metal. "Locked tight," he grunted.

Petre, ever resourceful, brandished a gleaming silver key—a trophy from our incapacitated foes. "The key to our success," he declared, sliding it into the lock. The gate yielded with a heavy clunk, swinging open to reveal the labyrinthine heart of ZoZo's lair.

As the gate groaned ajar, we braced ourselves, stepping into a realm of secrets and danger, each man aware that the true test of our mettle lay just beyond the threshold. The fortress's interior loomed before us, a maze of corridors and secrets, each turn promising either triumph or doom. Our mission had reached its crescendo, and we ventured forth, united in purpose and resolve.

We delved deeper into ZoZo's stronghold, navigating a dimly lit corridor flanked by open rooms, each an abyss of horror. The oppressive gloom was punctuated by the dim, flickering lights that cast sinister shadows on the walls. The ambient growl of industrial pipes echoed around us, a mechanical beast lurking in the bowels of the fortress.

Each chamber we passed was a tableau of terror, a museum of despair where twisted remnants of lives lingered in silence. Tables, stained in layers of gore, held shattered instruments—pliers and hooks, chains and blades—each tainted by the weight of those who had suffered here. Rust mixed with blood, giving the metallic surfaces a sickly gleam in the faint light, casting macabre reflections across the stone walls. The air was a nauseating miasma of decay, desperation, and something worse: the lingering despair of souls who had once hoped for mercy but found none. The smell clung to us, pressing into our senses, clawing at our very minds, as though the fortress itself sought to drag us into its horror.

"This place... it's a charnel house," Petre growled, his face twisted in revulsion. His dwarven stoicism was shaken by the macabre scenes that unfolded before us.

"We need to hasten our pace," Drill urged, his voice a low rumble of urgency. "The less time spent pondering the horrors within these walls, the better."

Rudo, usually brash and outspoken, moved in grim silence, his nostrils flaring as he navigated the dreadful hallway. His eyes blazed with a cold fury, a predator honed by the scent of prey.

As we reached the corridor's end, two guards emerged from the shadows, their approach silent but for the faint clink of their armor. They were but phantoms in the fortress's heart, unaware of the fate that hurtled toward them.

In a blur of motion and without a moment's hesitation, Rudo sprang forward. His claws, sharp and unrelenting, found their mark with lethal precision, slicing through the guards' throats in a spray of crimson. The two men collapsed, lifeless, their blood pooling on the cold floor.

"Filthy vermin," Rudo spat, his voice a venomous hiss as he regarded the fallen guards with contempt. He turned away, disdain etched on his features, leaving the corpses in a growing crimson tide.

We surged forward, our footsteps a ghostly echo in the corridor, the aftermath of Rudo's deadly encounter still hanging heavily in the air. "You alright, Leon?" Drill's voice cut through the silence, his concern palpable.

"Yes, why?" I responded, my voice an emotionless mask. In truth, the turmoil within me churned like a tempest, but these were not waters I wished to navigate with others.

"You've grown quiet, even for you," Drill observed, his eyes searching mine. "There's a... different energy about you." His intuition was unnerving.

"I'm fine. Nothing's changed," I lied, my words a shield to guard the secret power of Archeus that surged within me. To reveal such a force would paint a target upon my back, a risk I could ill afford.

We ascended a narrow stairwell, the air growing colder as we reached the tower's midsection. At the door, a silence so profound it felt like a prelude to a storm greeted us. Petre eased the steel door open with a deftness that belied his rugged exterior, his eyes scanning the room beyond.

"Ten," he mouthed, gesturing for us to crouch low. "Draw your daggers. We strike from the shadows. They slumber, unaware of the fate that creeps upon them."

"Ready?" Petre's whisper was a serpent's hiss, the door inching open to admit us into the den of our unsuspecting quarry.

We moved as one, shadows slipping seamlessly into shadow, our figures ghostly and insubstantial. The guards lay strewn about, lulled by liquor, lost in careless stupor. Bottles, half-finished and scattered, reflected the guttering torchlight, symbols of their indulgent ignorance. They were oblivious, unaware that death was already slipping closer.

One by one, we struck. My dagger met the throat of the first guard, the blade slipping through flesh in a soundless reaping. His eyes fluttered open, pupils dilated in a final flash of recognition, but I stifled any sound with ruthless precision. This was not vengeance, not anger—it was the methodical removal of obstacles. These men were cogs in ZoZo's monstrous machine, their lives bound to the fortress's darkness, and now, to our resolve. By the time the last guard slumped forward, the only sound in the room was the slow drip of blood onto the stone floor.

Each life we extinguished was a whisper in the dark, a muted cry swallowed by the vastness of the fortress. The grim task unfolded with mechanical precision, our blades instruments of retribution. We moved through the room like wraiths, leaving behind a tableau of grim finality.

As the last guard slumped to the ground, a heavy stillness settled upon us. Our mission was far from over, but this floor, at least, had been purged of its guardians. We regrouped, our eyes meeting in silent acknowledgement of what had been done, and what was yet to come.

The path to ZoZo lay open before us, a dark descent into the heart of his kingdom. Every step felt like the razor's edge, a journey where our fates were bound together, each shadow a reminder of what we were here to do. Our breaths mingled in the stillness, a silent promise to one another: this fortress, with its secrets and sins, would be cleansed by the steel in our hands and the fire in our souls. We were no longer simply hunters; we were the reckoning ZoZo had never seen coming, shadows that would bring light into this place of darkness.