As more of the revolting soldiers converged on the priest's position, attempting to rush him with weapons drawn, the priest raised his hands, a wicked smile crossing his face. "You fools, you will regret that decision!" he roared, and in an instant, a searing ring of fire erupted around him.
The flames shot out with devastating speed, cutting through not only the rebelling soldiers but also the priest's own allies, who were too slow to escape. Swords fell from hands, bodies crumpled, and the air filled with the acrid stench of burning flesh. Many were cut down in their tracks, their screams filling the hall, and the intense heat forced everyone else to step back in terror and awe.
Amukelo could not allow that to happen again. He forced his way through the chaos, his eyes blazing with resolve as he cut down a monk who stood in his way. "Stay away from him!" Amukelo yelled at the soldiers who fought by his side.
"Take care of the others—I will deal with him!" He pushed through with such conviction and authority that no one dared disagree; the soldiers who had joined the revolt immediately pulled back from the priest, giving Amukelo the space he needed. He knew that if he didn't stop this man now, more lives would be lost.
The priest's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as Amukelo approached. "Hahaha... You fool," he sneered. "I will finish you along with this small rebellion." With that, he gripped his ornate staff tightly, the one which had conjured the deadly spells, and with a swift motion, he split it in half. From within the staff emerged a hidden blade, jagged and sharp, with cruel runes carved into its surface. But Amukelo was already upon him, closing the distance between them in an instant.
The priest raised his staff-blade in a defensive stance, meeting Amukelo's powerful slash. The force of the strike reverberated through the air, and the priest's confidence faltered as he realized Amukelo's strength was far greater than he expected. The clash of metal against metal rang out as the priest struggled to hold his ground, but the force of Amukelo's attack broke through his guard. Amukelo's sword cut deeply across the priest's chest, tearing through the fabric of his robes and leaving a long, jagged wound across his torso. Blood flowed freely, staining his clothes and dripping to the ground. But the wound was not lethal, far from it—it only enraged the priest further.
With a snarl of fury, the priest thrust his staff forward, his hand glowing red with magic. In an instant, a fireball erupted from his palm and hurtled toward Amukelo. Amukelo's eyes widened as the fire roared toward him, and he instinctively raised his sword to block it.
The impact of the fireball was like a sledgehammer; the heat was blinding, and even though his blade absorbed much of the force, the blast scorched Amukelo's skin. He staggered back, pain shooting through his body as he felt the burn sear into his face and neck. The pain was sharp, but it only fueled his determination. He winced but didn't falter, tightening his grip on his sword.
"YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!!" the priest screamed, his voice cracking with rage. He slammed his staff into the ground, and in an instant, a spire of earth erupted from beneath Amukelo's feet. Amukelo's reflexes saved him—he leaped to the side just as the jagged spike of stone shot up, but it still grazed his side as he evaded, cutting into his stomach and drawing blood. Amukelo grimaced as the pain shot through him, but he refused to be deterred. He charged forward again, hoping to overwhelm the priest before another spell could be cast.
But the priest was not so easily caught off guard this time. He raised his hand, and a wall of fire erupted in front of Amukelo, forcing him to halt his advance. Then the flames twisted, splitting into multiple walls that surrounded him from all sides, closing in fast to form a blazing box. Amukelo's instincts kicked in, and he knew there was only one way out—up. With a powerful leap, he jumped through the one open space above him just before the fire closed in completely.
But as he soared upward, the priest, his eyes locked on Amukelo with a manic intensity, cast another spell. Two pillars of earth erupted from the ground, aiming to catch him midair and crush him. Amukelo saw them coming in a split second, and he twisted his body, bringing his sword in front of him to brace for the impact. The first pillar struck his blade, and he managed to push himself to the side, but the second pillar was just behind him—closer than he anticipated. He shoved himself to the side, but in that frantic moment, his left hand reached out just a second too late.
The second pillar slammed into his arm, and he felt the sickening crunch of bone as it pinned his hand between the two masses of rock. Amukelo let out a cry of pain as his hand was crushed, not entirely, but enough to shatter the bones inside. He yanked his hand free with a sharp gasp, clutching his arm close to his body as he landed on the ground and fell to his knees, resisting falling entirely. His left hand hung limply at his side, useless and broken, blood dripping from his fingers. He bit back the pain, knowing that showing weakness now would only spur the priest on.
Amukelo's vision blurred for a moment, the pain clouding his senses, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to focus. He was down to one functioning hand, his left arm hanging uselessly, but he still had his sword.
Sweat mixed with blood dripped down his face, and the world around him blurred in a haze of pain and exhaustion. He knew that all eyes were on him; the rebels who had dared to fight alongside him, the priests' followers, and the twisted, grinning priest who stood confidently at the center of it all, watching him with cruel amusement.
"You see?" the priest mocked, his voice dripping with venom. "Look at you. Broken, weak, and bleeding. If you surrender now," he continued, "I will grant you a merciful, painless death. But resist, and I promise that every second will be agony. You will beg for the end to come."
Amukelo's breath was ragged, but he clenched his teeth, forcing himself not to show weakness. He propped himself up on one feet, his good hand clutching his sword for support as he stared back at the priest with unwavering determination.
"I can't die here," Amukelo spat back, the words laced with defiance. "I still have things to do. A mission to complete. I won't let filth like you stand in my way." His words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, the entire hall was silent.
Then the priest laughed—a shrill, mocking sound that echoed off the stone walls. "Poor fool," the priest sneered, shaking his head. "Do you really think your resolve will change anything? Your fate is already sealed. You'll never have a chance to complete your precious mission."
Amukelo felt the rage surge within him like a fire, burning away the exhaustion and pain. He had hoped to use this only when facing Neclord himself. But now, with death staring him in the face and the priest's wicked grin promising nothing but torment, he knew he had no choice. He reached into his pocket and with a swift motion, Amukelo threw to the ground a small clay figure, and it shattered on impact, releasing a massive cloud of dust that filled the room like a storm.
The golem was massive, towering twice Amukelo's height, with broad shoulders and limbs as thick as tree trunks. Its body seemed to be made of stone, though it moved with the fluidity of living flesh, every step it took causing the ground to tremble beneath its weight. Its face was featureless save for two glowing eyes that burned like embers, and its arms were long, ending in powerful fists capable of smashing through solid rock. It stood between Amukelo and the priest, its presence a living wall of strength and fury.
The priest's eyes widened for a moment in surprise, but the shock quickly gave way to scorn. "Hahaha!" the priest cackled, pointing a finger at the golem. "And what is this puppet supposed to be? You think this will change anything?"
He raised his hands, sending a barrage of spells at the golem—blades of wind, fireballs, and even spikes of earth erupted from his hands, all crashing against the golem. But none of the attacks seemed to faze it; the wind and fire dissipated against its stone hide, and the earth spikes shattered on contact. The golem advanced forward, its heavy footsteps shaking the ground, completely unfazed by the spells.
"Tsk..." the priest grumbled, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. Realizing the golem was immune to his basic attacks, he stepped back, and with a rapid motion, he thrust his staff into the ground, summoning walls of stone to block its path. Layer after layer of thick earth walls rose from the ground, forming a series of barriers. The golem raised its massive fists and swung, each punch shattering the barriers like glass, but it did slow the creature down enough for the priest to think.
Amukelo used this precious moment. He reached into his pouch and took out a healing potion given to him. He pulled out the cork with his teeth and drank it quickly. Immediately, he felt a rush of warmth flood through his body. The burns on his face faded, the wound in his side stomach closed, and even his broken hand began to heal. But he could feel that it was not perfect—his bones were still cracked, and though the pain was less intense, the weakness in his grip remained. Nevertheless, it was enough to regain his fighting edge.
Meanwhile, the priest had taken advantage of the slowed golem. He raised his arms, and the air around him seemed to darken, swirling with energy. He began to chant in a language that made Amukelo's skin crawl—a language that seemed older than time itself, filled with dark, twisted power. The ground beneath the priest glowed a deep, menacing red as a large ring formed, and within it, a pentagram of shimmering blood-red light appeared. The air became heavy, like the very space around them was being ripped open.
And then the world split. With a roar that shook the walls of the hall, a massive form began to claw its way out from the center of the pentagram. At first, it was just darkness, but from within that void, something monstrous emerged.
The demon was huge, towering even over the golem. It had skin as red as blood, glistening with an unholy sheen, and its body was a mass of rippling muscles, each one bulging with strength that seemed to defy nature. Its chest and arms were broad, and veins pulsed beneath its skin like rivers of fire. Instead of eyes, two long, curved horns grew from its forehead, reaching up and back like the prongs of a crown, leaving deep pits where its eyes should have been, from which leaked a glowing crimson light.
Its mouth was a wide, toothy grin, filled with sharp, jagged teeth that seemed made for tearing flesh. Black smoke billowed out with every breath it took, and as it flexed its claws—each one as long as a man's arm—the ground beneath it cracked and buckled. It let out a horrific, guttural roar, like the scream of a thousand tortured souls, shaking the very air and sending a chill down the spine of every person in the room.
The priest stood before the demon, his eyes wide with triumph and madness. "Behold!" he cried, spreading his arms wide as though presenting a masterpiece. "Behold the end of your resistance! This is the power of those who serve the darkness! And you, Amukelo—you will be the first to die, a sacrifice to this glorious beast!"
Amukelo's eyes narrowed as he took in the situation. The golem was still advancing, its heavy fists ready to crush anything in its path, but now it faced a new threat—one that would test its strength to its limits. The demon's presence filled the room with an almost tangible malice, its energy so overwhelming that it felt like trying to breathe underwater. Amukelo's grip on his sword tightened as he prepared for what would be the hardest fight of his life. He had to win—no matter what.