Veer hit the ground hard, knees scraping against cold stone. The pain was a distant echo compared to the weight crushing his chest. He stared, paralyzed, at the altar in the center of the room. The love of his life lay there, pale and unconscious, a sacrificial lamb surrounded by a pack of wolves in hooded robes.
The room reeked of incense and something darker—fear, despair, the scent of inevitability. Veer's cousins flanked him, their bodies rigid, faces twisted in anger and helplessness. They were the Pride, damn it. They weren't supposed to fall like this. But the dark magic coursing through the air had them pinned, reduced them to nothing more than spectators to a tragedy.
The leader of the cult strode forward, a figure shrouded in shadows and arrogance. His laugh was a jagged edge, cutting through the silence like a knife.
"Look at you," the leader sneered, voice dripping with disdain. "The mighty Pride, brought low. Lambs on their knees, ready for the slaughter."
The hooded figures around him laughed, a low, menacing sound. Lambs. The word echoed in Veer's mind, stirring something deep and ancient, a memory of a voice he hadn't heard in years.
"Rise and rise again, till lambs become lions," his grandfather's voice whispered in his ear, rough and steady. "You're only as weak as you think you are. True strength isn't about muscles; it's about the will to stand when all seems lost."
A spark ignited in Veer's chest, a tiny ember that flared into a roaring flame. The cultists were wrong. They had misjudged him, misjudged them all. They were not lambs to be led to slaughter. Not today, not ever.
The leader's eyes widened as Veer began to move, the invisible chains snapping under the force of his will. The room's oppressive weight lifted, and Veer felt power surge through him, a primal, unstoppable force. The crowd's laughter died, replaced by a stunned, fearful silence.
Veer stood, tall and defiant, eyes burning with a fierce light. The leader took a step back, his confidence wavering. Veer's cousins stirred beside him, the Pride awakening from their enforced slumber. They were not lambs. They were lions, and this pack was far from broken.
"You think you can break us?" Veer's voice was low, dangerous, filled with a quiet fury. "You have no idea what you're up against."
The leader snarled, but there was fear in his eyes. He started chanting, desperate to finish the ritual. But Veer was faster, stronger. He lunged, a predator unleashed, his fist connecting with the leader's jaw. The crack echoed in the chamber, a sound of shattering illusions and broken power.
The cultists panicked, their dark aura faltering as the leader crumpled to the floor. Veer didn't stop. He was a force of nature, tearing through the ranks, scattering them like chaff. His cousins followed, the Pride in full fury, breaking free and striking back with a vengeance.
Veer reached the altar, his heart pounding. He lifted her gently, his love, his reason for fighting, and she stirred, eyes fluttering open. Relief washed over him, but it was edged with steel. The Pride stood tall, victorious, the darkness banished.
They were lions, not lambs. And lions bow to no one. Not to dark magic, not to fear. Veer looked at his cousins, at the shattered remains of the cult, and knew this was just the beginning. The world was dark, full of shadows and monsters. But they were the Pride, and they would rise and rise again. Until every shadow was chased away, and every monster knew to fear the roar of the lion.
---
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