Royann's heart hammered against his chest as he, Nadia, and Zeke crested the hill, their breaths misting in the air. Below them, chaos unfurled like a cruel tapestry across the village green. Delano's minions had descended, their presence an omen of destruction that Royan could feel in his bones. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his weapon, instincts thrumming with the urgency of the situation.
"My god, look at them," Zeke muttered, his normally jovial face twisted in horror.
The minions were grotesque parodies of humanity, their bodies warped by dark magic into towering beasts. Twisted limbs jutted at unnatural angles, muscles bulging beneath the tattered remnants of what once might have been clothes. Now they wore dark armor, jagged and cruel as if forged in the very bowels of the earth. The metal seemed to absorb the light, casting each minion in a silhouette of malevolence.
Their eyes glowed with an eerie luminescence, flickering between shades of baleful red and sickly green. It was an otherworldly light that spoke of corruption—of souls tainted by Delano's sinister influence. Those infernal eyes roved hungrily over the village, seeking new victims for their merciless onslaught.
"They have no mercy," Nadia whispered, her voice thick with revulsion and fear.
"Nor will we," Royan replied, his words slicing through the tension. His ancestors' blood thrummed within him, the legacy of legends that granted him access to powers beyond the kind of ordinary folk. This was his burden and his privilege; only one in quintillions could wield such magic, and it fell to him to protect those who could not protect themselves.
"Ready up," he said, though there was no need. Nadia and Zeke were already poised for battle, their own resolves hardened by the sight before them.
"Let's go!," Royan declared, and together they surged forward, down the hill towards the nightmare that awaited.
3 - 4
Royan's mind sharpened to a razor's edge as he raced down the slope. The chaos of the attack unfolded before him—the minions' movements, though erratic and savage, followed a pattern. A pattern he could read. Their hulking forms lumbered forward, powerful but predictable, their strikes heavy but cumbersome.
"Focus on the rhythm," Royan murmured, eyes darting from one dark shape to another. "they're predictable like a drum beat."
As a minion swung its massive arm towards a fleeing villager, Royan calculated the trajectory, his ancestors' wisdom whispering through his veins. Delano's creatures relied on brute force, a reliance that made them vulnerable to someone who could dance between the raindrops of their rage.
"Zeke! Nadia! Flank left, draw them out!" His voice cut through the din, commanding yet calm. They nodded, understanding the plan without question, their movements synchronized with his own.
A minion turned its glowing gaze upon Royan, recognizing the threat he posed. With a guttural snarl, it charged, its armor clanking discordantly. Royan waited, coiled, until the last heartbeat before impact.
Then he moved.
With a grace that belied his solid frame, Royan sidestepped the charge. The minion's momentum carried it stumbling past him, its eerie eyes wide with surprise. Royan's agility was a whisper of silk, a shadow slipping through the sunlight.
"Cho!" he taunted, borrowing the casual defiance of his homeland's slang. It was a dance now—a deadly one—and he was leading.
Another minion lunged, a jagged sword arcing through the air towards Royan's head. He ducked, feeling the displaced air kiss the tips of his dreadlocks. He spun, planting a firm boot in the creature's back, propelling it into its comrade. The two minions collided with a clatter of metal, a momentary tangle of limbs and confusion.
"Yuh can't touch me!" Royan's voice was a melody of confidence as he weaved through the onslaught, his body a fluid testament to the power that coursed through his bloodline—a lineage of warriors and mages whose secrets were etched deep within his soul.
The minions thrashed and flailed, their attacks growing more desperate as they tried to pin down the agile figure darting amongst them. But Royan was the embodiment of the storm; untouchable, always one step ahead, turning their own ferocity against them.
"Watch and learn," he called over his shoulder, knowing the villagers were witnessing the spectacle. "This is how we fight back!"
And fight back he did, with every dodge, every calculated risk, every movement honed by generations of knowledge—a legacy that would not be extinguished, not while the blood of legends flowed through his veins.
5 - 6
Royan's chest rose and fell with measured breaths, the rhythm syncing with the pulsing energy of his Natural Mystic Flow. His eyes narrowed, focusing as he summoned the ancestral magic that simmered within. With a sharp flick of his wrists, the air before him shimmered, images rippling into existence—phantoms crafted of light and shadow.
"I'm gonna give yuh a real show," he murmured. The illusions sprang forth a troop of spectral warriors charging into the fray. Minions swung wildly at the apparitions, their dark armor screeching against the empty air where the ghostly figures danced just out of reach.
Confusion etched itself onto the twisted features of Delano's minions as they grappled with the phantoms. Royan seized the moment, his mind clear, his body a conduit for the ancient power that surged like a riptide through his veins.
From within the folds of his cloak, he drew his latest weapon—a set of wire so thin it whispered secrets of death. He cast them outward, and they slithered through the chaos, alive with his will. Each strand glinted like quicksilver under the moon's gaze, a nest of vipers answering their master's silent call.
"Entangle!" he commanded, voice resonating with the force of his lineage. The wires obeyed, looping and coiling around limbs encased in dark iron, pulling taut with the strength of steel. One by one, the minions stumbled, their eerie glowing eyes now wide with panic as the wire constricted, rendering them helpless.
"Jus' like how the spider catch the fly," Royan quipped to himself, satisfaction blooming in his chest as he watched his prey become ensnared. There would be no more destruction this night; the village would sleep safely, shielded by the very legends that flowed through Royan's blood.
The minions, once harbingers of terror, were now but captives in Royan's web, their monstrous snarls silenced by the elegant dance of his wire weapon—a serpentine guardian entwined with the might of ancients.