Eryndor and Vorgath journeyed deeper into the heart of the mystical forest, the moonlight casting eerie shadows on the ground. The air was thick with an otherworldly energy, and Eryndor could feel the weight of the forest's secrets pressing down upon him.
As they walked, Vorgath's demonic markings began to glow with an ethereal light, illuminating the path ahead. Eryndor watched in awe, his heart pounding with excitement and a hint of fear.
"Your markings are glowing," Eryndor said, his voice barely above a whisper. "What does it mean?"
Vorgath's eyes gleamed in the dark. "It means we're getting close to something," he growled. "Something powerful."
Suddenly, Vorgath stopped in his tracks, his ears perked up and his eyes fixed on something in the distance. Eryndor followed his gaze, but saw nothing.
"What is it?" Eryndor whispered, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Vorgath's voice was low and gravelly. "We're not alone."
And then, Eryndor saw it too - a figure, tall and imposing, standing just beyond the treeline. Its presence seemed to draw the very light out of the air, leaving only darkness in its wake.
"Who is that?" Eryndor breathed.
Vorgath's eyes narrowed. "I don't know, but I don't like it."
The figure began to move towards them, its presence growing more oppressive with each step. Eryndor could feel the ground trembling beneath his feet, as if the very earth itself was afraid.
As the figure drew closer, Eryndor saw that it was a man - or at least, it had once been a man. His face was twisted and corrupted, his eyes burning with an inner fire.
"Welcome, Eryndor," the man said, his voice like a rusty gate. "I've been waiting for you."
Eryndor's hand tightened on his sword hilt. "Who are you?" he demanded.
The man's smile was like a crack in the earth. "I am the one who will show you the true meaning of power," he said.
And with that, he reached out and touched Eryndor's forehead.
Everything went black.
Eryndor's mind was flooded with visions of darkness and fire, of ancient powers and forbidden knowledge. He saw the world through the eyes of the corrupted man, and it was a twisted and nightmarish place.
He saw Vorgath, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly energy, his teeth bared in a snarl. He saw himself, his sword shining with a light that seemed almost divine.
And he saw the forest, its trees twisted and gnarled, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers.
The visions faded, and Eryndor found himself back in the forest, the corrupted man standing before him. Vorgath was nowhere to be seen.
"Where's Vorgath?" Eryndor demanded, his hand on his sword hilt.
The man's smile grew wider. "Oh, he's around," he said. "But you won't be needing him where you're going."
And with that, he reached out and touched Eryndor's forehead again.
Everything went black.
When Eryndor came to, he was lying on a cold stone floor, his head throbbing with pain. He sat up, looking around, and saw that he was in a vast underground chamber, lit by flickering torches.
Vorgath was nowhere to be seen.
But the corrupted man was standing before him, his eyes burning with an inner fire.
"Welcome to my home," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "You'll be staying here for a while."
Eryndor struggled to his feet, his hand on his sword hilt. "I don't think so," he said.
The man's smile grew wider. "Oh, but I think you will," he said. "You see, I have something that belongs to you. Something that will make you do my bidding."
And with that, he snapped his fingers, and a figure emerged from the shadows.
It was Vorgath.
But something was wrong.
Vorgath's eyes were black as coal, and his teeth were bared in a snarl. He was no longer the demon wolf Eryndor knew.
He was something else entirely.