The bell rang throughout the fortress, an eerie echo that seemed to announce their impending end. The sound of rushing footsteps grew closer, chaos spreading through the corridors. The shadows seemed to stretch, ready to engulf them at any moment.
Alaric, exhausted, overwhelmed by the recent battles, felt something dark growing inside him. A deep darkness, lurking in the depths of his soul, threatening to take control. He knew he didn't have much time before everything collapsed. His breathing was heavy, each breath a struggle, but an unexpected, brutal clarity crossed his mind.
"Vita!" he rasped, his voice almost foreign to himself. Kimpa Vita turned to him abruptly, her eyes wide, her staff still glowing with magic. "Move them. Get Kael, Lira, and your fiancé to safety. Do everything you can. I'll handle the rest."
She looked at him, a mix of doubt and concern in her eyes. "You can't do this alone, you're exhausted, Alaric…"
But he cut her off, his tone cold, carrying an authority she had never heard before. "Go! There's no time to argue. I'll take care of what's coming."
Heart pounding, Vita nodded, aware that there was no other option. She turned to Kael and Lira, still weakened but alive, then hurried to the other room to retrieve her fiancé, Luther. Alaric would face this alone.
He stared at the entrance to the corridor where soldiers were already gathering, their silhouettes cast by torchlight. His body was broken, but an insatiable rage was rising within him, an ancient force pulsing beneath the surface. The Mark on his forehead burned like never before, but he no longer felt the pain. Only a cold, unwavering resolve.
Then, in a moment of desperation, he activated Spiritual Sacrifice. The air around him changed, becoming heavy, almost tangible. His soul, his life force, seemed to intertwine with the energy around him. Each heartbeat resonated with the earth beneath his feet. The darkness he had suppressed erupted, and Alaric, driven by this uncontrollable force, unleashed his fury.
The first soldiers who crossed the threshold of the room didn't even have time to react. Alaric's sword came down with such force that the steel cut through flesh and bone like wet paper. The first man collapsed, his scream dying in his throat before it could escape. His eyes, frozen in shock, closed on a fate he hadn't even had time to comprehend.
Alaric advanced, his blade dripping with blood. He no longer thought. His strikes fell with mechanical precision, but rage guided his movements. One by one, they fell under his blows, but all he saw was a blur of red.
The first man he killed had eyes filled with panic. He was young, no older than Kael, his hands trembling around his spear. Stumbling backward under Alaric's force, he fell to his knees. His desperate gaze met Alaric's, and a heart-wrenching plea escaped his lips.
"Please… I'm getting married in two days. Spare me. I beg you."
Alaric stared at him for a moment. The words echoed in his head, like a distant sound. Marriage. Spare. Simple words, words that might have once reached his heart. But the pain in his body, the dull rage in his mind… he couldn't hear anymore. Only the call of blood, of sacrifice.
His hand trembled for an instant, as though a flicker of clarity tried to pull him back from the abyss. But the sword fell, quick and merciless. The soldier collapsed, his final breath an inaudible whisper.
The second man he killed had been a father. Alaric hadn't even noticed the worn shield, covered with small, hand-drawn markings, probably by the clumsy fingers of a child. This man had joined the militia to provide for his family. He had taken this mission without truly understanding what he was getting into. He just needed a paycheck, something to feed his children. He hadn't expected to die tonight, not to be cut down by a young man whose eyes reflected madness more than reason.
His last words, "My children…", didn't reach Alaric. The blade, again and again, tore through flesh and armor, until he was nothing more than a lifeless body. But something in the father's eyes persisted, even in death. A look of innocence lost, of regret. Alaric didn't see it. He didn't want to see it.
The third soldier tried to flee. A veteran, this one. He had survived many battles, had seen more bloodshed than Alaric could imagine. But tonight, in this dark fortress, he knew his time had come. Seeing Alaric approach, a sort of resignation passed through his eyes. He could have fought, but why bother? He lowered his sword, almost in surrender.
"You don't have to do this… We're just soldiers. We follow orders, nothing more."
Alaric could have spared him. He should have spared him. But rage doesn't know reason. He was a torrent of broken emotions, anger, sadness, confusion. The veteran was cut down like the others, his wisdom taken with him to the grave.
The bodies piled up, and Alaric, drenched in blood, kept moving forward, his breath labored, his eyes devoid of any emotion. He should have felt triumph, some sense of victory, but there was nothing. Nothing but that same growing, devouring darkness. Was it even still him? Each strike pulled him further away from the person he used to be.
Alaric wavered, on the verge of collapse. Blood covered his hands, arms, and face. Was it his enemies' blood, or his own? He no longer knew. But in this chaos, one last voice broke through.
"Alaric!"
It was Kimpa Vita. She had returned, her spells having secured the exit with their friends. She stared at him, horrified, as though she no longer recognized the man she had met. Her eyes fell on the bodies strewn around him, on the horror of the scene.
Alaric remained silent, his hands trembling. The bodies lay at his feet, a macabre vision of his carnage. He had saved his friends, yes. But at what cost?
Kimpa Vita placed a trembling hand on his shoulder, pulling him from his daze. "We have to go. Now."
He nodded mechanically, unable to speak. The weight of his actions crushed him, heavier than ever. As they made their way toward the exit, one question haunted him: Was it really necessary?