Damien jolted awake, heart pounding as a chorus of screams and clashing metal pierced the silence of his room. The acrid smell of smoke stung his nostrils as he equipped his Titan's Light Armor and Cloak of the Nightstalker. With a steel resolve, he grabbed his Steelbane Broadsword and bolted out of the inn.
The scene that greeted him was straight out of a nightmare. The once-quiet city now roared with the fury of destruction. Flames licked at the sky, devouring buildings and sending plumes of smoke billowing into the air. The streets were a frenzied river of people—NPCs and players alike—stumbling over one another in a desperate scramble for safety.
Damien's pulse raced as he fought to make sense of the chaos. "What the hell happened?" he wondered, his eyes darting through the pandemonium for any sign of familiar faces. But all he saw was a sea of terror and confusion.
Suddenly, a group of cloaked riders burst onto the scene, their horses galloping through the streets like harbingers of doom. The riders' dark robes flapped like sinister banners as they cut down anyone who crossed their path. One rider, a woman hidden beneath a tattered hood, raised her hands and conjured black geometric symbols that writhed and twisted in the air, amplifying the terror.
Before Damien could react, a deep, guttural rumble echoed from above. He craned his neck and his blood ran cold as he saw the sky shatter open with a thunderous crack. A massive, gaping tear appeared in the firmament, spewing an ominous, pulsing darkness.
From the abyss of the rift, colossal, gnarled fingers reached through, twisting and clawing at the fabric of the world. As the tear widened, a monstrous, shadowy creature emerged, its form an undulating mass of pure darkness. The air seemed to thicken with dread as the beast's malevolent gaze cast its shadow over the city.
Damien's eyes widened, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "What the hell is that thing?" he muttered, his heart racing as he tried to comprehend the monstrous apparition tearing through the sky. His gaze darted back to the dark rift, a sense of dread coiling in his gut. "It doesn't even have a label or an HP bar! What's going on!?"
As he struggled to make sense of the nightmare unfolding before him, the thunder of hooves grew louder. The group of cloaked riders stormed past him, and in a fleeting moment, Damien caught sight of a pair of glowing violet eyes peeking from beneath the hood of the sorceress. The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning.
They're not from Arnenia, Damien thought, his mind racing. The riders were players from beyond the continent—an invasion force from another land.
The sorceress's eyes locked onto him for just a heartbeat before she and her dark cohort disappeared into the chaos. Damien gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on his broadsword. This was no event or quest; it was a full-scale assault from outside forces.
Damien was jolted from his racing thoughts by the sudden appearance of a floating window in his vision, glowing a stark blue amidst the chaos. It read, "Incoming Call: Tyson" with two options beneath it: Answer or Reject.
He hesitated only for a heartbeat before slamming Answer. The window vanished, replaced by Tyson's voice, frantic and urgent.
"Damien! Where are you? We're at the Adventurer's Guild—the whole raid party is here. Get here now! The city's under attack!"
Damien glanced around the city streets. Fort Keller, once a bustling hub of activity, now lay in ruins. Buildings smoldered, flames licked the sky, and the air was thick with smoke and the acrid stench of destruction.
Damien's stomach dropped as he looked around at the burning city, the destruction, and the panicked crowds. "On my way," he replied, then ended the call with a tap of his interface.
He didn't waste another second. Sprinting down the shattered cobblestone streets, he dodged flaming debris and plumes of smoke, the cries of the city ringing in his ears. The city was a war zone. Buildings were either smoldering or collapsed into heaps of rubble, and screams mingled with the clash of steel in every direction.
The Adventurer's Guild loomed ahead, miraculously still standing despite the devastation around it. He barreled through the entrance, skidding to a stop inside. The hall was filled with players and NPCs, the air thick with tension.
Tyson rushed over, his usual carefree demeanor replaced with grim urgency. "Damien! Thank god you made it. The city's falling apart, and we've got to get organized fast!"
Damien nodded, taking a quick glance around. Grizz, Cass, and Kiyara were already deep in discussion with other players, their faces lit with a mix of fear and determination. The guild hall, typically a place of celebration and planning, was now a makeshift command center.
"What's the situation?" Damien asked, his voice hardening as he shifted into battle mode.
Tyson's blue eyes were wild but focused. "We've got invaders pouring in from all directions, and that thing in the sky… it's like nothing we've seen before. We're rallying everyone we can, but we need a strategy."
Kiyara stepped forward, her face showing a mix of shock and resolve. "We've managed to pull in a good number of players who made it here from various parts of the city. Some are still out there, but we've got a decent force assembled. We need to figure out how to deal with the attackers and that massive creature outside."
Damien's mind raced, piecing together a strategy from the chaos. He climbed onto a table, drawing every eye in the guild hall to him. "Listen up!" he shouted, his voice slicing through the din. "We need to treat this like the Bonewarden raid. Form teams of three—an attacker, a flanker, and a tanker for each team!"
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Damien scanned the faces below him. Most were determined, some were terrified, but all were listening.
Damien's voice was sharp and commanding, slicing through the chaos in the guild hall. "Everyone on the right side of the room," he called out, pointing with his sword. "You're splitting up to secure the city. North, South, East, and West districts—sort it out among yourselves, now! If you see a threat, you eliminate it. No hesitation. If we don't take them out, they will take us out. This is no game. Understand that."
The tension in the room spiked, his words sinking in. Faces that had been lined with doubt and fear moments ago now hardened with resolve. The group on the right nodded and began conferring urgently among themselves, forming squads and quickly delegating which district each would take.
Damien turned his attention to the left side of the room, locking eyes with the players gathered there. "Everyone on this side," he continued, his voice unwavering, "your focus is on saving civilians. Get them to safety. Search through the rubble, check every building, every alley, and every damn corner. Even if they're hanging on by a thread, every life counts."
The players on the left side exchanged glances, some of them swallowing hard but nodding all the same. There was no room for doubt now; they had a job to do.
Damien's gaze swept across the room one last time. "This world was built for us," he said, his voice rising with conviction. "We can't let them destroy it. Now move!"
The room erupted into motion, the urgency in the air palpable. Players scrambled, dividing into their groups, weapons clutched tightly in their hands. There was no time for second-guessing, no time for fear. This was their city, their reality, and they were going to fight for it.
Tyson clapped Damien on the shoulder as he passed by, a grim look in his eyes. "We'll take the East District," he said, already motioning for his squad to follow him.
Cass gave Damien a curt nod, her expression fierce. "I've got the civilians in the South sector," she said, already rallying a team behind her.
Damien barely had a moment to catch his breath as the players dispersed, each group heading out with a determined look in their eyes. He turned to prepare himself for the oncoming battle when he felt a hand on his arm. He looked up, finding Kiyara standing there. Her usually calm sky-blue eyes were filled with an urgency he hadn't seen before.
"Damien," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil around them. "What's our move?"
He paused for a second, caught off guard by the intensity in her gaze. For a split second, the chaos outside faded away, leaving just the two of them in a quiet bubble. "We're splitting up," he replied. "I need you to help clear out the North District. Make sure no one gets through."
She nodded, but didn't move. There was something else, something more behind her eyes that she wasn't saying. "You're sure about this?" she asked quietly. "Splitting up—it's risky. If these players are as dangerous as they seem…"
He clenched his jaw, his mind racing through the scenarios. "I know," he admitted. "But it's our best shot. If we stick together, we'll be overwhelmed. We have to cover as much ground as possible."
Kiyara studied him for a moment, her tail flicking behind her, a telltale sign of her internal conflict. Then she stepped closer, lowering her voice so only he could hear. "Just... be careful, alright?"
Damien felt a lump form in his throat. He wasn't used to this—the feeling of someone worrying about him in such a genuine way. "I'll be fine," he said, trying to sound confident, even as doubt gnawed at him. "You just focus on staying safe out there too."
She nodded again, but her eyes stayed on his. "You better come back in one piece, Captain." And then, in a move that surprised him more than anything else the night before, she leaned in and pressed her forehead against his for the briefest of moments.
It was a gesture filled with a promise, a wordless vow of survival, and it made his heart race more than any battle could.
Then, as quickly as it happened, she stepped back, the moment breaking as she turned and hurried toward the exit, calling to the team she would lead. "North District, on me!"
Damien watched her go, his mind a whirl of emotions. He tightened his grip on his sword, feeling the weight of it, the weight of what lay ahead. "You better come back too, Kiyara," he muttered to himself before turning toward his own path.
There was no room for hesitation now. He had a city to defend, and people counting on him.
Arenaline coursed through him like fire. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "Let's go," he muttered, and with that, he ran out into the chaos by himself, ready to face whatever came next.
Damien sprinted through the chaos, weaving between burning debris and panicked crowds. His eyes kept darting to the sky, to the grotesque creature looming above the city. The thing barely fit through the rift, its hulking form pushing against the tear in the sky like it was too large to be contained in their world. Its single glowing red eye tracked the city below, unblinking, radiating an eerie light that painted everything in crimson hues.
He couldn't shake the image of the hooded rider, the way those glowing violet eyes had glared right through him as she cast her spell. His gut told him that she was the key to all this—the conjurer who had summoned this nightmare upon Fort Keller. If he could find her, take her down, then maybe this whole attack would unravel.
But even as he formed that thought, doubt crept in. What was this creature really? It didn't move like the standard raid bosses he was used to. Its presence was overwhelming, not just in size but in the way it twisted reality around it. The air felt heavier, the sounds of battle more distant, as if the monster was bending the world around itself. The red eye shifted, and for a moment, Damien could've sworn it focused directly on him, sending a chill down his spine.
His heart hammered in his chest. Was this even a part of the game? Was it some kind of glitch, or worse, a new event that had been unleashed without warning? He didn't have answers, and that lack of understanding made the fear settle deeper in his gut.
But he pushed forward. He had to keep moving, had to find that rider. If she was the cause of this, then taking her out might be their only shot at survival. As he rounded a corner, a wave of heat hit him—more buildings were on fire, the flames licking at the night sky. Screams filled his ears, cutting through the din of clashing steel and spells being cast. NPCs and players alike were being cut down, the riders moving like phantoms through the chaos, leaving destruction in their wake.
Damien skidded to a halt, chest heaving, as he surveyed the scene. The riders were everywhere—dozens of them, maybe more—spreading out through Fort Keller like a swarm. They moved with purpose, striking down anyone in their path while casting spells that made entire buildings crumble. With each wave of their hands, black flames leaped from the ground, consuming structures and sending thick plumes of smoke into the air.
"Shit," he muttered, gripping his sword tighter. This wasn't just some chaotic raid; this was coordinated, strategic. The riders weren't just attacking—they were tearing the city apart piece by piece, as if following a carefully laid plan. And the most terrifying part? They all looked the same: cloaked in black, their faces hidden beneath hoods. Identical, down to the way they moved and cast their magic.
He scanned the horizon, his eyes darting from rider to rider. They moved in squads, at least five or six in each group, sweeping through the city in a deadly formation. It hit him then—this wasn't some random skirmish. This was an invasion.
His pulse quickened as a new, unsettling thought settled in his mind. How many were there in the city? How deeply had they infiltrated Fort Keller? He had to find the one who summoned the monstrosity in the sky, but under those hoods, they were impossible to tell apart.
"Dammit," he hissed, ducking behind a broken cart as a burst of magic exploded near him, sending shards of wood flying. How was he supposed to track down the sorceress in this sea of identical shadows? He could spend hours, days even, hunting them all down, and he still might not find her.
Damien forced himself to focus. This wasn't the time for doubt. There had to be some way to distinguish her, some hint he'd missed. He closed his eyes briefly, replaying the memory of when he'd first seen her: the glow of violet eyes, the spellcasting that had brought the creature to their world. There had to be a clue there, something unique about her magic, her aura—anything.
But even as he racked his brain, the city around him continued to crumble. Another building collapsed in a fiery blast, and he heard the screams of players and NPCs alike, the chaos closing in from all sides. He couldn't just stand there waiting for an epiphany while Fort Keller was razed to the ground.
He had to move. He had to act.
"Alright," he muttered, eyes snapping open. "One step at a time."
He darted out from his cover, running along the edge of a burning building, trying to stay out of the riders' immediate line of sight. If he couldn't find the sorceress right away, he'd have to thin their numbers first. He needed to dismantle their squads, create some breathing room, and search for anything—any detail—that set her apart from the rest.
Ducking into an alley, Damien glanced upward. The creature above was still looming, its massive form shifting in and out of the rip in the sky, as if testing the boundaries of this reality. He forced himself to look away. It wasn't his target—not yet. First, he had to tear through the shadows that protected it.
He darted back into the chaos, eyes locked on a group of riders. As he closed the distance, he prepared himself for a deadly dance, his mind racing. He needed to get one step closer to finding her. One step closer to ending this nightmare.
Damien didn't hesitate. He charged toward the invaders, muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap. These bastards didn't deserve an honorable fight, and he had no intention of giving them one. As he approached, he dipped low, using his momentum to slide across the ground. With a swift slash, his sword cleaved through the legs of the nearest horse, and the beast went down with a harrowing scream, taking its rider with it.
The rider hit the cobblestones hard, and before he could even register the pain, Damien was on him, driving his blade through the man's chest. He didn't stop there. He moved with ruthless efficiency, targeting the horses first—those four-legged tanks that gave the invaders their advantage. Another swing, another pair of hooves sliced clean off. The horse screamed, buckling, and its rider was thrown forward, crashing into a pile of debris.
Damien sprang up from his crouch, turning his body into a whirlwind of slashing steel. He struck again and again, each blow precisely aimed at the horses' legs, and in a matter of seconds, an entire squad lay in disarray on the ground, cloaked figures writhing and gasping around him. It was brutal, dirty, and exactly what needed to be done.
The fallen riders groaned, scrambling to regain their footing, but Damien was already on them. He lunged at the nearest one—a cloaked figure trying to pull itself upright. With a vicious stab, Damien drove his sword through the rider's back, pinning him to the ground. A muffled scream escaped the rider's lips before he went limp, vanishing into a burst of pixels.
"Come on, you bastards," Damien growled, turning to face the rest. One rider managed to get to his feet, drawing a dagger with a flick of his wrist. He rushed Damien, slashing wildly. Damien parried with a swift movement, knocking the dagger aside and delivering a crushing kick to the rider's chest. The invader staggered back, only to find the edge of Damien's sword slicing across his throat.
The rider dropped to his knees, clutching at his neck as his HP drained away, dissolving into a scatter of polygons.
The last of the riders stood back, eyes gleaming under his hood. Damien could see the hesitation there—the uncertainty. Good. They weren't so fearless after all. The rider chanted something in a foreign tongue, summoning black energy into his palms, but Damien wasn't about to give him the chance.
With a quick pivot, Damien launched forward, closing the gap in the blink of an eye. His sword flashed once, twice, and then the rider's hands were severed at the wrists, the black energy dissipating into thin air. The rider howled, staggering back as blood spurted from his stumps. Damien finished him off with a clean thrust through the heart.
"Not so tough without your mounts, are you? You guys may be able to use magic, but you need to work on your swordplay." Damien spat, yanking his blade free. He stood amidst the wreckage, his breath ragged, the stench of blood and burnt flesh filling his lungs. Around him, the fallen horses and riders littered the street.
He didn't have time to bask in the moment. More squads would be coming—he could already hear the thunder of hooves echoing from the adjacent streets. But this wasn't just about killing every last one of them; he needed information, a clue. One of them had to know where the summoner was, or at least point him in the right direction.
"Come on, think," Damien muttered. "There's gotta be a pattern here, some way to tell them apart." He wiped his sword clean on his cloak.
As Damien stood over the spot where the Drow had vanished, a new threat approached. A rider charged at him, sword raised. Damien barely had time to react. He swung his own blade, deflecting the rider's strike with a resounding clang.
The rider snarled, swinging again, but Damien sidestepped and grabbed the edge of the rider's hood. With a powerful yank, he pulled the rider off his horse, slamming him into the ground. The Drow let out a guttural snarl, thrashing beneath Damien's grip, but he managed to pin him long enough to yank back the hood. What he saw sent a chill down his spine.
A Drow.
His skin was an ashen gray, sharp angular features marked with dark, tribal symbols. Those eyes—glowing with an unnatural purple light—bore into Damien with hatred. For a moment, Damien was taken aback.
The Drow hissed, revealing a row of sharp, pointed teeth. Damien pressed the edge of his Steelbane Broadsword to the Drow's throat. "How many of you are here?" he demanded, keeping his voice steady.
The Drow spat at him. "You think you can stop what's coming?" the Drow sneered, his voice cold and guttural. "This city is just the first to fall. We are the Harbingers. The world will burn, and your precious Gaea will be nothing but ashes."
Damien's mind raced. Harbingers? A guild? A cult? This was more than a mere raid; this was a coordinated assault. He glanced up at the sky, where the colossal creature loomed above the city, and the sight sent a jolt through him.
Damien leaned in closer, his voice a low growl. "Who gave the order to attack? Who summoned that thing?" He gestured toward the monstrous figure peering through the tear in the sky.
The Drow let out a chilling laugh, his glowing eyes narrowing with cruel amusement. "You think I would betray my Queen?" He bared his teeth in a twisted grin. "Even if you find her, you'll wish you hadn't."
As Damien prepared to leave, the Drow's desperation flared. The invader pulled a hidden blade from his sleeve, lunging at Damien with a lethal snarl. Damien's reflexes kicked in; he twisted sharply to the side, narrowly avoiding the blade's deadly edge.
With a swift counterstrike, Damien's sword found its mark, plunging deep into the Drow's chest. The invader's eyes widened in shock, blood pouring from the wound as Damien twisted the blade viciously.
The Drow's screams were muffled by the roar of chaos around them. Damien didn't hesitate; with a quick, precise motion, he slashed horizontally, severing the Drow's arm cleanly from his body. The arm hit the ground with a wet thud as the Drow's body exploded into pixels, disintegrating into the air with a flash of light.
Damien flicked his sword with a practiced motion, sending the blood splattering onto the cobblestone streets. He wiped the blade clean, his gaze fixed on the towering central spire ahead. With a final glance at the smoldering remnants of the battle, he sprinted toward the tower.
Damien raced through the smoke-choked streets of Fort Keller, each step echoing with the clamor of destruction around him. The central tower, looming in the distance, beckoned him like a beacon of salvation. It was the tallest structure in the city and, more importantly, the ideal vantage point to launch his audacious plan.
With a quick swipe through his Menu, he dialed Grizz. The call connected almost immediately, the sound of chaos from Grizz's end mixing with the static.
"Grizz, get to the top of the central tower. We need to execute a high-risk play," Damien shouted, barely pausing for breath.
Grizz's voice crackled with confusion. "Are you out of your mind? What's the plan?"
"Forget the smaller threats for now. I need you to launch me at that giant monster in the sky," Damien explained, urgency driving his every word.
A stunned silence followed before Grizz's voice came back, laden with disbelief. "You want to take that thing on yourself? Are you serious?"
Damien's determination was palpable. "Just get me there, and trust me. I've got a plan."
He hung up and sprinted towards the central tower. The steps seemed to stretch endlessly before him, but adrenaline surged through his veins, making the climb easier than he'd anticipated. The roaring fires and crashing buildings below were a stark reminder of what was at stake, propelling him upward with relentless drive.
Panting and sweat-soaked, Damien reached the top where Grizz was waiting, his massive form casting a shadow against the burning city. The scene was apocalyptic, with flames licking the ruins and screams piercing the air.
Grizz eyed Damien with a mix of awe and concern. "This better be good."
Damien took a deep breath, his gaze locked on the monstrous deity looming in the sky. "I need you to launch me directly at it. I'm counting on creating a diversion big enough to draw out its caster."
Grizz's face betrayed a flicker of doubt. "You really think you can pull this off?"
Damien's resolve was unshakable. "I have to. Now, get ready."
Grizz crouched low, his colossal paws outstretched like a makeshift catapult. Damien, heart pounding like a drum in his chest, leaped into Grizz's palm, his grip tight on his sword. Grizz's muscles tensed, and with a guttural roar, he launched Damien into the air with a powerful heave: "Don't die!"
Damien shot upwards, the ground falling away beneath him. The sky twisted and roared as the massive, single red eye of the deity grew closer. The sheer size of the thing was overwhelming; its eye was like a blood-red sun, glowing ominously against the dark sky. Damien's mind raced, adrenaline flooding his system.
With a determined shout, Damien raised his sword high, aiming straight for the eye. He felt the rush of air, the heat of the monster's gaze on his face as he plummeted towards it. His sword connected with the eye in a desperate, powerful strike.
The impact was disheartening; the sword merely skidded off the monstrous eye with a resounding clang. Damien's heart dropped as he realized the strike had no effect. Panic surged through him. He was falling fast, the ground rushing up to meet him.
Suddenly, a blinding, radiant light exploded from his right arm. Damien's eyes went wide as a spiked, intimidating gauntlet materialized around his hand, blazing with an orange glow like flickering flames.
Right in the center of his vision, a fluorescent notification flashed on his HUD: Tear of Daemora Activated, Right Hand of The Goddess Equipped.
Before he could process this, a sphere of pure, searing light erupted from the gauntlet, streaking towards the deity's eye. The ball of light struck with a cataclysmic force, and the monster's eye flared.
The deity's roar shook the heavens. It recoiled violently, its massive body writhing and thrashing. The ground beneath Damien trembled like a living thing. The deity's immense form started to retreat, its presence receding back through the gaping tear in the sky. The rift began to close, the darkness swallowing the monster whole until only the echoes of its rage remained.
Damien, his adrenaline finally spent, began his descent. His scream pierced the air as he fell through the chaotic aftermath. The city's ruins rushed up to meet him with terrifying speed.
As he neared the city street, he instinctively thrust his gauntlet-arm out in front of him.
The moment his gauntlet touched the ground, an explosive force erupted. The gauntlet's power shattered through the asphalt with a deafening roar, creating a massive crater that swallowed Damien's fall. The earth buckled and splintered beneath him, and he tumbled uncontrollably through the newly formed void.
Damien crashed into the bottom of the crater, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. He rolled violently across the uneven surface, his body bouncing against the jagged edges of the crater. Dust and debris rained down around him, settling into a haze.
Finally, he came to a stop, sprawled at the bottom of the crater, his senses disoriented. He lay there, gasping for air, staring up at the rim of the crater. The distant sounds of battle had faded, leaving a haunting silence.
Damien pushed himself up, feeling the weight of the gauntlet on his arm, and scanned his surroundings. The crater he'd created was massive, the edges still smoldering and sending up small plumes of smoke. Around him, the once-bustling city was now a war zone of shattered buildings and burning debris.
"This power... The Tear of Daemora..." His thoughts raced, struggling to grasp the enormity of what had just happened.
He looked at the gauntlet. Damien's eyes flicked to his HUD as the label "Right Hand of the Goddess" glowed in florescent chrome text, casting an ethereal light. The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning: this gauntlet might be just one piece of a legendary armor set. The idea of a full Tears of Daemora set, potentially the most powerful gear in the game, sparked a fierce excitement within him.
Damien's green eyes narrowed as he examined the gauntlet more thoroughly. It seemingly pulsed with latent power. It was intricately designed, with flame-like orange spikes and divine runes etched into its surface. He could almost envision what the complete set would look like—gleaming breastplates, majestic helmets, and possibly other pieces that complemented this gauntlet—he had harnessed a force beyond anything he'd ever imagined.
"H-Holy shit..." He muttered, eyes wide with disbelief.
His pulse quickened, not just from the adrenaline, but from the overwhelming power he had wielded. This wasn't just some game mechanic—it was real, and it was terrifying. What had he unleashed, and what would it mean for him and the world around him?
The world blurred around him as a cloaked attacker flew into Damien's field of vision, springing from above with the speed of a bullet. Damien barely had time to react. His body moved on instinct, raising his gauntlet-clad arm just in time to meet the attacker's descending blade. The impact resonated through the air, the clash echoing with a metallic screech as sparks erupted from the collision. They stood locked at the bottom of the crater, weapons grinding against each other, the ground beneath them cracking.
Beyond the sharp tang of steel, Damien's eyes strained to see beneath the attacker's hood. A white mask, featureless except for the black stripes running down its eye sockets, hid the attacker's face.
"You have no idea what you've done," The figure hissed from behind the mask. His voice was chillingly calm, devoid of any emotion, and far too composed for the chaos swirling around them.
"Who are you!?" Damien shouted, his voice raw with adrenaline. "What do you want from us?"
"Your lives." The reply was as cold and flat as death itself.
The cultist twisted his body, using the force of their locked weapons to deliver a sudden, brutal kick to Damien's mid-section. Damien stumbled back, gasping for air, but he regained his footing, the gauntlet's weight grounding him.
"Who sent you!?" Damien demanded. " Who ordered this attack!?"
Silence. The cultist's only answer was to blur forward again, his form a streak of darkness. Damien saw only the glint of the blade aimed at his throat. He barely managed to raise the gauntlet to deflect the strike, but the impact jarred him. The fight became a savage, their movements fluid but fierce. Damien's gauntlet pushed with each blow, sparks lighting up the crater like fireworks.
Damien's heart pounded in his chest. He was being pushed back, every strike from the masked attacker pushing him closer to the crater's edge. The gauntlet thrummed with a god-like power, but it was all he could do just to keep up.
This guy is on another level! Damien thought as he blocked another strike, his arm vibrating with the impact. If it wasn't for this gauntlet, he'd have killed me already!
The cultist moved with a speed and skill that left Damien breathless. Each attack targeted a new weak spot, forcing Damien to react faster than he ever had before. He parried a blow aimed at his ribs, but the cultist spun, the blade coming for his neck. Damien ducked, feeling the blade's cold edge slice through the air just above him. He was being pushed to his limit.
This wasn't like the battles he'd fought before. This was a whirlwind of death, an opponent who didn't just want to defeat him but wanted to erase him from existence. Damien's muscles screamed in protest, his breath ragged. He needed an opening, a single moment where he could turn the tide. But the cultist gave him nothing—no room to breathe, no mercy, just a relentless drive to kill.
Damien darted back, adrenaline surging as a plan formed in his mind. He needed space—room to unleash the gauntlet's power again. His opponent halted, sensing the shift in Damien's stance. Without hesitation, Damien thrust his right arm forward, channeling every ounce of his will into the gauntlet. The air crackled as energy began to swirl and coalesce in his palm, forming into a blazing sphere of light that buzzed with raw power.
"Take this!" Damien roared, launching the energy bomb straight at the cloaked figure. It shot forward like a comet, tearing through the air toward its target. But just as Damien thought he had the upper hand, the cultist moved.
From the depths of his cloak, the cultist's arm emerged. Damien's eyes widened in shock. A radiant gauntlet, a mirror image of his own, materialized around the cultist's forearm. It glowed with the same fiery intensity, and in a split second, the cultist conjured his own orb of destructive energy. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled it toward Damien's attack.
The two bombs collided mid-air, time seeming to slow for just a heartbeat. Then, the world exploded. A deafening boom filled the air as the clashing energies detonated, sending a shockwave ripping through the crater. The ground quaked beneath them, the force of the blast deepening the crater as chunks of rock and debris erupted skyward.
Damien stumbled, the sheer force of the impact threatening to knock him off his feet. He shielded his eyes from the swirling dust and debris, his heart pounding in his chest. What the hell just happened? He squinted through the haze, struggling to see the figure on the other side.
As the dust began to settle, the reality of what he had witnessed hit him like a punch to the gut. The cultist had the same power—the same gauntlet—but on his left hand.
"What the hell..." Damien muttered, disbelief twisting in his gut.
The cultist stood tall, his cloak whipping around him as if caught in an unseen wind, the glowing gauntlet on his arm pulsing with orange energy.
"You're not the only one blessed by the goddess," the cultist said, his voice dripping with cold certainty.
Two more hooded riders appeared at the base of the crater, materializing as if they'd stepped through a tear in reality. Their arrival sent a chill down Damien's spine, but he pushed it aside. He shifted his stance, readying himself for another battle. Three against one—no problem. He'd figure it out somehow. He had to.
One of the newcomers spoke, his voice sharp and dismissive. "We've gathered enough energy to move forward with the plan. Should we press on?"
Damien's jaw clenched. They weren't even acknowledging him. His grip tightened on the gauntlet, his knuckles turning white. "Hey! I'm standing right here! Fight me!"
The cultists didn't even flinch. Their disregard was like a slap to the face. The masked one in front of him made a slight movement, and Damien watched as the gauntlet around his arm faded away into a wisp of light. Damien's eyes widened—how did he do that? The control this guy had over the Tear of Daemora was beyond anything Damien had managed. A pang of jealousy cut through his anger, but he squashed it down.
"For now, let's return home," the masked one said, his voice cold, calculating. His gaze never left Damien, like a wolf eyeing prey. "However, our business here is far from over..."
Damien felt his heart hammering in his chest. Every instinct screamed at him that this was far from a retreat. They were planning something big, and he was a mere footnote in their scheme. The other two cultists finally turned to look at him, their eyes glinting ominously beneath their hoods. One gave a curt nod. "We'll meet you in Boska."
And then, they vanished—just like that. One second they were there, and the next, they dissolved into shadows, leaving only the masked cultist facing Damien.
"Hey!" Damien roared, the words tearing from his throat. "We're not finished here!" He thrust the gauntlet forward, the energy within it crackling to life, raw and unrestrained. He wasn't going to let them get away so easily.
But the masked one didn't move. Didn't even blink. It was like looking into a void, cold and unfeeling. The silence stretched between them, suffocating.
Then, he too began to fade. His form flickered, and Damien lunged forward, a desperate yell ripping from his throat. "No!"
His gauntlet struck the empty air where the cultist had stood, the energy dispersing with a sharp crackle. Damien stumbled, his momentum carrying him forward into the emptiness, into the nothingness they left behind. He skidded to a halt, panting, eyes wild. They were gone. Just like that.
The silence of the crater closed in around him, oppressive and heavy. He was alone again. The echo of their words—Boska—rang in his ears. Who were they? What were they planning?
The words echoed in Damien's mind like a haunting refrain: "We are the Harbingers." It had been so quick, almost lost in the chaos of battle, but now it rang out clearly in the silence of the crater. The Harbingers. Who were they? A faction? A guild? No, this was something darker, something far beyond the realm of the game's usual conflicts. The way they moved, the way they spoke—it was all too organized, too deliberate.
He stared at the spot where the masked cultist had vanished, trying to piece together what he had just witnessed. His heart still pounded in his chest, each beat reminding him of the power he had felt radiating off that masked figure.
Damien's mind raced, the adrenaline finally starting to fade. He looked down at the gauntlet still pulsing on his arm. Whatever they were after, he had become a part of it now, like it or not. His fingers flexed, and the gauntlet hummed.
He didn't know what was coming next, but one thing was certain: this wasn't the end. This was only the beginning. And whatever the cultists had planned, he would be ready. He had to be.