The morning sun had barely touched the walls of the Royal Magic School when a chilling discovery was made. The body of a young mage was found in one of the isolated practice chambers, his life taken in a manner that sent shockwaves through the academy. His body lay in a strange, ritualistic pose, dark runes surrounding him—runes that pulsed faintly with an ancient, sinister magic. Whispers of murder spread, fear gripped the school like a vice.
Ash stood before the sealed-off chamber, Sword hovering beside him. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, but his mind was sharp, focused. The school's usual liveliness had been replaced by a tense silence, and he could feel eyes watching from the shadows, students too afraid to venture near.
Ash's [Eyes of the God of Creation] activated with a subtle flicker. His vision shifted, revealing the faint, lingering traces of magic in the air. Dark energy, old and unnatural, clung to the walls and floor. It wasn't just a murder—this was something far more disturbing.
"Whoever did this knew what they were doing," Ash muttered, stepping closer to the barrier around the crime scene. "This magic... it's ancient. Deliberate."
Sword, always by his side, hovered slightly ahead, its blade shimmering faintly. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking this isn't just about murder. It's connected to something bigger. And I intend to find out what."
With the campus in shock, few dared to speak about the incident openly, but Ash's instincts told him there was more to uncover. Most of the staff had been tight-lipped, trying to maintain order, but Ash wasn't one to wait around for answers.
Magister Morgana, a senior instructor at the academy, was already knee-deep in her own investigation. Known for her sharp mind and even sharper tongue, she had a reputation for being meticulous, calculating. Ash knew she'd be following the same trail, though their paths hadn't yet crossed.
Ash walked the shadowed halls of the school and he kept his eyes sharp, scanning for any signs, anything that might lead him to more clues. He knew the first step was to get a closer look at the crime scene.
Sword's voice broke through his thoughts. "You're thinking of going back there, aren't you?"
Ash smirked. "You know me too well."
Together, they returned to the sealed chamber. This time, Ash bypassed the magical barrier with a simple but effective spell, his [Eyes of the God of Creation] giving him the insight he needed to unlock the wards. The room felt colder, as though the dark magic had seeped into the very air, leaving behind a chill.
He knelt beside the ritual circle where the victim had fallen. The runes glowed faintly under his gaze, pulsating with an eerie, rhythmic hum. Ash studied the marks more closely and he realized they weren't just for show—this was a summoning ritual. But the summoning had failed, leaving death in its wake.
"It wasn't about the student," Ash whispered to Sword. "They needed something else. The murder was just... part of it."
Sword hummed in agreement. "A sacrifice, maybe? But for what?"
Ash frowned, his fingers tracing one of the runes. "That's what I intend to find out."
Later that afternoon, Ash made his way toward the academy's archives and he ran into Magister Morgana. She was leaning against one of the stone pillars, her sharp eyes focused on him the moment he entered the corridor. Dressed in dark, flowing robes with silver embroidery, she exuded an air of authority that few could match.
"Ash," she said, her voice like ice. "I hear you've been poking around the murder scene."
Ash stopped in his tracks, maintaining a calm demeanor. "Just trying to figure out what's going on, Magister. The whole school's on edge."
Morgana raised an eyebrow, her piercing gaze unnerving. "Is that so? You think you're the only one who noticed the dark magic lingering there?"
He straightened slightly. "I know I'm not. But what I found points to something bigger. Those runes—it's a summoning ritual. Someone was trying to bring something here, but the spell failed. The murder wasn't the goal. It was a means to an end."
Morgana's eyes flickered with interest, though she remained outwardly composed. "I came to the same conclusion. But there's more. An artifact was stolen from the academy's vault recently—a relic from the First Age. I believe the murder and the theft are connected."
"An artifact?" Ash asked, his curiosity piqued. "What does it do?"
Morgana hesitated, then glanced around as if making sure no one was eavesdropping. "It's a key. A key to a power most mages couldn't comprehend. I think whoever stole it was trying to use it in that ritual. But something went wrong."
Ash's mind raced. "Do you know who took it?"
"I have a few leads," Morgana replied. "But I'm still investigating. Keep your eyes open, Ash. Whoever did this is dangerous. If you find anything, you come to me immediately. Understood?"
Ash nodded, but inside, he knew he wouldn't be waiting for anyone else to solve this mystery.
That evening, Ash made his way to the academy's vast archives. If the stolen artifact was from the First Age, there had to be some record of it in the tomes and scrolls housed within these ancient walls. The archives, dimly lit by floating orbs of light, were eerily quiet, the only sound the faint rustle of parchment as a few students poured over their studies.
Ash and Sword moved through the aisles, their presence almost unnoticed. Ash scanned the shelves with his [Eyes of the God of Creation] and began to focus, allowing him to see faint magical imprints on the old texts.
After what felt like hours, he found a small, hidden alcove behind one of the large tomes. Inside was a dusty, weathered book, its cover inscribed with ancient runes. Ash felt a strange, dark energy pulsing from it—faint but undeniable.
"This might be it," Ash whispered, pulling the book free and laying it on a nearby table. He opened it carefully, revealing pages filled with arcane symbols and illustrations of artifacts.
"That's the one," Sword said, pointing toward a sketch of a jagged crystal, pulsing with dark energy. Below the illustration, the text described it as the *Key of Nezg'hall*.
"Nezg'hall," Ash murmured. "I've heard that name before."
The name sent a shiver down his spine. The Nezg'hall were an ancient cult, long thought to be wiped out, who worshipped a forbidden magic older than the school itself. Their rituals were said to bring about chaos, summoning dark entities from beyond the mortal plane.
"They weren't trying to summon something—they were trying to open a gate," Ash realized. "The artifact is the key to whatever's on the other side."
Sword's voice was somber. "If the Nezg'hall cult is involved, we're dealing with something far worse than just a murder."
Ash's discovery put the entire investigation in a new light. The murder, the stolen artifact, the strange summoning ritual—it all pointed to the revival of the Nezg'hall cult. Whoever was behind this was planning something far more sinister than anyone realized.
Ash decided not to wait for Morgana or anyone else. He needed answers, and he needed them now.
Late that night, Ash returned to the archives, this time seeking the deeper, hidden parts of the library where restricted texts were kept. His [Eyes of the God of Creation] made it easy to bypass the wards, and soon, he found himself descending into the cold, stone-walled chamber beneath the school.
He reached the bottom of the stairs, and a low, chanting sound echoed through the chamber. His heart raced. Sword hummed beside him, ready for whatever lay ahead.
Peeking around the corner, Ash saw them—hooded figures gathered in a circle, their voices low and sinister. At the center of the room, a figure knelt before an altar, holding a glowing shard—the missing artifact.
"Nezg'hall's hand," Ash whispered, his grip tightening on Sword.
Sword's voice was steady. "There's still time. We can stop them."
Ash's mind raced. He could feel the dark magic growing stronger, pulsating from the shard. Whatever they were summoning, it wasn't yet complete.
Stepping forward, Ash's voice rang out across the chamber. "Stop right there!"
The chanting halted. All eyes turned toward him, and for a moment, silence filled the room. Then, the figure at the altar rose slowly, turning to face him.
"You're too late," the figure hissed, their eyes glowing with unnatural light. "Nezg'hall will rise again. The gate to the underworld will open soon."
Ash's [Eyes of the God of Creation] flared as he prepared for the fight of his life. "Not if I have anything to say about it."
The underground chamber beneath the Royal Magic School hummed with a palpable, oppressive energy. Flickering torchlight threw long, grotesque shadows across the stone walls, the flames barely holding back the darkness seeping from the portal that shimmered at the center of the room. Hooded cultists stood in a perfect circle around the altar, their voices low and guttural, reciting chants in a forgotten language. The artifact, known as Nezg'hall's Hand, pulsed on the altar, emitting a deep, rhythmic thrum that matched the heartbeat of the dark magic that filled the air.
Ash stood at the entrance to the chamber, Sword hovering beside him, both bracing themselves for the coming battle. His [Eyes of the God of Creation] flickered as they analyzed the powerful wards and magical defenses surrounding the cultists. The very air felt tainted, thick with the malevolent power of the portal they had opened. This was no ordinary summoning; they were attempting to unleash a nightmare upon the world.
"They're using Nezg'hall's Hand to stabilize the portal," Ash whispered, his voice barely audible. "If we don't stop them soon, they'll tear a hole between realms, and it'll be too late."
Sword hummed in response, its blade shimmering faintly with magical energy. "Then we have to disrupt the ritual—destroy the artifact before the portal fully opens."
Ash stepped forward, his presence unnoticed by the cultists, who were entirely focused on the chanting and the growing portal. His heart raced as he closed the distance, his mind scanning the scene for weak points. The cultists were drawing power directly from the artifact, and the swirling dark magic they wielded was chaotic, but dangerous.
Suddenly, the chanting stopped, and the cult leader—a tall, gaunt figure with glowing, unnatural eyes—turned toward Ash. A cruel smile spread across his face as the portal behind him pulsed with life. "You're too late," he hissed, his voice echoing unnaturally through the chamber. "Nezg'hall's power is already upon us. Soon, the gate will open, and our army will lay waste to this world."
Ash's muscles tensed. His [Eyes of the God of Creation] locked onto the artifact, tracing the strands of dark energy that connected it to the portal. "You're not summoning an army today."
The cult leader's smile widened, showing too many teeth. "You cannot stop what has already begun, young mage."
Before Ash could respond, the air around him exploded with magic. Dark tendrils of energy shot toward him, twisting and writhing like serpents hungry for flesh. He raised his arm, conjuring a barrier of shimmering light just in time to block the attack. The tendrils struck the barrier with a sharp crack, sending sparks flying into the air.
"They know we're here," Sword said, its voice steady but urgent. "We need to act fast."
Ash's mind raced as he analyzed the situation. The cultists were no longer chanting—they were attacking. Dark magic crackled through the air as they unleashed spell after spell, each one more violent than the last. His barrier held, but only just.
"Focus on the leader!" Ash shouted, his [Eyes of the God of Creation] picking apart the cultists' magic. "We break him, we break the connection to the portal."
Sword shot forward in response, its blade slicing through the air like a bolt of lightning. It deflected a barrage of dark energy with a swift, fluid movement, the sheer force of the clash sending shockwaves through the chamber. Ash pressed forward, his barrier expanding to protect him as he launched a wave of arcane energy toward the nearest cultist.
The blast hit the cultist square in the chest, sending them crashing into the stone wall with a sickening thud. Dark magic fizzled and died in the air around them as their connection to the portal broke. But the other cultists didn't falter. They regrouped, their hands weaving complex spells that filled the room with an eerie, malevolent light.
Ash could feel the pressure building in the chamber. The portal was growing, its surface rippling and warping as if something was pressing against it from the other side. Whatever they were summoning, it was close—too close.
"We need to stop them before the gate opens," Sword urged, deflecting another wave of magic with a precise strike. "They're pulling something through."
Before Ash could respond, the portal flared to life. Its surface rippled violently, and with a deafening roar, the air around them distorted. The energy in the room shifted, and a massive figure began to emerge from the swirling void. Thick, muscular arms, covered in jagged scars, pushed through the portal. Then came the hulking form of a Chaos Orc, its bloodshot eyes filled with rage as it bellowed in fury. Behind it, the forms of Frozen Trolls and Bloodthirsty Taurens began to take shape, their massive bodies shrouded in dark mist.
"Chaos Orcs and Taurens?" Ash muttered, his heart pounding as he recognized the creatures. These were not ordinary beasts—they were monsters born from the realm of chaos, creatures of pure destruction. Their presence alone warped the very air, and their strength was legendary.
The Chaos Orc charged first, its enormous axe swinging down with terrifying speed. Ash barely had time to dodge, the axe embedding itself in the stone floor with a thunderous crash. The sheer force of the blow sent cracks spider-webbing through the ground.
Ash retaliated with a blast of arcane energy, aiming for the orc's chest. The spell hit with a flash of light, but the creature barely flinched. It roared in rage, raising its axe for another swing.
Sword darted in front of Ash, intercepting the blow with a clash of steel on steel. The impact sent shockwaves through the room, but Sword held firm, pushing back against the orc's overwhelming strength.
"They're tougher than they look," Sword remarked, deflecting another strike from the orc's axe.
"Keep them busy!" Ash shouted, his mind racing as he searched for a way to close the portal. More creatures were emerging—Frozen Trolls, their bodies encased in ice, and Bloodthirsty Taurens, massive, bull-like beasts with glowing red eyes.
The Frozen Trolls lumbered toward Ash, their frost-covered hands crackling with ice magic. Ash could feel the temperature drop as they approached, the air around them growing colder with every step.
"They're trying to freeze us out," Ash muttered, quickly conjuring a shield of flame to counter the freezing air. The fire flared around him, keeping the frost magic at bay as the Trolls moved in.
Sword slashed through the Chaos Orc's defenses with a powerful strike, sending the beast stumbling back, but it quickly recovered, its rage only growing. Behind it, the Taurens charged, their massive hooves shaking the ground as they barreled toward Ash.
"Enough!" Ash roared, raising both hands. A surge of pure arcane energy exploded from him, creating a shockwave that knocked the creatures back. The force of the spell shattered the ice around the Trolls and sent the Taurens crashing into the stone walls.
But the portal pulsed again, and more creatures began to emerge.
Ash's heart pounded in his chest. His magic was powerful, but the portal was feeding the creatures, giving them endless reinforcements. His [Eyes of the God of Creation] flickered as they focused on the artifact at the center of the altar—Nezg'hall's Hand. That was the key. The artifact was maintaining the portal's connection to the chaos realm, allowing these monsters to flood through.
"Sword, we need to destroy Nezg'hall's Hand," Ash said, his voice firm. "It's the only way to stop this."
Sword hummed in agreement, its blade glowing with a faint blue light. "Then let's finish this."
Ash pushed forward, weaving between the monstrous creatures that blocked his path. The Chaos Orcs swung their weapons wildly, the air thick with the smell of blood and magic. Trolls hurled ice shards at him, while the Taurens charged, their red eyes glowing with a hunger for destruction.
But Ash was focused. His [Eyes of the God of Creation] allowed him to anticipate their movements, to see the fractures in their defenses. Every strike, every spell, was calculated, precise.
He dodged a swipe from a Chaos Orc's axe, rolling to the side as the weapon slammed into the stone floor. With a flick of his wrist, Ash sent a stream of fire into the beast's face, blinding it momentarily. He followed up with a blast of arcane energy, sending the creature crashing to the ground.
Sword flew ahead, its blade cutting through the air as it struck at the Trolls, slicing through their frost-covered limbs with ease. The Frozen Trolls howled in agony as the enchanted blade severed their magic, their icy bodies crumbling into shards of ice.
Ash's eyes locked onto Nezg'hall's Hand. The artifact was glowing brighter now, pulsing with a malevolent light as it fed the portal. He could feel the dark magic radiating from it, warping the very fabric of reality around it.
"This ends now," Ash whispered, raising his hand.
With a surge of power, Ash unleashed a massive spell, a concentrated beam of light that shot toward the artifact. The beam struck Nezg'hall's Hand, and for a moment, the entire room was bathed in blinding light.
The cult leader screamed, his body convulsing as the artifact shattered. The portal flickered, its surface rippling as the connection between realms began to break.
The blinding light faded, and for a fleeting moment, Ash believed he had succeeded. The air around him felt lighter, and the chaotic energy seemed to diminish. But as the radiance dimmed, his heart sank. Nezg'hall's Hand, though cracked and glowing with an unstable light, remained intact. The artifact pulsed with a deep, malevolent energy, as if mocking his efforts to destroy it.
The cult leader, whose body had been convulsing in pain, now staggered back to his feet, a wicked grin stretching across his face despite the blood trickling from his lips. His voice was a rasping, guttural sound. "You thought you could destroy it? Fool! Nezg'hall's Hand cannot be broken by the likes of you!"
The portal, instead of collapsing, began to stabilize again. Its rippling surface smoothed, and the dark energy coursing through the room intensified. More creatures—Chaos Orcs, Frozen Trolls, and Bloodthirsty Taurens—began to emerge, their grotesque forms towering in the chamber. Their eyes burned with savage hunger as they clawed their way into the mortal world.
Ash's breath caught in his throat. The artifact was too powerful, too deeply connected to the portal. Destroying it wasn't the solution. But something else was. His [Eyes of the God of Creation] flickered to life, scanning the room, analyzing the flow of energy between the cultists and the artifact.
"They're the key," Ash muttered, eyes narrowing. His gaze locked onto the cultists who surrounded the altar. They were the channelers, drawing power from Nezg'hall's Hand and funneling it into the portal. The artifact was resilient, but without the cultists to channel its energy, the portal couldn't stay open.
"We have to take out the cultists," Ash said to Sword, his voice firm. "They're the ones keeping the portal open. If we stop them, we stop this."
Sword hummed in agreement, its blade gleaming in anticipation. "Then we cut them down. Quickly."
Ash's mind raced as he formulated his plan. The cultists had to be neutralized, but they weren't just standing idly by—they were weaving complex spells, their hands glowing with the dark energy of the portal. And the creatures that had already emerged would fight to protect them. They couldn't afford to lose time.
"I'll distract the creatures," Ash said, his voice steady. "You focus on the cultists. We need to break their connection to the portal."
Sword didn't hesitate. It shot forward, a streak of silver light slicing through the air as it sped toward the nearest cultist. The hooded figure barely had time to react before Sword's blade severed his concentration, his spell faltering as blood sprayed from a deep gash. The cultist fell to the ground with a scream, his hands clutching his robes as the dark magic dissipated around him.
The other cultists realized the danger immediately. Their chants grew louder, more frantic, as they funneled even more power into the portal, trying to keep the gate stable. But their desperation left them vulnerable.
Ash conjured a swirling vortex of arcane energy, throwing it toward the creatures that lunged at him. Chaos Orcs barreled forward, their massive weapons raised to strike. The arcane vortex hit them like a battering ram, sending them sprawling backward, their savage roars echoing through the chamber.
A Frozen Troll, its body covered in jagged ice, hurled a barrage of icy shards at Ash. He spun, summoning a shield of fire that melted the ice before it could reach him. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a lance of fire straight through the troll's chest, the heat so intense that it cracked the ice encasing the creature's body. The troll let out a bone-chilling scream before collapsing into a heap of steam and ash.
But the creatures kept coming. More Chaos Orcs surged from the portal, their eyes glowing with bloodlust. They swung their massive axes in wide arcs, their strikes powerful enough to cleave stone in two. Ash dodged one blow, his heart pounding as he narrowly avoided the axe that embedded itself into the ground beside him.
He retaliated with a shockwave of energy, throwing the orc back, but another was already closing in. The creatures were relentless, and he knew he couldn't hold them off forever. His [Eyes of the God of Creation] flickered, analyzing the flow of dark magic. The cultists were the source, and every moment they stayed alive was another moment the portal grew stronger.
"Sword!" Ash shouted, his voice hoarse. "Take out the others—now!"
Sword moved with deadly precision, cutting through the air like a streak of light as it targeted the next cultist. The blade glowed brighter with each strike, fueled by Ash's determination. It slashed through the robes of a second cultist, the figure's eyes widening in terror as the dark energy around him faltered and died. His body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Another cultist raised his hands, summoning a swirling cloud of shadow that shot toward Sword, but the soul weapon was faster. It darted upward, avoiding the attack before plunging down in a deadly arc. The cultist barely had time to scream before the blade pierced his chest, cutting off the flow of magic in an instant.
The portal flickered, its surface rippling as the power sustaining it began to weaken. But there were still more cultists, and they fought with a ferocity born of desperation. Their hands crackled with dark energy as they hurled spells at Ash and Sword, their chants growing louder and more chaotic as the ritual began to unravel.
Ash deflected a bolt of shadow with a barrier of light, the impact sending him staggering backward. The cult leader was still alive, still channeling power from the artifact, but his concentration was wavering. The cracks in Nezg'hall's Hand were growing, its energy unstable, but it was still too strong to destroy outright.
"We're weakening them," Sword said, its voice sharp and focused. "But it's not enough. We need to finish this."
Ash nodded, his breath coming in short gasps as he summoned another wave of arcane energy. He hurled it toward a group of cultists, the blast hitting them like a cannon. The force of the explosion sent them flying, their bodies slamming into the stone walls with bone-crunching force.
With the cultists distracted, Sword shot toward the remaining few. It cut through their spells with ease, slicing through their defenses like paper. The cultists screamed as they fell, their bodies crumpling to the ground, lifeless.
With most of the cultists dead, the portal's surface began to destabilize. The creatures that had emerged from it were weakening, their forms flickering as the dark magic sustaining them began to fade. The Chaos Orcs roared in frustration, their massive bodies swaying as they struggled to maintain their grip on the physical world.
But the cult leader remained standing. His eyes burned with hatred as he raised his hands, drawing on the last remnants of the portal's power. Nezg'hall's Hand pulsed violently, cracks spiderwebbing across its surface as the leader funneled all his energy into one final, desperate act.
"You think you've won?" the cult leader spat, his voice a twisted mockery of human speech. "You think you can stop Nezg'hall's return?"
Ash's [Eyes of the God of Creation] flared as he saw the leader's plan. The cult leader wasn't trying to stabilize the portal anymore—he was trying to release all of its power in one final explosion, a blast that would annihilate everything in the room.
"He's going to destroy the entire chamber!" Ash shouted, his heart racing. "We need to stop him—now!"
Sword shot forward, its blade gleaming as it aimed for the cult leader's heart. But the leader was ready. He raised his hands, summoning a barrier of dark energy that deflected the blade, sending it skidding across the stone floor.
Ash gritted his teeth, his mind racing. There had to be a way to stop him. His [Eyes of the God of Creation] flickered, analyzing the flow of energy around the leader. The cultist's magic was unstable, chaotic—but there was a weak point, a momentary fracture in the spell he was weaving.
Ash seized the opportunity. With a surge of power, he unleashed a concentrated beam of light, aiming directly for the weak point in the cult leader's defenses.
The beam struck true, shattering the barrier in an explosion of light and shadow. The cult leader screamed as the spell collapsed, his body convulsing with the force of the magic that ripped through him.
Sword moved in for the final blow, its blade flashing in the dim light as it struck the cult leader's chest. The man's eyes widened in shock as the soul weapon pierced his heart, severing his connection to the dark magic that had sustained him.
With the cult leader's death, the portal that connected the chaos realm to the Royal Magic School collapsed entirely. The thick, oppressive dark energy that had filled the chamber dissipated into the air, and the creatures that had emerged from the portal—Chaos Orcs, Frozen Trolls, and Bloodthirsty Taurens—began to crumble into dust. Their forms disintegrated, carried away by the remnants of the magic that had summoned them.
At the center of the room, Nezg'hall's Hand, the artifact responsible for the chaos, pulsed one final time. Its sickly light grew brighter, filling the chamber with an eerie glow, before it suddenly shot upwards into the air. Ash's eyes followed the artifact as it rose higher and higher, vanishing through the ceiling.
"What...?" Ash gasped, his voice hoarse from exhaustion. His chest heaved with labored breaths, the toll of the battle evident in every movement. Sweat dripped down his face as he staggered forward, trying to comprehend what had just happened. The artifact, so central to the dark magic, had disappeared—not shattered or destroyed, but spirited away to some unknown location.
Sword hovered beside him, its blade dimming but still alert. "Nezg'hall's Hand… it's gone."
"But not destroyed," Ash replied, his brow furrowed in confusion. "It didn't break apart like I expected. It… it was transported. Somewhere else."
The artifact's sudden disappearance left an unsettling feeling in Ash's chest. He could still sense its lingering power, as if it hadn't fully severed its connection to the mortal world. The shards of dark magic that had sustained the portal were gone, but the artifact's presence had merely shifted, like a predator hiding in the shadows, waiting to strike again.
"We didn't finish this," Ash said, shaking his head. His [Eyes of the God of Creation] flickered, scanning the remaining energy in the room. He could see faint traces of the artifact's magic trailing upward, toward the sky, but it was already fading, like smoke dissipating in the wind. "The ritual's stopped, but Nezg'hall's Hand isn't gone. It's been moved."
Sword's voice hummed with quiet tension. "Someone—or something—took it. It's not finished. We need to find where it's gone before they try again."
Ash slumped down against a stone pillar, his body aching from the battle. He had pushed his magic to its limits, and now, he felt the weight of his exhaustion crash over him like a wave. His head swam as he tried to process what had happened—how close they had come to disaster, and how quickly it had all changed in an instant.
Sword floated nearby, its presence as steady as ever, though Ash could sense its concern. "You need to rest, Ash. We've dealt with the immediate threat, but we can't do anything more until we're stronger."
Ash nodded weakly, his mind racing despite his exhaustion. The vanishing of the artifact meant that this was far from over. The Nezg'hall cult hadn't been fully destroyed—whoever or whatever had taken Nezg'hall's Hand was still out there, waiting for another chance to complete the summoning ritual. And now, the artifact was likely in the hands of someone even more dangerous.
"We need to report this to Magister Morgana," Ash murmured, his voice strained. "She has to know what happened here… and that the artifact is still out there."
Sword's blade glowed faintly. "Agreed. But you need your strength. We can't pursue it like this."
Ash closed his eyes for a moment, letting the cool air of the chamber wash over him. His breathing slowed as he allowed himself a brief respite from the intensity of the battle. But even in his exhaustion, his mind remained focused on the artifact.
"Nezg'hall's Hand… It didn't break because its power is tied to something greater," Ash muttered. "We stopped the cult, but we haven't stopped the real threat. Whoever took it, they'll try again. Next time, they'll be ready."
Sword hummed softly, its voice low but firm. "And so will we."
After a brief rest, Ash forced himself back onto his feet. His legs wobbled under the strain, but his resolve was stronger than ever. He and Sword made their way back through the twisting halls of the underground chamber, their footsteps echoing in the eerie silence.
Emerging into the moonlit night above, the weight of the battle still hung heavily in the air. The Royal Magic School stood in the distance, its towering spires silhouetted against the stars. Though the immediate danger had passed, Ash knew the true fight was far from over.
He hurried through the school grounds, his thoughts focused on reaching Magister Morgana. She would know what to do next—she had been investigating the murder and the stolen artifact long before Ash had gotten involved. And now, with Nezg'hall's Hand gone, her insight was more vital than ever.
He found her in the restricted section of the library, surrounded by ancient tomes and magical scrolls. Magister Morgana's sharp eyes met Ash's the moment he entered, her expression grim and calculating. She could tell something had gone wrong.
"Ash," she said, rising from her seat. "What happened? I felt the dark magic surge, and then… it vanished."
Ash took a deep breath, steadying himself as he explained. "We stopped the ritual. The portal is closed, and the cult is dead. But the artifact—Nezg'hall's Hand—it wasn't destroyed. It vanished. I don't know where, but someone—or something—took it."
Morgana's eyes widened, her lips pressed into a thin line as she processed the information. "So, it's not over. Nezg'hall's Hand is still out there, and whoever has it will try again."
Ash nodded. "They will. And next time, they'll be more prepared. We need to find it before they can use it again."
Morgana sighed, her gaze hardening with resolve. "I've been researching the artifact since the murder. Nezg'hall's Hand is more than just a summoning tool—it's part of a larger mechanism, a key that can open the way to the chaos realm. It's an ancient artifact, one that predates even the founding of this school. If it falls into the wrong hands…"
She didn't need to finish the sentence. Ash understood the gravity of the situation all too well.
"What do we do now?" Ash asked, his voice quiet but determined.
Morgana met his gaze with a steely resolve. "We track it down. We find whoever is behind this, and we stop them before they can use the artifact again."
Ash's exhaustion faded as his resolve returned, stronger than before. The fight wasn't over, but he was ready. Sword hovered beside him, its blade gleaming with a renewed sense of purpose.
"We'll find it," Ash said, his voice firm. "And this time, we'll make sure it's destroyed for good."