The air trembled as Xochitlan stepped forward, his grip tightening around Lyke, his sacred spear. The battle had yet to begin, but the weight of what was to come hung heavy over the Skarrok warriors and Kael's group. The Verenthian outpost loomed ahead, its towering structure casting a shadow over the forest. The compound's gates stood closed, guarded by two monstrous Rakshasas—one, a horned demon with massive wings; the other, a three-headed beast, its dark fur bristling with malevolent energy.
Xochitlan exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing. He raised Lyke, the sacred weapon blessed by Elder Nia, its blade pulsing with golden light. Around him, the warriors tensed, their Kyo flaring in preparation.
"Tzilchtlan, with me," he commanded, his voice edged with anticipation. "We'll draw the Rakshasas away. The rest of you, be ready to move once the path is cleared."
Kael, standing beside Dorian, felt his heartbeat quicken. He had witnessed great displays of power before, but this—this was something else entirely. The very air around Xochitlan crackled with energy, bending in recognition of his presence. Kael could feel the raw force humming through the spear, as though the weapon itself was alive, yearning to unleash devastation.
Xochitlan's grip on Lyke tightened. The spear tip glowed brighter, its energy condensing into something impossibly dense. He spun it once, the motion effortless yet brimming with controlled ferocity. The wind howled in response, spiraling around the weapon like a vortex. Then, he pulled his arm back and launched the spear forward with a deafening roar.
"TONITUAHS DESCENT!!!"- Xochtlan exclaimed with a vigorous shout
Kael barely had time to process what was happening before his entire world was swallowed by light. The attack was blinding—so bright that even with his eyes shut tight, searing gold burned through his vision. It was like staring into the heart of the sun, like witnessing a piece of the divine made manifest. His breath hitched, his body frozen. Was this what true power looked like? Not just strength, not just raw force, but something legendary—something that belonged in myths, not in the hands of mortal men.
The spear became a celestial beacon, streaking across the battlefield with unrelenting fury. A shockwave erupted from its release, splitting the air as it carved a path toward the Rakshasas. The ground beneath it cracked, trees in its wake were incinerated, and the very sky seemed to split open in acknowledgment of its power.
Kael forced himself to look, even though the radiance threatened to overwhelm his senses. He saw the Rakshasas react, their monstrous eyes widening in recognition of their doom. But it was too late. The spear struck them both simultaneously, detonating on impact. The force of the explosion sent them hurtling through the forest, their roars of agony shaking the land itself. Though Kael knew they would heal—such was the nature of their cursed existence—the attack had served its purpose. The battlefield was now clear of their presence.
Xochitlan and Tzilchtlan exchanged a nod. Without a word, they sprinted after the Rakshasas, their movements swift and purposeful. Their task was clear: keep the monsters far from the outpost and buy time for the others to complete their mission.
---
Meanwhile, within the Verenthian outpost, Vice Captain Valgard stood over the bound and trembling form of a slave, the ritual nearing completion. His lips moved in a low, droning chant, dark energy swirling in the air around him. The room was thick with the scent of incense and the metallic tang of blood, the atmosphere oppressive and heavy.
Then, a sudden boom rocked the building, shaking the walls and rattling the windows. Valgard's head snapped up, his chant faltering. Through the glass, he saw a beam of light streak across the forest, its brilliance cutting through the night like a god's judgment. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation crossing his face.
"Tch. So they've come."
Without hesitation, he slammed his hand against the nearest alarm trigger. The sound of bells and shouting erupted throughout the compound as soldiers scrambled into position. He turned, his hand closing around the hilt of his blade. The cursed weapon pulsed with hunger, the collected Kyo of its past victims thrumming through its core.
"This should be interesting," he muttered, a smirk playing on his lips. He strode toward the door, his movements deliberate. His role was clear: stall for time until the Captain returned. And he intended to do just that.
---
Outside, Kael, Dorian, and the five Skarrok warriors—Xiloxoch, Topa, Mayta, Cueztin, and Yaluk—charged the outpost. The front gate, left weakened by the impact of the attack, splintered open under the force of their combined Kyo. They surged forward, blades drawn, their senses sharp as they pushed into the enemy stronghold.
The interior was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of iron and sweat. The first floors were eerily quiet, but the distant clang of armor and hurried footsteps signaled that resistance was on its way. Dorian took the lead, his movements precise as he guided them toward their objective—the lower levels where the enslaved were kept.
A sudden, suffocating aura filled the halls. A pulse of dark energy spread through the compound, an unnatural presence descending the staircase ahead of them. Vice Captain Valgard.
He was tall, his uniform pristine despite the battle raging around him. But it was his blade that drew the eye—the cursed sword, pulsing with a malevolent glow. It exuded an eerie, crimson light, the collected Kyo of its victims coiling around it like spectral chains.
He smirked. "You savages have no idea what you've walked into," he said, voice steady, almost amused. "This sword has tasted the Kyo of a few, but it will drink deep tonight."
He swung his blade, and instantly, the stolen Kyo within it surged. A wave of energy lashed out, forcing the warriors to scatter. Kael clenched his teeth, his mind racing. Valgard wasn't strong enough to stop them outright, but he didn't need to. He just needed to stall.
"He's siphoning power from the slaves he cursed," Xiloxoch muttered, his voice low. "But they won't last forever. We need to end this quickly."
Dorian nodded, his grip tightening on his weapon. "Then let's not waste time."
The true battle had just begun.