Chapter 3: The Dark Awakening
Alaric moved through the forest like a wraith, his form blending into the night as he neared the city of Illara. It lay sprawled in the distance, its walls tall and fortified, patrolled by soldiers who once swore allegiance to him. They were the same soldiers who had stood aside when Raith had denounced him, condemning him to die. But Alaric was no longer the vulnerable commander they'd betrayed. He was Shadowborn now, a creature of darkness and vengeance.
The System pulsed again in his mind:
[Quest: The Path of Dominion]
Objective: Gather intelligence on Illara. Locate allies or vulnerabilities within the city to begin your conquest.
Reward: Dominion Summoning Skill Level 1**
Alaric smirked. Allies or vulnerabilities—the city would be crawling with both. The nobles were as hungry for power as they were petty in their rivalries, always scheming to topple one another. He would turn that greed against them, sowing discord within their ranks.
The shadows coiled tighter around him as he approached the city's walls, almost invisible in the dead of night. He closed his eyes, focusing on his newfound powers. Shadows slithered from his fingers and pooled at his feet, spreading out across the ground and creeping up the walls, forming a bridge of darkness. With a single step, he crossed the threshold, passing over the city walls unseen.
Within the city, Alaric prowled the alleyways, his gaze sharp as he scanned his surroundings. The cobblestone streets were quiet, the city guards patrolling lazily. He slipped past them effortlessly, unseen and unheard, guided by the shadows.
His instincts led him toward the lower district, where whispers of rebellion and dissatisfaction with the nobles were commonplace. Here, he could find those cast aside by the kingdom, men and women who had nothing left to lose. He needed followers, people willing to give themselves to the darkness in exchange for power.
A flicker of light drew his attention to a nearby tavern—the "Broken Crown." It was notorious for being a gathering place for mercenaries, thieves, and outcasts. Exactly the kind of people he needed.
Alaric slipped inside, taking a seat in a shadowed corner, his presence cloaked by darkness. The tavern was alive with the raucous laughter and chatter of men and women who had long since abandoned loyalty to the kingdom. Alaric's gaze settled on a small group in the corner—a burly man with a scar across his face, a woman with knives strapped to her thighs, and a thin, wiry figure with eyes like a hawk. They looked hardened, their gazes sharp, distrustful of anyone who didn't belong.
He waited for the right moment, observing them, listening to the flow of their conversation. When the time was right, he leaned forward, letting his voice carry through the shadows.
"You seek power?" he said, his voice low, a whisper that seemed to slip into their minds.
The three stiffened, eyes darting around the room, searching for the source of the voice. Alaric allowed a flicker of his shadowed form to appear, just enough to catch their attention. Their eyes widened, and he could see the flicker of fear and intrigue mingling on their faces.
"Who are you?" the scarred man asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
"Someone who knows the taste of betrayal," Alaric replied, his tone cold. "Someone who offers you a chance to rise beyond this wretched city, to claim power the nobles hoard for themselves."
The woman with the knives narrowed her eyes, studying him. "And why should we trust you?"
"You don't have to trust me," Alaric said with a smirk. "But consider this—I have returned from death itself. I wield powers beyond mortal understanding, powers that could lift you from the gutters of this city to heights you've never dreamed of."
A silence fell over them, a mixture of fear and fascination evident in their eyes. The wiry man with hawk-like eyes leaned forward, a greedy glint in his gaze. "What kind of power?"
Alaric extended his hand, letting the shadows spill from his fingers and twist into a black, writhing mass that flickered with a cold, otherworldly light. The three stared in awe, their breaths catching at the sight.
"The kind of power that can make a mere man a god among mortals," Alaric said, his voice a deadly whisper. "Serve me, and I will grant you strength beyond your imagination. Betray me, and the shadows will consume you."
The three exchanged glances, and Alaric could see the greed in their eyes, the hunger for something more than their current, miserable existence. They nodded, their resolve hardened.
"We're in," said the scarred man, his tone cautious but determined. "What's your name, shadow lord?"
Alaric smiled, his gaze cold and calculating. "Names are but shadows of what we truly are. Call me Lord Alaric."
With a silent command, the shadows surged around them, forming a pact, binding them to him. The System pulsed again in his mind, confirming their allegiance.
[Quest Completed: Path of Dominion – Progress: 25%]
[Skill Unlocked: Dominion Summoning Level 1]
As the dark energy seeped into his new followers, Alaric felt the shadows around him grow stronger, more potent. His connection to them deepened, and with it, a vision flickered into his mind—an image of armies shrouded in darkness, loyal only to him, marching across the land to crush his enemies. He saw himself on a throne forged from shadows, ruling over a kingdom veiled in eternal night.
But for now, he would start small. He would plant seeds of rebellion within the city, gathering outcasts, mercenaries, and those abandoned by the nobles. They would form the foundation of his power, a hidden network of shadows within Illara, waiting to strike when the time was right.
Alaric rose from his seat, his eyes gleaming with dark intent. The Broken Crown and its patrons would be his foothold in Illara, the beginning of his rise from the shadows.
The path of vengeance was set, and soon the city that had once condemned him would be brought to its knees.