Maraak's ship drifted through the black ocean of space, a lone dot against the expanse of space. For the first time in a long time, he felt free. The silence in his mind was a stark contrast to the murmuring that had previously surrounded him, and the sound of the ship's engines sounded like a soft lullaby. The universe, however, was never truly at rest, thus such peace was fleeting.
The silence was broken by the chime of an alert. Leaning forward, Maraak looked at the glowing console. From a sector not far from his present trajectory, a tiny distress signal pulsed on his radar. The coordinates indicated a far-off star system surrounded by hazy clouds. The signal was just a repeated phrase with no identification:
"We are lost in the shadow of the Blood Eternal."
When his previous masters were mentioned, Maraak's jaw tensed. They still had a broad reach and a subtle impact, even if he had given up on their evil path. He hesitated. Ignoring the signal and leaving the remains of that corrupted order in its wake would be wise. But in the urgency of the message, he sensed a faint echo of his own struggle to escape their grip.
He took a different route.
The cockpit turned from scarlet to gold as his ship approached the system, but his perspective was obscured by the dense clouds of the nebula. The distress signal's frequency increased in intensity and tenacity. Soon a silhouette emerged from the fog, a massive construction encircling a dying star. The station was old, and its surface was marred by neglect and degradation. Faint patterns that looked like the Blood Forge but were distorted and polluted were scattered across its façade.
With caution, Maraak docked, his hand automatically grazing the empty sheath by his side. Though it exposed him, Veilsunder's departure acted as a constant reminder of his choice. He would face whatever awaited him on this deserted station without the wretched power he had once held.
There was a hiss as the airlock opened, exposing a dark hallway. The walls were lined with faded murals depicting scenes of conquest and sacrifice—testaments to the Blood Eternal's reign. The air was thick, laden with the metallic tang of decay. Maraak stepped forward, his boots echoing in the oppressive silence.
The signal guided him deeper into the station, its source located in the central chamber. He passed battle-related debris along the way, including skeleton bones, broken weaponry, and charred walls. Whatever fighting had occurred here was reduced to ghosts.
The room was big and the ceiling was dark. On a dais that stood in the center of it rested a crystalline obelisk. The relic pulsed with a subtle, malevolent glow, and its surface was etched with glyphs that radiated an uncanny energy. A group of individuals knelt around it, their bodies wrapped in tattered clothes. They spoke to each other, their voices blending into a spooky symphony.
Slowly, without the believers noticing, Maraak approached. The chanting became louder as he approached, the words incomprehensible but brimming with a terrifying fervor. The light on the obelisk brightened with each word.
A thin-faced figure with dead eyes looked up. Their voices trembled with terror and astonishment as they muttered, "You have come." "The Reaver is back."
"I'm not who you believe me to be," replied Maraak icily. "I'm no longer associated with the Blood Eternal."
The figure's lips contorted into a bitter frown. "It matters not. The Blood Eternal is eternal for a reason. Even in their absence, their will endures. You cannot escape their shadow."
The other worshippers rose, their gazes fixed on Maraak. They moved with a jerky, unnatural rhythm, their bodies stiff and contorted. As the temperature dropped, their shadows were transformed into hideous shapes by the obelisk's light.
In reflex, Maraak reached for his sheath, but all he found was empty. As he steadied himself, his mind raced. These individuals are no longer merely zealots because of the obelisk's evil power.
"What is this place?" he demanded.
The leader stepped forward, his voice lifeless. "The Ashen Sanctum is where the rebirth of the Blood Eternal began. The obelisk stands in for their seed in the middle of the void. Through it, their essence will reappear stronger than before.
Maraak squinted his eyes. He was aware of the risk, having witnessed too many of the Blood Eternal's schemes. The obelisk served as both a channel and a center of their power, making it more than just a relic. It might rekindle the instability he had sought to prevent if left unchecked.
He replied in a stern voice, "I won't let that happen."
The room echoed with the leader's chuckle, which was devoid of humor. "You are a single man with no weapons and no value. What do you want to achieve?
Maraak said nothing. Instead, he rushed forward, his movements precise and swift. His first hit caught the commander off guard and sent them flying to the ground. In a second, the other devotees' twisted figures sprang toward him with extraordinary speed.
Maraak had to fight hard, and he did. His hands and feet become weapons with each stroke. designed to render someone incapable. However, the fanatics were unrelenting, taking hits that would have killed regular men with their deformed bodies. They surrounded him, their cries becoming louder as the obelisk's sinister energy gave them power.
Desperation tore at Maraak's determination. He was disadvantaged in the absence of Veilsunder and the power he had previously possessed. He wasn't going to give up, though. The path he had chosen was the one he would take.
As the fight went on, he saw a pattern in the obelisk's pulses. Its energy seems to guide the fanatics' attacks by synchronizing with their movements. If he could disrupt the artifact, he might weaken their connection.
Breaking free from the swarm, Maraak charged toward the dais. The zealots screamed in unison, their voices blending into a deafening crescendo. The obelisk flared, its light blinding, but Maraak pressed on. He arrived at the relic and struck it with his fist.
With a loud crack, the obelisk broke, its fragments flying everywhere like shattered glass. Mid-attack, the zealots froze, their bodies trembling as the energy that had been holding them up drained away. They fell to the ground, dead, one by one.
The chamber fell silent.
As the ship departed the Ashen Sanctum, Maraak stared out at the stars. The void stretched before him, filled with both danger and possibility. And though the road ahead was uncertain, he knew one thing for sure—he would face whatever came next with strength and purpose, unshackled and unbroken.
Maraak stood among the rubble, his chest heaving. The remnants of the obelisk were scattered at his feet, their light fading to nothing. He had stopped the Blood Eternal from reviving for the moment. But the price bothered him.
The leader coughed feebly, still alive but severely injured. They rasped, "You think... this changes anything?" "It is impossible to destroy the Blood Eternal. Even if you postpone them, their shadow will never go away.
Maraak knelt next to them, his face grim. Perhaps. But I'll battle to prevent that shadow from devouring the galaxy as long as I can breathe.
The leader's body went slack as their eyes glazed over. Maraak stood up, looking around the room. The fight was far from finished, but the battle was won.
With the burden of his decisions bearing down on him, he made his way back to his ship. The galaxy was huge, and it was always dark. However, Maraak had made up his mind to follow his chosen course with steadfast determination.