In the dense, shadow-clogged cave, both sides stood at a tense stalemate. It was as if fate had cruelly flipped the script. With one demon down, the scales of the battle teetered precariously. Yet, blinded by greed, the remaining demon's crimson gaze locked onto Nyxander with the feral hunger of desperation. The prison bracelet was raised once more, its crystal pulsating with renewed malevolence as power swirled within.
In the tight, shadow-filled tunnel, both sides were at a tense standstill. It was as if fate had cruelly reversed the script. With one demon fallen, the battle's balance tipped perilously. But, blinded by greed, the last demon's red eyes fixed on Nyxander with the primal desire of desperation. The prison bracelet was lifted again, its crystal pulsing with new malevolence as power swirled within.
"I have to do something before the prison bracelet charges up." Nyxander mumbled beneath his breath, his thoughts heightened by the sense of urgency. But this time, he did not blink an eye. His lips curved into a grotesque sneer, his gaze dark and hungry.
This expression was not one of defiance, but of something deeper, something at its core. When the devil saw this, he felt a cold sensation run down his spine, like an icy blade piercing his soul. As a monster born in the depths of hell, it was familiar with this gaze: that of a predator who had located its prey. Panic flooded its head, and the demon turned to run, hoping to summon reinforcements before the situation got out of hand.
Before the demon could utter a word, let alone move one step, the darknesses beneath it started to reach and twist, pooling sinisterly in the flashing light of the crystal a heartbeat later. The next moment, there was a sudden deafening roar-noise not of rage but of the presage of doom. The demon looked upwards, contorting its face in pure horror. It barely had time to comprehend the sight of Nyxander's frame falling upon him like a meteor before it was too late.
The impact was cataclysmic. Nyxander's weight slammed into the demon with the force of an earthquake against the very core of the cave, a deafening crash that exploded a plume of dust into the air. The demon's scream was abruptly shut off, its body squeezed beneath Nyxander's relentless mass.
The prison bracelet slipped from its grasp, clattering to the ground with a hollow sound as the crystal's glow sputtered and died.
Darkness reclaimed the cave, oppressive and absolute, swallowing the scene in its cold embrace. The silence after was not that of a predator's victory but of peace, the air heavy with unspoken finality at what had just transpired.
Nyxander wasted no time and stumbled out of the cave, his instincts sharp. It was no less suffocating outside, with every breath heavy with exhaustion. He dragged himself forward, his movements at a slow and strained gait, his body desperate for reprieve.
Each step became an act of resilience as he remained on his toes, the shadows within the rocks and caves concealing what could very well be menace. He'd catch, now and then, a hint of demon presence, the least little stirring, and lean into the rough bark of rocks or shrink low to their ground, senses flared frantically in a desperate hope not to be found anymore.
This grueling trek continued until a voice-familiar yet unexpected-broke the silence behind him: "Young Archon. Is that you?"
Nyxander turned, his muscles groaning in protest as his weary eyes locked onto the speaker. It was Umbrazel, his imposing figure unmistakable, flanked by two loyal subordinates. Relief flickered in Nyxander's gaze, but his lips, parched and trembling, failed to form a proper response. "Be. bo." he stammered, his voice barely audible as his legs buckled beneath him.
As Umbrazel reached him before the ground could claim him, Nyxander moved as fast as a storm, catching him in a firm grip. "What happened? Why are you like this?" Umbrazel's voice was a mix of concern and restrained fury; his hands were steady, though his eyes betrayed the tide of worry surging through him.
Nyxander's head lolled limply against Umbrazel's chest, his consciousness leaking out like sand between fingers. Umbrazel shifted his hold on him, cradling him with a surprising delicacy, as if holding something breakable. Turning to the two subordinates, his eyes flashed with insistence. "Call back the others and return immediately. I will take the Young Archon back to the castle," he ordered, his voice level but laced with an undercurrent of concern.
The two subordinates crossed their arms in the shape of a V over their chests in a gesture of respect and loyalty, then bowed slightly. "Yes, captain," they said in perfect unison, without even the slightest hint of the trepidation hanging in the air. They then immediately headed in opposite directions until they were both swallowed up by the heavy undergrowth in search of their comrades.
And with that, Umbrazel wasted no time. He shifted Nyxander's weight in his arms, his gaze flashing out to the horizon, to where the castle lay. He walked purposefully, his legs swift as his heart-in a steady drumbeat of resolve-he carried the unconscious little Archon through the darkness.
******
Meanwhile at the Void Archon Castle, in the dark bedroom of Nihara, the air held a heavy tone. She lay on her bed, propped as usual against the thick wall, cold as if reflecting in its chill the chill coursing in her veins. The shadow danced on the stone walls with the faint flutter of an ethereal flame that had lit the room into ghostly hues. Zephyrion sat beside her, tense and ill at ease, his hands lightly clasping her pale, fragile right hand.
Nihara's sharp, penetrative eyes bored into him like an edge for the truth, her crimson eyes aglow faintly in the darkness. But Zephyrion dared not meet her gaze long.
His eyes darted nervously around the room, unable to rest on hers, lest something spill from his lips that they both knew was better left unsaid. The unspoken tension in the room seemed almost a storm, repressed by frail restraint.
"You're positive Nyxander's still sleeping? He rarely sleeps this much, and-" Nihara cut through the silence, her words barely a whisper, high and thin as any scream, though laced with puzzlement and growing unease. Her tone was the clang of a bell in the stillness of the chamber.
Zephyrion recoiled, as if the words struck him like a current and took him from his own miserable thoughts. Fighting to regain his composure, he forced the shaking voice to steady.
"Hmmm, ye.yes. Th.the nanny said he overexerted himself, which knocked him out cold," he stammered. His hands shook, one interlocking with the other tight, the motion betraying the wariness inside him. Zephyrion motioned weakly to the door behind him, probably trying to deflect the intensity of the moment.