The clash of steel and magic filled the air, but Caelum's mind was elsewhere. As the cultist's dark power surged, he felt the curse inside him respond, thrumming with raw, unfiltered energy. It was calling to him, coaxing him to take control, to let the darkness flow freely through him. But he fought it. He had to.
Lyra was already engaged with the cultist, her twin blades flashing in the dim light, while Alara cast spells to disrupt the cultist's rituals. But even as they fought, the sigil on the ground grew brighter, its power overwhelming the room. The Shadow King's return was imminent, and the reality of the situation hit Caelum harder than he could bear. He had no time to hesitate.
"Alara! Lyra!" Caelum called out, his voice shaking. "We need to destroy the altar! It's the only way to stop this!"
Alara nodded, a determined glint in her eyes. "We need to disrupt the magic binding it," she said, drawing on her own reserves of power.
But the cultist was not about to let them undo their work. With a scream, he raised his hands and unleashed a blast of dark energy that sent them all sprawling back. The force of the blast rattled the walls, and for a moment, everything went dark.
Caelum could feel the darkness closing in around him, the grip of the curse tightening like a vice. His vision blurred, and for a fleeting moment, he could see the Shadow King's shadow stretching over him, an ever-present reminder of what was at stake.
But then, a surge of light—Alara's magic—pulled him back to reality. She had cast a protective shield around them, giving them a moment of respite.
"We have to act now!" Alara shouted.
Caelum stood, his hand clutching the cursed sword. He knew what he had to do. He couldn't let the cult succeed, but to do so, he would have to face the darkest part of himself.
The final battle had begun.