The sun rose over a desert littered with death. The bodies of Varyon's riders lay strewn across the sands, their weapons half-buried, their armor scorched by Essence. The wind carried the faint metallic scent of blood, mingled with the dry bitterness of the desert air. The spoils of war lay in the wagons of Zhan's caravan, a grim testament to his unrelenting will.
Zhan Arkheis stood atop a jagged dune, his crimson cloak rippling in the wind. His armor shimmered faintly, pulsing with the Essence absorbed from the fallen riders. He looked down at the scene of carnage with detached calm, as though it were nothing more than a particularly mundane chore. To him, it was simply proof of his dominion, a message written in the language of annihilation.
Arkos approached from behind, his boots crunching against the sand. His face was set in a grim mask, his brow furrowed as he glanced at the lifeless battlefield below.
"The men are restless," Arkos said.
"They are always restless," Zhan replied without turning.
"This is different," Arkos insisted. "They whisper about Nyrah. Varyon's death will not go unanswered."
Zhan's lips curled into a faint smile. "Good. Let them come. Let them send their warlords, their armies. I will show them what the sands remember."
Arkos hesitated, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword. "And what of the amplifiers? If Nyrah knows we have them—"
"Nyrah knew what it risked the moment it sent Varyon," Zhan said, his tone cold. "They will come for them, yes. But they will only find ruin."
Arkos fell silent. For all his doubts, he knew better than to challenge Zhan openly. He nodded curtly and turned back toward the camp, leaving Zhan alone with the rising sun.
The caravan reached the oasis by midday. The water was shallow and brackish, but it was water nonetheless. The soldiers moved quickly to refill their supplies, their movements efficient but wary. The amplifiers were unloaded and inspected, their glowing runes casting eerie shadows in the shade of the wagons.
Zhan stood at the edge of the pool, his reflection rippling in the murky surface. The water distorted his features, turning his already cold visage into something monstrous. He stared at it for a long moment, his thoughts drifting.
Power was all that mattered. He had believed that for as long as he could remember. But the amplifiers... they were something different. They were a step toward something greater. A step toward godhood.
"Lord Arkheis."
The voice broke through his thoughts. He turned to see a soldier standing a few paces away, his face pale and uncertain.
"What is it?" Zhan asked, his tone sharp.
"The amplifiers," the soldier stammered. "One of them... it's behaving strangely."
Zhan's gaze darkened. "Show me."
The amplifier sat on a makeshift table, its surface glowing faintly. The runes carved into it pulsed irregularly, their light flickering like the last gasp of a dying fire. The air around it felt heavy, charged with an unseen energy that made the hair on the back of Zhan's neck stand on end.
"It started an hour ago," one of the technicians said, his voice tight with unease. "We don't know what's causing it. It's... unstable."
Zhan stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he examined the device. The hum of Essence was uneven, erratic, like a heartbeat out of sync. He reached out, his gloved hand hovering over the amplifier, and the air seemed to ripple in response.
"Leave," Zhan said, his voice low but firm.
The soldiers and technicians exchanged uneasy glances but quickly obeyed, retreating from the tent. Zhan remained alone with the device, his fingers brushing its surface. The flickering light flared briefly, and a faint whisper filled the air—a sound that was almost human.
Zhan's hand froze. The whisper grew louder, forming words he could almost understand. It was a language he didn't know, but something about it felt familiar, like a memory buried deep within his mind.
"Who are you?" he murmured.
The amplifier's glow intensified, the runes shifting and rearranging themselves. The whisper became a low, rhythmic chant, the words flowing together in a cadence that sent a chill down Zhan's spine.
Then, suddenly, it stopped.
The tent was silent once more, the amplifier's glow fading to a faint, steady pulse. Zhan stood still, his hand still hovering over the device. Whatever had just happened, it had not been an accident.
"Interesting," he said softly.
That night, the camp was restless. The soldiers spoke in hushed tones, their voices tinged with unease. The battle with Varyon's riders had left its mark, but it was the amplifiers that truly disturbed them. They had seen the way the devices hummed and glowed, the way they seemed almost alive.
Zhan sat alone in his tent, the unstable amplifier resting on the table before him. He studied it in silence, his mind racing. The whispers had stopped, but the memory of them lingered, a faint echo at the edge of his thoughts.
He reached out, his fingers brushing the amplifier's surface. This time, there was no response—no flickering light, no whispering voice. It was just a machine, its Essence-contained mechanisms inert.
And yet, Zhan couldn't shake the feeling that it was watching him.
A sudden noise outside the tent broke his concentration. He rose to his feet, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword. The flap of the tent shifted as Arkos entered, his face pale and drawn.
"My lord," Arkos said, his voice low. "There's been an incident."
"What kind of incident?" Zhan asked, his tone sharp.
"One of the amplifiers," Arkos said. "It... killed a man."
Zhan's eyes narrowed. "Show me."
The scene was chaos. Soldiers stood in a loose circle around the wagon, their faces pale and fearful. At the center of the commotion lay a body—a man twisted and broken, his eyes wide and unseeing. His hands were burned, the flesh charred black, and the sand around him was scorched as though by an intense heat.
"What happened?" Zhan demanded, his voice cutting through the murmurs.
One of the soldiers stepped forward, trembling. "He tried to move it, my lord. The amplifier... it reacted. There was a flash of light, and then—"
Zhan raised a hand, silencing him. He stepped closer to the wagon, his gaze fixed on the amplifier that sat at its center. It was glowing faintly, its runes pulsing with an eerie rhythm. The air around it was heavy, charged with a palpable energy that seemed to hum with menace.
He knelt beside the device, his fingers brushing its surface. The glow flared briefly, and for a moment, he felt it again—that faint whisper at the edge of his thoughts.
The amplifier was alive.