Azarion lunged forward, his mortal body screaming in protest as he swung the rusted sword toward the shadowy figure. The blade cut through the air but met only emptiness as the creature dissolved into a swirling mist. A cold, mocking laughter echoed through the ruins, reverberating off the crumbled stone walls.
"Is this all that remains of the great Azarion?" the shadow's voice hissed, taunting him.
Azarion gritted his teeth, turning quickly to track the figure as it reformed behind him. He swung again, but the blade passed harmlessly through the darkness, leaving him off-balance.
"Keep moving!" Sera shouted from behind him, loosing an arrow at the creature. The arrow flared briefly with light as it entered the shadow's mass, causing it to recoil with a guttural snarl.
The creature's form wavered, its glowing eyes fixing on Sera. It surged toward her with unnatural speed, tendrils of darkness stretching out like claws.
Azarion reacted instinctively. He hurled himself into the path of the attack, raising the rusted sword in a desperate attempt to block. The impact sent a jolt through his arms, the tendrils wrapping around the blade and his wrists. Pain seared through him as the shadow's essence seeped into his skin, cold and suffocating.
"You cannot fight me, mortal. You are nothing."
The voice rang in Azarion's mind, drowning out all other thoughts. He could feel the creature probing his memories, digging into his past—his betrayal, his fall, his shame.
But beneath the pain, a spark of defiance flared.
Azarion closed his eyes, focusing on the faint connection he had felt earlier. The earth beneath his feet, the pulse of energy within the ruins—it was still there, waiting.
"I am Azarion," he growled through clenched teeth, his voice steady despite the agony. "And I will not be broken."
The ground trembled as he channeled his will into the earth. The cracks around the temple glowed faintly, resonating with his determination. With a surge of strength, he forced the shadow's tendrils away, the rusted sword igniting briefly with a pale, golden light.
The creature shrieked, withdrawing as the light burned through its form. For a moment, the ruins fell silent, the oppressive darkness retreating.
Sera ran to Azarion's side, her expression a mix of relief and concern. "You're insane, you know that?" she said, pulling him to his feet.
Azarion didn't respond. His gaze remained fixed on the shadow, which had reformed a short distance away. Its glowing eyes burned brighter now, filled with rage.
"You have strength, fallen one," the shadow admitted, its voice no longer mocking. "But strength alone will not save you. Let us see if your will can endure."
The shadow raised its form, growing larger, more solid. The tendrils of darkness coalesced into jagged blades, and the air grew colder.
Sera stepped back, her bow trembling in her hands. "What is that thing?"
Azarion's grip tightened on the sword. "A fragment of the past," he said grimly. "A test left behind by the gods to guard their secrets."
"And you think we can survive this?"
"We don't have a choice."
The shadow charged, its bladed arms slashing through the air with deadly precision. Azarion moved to intercept, his mortal reflexes slower than he was accustomed to but driven by sheer determination. Sparks flew as the rusted sword clashed against the shadow's dark blades.
Sera fired another arrow, the projectile embedding itself in the creature's torso and briefly halting its advance. Azarion took the opportunity to press forward, his strikes wild but relentless.
The shadow lashed out, a tendril striking Azarion's side and sending him sprawling. Pain flared through his body as he hit the ground, but he forced himself back up, refusing to yield.
"You fight with desperation," the shadow said, its voice a low growl. "But desperation will not save you."
Azarion's mind raced. The creature was too fast, too fluid. His mortal body couldn't keep up. He needed more—more strength, more power.
His gaze flickered to the glowing runes on the temple walls. The energy within them pulsed faintly, calling to him.
"Sera!" he shouted. "Keep it busy!"
Sera hesitated but nodded, drawing the creature's attention with a rapid volley of arrows. The shadow turned toward her, its form shifting to dodge her attacks.
Azarion staggered toward the temple, placing his hand on the etched runes. The energy surged through him, burning his skin and filling his mind with visions of the past—a world ruled by gods, their power bound to the earth itself.
He focused, channeling the energy into his battered body. The runes flared brighter, and the rusted sword in his hand began to transform, its surface smoothing as a faint golden light engulfed it.
The shadow turned, sensing the change. Its form quivered with unease as Azarion stepped forward, the newly reforged blade gleaming in his hands.
"You want to test my will?" Azarion said, his voice filled with newfound strength. "Let's finish this."
The creature roared, surging toward him in a final, desperate attack. But Azarion was ready. He met the shadow's blades with his own, the golden light cutting through the darkness like a beacon.
With a powerful swing, he cleaved through the shadow's core. The creature let out a final, piercing shriek as its form dissolved into the air, the darkness dissipating.
Azarion stood over the spot where the shadow had fallen, his chest heaving. The temple's runes dimmed, their energy spent, but the reforged blade remained in his hands—a symbol of his first step toward reclaiming his power.
Sera approached cautiously, her eyes wide. "What… what just happened?"
Azarion turned to her, his expression unreadable. "I remembered who I am."