The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the crackling energy radiating from the Godslayer in Eldric's grip. The chamber seemed to pulse with each breath he took, shadows twisting at the edges of the room as if alive.
Karis's eyes flickered between the blade and Eldric, suspicion hardening her gaze. "That thing… Are you sure you can control it?"
Eldric's fingers tightened on the hilt. Power throbbed beneath his skin, ice-cold and searing hot all at once. It whispered at the edges of his mind, dark promises and ancient wrath. But beneath it all, he felt something else—pain, old and raw, woven into the blade's very essence.
"It's not about control," he replied, voice steady. "It's about direction."
Karis snorted, but the tension in her shoulders eased a fraction. "You sound way too confident for someone holding a cursed god-killer."
Seraphine moved cautiously, her eyes fixed on the runes glowing faintly along the blade's length. "The Godslayer was made to channel divine power. If you can focus it, even for a moment, we might stand a chance against whatever's outside."
A heavy boom echoed from the sealed door, stone and metal shuddering under the impact. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and a cold chill swept through the chamber.
"They're not waiting," Karis muttered, blades at the ready. "So what's the plan, fearless leader?"
Eldric glanced at the door, then back at the Godslayer. The power within it burned, but the longer he held it, the clearer its whispers became—not words, but feelings: rage, betrayal, defiance. Emotions layered over centuries, given form in cold steel.
"We open the door," he said, the shadows in his eyes darker than before. "And we show them why gods should fear mortals."
---
The Storm Unleashed
The door shattered under the force of divine magic, fragments scattering like shrapnel. Light blazed beyond it—cold and blinding, a stark contrast to the darkness of the chamber. Figures moved in the glare, armored in radiant silver and gold, eyes glowing with divine wrath.
Angels. Divine enforcers.
Karis cursed. "Great. As if undead guardians weren't bad enough."
Eldric stepped forward, the Godslayer trailing dark flames. The angels hesitated, eyes narrowing as if they could sense the power coursing through him. One, taller than the rest, stepped forward—wings edged with gold, eyes like molten iron.
"Child of ash," the angel intoned, voice cold and thunderous. "You walk a path of ruin. Surrender the blade, and your death will be swift."
Eldric met the angel's gaze, unflinching. "Come and take it."
The angel's eyes narrowed. "So be it."
They surged forward, wings flaring with blinding light. Karis and Seraphine moved instantly, spells and blades lashing out to meet them, but Eldric barely saw the clash. His focus was on the angel—its power, its movements, the divine fire burning in its eyes.
The Godslayer pulsed in his grip, dark flames surging along its edge. Eldric swung, and the darkness met the angel's light with a shattering force that sent shockwaves through the hall. Sparks and shadows twisted, the very air groaning under the strain.
For a moment, it was chaos—light and dark entwined, steel and magic clashing in a maelstrom of power. But slowly, surely, the darkness began to consume the light, pushing back the angel's radiance.
"You cannot win," the angel snarled, even as its armor cracked under the weight of Eldric's strikes. "The gods will not allow—"
"The gods have no say," Eldric snapped, eyes glinting. "Not anymore."
The Godslayer flared, and with a final strike, the angel fell—wings scorched and broken, eyes dimming to lifelessness. Silence fell, heavy and breathless.
Karis stared, eyes wide. "Okay… maybe that thing isn't all bad."
Eldric said nothing, but the weight of the blade in his hand felt heavier than before, the whispers colder.
---
Whispers of the Past
They moved quickly, leaving the shattered door and fallen angels behind. The corridors twisted, dark and labyrinthine, the walls slick with ancient runes that glowed faintly in the dark. Eldric led the way, but his mind was elsewhere—on the blade's whispers, on the memories that weren't his own.
Flashes of war, of fire and blood, of a throne of ash and a crown of shadows. A voice—dark and weary, echoing in the back of his mind.
"We were betrayed."
Eldric stumbled, hand bracing against the wall as pain lanced through his skull. The Godslayer's power writhed, coiling around his thoughts like smoke.
Karis's hand was on his shoulder in an instant. "Hey—don't go all death-cursed on me now. What's wrong?"
He forced a breath, blinking back the pain. "The blade," he muttered. "It's… trying to show me something."
Seraphine's eyes darkened. "Memories. The Godslayer was forged from divine essence—there are fragments of those who fell to it within. If you're seeing visions…"
"It's not just visions," Eldric cut in. "It's a warning."
Before he could explain, the corridor opened into a vast chamber, its walls lined with statues of faceless gods. At its center stood a pool—dark and mirror-like, its surface rippling with faint light.
But it was what lay beyond that drew Eldric's gaze—an altar draped in black, upon which lay a second blade, shorter and curved, its edge shimmering with a cold blue light.
Karis's eyes narrowed. "Another cursed sword? Really?"
Seraphine's face was pale. "Not just any blade. That's the Forsworn—a weapon made to slay those who've touched divine power. If we can claim it…"
Eldric moved without thinking, the Godslayer pulsing in his hand. But as he approached, the shadows at the edge of the room shifted, and a figure stepped forward—cloaked in dark armor, eyes burning with violet fire.
Eldric froze, heart pounding. "No… it can't be."
The figure smirked, lowering its hood to reveal a face Eldric knew all too well—scarred and cruel, eyes glinting with familiar malice.
"Miss me, brother?"