The wind howled across the broken plains, carrying the scent of scorched earth and lingering traces of dark mana. The remnants of the cursed monolith lay shattered, its dark presence replaced by uneasy silence. Jackeal stared at the obsidian shard pulsing faintly in the dust before him, its ominous whispers still echoing in his mind.
Veyra rested a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. "We need to move. More Beasts could be nearby."
Jackeal nodded reluctantly, sheathing his celestial blade. He reached for the shard but hesitated, sensing its unnatural pull. Against his better judgment, he wrapped it in cloth and secured it in his satchel. If it held answers—or a connection to Lucifer—he couldn't leave it behind.
"Let's regroup," he said, voice steady despite the uncertainty gnawing at him.
The Cost of Survival
The survivors huddled around dim campfires as night descended. The skirmish had left them battered but alive. They whispered tales of Jackeal's impossible victory, but hope remained fragile, flickering like their dying flames.
Jackeal walked the perimeter, his mind restless. Each step felt heavier, burdened by questions he couldn't escape. What was the shard's purpose? Why had the Beast known of his power? And what did the voice from the monolith mean by "You are already marked"?
His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp cry from the western watchpoint. He bolted toward the sound, Veyra close behind.
They found a lone scout collapsed on the ground, his armor torn and breath ragged. He clutched a blood-stained journal.
"Found... something… in the ruins... had to warn you…" the scout gasped before succumbing to unconsciousness.
Jackeal gently took the journal, its pages weathered and smeared with ash. Inside were frantic notes about a forgotten temple hidden deep within the eastern mountains—marked by the same dark runes that had covered the monolith.
Veyra frowned. "A trap?"
"Or a chance for answers," Jackeal replied grimly. "We leave at dawn."
The Forsaken Temple
Two days of harsh travel brought them to the edge of the eastern mountains, where ancient stone pillars jutted from the earth like skeletal fingers clawing at the sky. The temple entrance loomed before them, a gaping maw of darkness.
The air was thick with malevolent energy, oppressive and suffocating. Jackeal felt the shard in his satchel grow colder, its whispers growing louder as though calling to something inside the temple.
"Stay close," he ordered, drawing his blade. Veyra followed without hesitation, her twin blades ready.
As they descended into the cavernous depths, eerie carvings lined the walls, depicting forgotten battles between celestial beings and demonic monstrosities. Faint, ghostly flames illuminated the path, flickering with unnatural rhythm.
The deeper they ventured, the stronger the oppressive presence became, weighing down their every step.
Echoes of Betrayal
They reached a vast chamber where an enormous stone altar stood, etched with runes glowing faintly with corrupted energy. At its base lay shattered chains, long broken, as if something had been freed—or escaped.
Before they could react, the air itself seemed to twist, and spectral figures emerged from the shadows—warriors from a forgotten age, bound in spectral chains. Their hollow eyes burned with ancient resentment.
"Who dares disturb the sacred seal?" one of them hissed, his voice a guttural snarl.
"We seek answers," Jackeal replied, raising his blade. "What was sealed here?"
The spectral leader's expression twisted into something between rage and sorrow. "You carry the Mark of the Betrayer. There are no answers… only judgment."
The ghosts attacked with vengeful fury. Jackeal and Veyra fought back-to-back, steel clashing against cursed blades of spectral fire. The battle was fierce, every strike weighed down by dark magic.
Despite their strength, the spirits overwhelmed them, dragging them toward the cursed altar.
Revelations in Darkness
Just as all seemed lost, the shard in Jackeal's satchel flared with dark light, sending shockwaves through the chamber. The spirits recoiled, howling in agony, their chains snapping.
The altar cracked, releasing a burst of dark flame. From its core emerged a hooded figure wreathed in shadow, his voice cold and familiar.
"You cannot outrun your fate, Jackeal."
Jackeal staggered back, his breath caught. "Who… who are you?"
The figure lowered his hood, revealing a face twisted by power and hatred—familiar, yet monstrous.
"I am what you could become… if you fall."
Before Jackeal could respond, the figure unleashed a blast of dark energy, forcing them out of the collapsing temple. The last thing Jackeal saw was the shattered altar, its runes still faintly glowing, whispering a single, chilling word:
"Reclamation."
Aftermath
Breathless and battered, Jackeal and Veyra emerged into the cold mountain air as the temple crumbled behind them. The corrupted shard now pulsed faintly in Jackeal's grasp, its purpose more unclear—and more dangerous—than ever.
Veyra clutched her side, grimacing. "What… was that?"
Jackeal met her gaze, his expression grim. "Something worse than the Beasts."
He turned toward the distant horizon where dark clouds gathered, lightning flashing ominously. The war wasn't just against Lucifer's forces—it was against fate itself.
End of Chapter 7