The rushing became louder and more intense with every step, as if his head was about to explode. He staggered, his hand grasping the tunnel wall for support but finding no foothold. The darkness in his pupils pulsed in time with the corrupting energy that filled the air around the knot.
"You're-" he broke off abruptly as the pain overwhelmed him again. He fell to his knees and grabbed his head again, consumed by pain.
After a few seconds, he slowly stood up again, his breathing becoming heavier and heavier. ""You are... Responsible for this..."
He took a step forward, the energy of the corrupted knot pulsing in rhythm with the chaos in his mind. His hand reached out, trembling, the arcane energy of the corruption reaching out to meet him. "This ends here."
With a roar that was half-defiance and half-desperation, Seraphel gathered the arcane power within himself and channeled it into his hand. The corrupted essence coalesced into a searing white-hot ball of light, the intensity of which was matched only by the pain in his head. His hand hovered above the twisted mass, the energy crackling and popping around his fingertips like a living thing.
He brought his hand down, and the energy surged forth, slamming into the knot with the force of a meteor impact. The ground trembled, the air crackled with power, and the corruption resisted, its tendrils wrapping around the arcane light like a creature fighting for its life.
The explosion that followed was a blinding white that swallowed the cavern, erasing the darkness and the twisted forms of the corrupted creatures in its path. The blast wave threw Seraphel back, his body tumbling through the air as if he were nothing more than a ragdoll.
When the light dimmed, Seraphel found himself lying on the ground, panting heavily. He pushed himself up to his hands and knees, his eyes stinging with the after-image of the explosion. The knot was gone, the space where it had been now a gaping crater, the edges still smoking and pulsing with the fading echoes of the arcane power that had been expelled.
He looked around, his vision swimming with the effort to focus. The creature's corpse had been vaporized in the blast, leaving no trace of the monstrosity that had almost claimed him.
Suddenly, a cold, searing pain shot through his back. He arched forward, a silent scream on his lips as he felt something alien and malevolent burrow into his body. It was a dark tendril, emerging from the shadows of the cavern, unseen and unbidden. It pierced him with a precision that spoke of malicious intent, slithering its way into his very essence.
His eyes fell shut as he struggled to remain conscious, his mind reeling with the horror of what was happening to him. He could feel the corruption spreading, the dark tendrils weaving themselves through his soul like a black web, entangling him in its embrace.
....
As he awoke again, he found himself in an unreal place. It was a realm of pure, flowing energy, a flood of light and color that expanded endlessly in all directions. The feeling was overwhelming, a cacophony of sensations that seemed to permeate his entire being. He floated in a sea of consciousness in which a billion voices whispered secrets that no mortal mind could ever comprehend.
"The Lifestream!" Seraphel's eyes widened. He himself was surrounded by a gloomy aura and the rushing in his head became more intense again.
He stretched out his hand, the tendrils reaching out from him grasping at the lifestream, and in the next moment the world around him collapsed into itself. A sudden surge of darkness swept him away and he fell into nothingness before crashing to the ground in a meadow.
Gasping for air, he looked up and saw the distant silhouette of the village he called home, nestled against the mountain range. The wind whispered through the grass like a mournful lullaby.
Seraphel's hand went to his side, feeling for the wounds the creature had inflicted, but they were gone, replaced by a faint, tingling warmth.
He sat up, his eyes searching the tranquil meadow for any signs of the corruption or the creature. The night was eerily quiet, as if the land itself was holding its breath in anticipation of what was to come. The grass was a soft, velvety cushion beneath him, and the sweet scent of flowers filled his nose, a stark contrast to the stench of decay he'd just escaped.
"What the..." The stabbing pain in his head returned, even more intense than before. "Aaargh," he screamed, but the scream died in his throat as his vision swam and his thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm. His hand flew to his forehead, trying in vain to quell the agony that threatened to destroy his sanity.
When it stopped, he staggered towards the village. Every step was a struggle against the darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. The meadow looked peaceful in the moonlight, but he could feel the corruption growing stronger inside him.
As he approached the gates of the village, two guards with narrowed eyes stood guard. One of them recognized the person approaching them and called out, "Seraphel! Where are Castor and Nixon?"
The other guard paused for a moment before speaking to his partner, "look closely, he's tumbling and his armor has been damaged. That's not a good sign." He looked around briefly, "I'll get the warden and let him know, take care of Seraphel!"
The first guard rushed towards Seraphel, his eyes filled with concern, "What happened out there?!" He exclaimed as he reached to help him stand, but as soon as his hand touched Seraphel's armor, he recoiled with a gasp. The corruption was palpable, a sickening aura that made his skin crawl.
Seraphel's head jerked away from the guard, his eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of pain. The rushing sound grew louder, a cacophony of voices that seemed to be screaming at him from within his own skull. His breaths grew ragged as the corruption fought against his very essence, seeking to consume him from the inside out.
When Seraphel opened his eyes, he reached out and placed his hand around the hilt of the sword at the guard's side.
With a swift, almost inhuman movement, he pulled it free and pierced the guard's chest. The man's eyes went wide in shock, his mouth opening to scream but no sound came out.
As the guard fell to the ground, lifeblood spilling from the gaping wound in his chest, Seraphel's mind reeled.
As he slowly calmed down, he talked to himself. "Ahh... I see it! I see what you want! Rescue... Salvation from the pain... you are suffering, I can feel it. That's why you reach out to me... I who was born from the essence of your being... Of course..."
He took a deep breath and with a grim expression, he swung the sword and stuck it into the guard lying on the ground, the blade sinking deep with a sickening thud. The guard's eyes grew wide in shock, a silent question frozen on his lips as the light of life faded from them.
He continued moving towards the village, "We... We have misjudged everything so badly... Fixing something that's already corrupted is pointless... I finally see it clearly..." He said in a quiet and sinister voice. "The only thing that will free you from suffering is.... Complete destruction!"
....
Hours later, the serene moonlit meadow was a distant memory as the acrid smell of burning wood and flesh filled the air. The village of Gremus, once a bastion of peace and order, had become an inferno of chaos and despair. The once-sturdy wooden structures were now skeletal remains, their fiery silhouettes dancing against the night sky like grotesque marionettes. The flames leaped from rooftop to rooftop, licking the stars and casting an ominous glow across the landscape.
In the center of the village square, a young boy cowered in the shadows, his eyes wide with horror. He watched as his mother lay lifeless, crushed under the weight of a collapsed beam. Her eyes, once so full of warmth and love, were now vacant and glazed over. The cries for help that had once filled the air had been replaced by the crackling of the flames.
Seraphel appeared before him with slow, deliberate steps, his eyes burning with an unnatural light. He crouched down, the edges of his lips twitching into a smile that was more terrifying than any grimace. The boy's heart hammered in his chest, his small body shaking with fear as he stared into the abyss that was the corrupted guardian's gaze.
"Don't worry," Seraphel whispered, his voice a serpent's hiss that seemed to resonate in the very air around them. "I will put you out of your misery."
With a gentle, almost affectionate gesture, Seraphel's hand moved to the trembling boy's head, his fingers weaving through the matted strands of hair. The warmth of his touch was a stark contrast to the cold steel of his sword.
In a swift, almost loving motion, Seraphel's arm drew back, and the sword arced through the air, a silver streak of moonlight in the hellish scene. The blade met the soft, tender flesh of the boy's neck with a sickening crunch, and the crimson of life spurted forth, painting a grisly picture against the dark canvas of the night. The child's eyes widened in a silent scream, the light in them extinguished as quickly as a candle in a storm.