The fog thickened as Silas approached the temple entrance. The air felt heavier, saturated with a metallic scent he recognized all too well.
The Temple of the Obsidian Blade loomed ahead, an ancient structure weathered by time yet strangely intact, defying the centuries of abandonment. But it wasn't the temple's architecture that caught Silas's attention.
It was the massacre sprawled before him.
Around fifty bodies lay scattered across the temple steps and courtyard, clad in the black armor of the Black Baron's guard. Their weapons lay useless at their sides, and each corpse bore the same grotesque wound — a large, circular hole punched clean through the center of their chests, as if something had torn straight through them without resistance.
Silas halted, his eyes narrowing. He knelt beside one of the fallen soldiers, examining the wound closely.
"A clean kill..." he murmured, running his fingers around the edges of the hole.
He slowly rose, surveying the sea of broken bodies.
**They've tried everything…**
The realization struck him with chilling clarity. **If the Black Duke had come knocking at his door, it meant he had already sent his best – and none had returned.**
A bead of cold sweat traced down his temple.
"What kind of creature could do this?"
As he moved forward, his gaze fixed on a familiar figure lying near the temple's entrance.
Silas approached cautiously, his heart sinking as he recognized the man sprawled face-down among the dead.
Zentar.
The Black Baron's grand sorcerer, renowned for his demonic pacts and devastating power. His long robe, embroidered with runes, appeared untouched by fire or blade, but his body bore the same fatal wound as the others.
"Even him…" Silas muttered under his breath.
He crouched, carefully turning the corpse. Zentar's pale face was frozen in an expression of terror, as if he had glimpsed something no man was meant to see.
For a long moment, Silas remained still, absorbing the gravity of what lay before him.
**What have I gotten myself into?**
Retreating was no longer an option. The Black Duke would tolerate no refusal. More than that – something within these ruins called to him, like a scar he was destined to reopen.
Slowly, he stepped back, his hand reaching under his coat for the chained grimoire he had carried with him.
He drew it out, staring at it with quiet reverence.
"It's time to break the seal…"
Silas took a long breath and began to recite a solemn incantation, his voice low and deliberate.
**"By the blood spilled and shadows bound,
By the eye that watches and the blade that fades,
Let the chains of the past be undone,
Let your power flow through me."**
The chains binding the grimoire trembled with each word.
**"Oh keeper of forbidden knowledge,
Come to me, mark my flesh,
For I am once again your master."**
As the final syllable left his lips, a deep rumble echoed through the air, as though space itself had shifted.
The chains vanished in a burst of red light, and the grimoire disappeared from his hands entirely.
Silas straightened, staring at his now-empty palms.
A sudden burning sensation flared at the nape of his neck. He winced, pressing his hand to the back of his head.
Beneath his fingers, the skin seared hot, and when he pulled his hand away, a faint red glow pulsed there.
Using a shard of polished armor at his feet, Silas caught sight of the symbol now etched into his flesh.
**The eye.**
The same eye that had adorned the grimoire. A pupil-less gaze, its tear extending downward into a sharp, blade-like curve.
Silas's brow furrowed.
"That seal…"
The voice of the grimoire echoed softly within his mind, deep and smooth like silk across steel.
*"The pact is made. You are bound to me once more, master. But I warn you… this temple will not forgive trespassers."*
Silas gazed at the temple's entrance. The air vibrated faintly, as if something – or someone – waited beyond the threshold.
His fingers brushed against the glowing mark on his neck.
"There's no turning back now."
With slow but resolute steps, Silas crossed the threshold, vanishing into the yawning shadow that awaited him.
***
The temple's light vanished the moment Silas crossed the threshold, as if the darkness itself had swallowed him whole. The air grew colder, heavier, thick with that familiar oppressive presence — the kind found only in places where the dead had never found peace.
His footsteps echoed against bare stone, each sound bouncing endlessly into the unseen depths of the corridor. A faint glow emanated from the walls, not from any visible source, but from the very material of the temple itself.
Silas advanced carefully, each step pulling him deeper into the suffocating blackness.
Minutes passed.
The corridor stretched endlessly before him, straight and uninterrupted. There were no turns, no doors, no markings to break the suffocating uniformity.
After a while, he slowed, brows furrowing.
It had been too long.
The entrance had long since disappeared behind him, swallowed by shadows, yet nothing suggested he was nearing the end.
As he walked, Silas brushed his fingers along the wall. The stone was smooth — unnaturally so. No carvings, no imperfections. Just endless, flawless stone.
"This isn't right…" he muttered, eyes narrowing at the corridor ahead.
Something about this place defied logic.
Still, he pressed on, though a lingering thought gnawed at him.
Am I even moving forward?
Silas stopped abruptly, turning to glance behind him.
The corridor stretched on, identical in every way. There was no distinction between the path he had walked and the one ahead. It was as if he had been walking in place for an eternity.
The weight in the air grew heavier.
"This is a trial…" Silas whispered.
The temple was not simply letting him in. It was testing him.
He closed his eyes briefly, grounding himself as his thoughts began to align.
There's always a way through.
The silence around him deepened. But before he could think any further, a low, thunderous rumble shook the corridor.
Silas's eyes snapped open.
The entire corridor behind him was collapsing.
The walls buckled and cracked, disintegrating as if devoured by some unseen force. The floor fractured and crumbled into a yawning void that advanced toward him with alarming speed.
Silas's breath hitched.
"Shit."
He broke into a sprint, boots pounding against the stone as the corridor dissolved at his heels. Dust and debris filled the air, choking the path behind him, while the corridor ahead remained eerily unchanged — as if mocking his attempt to escape.
There had to be a way out.
His gaze darted along the walls as he ran, desperate for some kind of sign, but there was nothing.
The ground quivered beneath him, jagged cracks splintering outward as he narrowly vaulted over them.
Think… Focus!
Silas tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, drawing comfort from the familiar weight.
This temple doesn't want to kill me… It's testing me.
Slowing slightly, Silas forced himself to trust his instincts, even as destruction thundered behind him.
And then, he saw it.
It was subtle — barely more than a faint ripple in the air a few paces ahead, as if light bent unnaturally at that point.
Silas quickened his pace, extending his hand as he ran.
His palm met the cold surface of the wall, but instead of halting, the stone trembled beneath his touch, rippling like disturbed water.
The wall dissolved.
A narrow archway appeared, dark and narrow. Silas dove through it without hesitation, just as the corridor behind him collapsed entirely into the void.
He hit the ground hard, coughing as dust billowed around him.
The echoes of destruction faded, swallowed by an unnatural silence.
"Cutting it close…" he muttered, brushing ash and dirt from his coat.
Silas lay there for a moment, staring up at the cracked ceiling.
Eventually, he pushed himself upright, eyes scanning the chamber around him.
The endless corridor was gone. In its place stood a vast, circular hall, faintly illuminated by pale carvings that traced the stone walls.
Silas rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the faint pulse of the grimoire's mark beneath his skin.
This was only the beginning.