Change of perspective:
Foster's vision recovered and the sight that awaited him was second to none.
Inside, an immense room filled with crystals that shimmered with dazzling colour. In the centre of the room, a huge circle written with strange, unknown signs undulated slightly, and in this circle was a seed and a book.
The seed was the size of a dwarf, completely green and completely solid, like very fragile crystal and at the same time like the hardest steel in the world.
Next to this huge seed, an open book floated gently up and down.
The queen of the sylvan elves walked to the edge of the runic circle, alone, none of the lower elves daring to take a step to follow her.
She raised her elegant arm and her delicate fingers brushed a light barrier that moved delicately to let her pass, as if she were alive and recognising the dignity of the queen.
She stepped inside the circle and when she had completely crossed the line, the seed, the book and the queen disappeared.
- My queen!' exclaimed an elegantly dressed elf, taller than the others and with a stature that stood out.
Among the sylvan elves, as with the dark elves or the obscurus, there are different classes of bloodline defined at birth. Those of the highest class are called High Elves and are part of the nobility. They form a closed circle around the royal family and are very proud of their ancestry.
Foster looked at the space where the Queen and perhaps their only hope stood, now empty, and anguish began to rise in his heart and invade his body, rising to his throat like a vice.
As if to prove his anguish right, a deafening noise and a cloud of dust rose up behind them.
Multiple noises resembling vomiting and choking were heard.
- The Obscurus, they're already here. whispered Foster.
The smoke cleared and dark creatures of all sizes rushed towards the elves. Behind those who were rushing, hundreds and hundreds came in unstoppable, unstoppable waves.
- ELFES ! IN FORMATION!
- YES CAPTAIN KOFLÏK!' shouted the lower elves.
The High Elf Koflïk raised his gleaming sword and shouted a war song, echoed by the lower elves, the nobility and Foster himself, these people were singing for the last time and he knew it. With the disappearance of their queen, with the disappearance of the seed and the mysterious book, there was nothing left to hope for.
- HAHAHA Foster, I don't think anything's going to get us out of here today!!! shouted a slightly chubby elf.
Foster looked at the little elf and laughed too.
- As you said, Yänn, I don't think this day will be the last!
The two looked at each other and clasped forearms in a warrior's greeting. They'd known each other for a long time, so there was no need to say anything out loud.
Yänn drew his sword, Foster unfurled his beechwood staff and the obscurus fell on them.
Foster lost track of time, lost track of space and lost all his energy. Every spell from a low-class magician like him was a serious blow to his stamina.
Knowing that he'd forgotten how many he'd cast, he was on the verge of breaking. Freeze spell, flame spell, shield and even heal his comrades, he had used all his skills many times and now he was useless.
- Fucking hell! Fucking useless magic skill!' exclaimed Foster as he fell to the ground in exhaustion.
His vision blurred but he fought with all his might, a cry of pain sounded beside him, Foster had heard so many in the last few hours that he didn't care, yet the blood of the figure in front of him splashed across his face and when his vision recovered, his blood ran cold.
- Foster my friend, Foster... his friend's voice twisted in a gurgle of blood before his gaze faded with Foster as his last vision
- Yänn YÄNN, hold on, I'll heal you, HOLD ON !!!!
Foster tried to summon his magic, again and again and again, but nothing came, he had used up every last drop and saw his friend die in front of him as his blood ran down his hands.
- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH
Foster screamed out his pain and rage, his voice attracting many creatures who pounced on him.
Foster grabbed the hilt of his friend's sword and with a shout charged straight into the fray.
Despite his lack of expertise with the sword, it was all he had left to fight with, and all he wanted to do was inflict as much harm as possible on these creatures of the Devil.
He sliced, cut and tore countless times, his arm going numb, his throat burning and his eyes completely irritated, and Foster, for God knows what reason, had only had 2 or 3 seconds of respite.
He looked around, the swarming mass of Obscurus charging at him, the bodies of his elven brothers and sisters lying lifeless on the ground, Captain Koflïk's head at the end of a spear, like a trophy.
Foster's sword fell to the ground, raising a light wave of dust, red tears left his eyes, rolling down his dirty cheeks, he raised his head and looked at the wall of this cavity, filled with such beautiful crystals, this room that was to be their salvation, their hope, would be their tomb, his tomb, the tomb of Foster, the inferior sylvan elf, who had almost succeeded in becoming the magical equivalent of a High Elf.
- Today my story ends, but I swear to the Gods, I swear that I WILL VENERATE YOU ALL!
This was his last sentence before the obscurus fell on him and tore his body apart.