They ran. Panic fueled their desperate escape as the minotaurs thundered after them, their monstrous bellows shaking the very ground beneath their feet. Toji stayed at the rear, ensuring no one fell behind, but something nagged at the edge of his consciousness. A faint memory, a whisper in the storm.
Then, suddenly—light.
A warmth enveloped him, distant yet familiar. In that instant, a voice echoed in his mind, resonating deep within his soul.
Believe in me.
Toji's feet stopped moving, his breath steadying. The others barely noticed, too preoccupied with their own survival. He brought his hands together and murmured a prayer.
"Praise the Lord, King of Kings."
A blinding golden light erupted around him. The radiance forced his companions to a halt, shielding their eyes in shock. Even the minotaurs faltered, their primal instincts recoiling from the divine energy. The ground beneath Toji cracked under the force of the power surging through him.
"Toji, what the hell—?!" Felix began, but he was cut off.
"Don't stand there and mope! Run!" Toji barked.
Though confused, they obeyed. Whatever Toji had done, it wasn't magic as they knew it. Yet, the overwhelming energy compelled them forward. They dashed ahead, escaping the beasts. However, just when relief began to settle, they ran into an even worse fate.
Blocking their path were the same men Toji had fought the night before. Cloaked figures stood in a formation, weapons drawn, and a sinister air hung around them.
"No way…" Liana gasped.
They were surrounded.
Sitting atop a mountain of minotaur corpses, was Toji. His presence was calm, yet the aura around him was anything but. Blood dripped from his hands, his expression unreadable as he stood and stepped down from his gruesome throne.
Without a word, he walked deeper into the dungeon, toward a corridor that led to a massive chamber.
The room was vast, lit only by dim torches lining the stone walls. Ancient symbols marked the ground, but what caught Toji's attention was a crest on the far side—a sigil he recognized instantly.
It was the same mark that adorned the robes of the men he fought.
The same mark on the bag he had discovered.
His gaze drifted lower, and his stomach turned. Blood. Fresh, thick pools of it coated the floor, leading up to a stone altar at the center of the room. He stepped closer, his heart hammering in his chest.
Behind the altar, bodies lay in pieces. Arms, legs, torsos—disassembled and discarded as if they were nothing more than remnants of a ritual.
Then he saw them.
The remains of his party.
His breath caught, fury igniting within him. "Filthy things," he spat, his fists clenching. "You killed them."
A slow chuckle echoed through the chamber.
Toji turned sharply, locking eyes with a robed figure standing on the other side of the altar. The man's voice was low and mocking.
"Who the hell are you?"
Toji exhaled sharply. The weight of rage, grief, and something deeper—something divine—settled over him. His body trembled, not from fear, but from sheer fury.
The robed man suddenly felt it.
A shiver ran down his spine, and for the first time, he knew—he was in the presence of something beyond his comprehension.