"Brethren open the Shadow Mark!" Brahm roared.
Chapter 6 — The Heretic. Mark of the Shadow — Book 1 of the Phantom Lord Saga.
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Ned gawked in astonishment at the intruder, trying to reconcile his faint memory of the middle-aged priest and the giant that now stood before him.
Brahm had been exiled from Quilendell soon after Caius's appointment as Champion. Yet here he stood, a towering figure rivaling Ivel in stature. His once receding hairline had transformed into a wild mane of thick, shaggy brown hair that framed his sharp features. The dull, unremarkable eyes had turned into fierce orbs, glimmering like molten fire beneath thick brows. Broad shoulders and bulging muscles strained against his tattered tunic, with dark violet runes etched into his skin, pulsing with a life of their own and casting an eerie glow. His large hands clenched and unclenched rhythmically, while his voice, now deeper and more resonant, carried an unnerving blend of mirth and malice. Brahm was no longer the man Ned remembered; he had become a harbinger of chaos and destruction.
Brahm's gaze drifted past Ned to Ivel, who was curled up in a ball, sobbing uncontrollably. Ivel's massive shoulders shook with each heaving sob, tears streaming down his face.
"He promised, he promised, he promised..." Ivel muttered, over and over again.
Brahm took a bold step forward, only to be immediately confronted by the flashing swords of Ned's guards, who stepped into his path. Their eyes were determined, poised to strike at Ned's command. Undeterred, Brahm laughed, his mirth echoing through the stone walls of the grand hall. Ned grimaced, realizing that Brahm saw no threat from his men, their armored figures no more than a mere nuisance.
"Brothers and Sisters, have I not long foretold you of the Phantom Lord's triumphant return?" Brahm proclaimed, his booming voice reverberating off the stone walls. "But you would not listen. Instead, you insist on living your foolish traditions, shackled by the false promises of these so-called heroes and their feeble Goddess. They have kept you weak and subservient. But no more. The time at last has come. Join me and liberate yourselves with his mighty power."
His words hung heavy in the air, sinking into the hearts of all present. Brahm's gaze swept across the room, meeting the eyes of nobles and commoners alike.
"Embrace the darkness," he continued, "and you shall rise above your former selves. See the evidence in my transformation! The Phantom Lord will grant you strength unparalleled, a power that will shatter your chains and elevate you beyond your wildest dreams."
As Brahm spoke, the room remained frozen in a tableau of fear and anticipation, each person grappling with the weight of his offer.
"No takers? How disappointing," Brahm said, laughing once more.
"You are not welcome here," Ned shouted, his grip tightening on Havashal.
"The days of small men like you telling me what I can and cannot do are over, Champion. Witness my Lord's majesty and power — Brethren open the Shadow Mark!" Brahm roared, to his accomplices, his voice carrying with it an ominous command that sent shivers down the spines of those who could still bear witness. The heretic's acolytes leaped into action from unexpected quarters, and much to Ned's astonishment, two of the king's guard deserted their posts to obey Brahm's command.
"No!" Ned shouted, feeling the situation slip rapidly out of his control. "Men attack!"
Ned's men lunged at Brahm, but with a swift, powerful sweep of his arm, he sent them sprawling across the cold stone floor, their weapons clattering away in all directions. Their cries of pain and desperation echoed through the dimly lit chamber, reverberating off the ancient walls. Brahm stood triumphant, his presence commanding and ominous, as shadows danced around him.
Eight of the heretic's acolytes converged from all directions, descending upon the terrified guests with massive daggers in hand. The grand hall echoed with screams, though the display was largely an act of intimidation. Forming a circle in the center of the room, the eight removed their hoods to reveal the marks of the eight affinities freshly carved into their foreheads.
The acolytes began chanting in the ancient tongue before thrusting their daggers into their own chests. Blood spilled onto the cold stone floor, forming dark pools that traced the circle of the Shadow Mark. The runes etched on their foreheads glowed with a deep violet hue as the grotesque ritual unfolded. Their blood seeped into the ancient carvings on the floor, illuminating them with a sinister violet light. As incantations echoed through the hall, a chill swept the air, and wisps of shadow coalesced in the center of the room, forming an ominous, swirling vortex. The Mark of the Shadow emerged, and the gate opened.
Brahm smiled wickedly as the gate pulsated with dark energy. His eyes locked onto Ned's, a challenge gleaming within them.
"Tonight marks the beginning of the end for all who refuse to serve my master," he declared, advancing towards the chaotic ritual. The darkness responded to his presence, tendrils of shadows reaching out like eager hands, ready to engulf the hall and everyone within it. Chaos erupted as guests desperately tried to flee their inevitable fate, but those who ventured too close to the ritual before its completion were consumed by the shadows.
The gate writhed with dark energy, its swirling vortex intensifying by the second. A sudden roar echoed from its depths as the first Ragelings emerged, their pale white skin and glowing violet eyes radiating malice. Absorbing the dim light of the hall, they lurched toward their master, the violent guttural growls still humming from their lips.
But the terrifying display didn't stop there, behind the ragelings, the ground trembled with the slow, ominous steps of a gargantuan figure. Its entrance was announced by the scraping of metal against stone, a sound that resonated through the very bones of those present. Emerging from the gate was a massive cyclops, towering over the Ragelings and everything else in the grand hall, even Brahm and Ivel. Its single, unblinking eye, surveyed the room with cold intelligence. The cyclops's skin was stretched tightly over an exoskeleton of gleaming metal, giving it an almost mechanical appearance that exuded both raw power and unyielding durability.
The creature unleashed a thunderous bellow, its colossal fist—a massive hammer of flesh and metal—crashing into the ground and sending shockwaves through the hall, cracking the stone floor.
"The era of the Phantom Lord has commenced," Brahm declared. "Join us!"
Ned glanced at Dornton for support, his heart pounding in his chest. The Court Mage met his gaze with a fierce tenacity.
"Steady, Champion," Dornton urged, his voice calm despite the chaos surrounding them. "Gather your men."
Ned nodded, drawing strength from Dornton's resolve. He signaled to his remaining men as they began to regroup around him. Meanwhile, Gamaliel took hold of King Richard and beckoned Podostroma to draw closer.
"So, you choose death," Brahm said with a wicked grin. "As you wish."
"Rodney, Gamaliel," Ned shouted. "Get everyone out of here!"
Rodney sprang into action, pushing the chef into Ivel and organizing their men to direct the crowd towards the nearest exits. Gamaliel swiftly intervened, securely gripping Princess Podostroma and the old king, guiding them beneath the King's Table. Ned couldn't be sure what he was doing, but he trusted Gamaliel with the Princess' safety.
The Ragelings attacked first, their razor-sharp claws raking through the guests with surprising ease. The air was filled with the sound of tearing fabric and pained cries as the guests tried to defend themselves, but the Ragelings moved with a swift, brutal efficiency that left little room for resistance.
"Attack!" Ned ordered.
His heart ached as he watched his remaining men fight desperately to fend off the frenzied Ragelings. Brahm and the massive cyclops stood by, observing the chaos with eyes full of murderous bloodlust.
Ned was on the verge of joining his men when Dornton seized his arm, his eyes filled with urgency. "Stop you fool. The safety of the Chosen is paramount! The four of you are our only hope against the Phantom Lord. If you fall here, all is lost."
"But my men, the guests—" Ned started, his voice cracking with raw emotion.
"Fate is cruel," Dornton interrupted, his voice both commanding and reassuring. "They must fend for themselves. I have a plan to get us out of here, but you and the others must stay put."
Ned surveyed the chaos around him, and with a heavy heart, he nodded.
Dornton immediately went to work, his voice chanting in the old tongue, something Ned didn't understand. As Dornton chanted, Nyra, the Court Mage's apprentice, stepped forward, her eyes glowing with an ethereal light. Together, their combined incantations created a palpable shift in the air. The swirling vortex of the Gate began to slow, its dark energy wavering as the runes on the floor flickered between violet and an unearthly white.
For the first time since Brahm's arrival, worry etched across his face. The unwavering confidence that had previously marked his every gesture faltered as he watched the vortex's energy diminish. His eyes narrowed, darting between Dornton and Nyra as their voices rose in unison, their incantations growing more potent by the second. It was clear that the strength of their combined magic posed a genuine threat to his plan.
"Enough of this!" Brahm snarled, his voice dripping with anger as he clenched his fists and stepped forward.
Ned's breath caught in his throat. If Brahm and that creature joined the fray, they faced certain defeat. He scanned the area for something useful and spotted the executioner's axe lying on the ground, its double-headed blade adorned with etches of a boar. He seized it and, with a powerful swing, hurled the massive axe toward Brahm.
Brahm's eyes widened as the executioner's axe sliced through the air towards him, its gleaming blades promising swift retribution. With a snarl, he twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the deadly weapon. The momentary distraction gave Dornton and Nyra the precious seconds they needed, their incantations growing even stronger as the runes on the floor flared with intense white light.
Rising to his full height, Brahm's expression twisted into one of unrestrained fury. "You think you can defy me?" he bellowed, his voice reverberating through the grand hall. Regaining his composure, he glanced at the cyclops, whose unblinking eye remained fixed on the scene of chaos.
"Destroy them!" Brahm commanded, his voice filled with dark authority. The massive cyclops beside him shifted restlessly, its single eye now fixed on the glowing pair.
With a ground-shaking roar, the cyclops began its advance, each step sending tremors through the cracked floor. Its massive fist, part flesh and part metal, swung down with unstoppable force, aiming to crush anyone in its path, including the ragelings. Ned's men fought valiantly but they stood no chance against this abomination.
The cyclops' massive fist crashed down, obliterating the brave soldiers who had once stood proudly by Ned's side. The ground beneath them shuddered violently as the enormous creature's relentless assault continued, leaving behind only a scene of destruction and loss. Ned's heart ached as he witnessed the devastation, but he knew there was no time to mourn his fallen comrades.
As the cyclops reared back to strike once more, an ethereal light shimmered around Ned and the others, casting a protective glow over the small group. Dornton's incantations had taken hold, and a magical barrier now enveloped them. The creature's fist collided with the barrier, but the powerful enchantment repelled its blows, causing the cyclops to falter momentarily in confusion.
"Draw close," Dornton urged, his voice both commanding and comforting. "The barrier will hold as long as my strength does. We have almost reversed the shadow mark. And once we go through, we will be safe. Champion, prepare yourself and the chosen."
"No," Ned said. "I must stay to protect the others. The Princess, Gamaliel, Rodney. I can't just leave them."
"You must!" Dornton said.
Ned gritted his teeth, his eyes fixed on the massive creature pounding against the barrier. At least the shield had proven to be an effective distraction. He watched the remainder of his men hurriedly evacuate the room, carrying with them anyone who still appeared alive.
"Hold steady!" Dornton shouted above the cacophony, sweat dripping down his brow from the exertion. "We only have moments before the Gate fully reverses. Be prepared!"
Dornton's hands moved in intricate patterns, weaving arcane symbols that hovered and shimmered before dissolving into the floor. Nyra mirrored his gestures, her chants growing more urgent and intense. The flow of the dark energy from the Gate finally reversed, and the menacing vortex that had once expelled creatures from the abyss looked as though it might now consume them instead.
"It is time!" Dornton shouted.
Nyra stopped chanting and rushed over to Revilo and Ivel, ushering them through the shadow gate first, her eyes still glowing with the remnants of their powerful incantation. The air around the gate crackled with energy, the once dark and foreboding entrance now shimmering with a protective aura. As Revilo and Ivel disappeared into the brilliance of the gateway, Nyra turned back to Dornton and Ned, her face a mixture of determination and concern. Meanwhile, Dornton's chants grew louder, his focus unwavering as he maintained the barrier against the cyclops' relentless assaults.
"Quickly, Ned," Nyra urged, gesturing towards the gate. "There's no time to lose. Follow them, and we'll be right behind you."
Ned glanced toward the King's Table, where Gamaliel, the king, and the princess had vanished, then shifted his gaze to the heart of Quilendell and the dozens of citizens he had vowed to serve and protect. His heart was torn between his duty to safeguard them and his obligation to fulfill the greater mission.
"I can't!" Ned shouted. "I must protect the city!"
"Go Now! You fool—"
Dornton's words were abruptly silenced as the executioner's axe cleaved through the protective barrier with terrifying ease. The blade plunged deep into Dornton's chest, his eyes widening in shock and agony. Nyra let out a blood-curdling scream.
Ned rushed to Dornton's side and watched as the old mage's life slowly ebbed away. With his final ounce of strength, Dornton's eyes locked fiercely onto Ned and Nyra.
"Quickly... take the axe... go before it's too late...," he rasped, his voice barely audible but filled with an undeniable urgency.
Ned sheathed Havashal then quickly gripped the executioner's axe, pulling it carefully from his chest. The mage groaned loudly, his once powerful and unwavering voice diminished into a gurgle as the light faded from his eyes.
The magical barrier around them flickered before vanishing entirely, leaving Ned and Nyra completely exposed to the cyclops. The cyclops, sensing the barrier's disappearance, roared with renewed fury and swung its colossal fist towards Ned and Nyra. With a desperate lunge, Ned dragged Nyra to the side just in time to avoid the devastating blow. The massive fist crashed down mere inches from them, splintering the grand table sending shards flying in all directions. Panting and hearts pounding, they scrambled to their feet, their eyes locking on the still-glowing gate. Nyra, wiping away tears of desperation, grabbed Ned's arm.
"We have to go, now!" she urged, her voice trembling.
There was no time to hesitate. Ned gritted his teeth and, with a swift motion, hoisted Nyra's small frame over his shoulder. Clutching the bloody axe tightly, he leapt into the vortex, silently praying to Inari for their safety. The portal's light engulfed him, and in that instant, Ned lost all sense of time and space as he was transported from Quilendell to another realm.
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