Chapter 25: The Light Has Betrayed Me |
Further up were a pair of long legs, purple skin glowing with a faint light, fading into endless darkness.
In his dazed state, Allen's vision was blurry, unable to see her upper body.
"My dear, you're about to die again."
Her voice was incredibly gentle, like an old lover who had known him for ages, pouring out her feelings with deep affection.
"You're truly a faithless heartbreaker."
The voice continued, carrying a hint of grievance. "You are clearly a darling of the shadows, practically born for the Void—can't you hear them? The shadows around you have been restlessly craving your favor."
Her foot lightly ground against his chest.
"They call to you, embrace you, want to merge with you—yet you turn a blind eye, leaving them aside to mess around with those laughable Light and Arcane magics."
A soft laugh.
She paused, her tone becoming even more seductive:
"To be my slave for all eternity, dedicating everything you have to me. I promise you'll gain power a thousand times stronger than the Light and Arcane. How about it, my lovely boy?"
Allen smiled in relief.
So it really was you, Xal'atath.
Although he had suspected it, he hadn't dared to be a hundred percent certain. After all, when it came to the Old Gods, no amount of caution was too much.
Now, confirming that the one whispering to him was indeed Xal'atath... perhaps he could really...
Borrow her power. Though there were risks, Xal'atath wasn't too harsh on her hosts. At least she wouldn't easily turn someone into a mass of Old God creations.
Besides, Varian, Wen Lei, Stella, Morgan... they had all come here because of him, had all fallen into danger because of him.
He had to save them.
And... Milana.
He had to take revenge for her with his own hands.
Allen took a deep breath and spoke with all his might:
"In the name of Allen Prestor, I swear to you, my lady. I am willing to dedicate everything of Allen Prestor to you. Please grant me your power."
[Deception Check: Failed]
That jade-like foot suddenly lifted, then stomped hard on his face.
"My lovely boy—"
Her foot slowly slid across his face, from the bridge of his nose to his lips, from his lips to his chin. The touch was icy yet soft.
"Faithless one. From the moment you arrived here, I have been watching you with loving eyes. I know..."
Her voice dropped, tinged with amusement:
"That is not your true name."
"How should I pronounce it?" Her foot stopped at his chin, gently tilting his face up. "Ailan?"
The two syllables fell from her lips with perfect accuracy.
"I don't like being deceived," she said, her tone carrying a playful, coquettish reproach. "Swear to your master using your real name."
Allen smiled helplessly.
"Fine."
He spoke, his voice hoarse yet sincere. "In the name of Ailan, I swear to you, my lady. I am willing to dedicate everything of Ailan to you. Please grant me your power."
That jade-like foot gently rested back on his chest.
"That's more like it."
Xal'atath's foot gently rubbed against his chest, then she let out a wistful sigh. "Then... as you wish."
Time resumed flowing.
Varian was kneeling on the ground, the poison still eating away at his body, but his eyes were fixed firmly ahead. An unprecedented fury surged from his chest.
In an instant, Varian felt the poison within him being forced back by this rage. His numb limbs regained sensation, and he abruptly stood up.
Wen Lei also downed an antidote potion, the numbness quickly receding. He grabbed his bow, nocked an arrow—
Then, they both froze.
In Allen's hand, a dagger had appeared from who knows where.
It was a strangely shaped ritual dagger.
But upon closer inspection, it seemed not that Allen was holding the dagger, but that the dagger was pulling him.
His arm was being guided by that dagger as he slowly stood up.
Then, the dagger seemed to come alive.
Countless pitch-black tendrils surged from the blade, winding around Allen's arm, his shoulder, his chest.
Allen's eyes flickered with a dim purple light.
Faint purple lines emerged on his skin, squirming slightly like living veins. His hair drifted without wind, billowing in the shadows.
Boom—!
An overwhelming force of shadow energy erupted from Allen, sweeping outward like a shockwave.
Stalvan was sent flying by this force, tumbling several times through the air before landing clumsily on the ground.
"Why—!" he shrieked bitterly, his voice filled with unwillingness and madness. "Why not my Tiroia! Just some filthy Void bastard! Die!!!"
He kicked off the ground fiercely, launching himself through the air like a cannonball, his twin daggers crossed before him as he slashed down heavily at Allen.
Allen stood motionless.
He raised the Xal'atath, Blade of the Black Empire in his hand, the tip pointing straight at the charging Stalvan.
A torrent of rage condensed into a sharp roar:
"Die! Stalvan!"
Mind Blast!
An invisible force erupted from the blade's tip. Stalvan's body froze mid-air.
He saw it—an utterly terrifying thing charging at him.
Indescribable. It was countless eyes, countless tendrils, countless screaming mouths, all converging into a torrent that annihilated everything.
He wanted to scream but couldn't make a sound.
He wanted to run but couldn't move.
When he came to his senses again...
He saw his own body.
His soul—had been shaken out of his body?
A horrifying shadow monster tore at his soul in the air. He wailed in agony.
And that ugly, rotting body stumbled and fell to its knees, the daggers slipping from its hands, the ghostly flames in its eye sockets slowly dying out.
"No—!!!"
A miserable wail echoed through the night sky.
The shadow monster ripped at his soul like tearing a piece of cloth. His consciousness shattered in the searing pain, turning into countless specks of light that dissipated into the void.
Allen also collapsed to the ground.
Morgan, who had arrived late; Varian, whose rage was at its peak; Wen Lei, whose antidote had taken effect; and Stella, hanging from a tree by her rocket boots—all of them were stunned by the sight.
Their gazes fell on Allen, on that dagger, on the swirling shadows.
If that simple necromancy spell, Communicate with the Dead, could still be explained away...
Then what about this sinister shadow magic, too evil for words? How could that be explained?
Wen Lei immediately drew his bow and aimed at Varian, his face filled with determination. "My young master is definitely not evil! I'm not asking for anything else—just let me take him and leave!"
Varian, with a bow pointed at him, looked completely unruffled.
He blinked, looking at Wen Lei, then at Allen, and finally at Stalvan's corpse lying on the ground.
"What are you talking about?" His tone was genuinely puzzled. "I didn't see anything. How did Stalvan die on his own?"
He turned to look at Stella, hanging from the tree, and Morgan, who had just arrived.
"Am I right?"
Stella, hanging from the tree, nodded vigorously.
Morgan, whose body had already involuntarily started using Holy Light magic to heal Allen, let out a deep sigh.
Ah, his conscience would have to suffer again.
-----------------
In the distance, a crow watched all of this from afar, then flapped its wings and flew away.
On the edge of the Swamp of Sorrows.
The crow landed on the tent of the vanguard force. With a flutter of its wings, it transformed into a white-haired mage.
Khadgar stood before the tent, gazing toward Duskwood, his brow slightly furrowed.
Maybe... he had really been mistaken.
A while ago, he had made a trip to the forbidden tower of Karazhan.
Although the Kirin Tor had strictly prohibited mages from entering Karazhan without permission, Khadgar had never been one to follow the rules.
At the top of Karazhan, he had encountered a time rift. In the chaos, he seemed to see his late mentor, Medivh, along with countless chaotic prophecies and visions.
Among them, Khadgar saw an extremely clear vision—that one day, a mage with three wavelike marks on his wrist would save the Sons of Lothar at a critical moment.
The face in that vision was unmistakably the same as the young man from the tavern.
But there was nothing on his wrist.
What's more, he couldn't even withstand a simple Arcane Intellect spell, and now he had fallen into shadow sorcery.
Someone like that—how could he possibly save the Sons of Lothar?
Khadgar shook his head and turned to walk into the tent.
He must have really been mistaken.