Chapitre 12: Chapter Eleven: The Red Carpet
The grandeur of the chapel loomed over Kael, its imposing presence heightened by his own trepidation. As he approached, awe clashed with the relentless cacophony of the female voice, each step intensifying the torment within his mind. The voice was an unrelenting storm, whispering temptation, paranoia, and the urge to lash out. His sanity wavered, teetering on the edge of oblivion, as he grappled with the onslaught.
The knight's grip on his shoulder was unyielding, a stark reminder of the grim purpose that had brought them here. The knight's eyes bore into Kael, sensing the turmoil within. Kael's discomfort was evident, and the knight's response was an iron grip that seemed to convey both protection and control.
Within the chapel's hallowed halls, the eerie chorus of priestesses' humming accompanied their arrival. Kael's disoriented gaze swept over the scene, the rhythmic chant only serving to intensify the dissonance within his mind. His torment was on display, his every movement betraying the inner chaos. The priestesses exchanged worried glances, their concern palpable, and Kael's unease deepened.
Their path led them to a figure kneeling before a statue of the Silver Prince. The cleric stood, her presence exuding a mix of authority and solemnity. Her eyes, like sapphires, bore into Kael, assessing him with a scrutiny that sent shivers down his spine. The knight's voice rang out, his words punctuated by an urgency that only heightened Kael's distress. The knight spoke of evil, of purification, his words resonating with an undercurrent of unease.
The cleric approached, her hand landing on Kael's head with a weight that was both physical and spiritual. Kael's anguish erupted, his scream a guttural expression of the turmoil within. The chapel walls seemed to reverberate with his torment, the very structure bearing witness to his suffering.
The knight's voice merged with the choir of priestesses, their prayers a counterpoint to Kael's anguish. The knight's retreat, a step back into the sanctuary's depths, painted a vivid picture of the knight's own vulnerability to the forces at play.
As Kael's agony reached its zenith, a deceptive calm settled within him. The female voice morphed, adopting the cadence of Elara's voice, a haunting mimicry that pierced his very soul. His pain began to ebb, replaced by an insidious allure. The voice, now cloaked in a guise of familiarity, implored him to yield, to embrace the illusion it wove.
The cleric's visage blurred, her features transforming into Elara's, a mirage of solace amidst the storm. Kael's tormented expression softened, a fragile smile dancing on his lips as tears mingled with his anguish. In that moment, the voice's enchanting mirage seemed to hold salvation, an escape from the relentless turmoil that had consumed him.
Darkness descended, obliterating reality and plunging him into an abyss of nothingness. The chapel's grandeur, the knight's vigilance, the cleric's radiance—all were swallowed by an unfathomable void, leaving Kael suspended in a realm of fractured consciousness.
The once-vibrant chapel was plunged into an abyssal darkness that devoured every ounce of light. The sacred flames that had flickered within the candles were snuffed out, casting the holy sanctuary into a realm of shadows and foreboding. The stained glass windows, once adorned with stories of devotion and faith, now bore the weight of an impenetrable night.
The priestesses' fervent prayers escalated into a cacophony of desperation, their collective voices intertwining with the grim aura that permeated the chapel. They clung to their faith, attempting to ward off the malevolent forces that seemed to swirl and writhe within the very air they breathed. Yet, with each uttered plea, a newfound dread seeped into their tones—a stark realization that the battle waged was one against something far beyond their comprehension.
The knight's efforts to invoke the protective radiance of his sigil were met with defiance, the spectral darkness swallowing his attempts as if the very fabric of his faith had turned against him. The shield of light he had wielded so valiantly in countless battles was rendered impotent before this unholy manifestation.
In the heart of the obsidian abyss, Kael's body became a conduit for the very darkness that sought to consume him. His flesh contorted, and shadows seemed to claw their way out from within, a sinister force seeking freedom from its ephemeral prison. The cleric, once a bastion of purity, battled against the encroaching darkness with fervent prayer and radiant touch. Yet, her efforts were not met with the expected salvation—instead, the shadows danced with a malevolent glee, their defiance of her divinely charged abilities defying all logic and hope.
As the knight's sword was drawn, poised to deliver a potentially fatal blow to Kael, an unseen power manifested in the gloom. The knight's helm crumbled like fragile glass, crushed under the inexorable pressure of an invisible force. His body was hurled against the chapel's blood-streaked floor, his once-impervious armor offering no protection against this insidious adversary.
The cleric's struggle, once marked by unwavering determination, shifted as tendrils of doubt took root in her mind. The radiant light she had channeled wavered, a reflection of her inner turmoil. A sense of foreboding twisted her prayers, reshaping them from supplications for Kael's salvation to desperate cries for her own safety.
Within the suffocating void, a symphony of terror unfurled—a symphony of snapping bones, rending flesh, and guttural screams. Shadows became corporeal, manifesting in the form of monstrous claws and gaping maws, an otherworldly chorus of violence and torment. The cries of the priestesses, once devoted and serene, transmuted into the visceral screams of those ensnared by a nightmare beyond comprehension.
And in the midst of this maelstrom, Kael's faltering form collapsed onto the chapel's cold floor, the darkness seemingly withdrawing as if sated by its sinister feast. The chapel's sanctity lay shattered, the remnants of prayer and piety now twisted by the very malevolence that had been vanquished by faith.
Kael's senses were mired in a nightmarish confusion. The winds whispered through the chapel entrance, a stark contrast to the preceding silence of the chapel. As he gingerly rose from the blood-soaked floor, his world remained a blur. His first instinct was to rub his eyes, yet the sensation that met his fingertips sent a shiver down his spine—wet, sticky, and unmistakably crimson.
Fighting through the haze, Kael's vision cleared to reveal the grim tableau that now encompassed him. The once-holy grounds lay in disarray, a grotesque nightmare born from the darkest corners of his mind. The knight and the cleric, whose radiant presence had marked them as champions of faith, now lay lifeless and grotesquely contorted, their very beings twisted beyond the bounds of understanding. Above him, the priestesses who had sought to cleanse him of his torment now hung lifelessly from silvery chandeliers, their souls extinguished by the malevolent forces that had consumed this place.
Kael's heart pounded like a relentless drumbeat as panic set in, coursing through his veins. A cold sweat trickled down his brow, and his breath grew ragged. He couldn't comprehend the horrors that lay before him or the malevolent darkness that had wrought this nightmarish scene.
Amidst the chilling silence, the voice returned. It emanated from an unseen presence, a spectral figure lingering at the periphery of his consciousness. At first, it whispered to him with a deceptive calmness, urging him to find solace, to quell the tempest of his fear.
Yet, as Kael scanned the blood-soaked chamber, his dread continued to intensify. The voice shifted, morphing into the haunting cadence of Elara. A macabre semblance of the woman he had once loved, the voice caressed his senses and beckoned him closer. It urged him to step closer to the pools of blood that now crisscrossed the chapel floor.
Kael stood frozen, his mind a tumultuous whirlpool of emotions and questions. The voice—this twisted incarnation of Elara—commanded his attention, and its allure tugged at the fringes of his resolve. There, amidst the rippling blood pools, he glimpsed an eerie sight—a reflection of himself, distorted and wavering as if glimpsed through a sinister lens.
As his gaze fixated upon the reflection in the pool of blood, Kael's senses were drawn into a sinister dance. His own visage stared back at him from the mirror-like surface, but behind him, a shadow emerged—an incarnate specter that whispered of power and secrets beyond mortal comprehension. Elara's voice, now morphing into a sinister symphony of promises and temptation, beckoned him into its embrace.
The unseen entity that Kael had unwittingly invited, that had chosen him as its vessel, began to envelop him with an intangible yet palpable presence. It slithered its unseen limbs around his being, its chilling touch both arousing and repulsive. Elara's voice, dripping with the allure of the forbidden, whispered her name as if revealing a forbidden lover's secret.
Amid this chilling encounter, Kael's questioning voice found its way through the darkness, the uncertainty laced with a desperate longing for understanding. Who was she? The answer came in the voice he knew so well, that of Elara—the one he had lost and now, in this distorted realm, seemed to have regained. "You may call me Elara," the entity breathed, its words a haunting caress that drew Kael further into its clutches. "We should leave this place before they come for you."
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone