Chapitre 72: Dust to Dust, Ashes to Hope
Silence descended upon the shattered halls of the Shadowscales, once vibrant with life now echoing with the chilling aftermath of battle. Dust motes danced in the fading light, settling upon the fallen like a macabre shroud. The true cost of the conflict began to unfurl, each body a stark reminder of the lives extinguished too soon.
Kael, the agile scout with eyes like flint, lay still, his nimble fingers forever stilled around the dagger that had served him faithfully. Lira, the fiery cook whose laughter once warmed the kitchens, now lay cold, her apron stained with a crimson unlike any spice she had ever known. Nolan, the quiet gardener with a touch that coaxed life from any soil, met his end amongst the fallen petals he so meticulously tended, his gentle hands now folded in eternal repose.
Each fallen soul, from the fiercest warriors to the humblest servants, carried within them a story cut short. The Shadowscales, their ranks decimated, bore the brunt of the attack, their loyalty etched in blood upon the cold marble floor. Yet, amidst the despair, flickers of life persisted.
Finnian, the fiery warrior, clung to consciousness with the tenacity of a weed pushing through cracked pavement. Each ragged breath seemed a defiance against the inevitable, his eyes blazing with a spirit unbroken. Beside him, Saoirse, the emerald-eyed archer, fought her own silent battle, arrows fletched with her spirit still lodged in the walls, testaments to her valiant struggle.
Dalia, her arm still a throbbing reminder of the chaos, moved through the wreckage, her gaze searching desperately for Anya. Fear gnawed at her, but a spark of hope, fragile yet persistent, refused to be extinguished. As she rounded a corner, she stumbled upon a scene that stole the air from her lungs.
Jikirukuto, his dark form a predator savoring its kill, loomed over the fallen Anya. His laughter, devoid of mirth, echoed through the halls as he raised his blade, glinting with a deadly thirst. Dalia's blood ran cold, terror threatening to consume her.
But before the final blow could land, a chilling voice sliced through the tense silence. "Enough."
From the shadows stepped a figure cloaked in mystery. Their features were obscured by the fading light, their presence radiating an undeniable power. Jikirukuto, momentarily surprised, turned his gaze toward the newcomer, a flicker of unease crossing his cruel face.
"Who dares question my actions?" His voice dripped with venom, the amusement gone, replaced by a cold fury.
The figure stepped forward, their voice low and raspy, carrying the weight of countless untold stories. "This vengeance has claimed enough lives. Leave, and take your darkness with you."
A tense standoff ensued, the air thick with anticipation. Who was this stranger, and what stake did they have in this conflict? Were they a friend or foe, a harbinger of hope or just another player in this deadly game? As Dalia held her breath, the stranger took another step forward, their identity still shrouded in shadow.
Then, with a swift movement, the figure lunged towards Jikirukuto. A clash of steel erupted, sparks flying as blades met. The stranger's fighting style was fluid and precise, their movements honed by years of experience. Jikirukuto, caught off guard by the sudden attack, parried desperately, his initial amusement replaced by a grim determination.
The battle raged, the fate of the remaining survivors hanging in the balance. Each clang of steel resonated through the halls, a desperate chorus echoing the struggle for survival. As Dalia watched, caught between fear and a flicker of hope, a question burned in her mind: Who was this mysterious savior, and would their arrival be enough to turn the tide against the relentless darkness?
To be continued...
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone