章 8: Chapter 8: The Herald’s Judgment
The First Herald towered above the crumbling skyline, its form a shifting mass of shadow and ichor. Tendrils writhed in the air like the limbs of some cosmic predator, their touch dissolving buildings and reducing entire streets to void-like scars.
Eryas stood his ground at the edge of the ruined district. The Relic hummed in his hand, the whispers now a constant torrent in his mind. They urged him forward, promising power beyond imagination if he would only embrace their call.
But there was no trust in their words, only necessity.
The Herald's voice rumbled through the air, a deafening chorus of discordant tones.
"Bearer of the Veil's Shard. You are not worthy. Submit, and be consumed."
Eryas raised the Relic, the shadows around him thickening into an armor-like shroud. His voice was steady despite the chaos around him. "Not today."
The Herald's form shifted, its mass compressing and elongating until a grotesque face emerged from the void. Its eyes were hollow, yet they burned with an ancient, malignant light.
"You defy inevitability."
The First Clash
The Herald struck first, its tendrils lashing out with unnatural speed. Eryas dodged the initial attack, his movements bolstered by the Relic's power. He rolled to the side, firing his revolver into the nearest tendril. The bullets didn't pierce the eldritch flesh but disrupted its movement long enough for him to counter.
With a shout, he unleashed the shadows coiling around him, sending a torrent of dark tendrils toward the Herald. The shadows met the creature's form, colliding with a sound like shattering glass. For a moment, the Herald recoiled, its shape flickering.
But it wasn't enough.
The Herald retaliated with a wave of energy, an all-consuming pulse that shattered the ground and sent Eryas flying into a nearby wall. Pain shot through his body as he struggled to his feet, the whispers in his mind growing louder.
"You cannot win as you are," they hissed. "Let us guide you."
"Not yet," Eryas muttered, forcing himself upright.
A City in Chaos
The battle had not gone unnoticed. Civilians fled in every direction, their screams lost in the cacophony of destruction. The Hierarchy's forces arrived in droves, deploying their mechanized Wardens and elite soldiers to contain the chaos.
But they were woefully outmatched. The Herald's tendrils tore through their ranks, reducing entire platoons to ash and twisted metal.
From the corner of his eye, Eryas spotted a familiar figure: Veyra, darting through the chaos, her daggers flashing as she dispatched a Warden. She caught his gaze and shouted something, but her words were lost in the roar of the battle.
Before Eryas could respond, the Herald's attention shifted back to him.
"The Veil calls for you, Vessel. Submit, or I shall unmake you."
A Desperate Gamble
Eryas knew he couldn't win in his current state. The Relic's power was vast, but it was incomplete—fragmented, like him. The whispers hinted at another path, one that would give him the strength to fight but at a cost he wasn't sure he could bear.
The shadows around him writhed as if sensing his hesitation.
"Damn it," he growled. "Fine. Show me."
The Relic flared to life, its glow intensifying until it enveloped Eryas completely. The whispers became a singular voice, cold and commanding.
"The Veil accepts your choice. Take from it what you need."
Pain lanced through Eryas as the shadows surged into him, fusing with his body. His vision darkened, and for a moment, he thought he might lose himself entirely. But when the light faded, he stood transformed.
His armor of shadows had solidified, forming a jagged, almost organic exoskeleton. His right arm was now a blade of pure darkness, pulsing with eldritch energy. The whispers had quieted, replaced by a chilling clarity.
The Herald paused, its form flickering as if in recognition.
"You embrace the Veil. But it is not enough."
Turning the Tide
This time, Eryas struck first. He leapt into the air with inhuman speed, his shadow-blade slicing through one of the Herald's massive tendrils. The creature howled, its form recoiling as ichor sprayed into the air.
Eryas didn't stop. He moved like a force of nature, weaving through the Herald's attacks and striking with precision. Each blow weakened the creature, its massive form shrinking as it retracted its tendrils to protect itself.
But the fight wasn't without cost. Every strike, every use of the Relic's power, drew him further into the abyss. He could feel the shadows within him growing stronger, threatening to consume what little humanity he had left.
"You cannot win this way," the Herald's voice echoed. "You only hasten your end."
The Fractured Veil
As the battle raged, the rift in the sky began to widen. More shapes emerged from its depths—smaller than the Herald but no less terrifying. They were twisted, amorphous creatures, each one radiating the same eldritch energy.
Eryas cursed under his breath. He couldn't fight them all.
From the ground below, Veyra shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Draegon! The Spire!"
Eryas followed her gaze to the towering Obsidian Spire, its peak still glowing faintly from the Herald's arrival. The structure pulsed with the same energy as the Relic, as if it were connected to the rift.
The whispers returned, their tone urgent. "Destroy the Spire. Sever the link. Only then can you stand against the Herald."
It wasn't much of a plan, but it was all he had.
A Reckless Plan
Eryas charged toward the Spire, his newfound speed allowing him to dodge the Herald's attacks. The smaller creatures swarmed around him, but Veyra and a handful of surviving rebels fought to keep them at bay.
Reaching the Spire's base, Eryas raised the Relic. The whispers screamed in unison, their energy surging through him as he focused on the towering structure.
The shadows erupted from his body, coiling around the Spire like massive serpents. With a deafening crack, the structure began to collapse, its eldritch energy spiralling upward toward the rift.
The Herald howled in rage, its form flickering violently as the connection to the Spire was severed.
The Veil's Reckoning
As the rift began to close, the Herald turned its full attention to Eryas. Its voice boomed, louder and more furious than ever.
"You have delayed the inevitable. But the Veil will claim you. You cannot escape it."
With one final, earth-shattering roar, the Herald retreated into the collapsing rift. The remaining creatures followed, their forms dissolving into smoke as the rift sealed shut.
The city was left in ruins, the air heavy with the stench of ash and decay.
Eryas fell to his knees, the Relic slipping from his grasp. The shadows receded, leaving him feeling hollow and cold.
Veyra approached, her expression a mixture of relief and concern. "It's over," she said softly.
"No," Eryas replied, his voice barely a whisper. He looked down at the Relic, its surface now cracked and dim. "This is just the beginning."
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