The wagon rolled over the uneven dirt road, its wheels groaning under the weight. The sun hung low in the sky, its light filtering through the dense forest that flanked them on either side. The morning air was cool, yet a sense of tension had begun to creep into the journey.

  They soon found themselves in front of what had once been a proud bridge. Now, the ancient stonework lay in ruins, large chunks of the structure scattered like fallen dominoes into the stream below. Rika hopped down from the wagon, her brow furrowed as she approached the edge.

  “No way we’re getting across this,” she said. “Bridge looks like it’s been destroyed recently. Could’ve been intentional.”

  “Do we have a way around?” Kale asked.

  Rika shrugged, glancing back at the forest. “There’s another path that curves west, but I’ve never taken it. Could lead us somewhere, though.”

  They steered the wagon onto the unfamiliar path, the forest growing denser as the road narrowed. After what felt like an hour of quiet travel, something emerged ahead—a temple, hidden behind thick trees and partially obscured by creeping vines. Its towering spires and grand steps hinted at a former majesty, but as they drew closer, a foreboding feeling settled over the group.

  Its towering spires and grand steps spoke of a former majesty, but something was wrong. The air here felt unnatural, as if the land itself recoiled from the structure. As they drew closer, the signs became undeniable.

  At the temple’s base, stone pillars stood weathered and fractured, their surfaces scarred with strange marks. The once-pristine steps were littered with debris, broken statues, shattered ornaments, and dark stains that hinted at violence. Near the entrance, a carriage and a supply wagon stood abandoned, their haphazard placement adding to the unease. Tethered nearby, restless horses stamped and snorted, their agitation slicing through the oppressive silence.

  “Looks like we’re not the only ones here,” Kale muttered. “Whoever did this... they’re still inside.”

  Rika leaned against the wagon and slapped her warhammer. “Looks like you might have someone to play with soon enough.”

  Liliana drifted closer as she studied the scene. “This isn’t just a raid. It’s desecration. Whoever’s behind this wants more than treasure.” She motioned to the scattered pieces of statues, their faces smashed in. “They’re defiling this temple.”

  As they approached the grand entrance, Kale’s eyes scanned the shattered statues of the tall, regal figure that once stood proudly at the base of the structure. He furrowed his brow, glancing at Liliana. “Who did this place belong to?”

  Liliana floated closer to the fallen statues to inspect them. “Orestios. The Father of the Horizon.”

  Kale raised an eyebrow. “The Father of the Horizon?”

  Liliana sighed, as if disappointed by his ignorance, though not surprised. “Orestios is one of the elder gods, a guardian of balance and order. His domain is the horizon, the line where the earth meets the sky, the point where opposites converge. He embodies the boundary between light and darkness, day and night, but also the barriers between realms, ensuring harmony across the planes of existence. His sanctuaries aren’t just temples; they’re havens. Travelers, priests, and even lost souls come seeking sanctuary, a moment of peace beneath his eternal watch.”

  “Doesn’t seem too peaceful now.”

  “No,” Liliana said. “Whoever did this... they wanted to destroy more than just a building. This is an attack on the god himself. Desecrating his temple is a way of challenging his authority.”

  “Looks like they’re making their point pretty clearly, Rika said. “Let’s see if we can pay them a visit.”

  Kale looked toward the temple’s towering arches, the grand doorway cracked and splintered, as if something massive had forced its way inside. “The Father of the Horizon,” he said under his breath, eyeing the shattered remains of the god’s likeness. “Who would target a god like him?”

  “Someone who wants to send a message,” Liliana said. This temple... it’s sacred ground. And now it’s been violated.”

  As they approached, an unnatural energy buzzed in the air, prickling their skin. The stones beneath their feet were cracked. Blood, dark and dried, stained the steps leading inside, a grisly reminder of the violence that had taken place. The ornate carvings along the temple’s walls had been defaced, symbols of balance scratched away and replaced by crude markings.

  “Listen,” Rika said as she pointed towards the entrance. The faint sound of metal clanging against stone echoed from within. “They’re still in there.”

  A figure lay slumped near the entrance—an old priest, his skin blackened and warped, his eyes staring into nothingness, mouth agape as if death had frozen him mid-plea. The taint of Xeroth’s magic was unmistakable. Inside the temple, more bodies were scattered across the floor, twisted and contorted in death. Black veins crawled from their wounds, pulsing with the lingering stain of the Lord of Unraveling, the Silent Rot.

  Kale unsheathed one of his daggers, his expression hardening. “Xeroth?”

  Liliana nodded. “Most likely.”

  The walls were scorched, deep gouges carved into the stone like some malevolent force had ripped through the temple. The stench of rot clung to the space, sharp and nauseating, turning the once-sacred hall into a defiled tomb, steeped in the foul magic of Xeroth’s followers.

  Liliana floated forward. “They’re not just defiling this place. They’re disrupting the balance. If they’re allowed to corrupt it further, it may tip the scales in Xeroth’s favor. We need to stop them before this place becomes irreversibly tainted.”

  They moved cautiously, their senses heightened as they ventured deeper into the temple. The once-ornate corridors, now cracked and marred by corruption, stretched before them. Flickering shadows danced along the walls, cast by the faint light of dying torches that sputtered as if struggling against the oppressive darkness.

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  Kale’s grip tightened around his dagger, his heart pounding in his chest. The stench of decay hung heavy in the air, mingling with an oppressive sense of dread. It felt as though the walls were closing in around them. From deeper within the temple, the faint, rhythmic clanging of metal echoed louder now.

  “Getting closer,” Rika muttered, giving the head of her warhammer an affectionate pat. “Don’t worry, big guy. You’ll be smashing things soon enough.”

  Liliana’s red eyes glowed faintly in the dim light. “They’re performing a ritual, the magic is still active. We need to move quickly.”

  As they rounded a corner, they found themselves in what appeared to be a grand hall. The high-vaulted ceilings arched overhead, but any majesty the hall once held had been tarnished. The intricate frescoes that adorned the walls had been defaced, replaced with twisted symbols scrawled in what looked like blood. Scattered across the floor were more bodies—priests and temple attendants, black veins, festering wounds, their limbs contorted in unnatural angles, faces frozen in expressions of agony.

  At the far end of the hall stood an altar, twisted into something grotesque. The once-pristine stone was smeared with dark ichor, its purity defiled. Several figures draped in tattered, hooded robes surrounded it. Shadows hid their faces, but their deliberate movements and the guttural chant that filled the air made their intent clear. The harsh, grating syllables clawed at Kale’s ears. Above the altar, dark energy swirled, pulsing with malevolence and ready to erupt.

  To the side of the hooded figures stood a towering juggernaut, his massive frame shrouded in tattered robes that hung heavily over him, masking much of his form. Yet the robes couldn’t mask his immense presence, nor the faint, sickly green glow that pulsed intermittently beneath the fabric, like embers smoldering in a dying fire.

  An aura of ruin radiated from him. He exuded the inevitability of destruction, a force so vast and unrelenting that neither mortal strength nor divine power had ever been able to unmake him. He was not a man; he was calamity given form.

  His bald, scarred head bore the brutal history of countless battles. Each mark a reminder of enemies who had tried and failed to bring him down. His hollow eyes were voids of cold indifference, sweeping over the trio with the detachment of a predator who had ended more lives than they could fathom, utterly unimpressed.

  A sneer spread across his cracked lips. “You shouldn’t have come here,” he said, his voice deep and grating. “This place belongs to Xeroth now.”

  A chill ran down Kale’s spine as the figure began to advance, moving with unsettling confidence. The other cultists continued their ritual, undeterred.

  “Take them down. Now.” Liliana said.

  Kale activated Bladeweaver’s Will, sending both of his daggers flying toward the cultists. The blades struck true, piercing the throats of two robed figures, their chants cut short as they fell to the ground. The massive man jerked his head toward Aeloria’s blade, his eyes widening in recognition.

  “Foolish boy, you brought it right to me,” the man growled. He leapt forward, faster than any man his size should be, his hand reached for Aeloria’s dagger, which was still lodged in the cultist’s throat.

  Kale froze, his heart sinking. He had just delivered Aeloria’s blade into their enemy’s hands.

  The man reached for the blade, but Rika closed the distance in an instant. With a fierce shout, she swung the Hammer of the Hiwani into his stomach. The blow landed with a thunderous impact, sending a shockwave through the room, cracks spreading across the stone floor. The man was launched backward, crashing into the far wall with a bone-rattling thud.

  Rika wasted no time. She snatched Aeloria’s blade from the fallen cultist and tossed it to Kale, who caught it mid-air.

  “Be more careful next time,” Liliana said.

  Kale nodded, shaking off the shock. He pulled out Mistress of the Enria, feeling the blade hum to life in his hand. The moment it touched his palm, a surge of power coursed through him. His movements felt lighter, faster, like he was walking on air, the magic of the sword heightening his speed and agility.

  With the massive man down, Kale turned his attention to the remaining cultists. The dark energy above the altar continued to swirl, pulsing with a sickening glow. If they didn’t act fast, the ritual would be completed.

  Kale darted forward, the Mistress of the Enria guiding his steps, his movements now impossibly swift. He weaved through the debris, closing in on the remaining robed figures. As he neared, one of the cultists turned, his hand outstretched, a tendril of dark magic lashing toward Kale. But Kale was faster. He ducked low, the magic whipping over his head as he drove the glowing sword into the cultist's gut. The blade pierced through the robes with ease, and the man dropped to the ground with a gurgled scream.

  At the same time, Rika swung in a wide arc, Hammer of the Hiwani glowing with golden energy. She brought it down on another cultist, the impact reverberating through the temple. The blow was so powerful that the robed figure was crushed beneath the hammer, his body folding unnaturally as the shockwave shattered the floor beneath him.

  “That’s two!” Rika shouted, her grin wicked.

  The final cultist raised his arms as she turned to face him. Dark energy spiraled outward, sputtering and crackling in the air as the foul magic coiled tighter, forming a protective shell.

  “You think you can hide behind that? I don’t think so,” Liliana said.

  Blood tendrils shot out from the fallen cultists, lashing at the barrier. The dark magic hissed as the tendrils wrapped around it, tightening like a vice. The cultist cried out as Liliana’s power tore through his defenses, breaking the barrier apart with a burst of crimson light.

  The man staggered, his hood falling back to reveal a gaunt, pale face twisted in agony. He barely had time to scream before Rika’s warhammer came crashing down on him, reducing him to nothing but a smear on the temple floor.

  The room fell silent, save for the crackling energy still swirling above the desecrated altar. The dark magic lingered, a tangible presence in the air, but the cultists were gone. For a brief moment, the trio stood amidst the wreckage, catching their breath.

  Kale wiped the sweat from his brow, his heart still racing from the fight. “Is it over?”

  “Now tha—” Rika began, but before she could finish, the massive man grabbed her by the leg, his grip like iron. With a roar, he swung her through a nearby pillar, shattering it into rubble. Dust and debris filled the air as the force of the impact reverberated through the temple. Still holding onto her, he slammed her into the floor.

  Kale’s eyes widened in horror as Rika lay stunned, her warhammer clattering to the side. He pointed Mistress of the Enria at the man, channeling Echoing Blades. Multiple shimmering blades materialized in the air, spinning toward the brute with a high-pitched hum. Each blade hit its mark, yet, to Kale’s dismay, they seemed to glance off him without leaving so much as a scratch.

  “Pathetic,” the man sneered, his voice filled with contempt. He turned his attention back toward Kale and began to stalk forward, his heavy footsteps echoing through the desecrated temple.

  Panic surged through Kale as he activated Swiftform, his body moving in a blur. He lunged at the man, hoping his speed would give him the advantage, but, to his shock, the man matched his speed, dodging Kale’s strike with a move just as fast.

  “How...?” Kale muttered, stunned by the man’s agility. Before he could recover, the man’s hand shot out, grabbing Kale’s arm. With a grunt, he flung Kale across the temple, sending him hurtling toward the stone wall with terrifying force.

  Liliana’s eyes narrowed as blood tendrils erupted from the fallen cultists, their lifeless forms twitching as her magic pulled at their veins. The tendrils snapped through the air, catching Kale mid-flight, wrapping around him and slowing his momentum just enough to prevent him from crashing into the wall. He landed softly, the tendrils unraveling as he caught his breath.

  “Thanks,” Kale gasped, shaken but alive.

  “Gratitude is pointless. You won’t live long enough to repay it,” the man said as he stepped toward Kale.