The cultist leader stood behind his wounded and battered men. “You have done well,” he spoke with a prideful voice. “The Imperial forces will keep us no longer.” He clenched his fist, waving it towards the Honour Guard. “We will ascend to the thrones of the Old Gods!”

  Midhir scowled. What throne? There were no thrones where the Old Gods slumbered – just an endless darkness, and the terrifying eye. His expression soured as he watched the cultists slowly get up, emboldened by the words of their leader.

  The Honour Guard clenched their left fists again, pressing them against their chest plates. The augments embedded onto their gauntlets lit up as pieces of rocks started floating around them. The cultists, though frightened, held their ground, summoning the power of their own augments.

  Balls of crimson flames clashed against walls of rock. As soon as the resonances were cast, the Honour Guard charged towards their opponents. With no place to retreat – without the advantage of terrain and knowledge they had in the Old Growth, the cultist fell, one by one. Blood wet the ground, and splattered on the walls as the Honour Guard showed no mercy.

  Midhir’s gaze fixed on their leader. He had retreated into his cell once more, though he wasn’t cowering. His hands were touching both sides of his helmet as he seemed to be in a daze.

  Alarm bells rang in his mind as he reached within and summoned his power. Silver-white flames formed on his curved sword, then gathered in his palm. With a fluid motion, he hurled the ball of flames towards the man. Whatever resonance he was casting couldn’t be allowed to come to completion.

  “Sir, no!” One of the cultists shouted. It was the voice of a young man, no older than Midhir. The desperation in his voice was palpable. Gasping as he saw the flight of the silver-white ball of flames, he leapt between his leader and Midhir.

  The ball of flames hit his raised arms, enveloping him as a scream escaped his lips.

  The cultist leader turned around, he looked at his subordinate first as the white flames clung to his hands arms and face and burnt his hair. Then, he raised his head. While the helmet hid his expression, and gaze, Midhir knew he was looking at him.

  “You are a cruel man, Prince.” The cultist leader spoke up, raising his voice. “Killing a man with the fires of the olden days…” He shook his head as his subordinate’s screams died down. The flames had vanished already.

  Midhir couldn’t waste his already dwindling strength on a lowly pawn. He glanced at the raging battle that had now scattered throughout the narrow, dimly lit hallways of the dungeons. It was impossible to tell who was winning, though it was hard to imagine the Honour guard lose. Not in Derwen Hold, in land they knew, while fully geared up, and moving in pairs.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “But it matters not – we will all ascend, even those who have been lost.” The man raised his arms towards the ceiling as his voice trembled with what Midhir assumed was excitement. “It is close, prince!” He warned him. “It is so very close. Your empire can’t stop us anymore!” Then, he slammed his palms together.

  Arwen gasped. “A resonance-“

  An ear piercing ring stunned him, cutting off all other noise. Then, the man’s helmet lit up – a light so bright that it could rival the sun shone from the plume on its top. It blinded him, searing itself into his eyelids as he shut his eyes close. It lasted only a split second before slowly vanishing.

  His eyes shot open as he tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. Trying to see through the after images burned into his eyes.

  The air rippled around the cultist leader’s hands. He slowly parted his palms, then took a single, big step forward. “Behold!” He exclaimed, stretching his arms on either side. “Watch as the world bends to our will! Ascension is nigh!”

  The ripples moved through the air as the colours of the wall behind them started to change. A cold, biting wind blew as what was smoothed obsidian walls became a narrow path, surrounded by dark, tall trees. The ground was covered in intertwining roots, and the forest canopy started where the obsidian ceiling ended, not allowing even a glimpse of the sky.

  The obsidian itself had shifted as well – it now looked like a cave exit, with its jagged walls and trough edges.

  And waiting there were more cultists, clad in dark brown and grey clothes, their weapons in hand. As soon as the passageway opened, they marched through.

  “I need the prince alive. Kill everyone else.” Their leader ordered. “Do you see, your highness?” He exclaimed. “Do you see the power granted to us by the Old Gods? We will ascend, and there is nothing your empire can do to stop us!”

  Midhir wiped the blood flowing down his eye. The sharp pain he had felt before returned. Shadows danced on the walls, and lights that shouldn’t be glimmered oddly near the ceiling, slowly concentrating around the passageway that had just formed.

  “You are destroying the veil!” Arwen screamed. Her sharp, ear piercing voice gave pause to cultist and imperial soldier alike.

  The cultist leader raised his chin. “I am.” He stated proudly. “Once it has fallen, the Old Gods will finally awaken, and we will be granted ascension!”

  The dream of himself, kneeling in a circle of flames flashed before his eyes. His hands were becoming claw-like, his hair turning white. His scream had become a howl in that dream as his humanity slipped away.

  “If that’s ascension, then you don’t want it.” His voice was but a whisper, drowned out by the sound of armoured footsteps rushing down the stairs.

  Captain Marr rushed past him, her blade wreathed in flames, her armour dyed red with fresh blood. She shot a single glance at him, her face turning pale as she noticed the blood still flowing down his eye. Then, she turned her gaze at the cultist leader. Seemingly unphased by the twisted reality before her, she pointed her blade at him.

  Her men followed her, dozens of soldiers – the elite of the Imperial Army, took their place beside her. Then, another set of footsteps sounded, echoing as they slowly descended the staircase.

  “I think it’s about time we ended this.” A clear voice rang, commanding everyone’s attention. “Shall I, your highness?”