The catacombs beneath Caldria were a twisting maze of darkness and decay. As Alaric, Berik, and their allies descended deeper into the underground tunnels, the air grew colder, thick with the musty scent of damp stone and ancient secrets. Their footsteps echoed eerily off the walls, a stark reminder of the labyrinthine path they had chosen to tread.
Alaric's heart pounded with a mix of fear and determination. Every step they took brought them closer to the Children of Malice, the cult that had taken his siblings and countless other innocents. The memory of seeing them—bound, scared, but alive—had fueled his resolve to push forward, no matter the dangers they faced.
Berik led the way, his seasoned eyes scanning for traps and hidden enemies. The rest of the group followed closely, each member alert and ready for anything. The silence between them was heavy, filled with unspoken fears and the weight of what lay ahead.
"Stay close," Berik whispered, his voice barely audibles in the dim light cast by their torches. "These tunnels are riddled with traps. The COM doesn't take kindly to intruders."
Alaric nodded, gripping his short sword tightly. The blade felt heavier in his hand than usual, its weight a stark reminder of the battles to come. He glanced at Pipkin, who rode quietly on his shoulder, its small form glowing faintly in the darkness. Pipkin's presence, though small, provided a sense of comfort amidst the oppressive gloom.
As they moved deeper into the catacombs, the group encountered their first challenge—a series of intricate traps designed to maim or kill anyone who dared venture too far. Razor-sharp spikes, hidden pits, and magical wards filled the passageways, creating a deadly gauntlet that tested their skill and coordination.
Using his keen eye for detail and his knowledge of machinery, Alaric helped the group navigate the traps. He pointed out subtle signs of tripwires and pressure plates, using his tools to disable them or find alternative routes. His quick thinking and ingenuity proved invaluable, earning him nods of approval from Berik and the others.
Their progress was slow but steady, each step bringing them closer to their goal. The tension in the air was palpable, every shadow a potential threat, every sound a possible enemy. They encountered several low-ranked monsters along the way—twisted creatures corrupted by Malice that lurked in the shadows, waiting to ambush the unwary.
The group handled these encounters with precision, working together to dispatch the threats with minimal effort. Berik's swordsmanship and combat experience were evident as he led the charge, while Alaric's growing confidence and skill shone through in his swift, decisive actions.
After what felt like hours of navigating the treacherous tunnels, the group came upon a large, heavily guarded chamber. The room was dimly lit by torches, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Alaric's breath caught in his throat as he peered inside.
The chamber was filled with rows of cages, each one containing children of various ages. They huddled together, fear etched into their faces, their eyes wide with terror. Alaric's heart ached at the sight, his mind racing with thoughts of his own siblings. Were they here, trapped and scared like the others?
Berik held up a hand, signaling for the group to halt. "We need to be careful," he whispered. "This is heavily guarded. We can't just rush in."
Alaric clenched his fists, struggling to contain his emotions. He wanted nothing more than to charge in and free the children, to find his siblings and take them away from this nightmare. But he knew Berik was right. Recklessness would only get them all killed.
As they watched, a group of COM members entered the chamber, dragging a new batch of children with them. Alaric's eyes widened as he saw the captives—his heart stopping when he spotted his siblings among them. Lia, Niko, Jorin, Maka, Juno, and Mari were all there, bound and looking exhausted but unharmed.
Alaric's breath hitched in his throat, and he instinctively moved forward, only for Berik to grab his arm and pull him back. "Wait," Berik hissed. "We can't afford to be seen. We need a plan."
Tears welled up in Alaric's eyes as he stared at his siblings. He had been so close, so close to reaching them. The fear and desperation in their eyes broke his heart, and he felt a surge of anger and helplessness rise within him.
As they continued to watch, they overheard the COM members discussing their plans. The cult was preparing for the final ritual, one that required the sacrifice of entire families to enhance their dark magic. Alaric's siblings, being related and showing latent magical potential, were considered a key component of this ritual.
"We need to act fast," Alaric whispered, his voice filled with urgency. "They're planning something big, and we don't have much time."
Berik nodded, his expression grim. "We need to take out those guards quietly and free the children. Then we can figure out our next move."
As the group began to plan their approach, a sudden noise broke the tension. Pipkin, sensing Alaric's distress, let out a small chirp. The sound, though quiet, echoed in the chamber, drawing the attention of the COM members.
"Who's there?" one of the cultists shouted, his eyes scanning the shadows.
Alaric's heart raced as he quickly tried to silence Pipkin, but it was too late. The COM members had spotted them, and an alarm was raised. Chaos erupted as the cultists rushed toward them, weapons drawn and spells at the ready.
"Fight!" Berik shouted, raising his sword. "Protect the children!"
Alaric, driven by a surge of fear and desperation, charged forward, ignoring the danger. He fought with everything he had, his focus solely on reaching his siblings. But before he could get to them, a powerful COM member—a dark mage clads in flowing robes—appeared, blocking his path.
The mage's eyes glowed with dark energy as he raised his hands, chanting a spell. Shadows twisted around him, forming a barrier that Alaric couldn't break through.
"Not so fast," the mage sneered. "You're not going anywhere."
Alaric's heart pounded as he realized the gravity of their situation. They were outnumbered, surrounded, and facing a formidable enemy. His siblings were just out of reach, and he felt the weight of failure bearing down on him.
As the group prepared to defend themselves, a gunshot rang out, and the dark mage's barrier shattered. The mage staggered, a look of shock crossing his face before he crumpled to the ground, a bullet wound in his chest.
The group turned to see a figure emerge from the shadows, a sniper rifle slung over her shoulder. Rayna, the enigmatic S-rank hero, had arrived, her expression cold and determined.
"You're a beacon for trouble it seems," Rayna said, her voice calm and authoritative. "Looks like you could use some help."
Alaric stared at her in shock, a mix of relief and confusion flooding his senses. "Rayna? Why are you here?"
Rayna's gaze shifted to the children in the cages, her eyes narrowing with a steely resolve. "I'm here for the same reason you are—to stop the COM and save those who can still be saved."
A heavy silence followed, broken only by the distant drip of water and the muffled whimpers of the imprisoned. No words were needed—only a shared understanding passed between them. One by one, the group turned toward the passage that yawned deeper into the earth, their resolve hardening like steel under pressure.
Without another word, they moved as one.
The deeper Alaric, Berik, Rayna, and their allies descended into the catacombs, the colder and more oppressive the air became. The walls, once merely damp and dark, now seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy, as if the very stones were imbued with the malice of the Children of Malice. The torches flickered in and out, casting twisted shadows that danced ominously along the narrow passageways. The echo of their footsteps seemed to grow louder, swallowed by an overwhelming silence that only deepened their sense of dread.
They moved cautiously, knowing they were nearing the heart of the cult's operations. Each step was measured, every sound scrutinized for signs of danger. Alaric's heart raced, a mixture of fear and determination driving him forward. He kept his eyes on Berik's back, following closely, Pipkin nestled against his chest for comfort. Rayna moved like a shadow, her sniper rifle in hand, eyes constantly scanning for threats. Their allies, those who had joined them on this impossible mission, were equally tense, gripping their weapons tightly.
As they turned a corner, the passage opened up into a vast chamber. The sheer size of the room was staggering. Stretching out before them was a sea of black-robed figures, thousands of members of the Children of Malice gathered in a massive ritual. At the center of the congregation, a colossal altar stood, covered in bloodstained carvings and surrounded by glowing runes. The room buzzed with a sinister energy, a low hum that reverberated through the stone and into their very bones.
Alaric's breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight. He had expected a small group, maybe a dozen cultists at most. But this—this was an army. An army of darkness, gathered to commit an atrocity of unimaginable proportions.
High above the altar, an SS-rank monster hovered, its massive, bat-like wings slowly beating the air, creating a gust that stirred the robes of the cultists below. The creature's eyes glowed a sickly green, and its presence filled the chamber with an overwhelming aura of death and decay. It was a nightmarish being, its form shifting and writhing as if it were made of shadows and despair itself.
Berik's face hardened, his hand tightening around his sword. "This is bad," he muttered, his voice barely audibles over the hum of the ritual. "There's no way we can fight our way through that. We're severely outnumbered."
Rayna's expression was unreadable, but her grip on her rifle tightened. "We need to think carefully. One wrong move, and we're all dead."
Alaric stared in horror as he saw his siblings, chained and bound, being led towards the altar. Panic surged through him, and he took a step forward, only for Berik to grab his arm. "Wait," Berik hissed. "You got a death wish?!."
But it was too late. One of the cultists spotted them and raised the alarm. Shouts filled the chamber as hundreds of eyes turned towards the intruders. Alaric's heart dropped as he saw the cultists begin to draw their weapons, dark magic swirling around their hands.
The group braced for battle, but it was immediately clear that they were hopelessly outmatched. The cultists swarmed towards them, a tide of black robes and gleaming steel. Berik fought valiantly, his sword cutting through the enemy ranks, but for every cultist he felled, two more took their place.
Rayna fired her rifle with deadly precision, each shot finding its mark, but even her skills were not enough to stem the tide. The others fought desperately, but the sheer number of enemies was overwhelming.
As the battle raged, monstrous creatures began to emerge from the shadows—A-rank beasts with scales like steel and claws like daggers. They tore through the group with terrifying ease, leaving a trail of blood and death in their wake.
Alaric fought with everything he had; his mind focused solely on reaching his siblings. But every time he got close, another wave of enemies pushed him back. He saw Berik fighting beside him, slashing through cultists with grim determination. Pipkin leapt from Alaric's shoulder, clawing and biting at any enemy that came too close.
Then, in a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, a massive S-rank monster—a hulking beast with eyes that burned like molten lava—charged at Berik. The seasoned warrior turned to face it, but he was too slow. The monster's claws slashed through his armor like paper, tearing into his flesh with a sickening crunch.
Alaric's world seemed to collapse around him as he watched Berik, his friend and mentor, lose the light before his eyes. Despair threatened to consume him, but he pushed it down, forced himself to keep moving.
He barely noticed Pipkin leaping back to his shoulder, blood matting the small creature's fur, claws still red from the fight. "We're almost there," Alaric whispered, voice cracking. "Just hold on."
They pushed through another wave—Alaric's blade growing heavier with each swing. And then it happened.
A jagged bolt of black lightning arced from the altar, searing through the air. Alaric turned too late. It struck Pipkin square in the chest.
The creature gave a sharp, pained cry—short, almost confused—before going limp, smoke curling from his tiny body. Alaric stumbled, catching him in trembling hands.
"No…" he breathed, horror sinking in. Pipkin's eyes, so full of life and fire, stared blankly now. His chest no longer rose.
The weight of loss pressed in from all sides—Berik bleeding out, Pipkin slain, his siblings moments from sacrifice. The altar pulsed with dark power, the High Priestess chanting ever louder, and all Alaric could do was scream.
But the gods seemed to have abandoned him. As he finally reached the altar, he saw the High Priestess of the Children of Malice raise her hands, chanting in a language that hurt his ears to hear. Dark energy swirled around her, and Alaric's siblings were dragged to the center of the altar, their eyes wide with terror.
"No! Please, no!" Alaric cried, his voice breaking as he tried to push forward. But he was too late. The High Priestess brought her hands down, and a blinding flash of light engulfed the altar.
Alaric was thrown back, the force of the magic slamming him into the ground. He lay there, dazed and disoriented, his vision blurred. He tried to rise, to see what had happened, but his body refused to obey.
When his vision cleared, he saw his siblings' bodies lying cold, lifeless on the altar, their eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. A different reaction than the other sacrifices had occurred, but it seemed insignificant. The High Priestess looked down at the bodies with a frown, her expression one of mild disappointment.
"Nothing happened," she said, her voice cold and detached. "Continue with the next group."
Alaric's world shattered. He had failed. He had failed to save them. His siblings were gone, sacrificed like cattle, and he was powerless to stop it.
Rage and despair welled up inside him, a torrent of emotion that threatened to tear him apart. He felt his insecurities rise, turning into a seething hatred—hatred for the Children of Malice, for the gods who had abandoned him, for the world that had taken everything from him, and for himself, for being too weak to save those he loved.
Unbeknownst to everyone in the chamber, the sacrifices did reach the Destroyer in its ethereal plane. The prior sacrifices had been mere pebbles, insignificant annoyances to the sleeping entity. But when the Destroyer received the six siblings—six equal souls—it stirred, the familiarity of their essence causing it to open its eyes slightly. For a moment, it was as if the universe itself held its breath.
Then, it heard Alaric's thoughts—his cries of anguish, his pleas for strength, his hatred for all that had failed him. The Destroyer's eyes snapped open, fully awake and malevolent, sensing an opportunity. It reached out, using Alaric's despair and rage as a conduit, a means to escape its prison.
Alaric screamed as a searing pain ripped through his chest, a darkness clawing its way into his very soul. He felt something ancient and evil take hold, and before he could comprehend what was happening, the Destroyer emerged from his chest, tearing a gaping hole through his body.
The creature was monstrous, a being of pure malevolence that radiated an aura of death and destruction. Its mere presence shattered the catacombs, the stone walls crumbling as if made of sand. The cultists, the monsters, even the High Priestess—all were consumed by its fury, reduced to ashes in an instant.
The catacombs collapsed in on themselves, the ground shaking as a massive crater formed where the chamber had been. Alaric lay at the edge of the destruction, his body broken and bleeding, his vision fading as consciousness slipped away.
As his world darkened, he saw beings descending from the sky, their forms glowing with a divine light. He tried to reach out, to call for help, but his strength was gone. The last thing he saw was a hand reaching for him, and then, there was a blinding flash of light.
And then, nothing.