The chants of the zealots reverberated through the city.
"We are the Wrath of God!"
A wave of fanatics swept forward, a tide of gold and crimson as their banners snapped in the wind. Torchlight gleamed off their polished armor, and their clerics wielded blazing staves that seemed to drive shadows into retreat.
For Conor, it was as though he faced his greatest foe: light.
Yet he stood firm, his lips curling into a sharp smile, fangs flashing in the gloom as his shadow spread outward, engulfing the streets in a tide of darkness.
"Then meet the wrath of the dark."
Conor's shadows surged like a living sea, climbing walls, extinguishing torchlight, and devouring alleys until the battlefield was transformed into a fractured realm of twilight. Zealots who ventured into the encroaching black found themselves ensnared, their screams silenced as tendrils coiled around their throats and dragged them into suffocating darkness.
From the murk, Darkwing's protégé moved with ghostly precision. One instant he was absent; the next, he appeared from a shadow behind a zealot, blades flashing as he ended the man's life. Before the body struck the ground, he had already vanished.
The zealots struggled to regroup, shouting fervent prayers, but their formation crumbled as an unseen predator hunted them within Conor's shadowy domain.
"Left flank down!" Immortal commanded, his grim approval evident as Conor's tide of shadow tore through the zealots like wildfire. "Keep pressing!"
The coordination between the two was a fearsome spectacle.
With a single motion, Conor raised a hand, shadows spiraling upward into a massive spear of black smoke. He hurled it into a cluster of zealots, impaling three at once. Their bodies disintegrated into dust as the shadow tendril consumed them entirely.
The protégé emerged at the base of the spear, vaulting upward along its length as if it were a bridge, only to appear at its tip and drive his dagger into a priest's skull. Before the others could react, he dissolved into the shadows beneath their feet.
"Your shadows make me faster than ever," the protégé murmured, his voice echoing in Conor's ear as he appeared beside him. "It's like I can be everywhere at once."
Conor grinned, his eyes faintly glowing yellow in the dim light. "Then let's make them believe we are everywhere."
And they did.
The zealots were besieged from all sides, their weapons cutting through nothing but empty air. One soldier swung at Conor, but his blade passed harmlessly through a shadowy illusion. Before he could recover, Darkwing's protégé erupted from the darkness beneath him, his blades flashing twice. The zealot crumpled silently, blood pooling on the pavement.
Another group raised their shields and began chanting in unison, summoning light to repel the darkness. But the shadows beneath them writhed, and Conor rose like a specter, claws extending from his hands. With a single savage swipe, he tore through three men at once, their shields falling to the ground with a clatter.
The protégé burst forth from the shadows of the fallen, his daggers already slick with blood. "Wrath of God, huh?" he sneered, kicking a dying zealot aside. "Looks more like wrath of the grave."
Above, the Guardians and Teen Team held their positions, but even they cast glances toward the carnage the pair had unleashed. Marie's fists dripped with blood as she struck down zealots, but for a moment, even she was frozen in awe at the scene.
Conor's shadows were no longer mere weapons; they had become a battlefield.
Every zealot who dared step into them vanished. Every patch of darkness turned into a portal to death.
At the center of it all, Conor and the protégé clashed like twin demons, one wielding the abyss, the other slipping through it like a second skin.
But the Order of Light had come prepared.
The clerics raised their staves in unison, their burning hymn echoing as light flared, pushing back the encroaching shadows. Zealots raised golden shields etched with glowing scripture, and as the radiance spread, the shadows hissed and shrank, retreating like injured beasts.
Conor snarled, his teeth bared, as the light invaded his domain. His tendrils of power recoiled, retreating under the relentless chant.
"They're cleansing it," Darkwing's protégé muttered, appearing beside him, sweat dripping from his brow as he strained to navigate the shrinking shadows. "Your darkness, it's fading!"
Conor's eyes narrowed, his glare sharpening. "Then I'll make it deeper."
With a fierce thrust of his arms, jagged waves of shadow erupted, tearing through golden shields. Fanatics screamed as the black tendrils pulled them into the abyss, even as the clerics' light continued to eat away at the darkness.
It was a battle of extremes, light and shadow, scripture and abyss.
For a moment, it appeared that Conor's will might triumph. His shadow expanded once more, engulfing the zealots' formation. The protégé disappeared into the darkness and emerged behind a high priest, driving his blade straight through the man's spine. Blood sprayed across the ground as the cleric fell, their chant faltering.
The zealots broke into chaos, their hymn fracturing as the predators closed in again.
Conor pressed forward, his shadow morphing into claws and spears that encircled him, each movement a symphony of destruction. His voice echoed across the battlefield, deep and seething with fury.
"You claim to be the Wrath of God? Then tell your god his wrath ends here."
But destiny shifted in an instant.
A new chant erupted from the remaining priests, louder, more frantic. One of them held a relic high above his head, a bow of radiant gold, glowing like the sun itself. Its string was forged from pure light, pulled taut with an arrow crafted not of wood or steel, but of sacred scripture.
The zealots collapsed to their knees, crying out in reverence. "The Arrow of Absolution!"
The priest's eyes locked onto Conor, ablaze with divine wrath.
Conor turned just in time to witness the bow release.
The arrow screamed through the night like a comet. It pierced his shoulder, tearing through the other side in a burst of searing light. His body convulsed in agony, his scream raw and unrestrained.
For a fleeting moment, silence blanketed the battlefield.
Then Conor's right arm dropped from his body, hitting the ground with a grotesque thud.
The shadows surrounding him trembled.
And for the first time since the battle began, Conor faltered.
The battlefield was a harrowing scene of chaos, shrouded in smoke, drenched in blood, and illuminated by unrelenting light.
Conor staggered forward, one arm hanging limp and useless, the other clawing desperately at the disobedient shadows swirling around him. Each breath he took was a jagged agony tearing through his chest. The street beneath him was a grim tableau of death, littered with the fallen bodies of both zealots and heroes. The searing glow of the Arrow of Absolution burned relentlessly into his ruined shoulder, a constant reminder of his vulnerability.
Darkwing's protégé moved with uncanny precision beside him, darting between patches of darkness with lethal efficiency. Though lacking superhuman endurance, his mastery of shadow traversal allowed him to strike with near-omnipresence on the battlefield. He flitted from shadow to shadow, creating distractions, cutting down zealots with precision, and desperately trying to give Conor room to recover.
"Conor!" the protégé hissed urgently, materializing from the shadows beneath a shattered streetlight. "Get a grip! You're losing control!"
"I—I can't," Conor rasped, his teeth clenched against the agony radiating through his body. "The light… it's too strong. I can't… focus!"
The zealots of the Wrath of God sensed his growing weakness and surged forward, their shields raised high and their staves blazing with divine radiance. Their voices thundered in unison, a chant that filled the air: "The Wrath of God will consume you! The Wrath of God will consume you!"
Conor's shadows writhed uncontrollably, lashing out at nothingness. The protégé continued his relentless assault, leaping from one shadow to the next, but the unyielding swarm pressed on, overwhelming even his exceptional skill. The hero's temporary frailty left them perilously vulnerable.
And then the heavens split open with light.
From the pinnacle of one of the few remaining skyscrapers, a figure descended with an overwhelming presence, silencing the pandemonium below.
Knight Apollo.
His armor shone like molten gold, sunfire radiating from every edge and surrounding him in a halo of brilliance. The battlefield seemed dim in comparison to his radiance. His voice cut through the chaos like a blade as he spoke.
"Cease this folly. You cannot withstand the judgment of the Light."
Even the zealots hesitated, awe and fear mingling in their eyes. Conor, however, felt no fear, only the oppressive weight of inadequacy, pain, and exhaustion.
Knight Apollo landed with a shockwave that fractured the pavement, sending tremors rippling through the street. The protégé steadied himself, blades poised, while even the seasoned Guardians flinched at the sheer force of Apollo's presence.
Conor's shadows faltered violently. Every attempt to summon them shattered against Apollo's overwhelming brilliance. Claws grasped nothing, tendrils lashed at empty air. The protégé darted forward, weaving through shadows and striking at zealots to shield Conor. Yet, even he understood the limits of his powers in the face of the radiant light now suffusing the battlefield.
"Conor, focus!" the protégé shouted. "I can cover you, but you have to control the shadows!"
Conor's voice cracked, hoarse and furious. "I… I can't! The light… it burns them away!"
Sensing weakness, the zealots advanced. Conor's shadow constructs quivered and receded, shrinking under the relentless golden light emanating from Apollo and the priests. The protégé moved swiftly, attacking with precision from every shadow, but without Conor's control over the darkness, his efforts were confined to defense rather than dominance.
Knight Apollo advanced with unwavering intent, each step precise and deliberate. His spear of sunfire pulsed with radiant energy, casting light into every crevice and driving out the lingering shadows. Conor struggled to summon his powers, clawing at the air in an attempt to forge the darkness into lethal forms, but the overwhelming brilliance of Apollo's light rendered his efforts futile. The protégé darted from shadow to shadow, intercepting zealots who sought to outflank Conor, yet even his movements were constrained, there were no safe shadows left to traverse.
Conor collapsed to one knee, the agony of his missing arm and shattered shoulder making each breath a torment. The shadows around him flickered feebly, twisting and snapping like dying embers. Though he was an enhanced human, gifted with extraordinary strength and resilience, even his formidable endurance was insufficient against this relentless onslaught of divine light and fanatical zeal.
Knight Apollo's boots struck the ground with a sense of finality, and he raised his hand. Beams of concentrated sunfire converged, forming a spear that radiated divine authority and power. The pavement beneath Conor began to glow, the shadows resisting fiercely but gradually succumbing to the unyielding purity of Apollo's light.
The protégé materialized at Conor's side, slashing through an advancing zealot to prevent them from overwhelming his ally. "Conor! You can't give up now!" he shouted.
Conor's face twisted into a grimace of determination. "I… I won't… fall…" he rasped, drawing every ounce of his willpower to channel his pain and fury into the shadows. Yet, under the oppressive brilliance of Apollo's light, each construct he attempted to form crumbled instantly. The protégé continued to fight valiantly, cutting and defending, but without Conor's full command of the shadows, their coordination faltered for the first time in the battle.
Conor's breath came in ragged gasps. "I… I can't… hold it…" he rasped, his claws scraping helplessly against nothing as shadows writhed and fizzled in the blinding golden radiance. The protégé darted beside him, daggers flashing in swift arcs, but even his agility was tested to its limits. The diminishing pockets of darkness he relied on to maneuver were rapidly evaporating under the relentless light flooding the street.
Above them, Knight Apollo's golden bow gleamed, a living conduit of the sun's might. He nocked a radiant arrow, its shaft pulsing with concentrated solar energy, and drew the string back with impossibly precise force. The bow vibrated, emitting a hum that seemed to resonate through the very air itself.
Every arrow Apollo unleashed was a death sentence. One streaked past Conor, narrowly missing his head, and vaporized a zealot charging at him from behind. Another struck a crumbling wall, sending shards of stone and rubble flying like deadly shrapnel. The protégé twisted midair, barely evading the lethal debris, and retaliated with a flurry of dagger strikes, cutting down zealots attempting to flank them.
"Keep moving!" he shouted, diving into the fleeting shadows that still flickered weakly. But even those patches were tenuous, fading rapidly under Apollo's relentless assault.
Conor growled, forcing his shadows to surge upward as a massive, writhing barricade that smashed into an advancing squad of zealots. The shadows coiled around them, crushing them in suffocating black tendrils. Their screams echoed as the protégé moved in, his blades slicing silently through their throats. Yet before the shadows could fully claim them, Apollo released another arrow. It tore through the darkness, erupting in a brilliant explosion of golden light that obliterated the shadows and annihilated half the zealots ensnared within.
The protégé hit the ground hard, rolling to deflect another arrow aimed at him. Sparks flew where the arrow struck, scorching the edges of his coat. He spat blood, his eyes darting to Conor. "This… this is insane…"
Conor's yellow eyes burned with fury. "Then we become unpredictable," he hissed, unleashing a wave of shadows that twisted into jagged spikes, whips, and tendrils. One tendril lashed out at Apollo, intended to catch him off guard.
The knight calmly drew another arrow, releasing it with unerring precision. The shadow-tendril shattered before reaching him, scattering black fragments that fizzled and burned under the searing light. Conor snarled, staggering back as the protégé intercepted a zealot attempting to exploit the distraction.
"Every move we make, he counters before it even lands!" the protégé shouted, his daggers flying with deadly accuracy. Two zealots fell, but three more closed in, forcing him to retreat into another flickering shadow.
Conor strained to summon more darkness, his body trembling with exhaustion. "I… I can't keep up… with him!"
"Then fight smarter!" the protégé yelled back. He darted from shadow to shadow, cutting down zealots and diverting Apollo's focus from Conor whenever possible. A single mistake, a momentary lapse, and the knight's arrows could strike him down instantly.
Apollo released another arrow, this time aimed at the protégé. Twisting in midair, the protégé deflected it with a flash of his blades, sending it into the wall behind him, which exploded in molten light. He landed beside Conor, breathing heavily. "We can't let him pick us off!"
Gritting his teeth, Conor summoned his remaining strength to form a massive coiling serpent of shadows, directing it toward the zealots near Apollo. The protégé sprang along its sinuous body, dispatching zealots caught within it, but before the shadows could reach the knight, Apollo fired once more. The arrow sliced through the serpent, reducing it to a cascade of flickering black embers.
Agony, fatigue, and despair churned in Conor's chest. One arm hung useless, the other clawing at flickering shadows. The protégé bore a tapestry of cuts and burns from errant arrows and searing debris. Yet still, they pushed onward.
"Conor… we have to bait him! We need to pull him closer!" the protégé called out, dispatching a zealot with swift precision. "If we stay here, he'll tear us apart!"
Conor's eyes shimmered faintly yellow. "Fine…" he growled. "We draw him in…"
He willed the shadows to coalesce into a vast, writhing cage that enclosed himself and the protégé, ensnaring the zealots within. Tendrils lashed outward, capturing as many fanatics as possible and granting them fleeting moments of reprieve. Apollo's golden arrow whistled through the air, striking the shadowy construct, shattering a section and disintegrating those caught inside. The resulting shockwave hurled Conor and the protégé backward, their senses reeling.
Conor staggered to his feet, his shadows flickering feebly, locking eyes with the protégé. "Together… we strike. One chance. We end this or we fall."
The protégé gave a grim nod, blades poised. In unison, they moved, cutting through the dwindling shadows, dismantling zealots, and fracturing Apollo's concentration. The knight unleashed arrow after arrow, but the shadows writhed unpredictably, tangling with zealots and briefly obscuring their movements.
Conor's claws extended, tearing through golden shields to reach the fanatics behind them. The protégé leapt gracefully, spinning mid-air to dispatch another zealot while narrowly evading an incoming arrow. Sparks danced where the arrow grazed his coat, yet he pressed on, undeterred.
Apollo's golden bow gleamed as another arrow flew, striking near the protégé and sending him sprawling into the rubble. Blood streaked down his temple, but he quickly regained his footing. Conor lunged, claws tearing through a zealot attempting to flank them, but another arrow whizzed past his face, singeing his hair and igniting nearby debris.
Every moment was a harrowing balance of survival and peril. The shadows threatened to crumble under Apollo's unyielding assault, yet the protégé exploited every inch of the terrain and darkness, darting, weaving, and striking with precision. Conor, driven by raw strength, agony, and fury, extended the shadows further, transforming them into jagged spikes and writhing tendrils that lashed out toward the knight.
Apollo's arrows sliced through tendril after tendril, but a fragment of shadow struck his foot, forcing him to leap. Seizing the moment, the protégé surged forward, blades poised for a decisive strike, only to be caught by another arrow, this one embedding itself in his shoulder. He gritted his teeth, blood streaming freely, and twisted mid-air, landing behind another veil of shadow.
Conor's claws raked again, shredding a zealot's shield before hurling the man into a group of fanatics. The protégé emerged from the shadows, daggers carving deep wounds, but Apollo's arrows rained down with relentless precision. The battlefield churned with chaos, a furious clash of light and shadow, steel and sinew, rage and anguish.
Despite their combined prowess, the pair was battered and bleeding. The shadows flickered, their daggers gleamed with blood, and each arrow drove them further into retreat. The streets were strewn with the fallen, zealots and heroes alike, while ash, smoke, and blood mingled into a suffocating shroud.
Yet neither Conor nor the protégé yielded. Every movement, every strike was a desperate but calculated effort. The protégé moved like a phantom through the shadows, dispatching zealots before they could overwhelm, while Conor shaped the darkness into weapons of wrath and destruction, striking with relentless fury.
Apollo's bow remained unyielding, each arrow fired with precision, testing their limits, searing away the shadows, and keeping them locked in a relentless defensive battle.
Amid the chaos, Conor's voice rang out, rough and strained: "We… fight… through it… or die!"
The protégé's gaze sharpened, their resolve hardening like tempered steel. "Then we make him bleed, one zealot at a time."
With renewed determination, they surged forward, moving through the shadows with deadly precision. They struck, retreated, and struck again, locked in a savage dance of survival against the unrelenting golden assault led by Knight Apollo and his fanatical army.