The cold night winds cut across the Northern territory, raising only the dust from the hard ground beneath his steady steps.
Karna moved with silent determination, the dark cloak settling against his body with every precise motion.
The bow rested on his shoulder, and the arrows, secured to the quiver, swung in time with the dry sound of his boots.
The purple eyes glittered under the moon's cold light, reflecting the same energy that vibrated in the distance — faint, but unmistakable. Ereon and Éon.
He felt the unstable flow of the bond through the object Ereon had entrusted him with — an echo of power and soul.
The irregular pulse of the bond was almost a whisper: warning and summons at once.
The ruined temple rose before him, lit by the moon's cold light, its broken columns casting long shadows over the central courtyard.
In the center, some priests gathered around a circle etched into the ground, reciting an ancient chant, each voice harmonizing into a hypnotic, ritual rhythm.
Around them, knights stood firm, guarding the perimeter, alert gazes searching the darkness.
Karna stopped a few meters away, watching in silence.
The hooded figures moved in circles; priests in gray robes intoned a grave, unison lament.
Knights in dark armor stood like living walls.
Torches around the circle flickered without wind, red flames that seemed to have a will of their own, trembling with an unsettling intensity.
The symbols carved into the floor pulsed, lines of energy running between ancient runes and shattered marble.
In the center of the circle, something shone — an unstable dimensional fissure, expanding slowly.
"Circuit of containment... but it's not meant to hold something in — it's to keep something from getting out..." he murmured, voice low, almost a thought.
Karna drew in a deep breath, feeling every beat of his heart, every pulse of the energy flow that connected to Ereon.
With nimble hands, he tied the object to one of the arrows, firm and silent. The hood fell over his face, hiding any expression.
He began running toward the first knight, short steps, body low, hips twisting with every advance. The knight raised his voice:
"This place is under the temple's jurisdiction! No one, without the high priest's permission, may enter!"
Karna did not answer. With a catlike impulse, he leapt sideways, spinning his body and striking with a rotating elbow into the torso, breaking the first knight's balance.
A front kick sent the second knight several meters, toppling him among the courtyard stones. He did not stop.
In a continuous move before being surrounded by the eight remaining knights, Karna drew the bowstring and fired.
The arrow cut the air with deadly precision, striking the circle at the temple's center.
The object attached to it exploded instantly, shattering into thousands of particles, releasing a wave of intense energy that reverberated through the space.
The impact hurled the priests backward with brutal force.
An electromagnetic shock ran through their bodies, making their veins stand out as pulsing black trails.
From beneath the skin, crawling things moved like parasites, traveling through every muscle, every joint, contorting the bodies into spasms of indescribable pain.
Black blood gushed from eyes, ears, nose and mouth, but that was only the surface; the true horror moved within, devouring nerves and tendons with cruel slowness.
"Aaaaahhh! No… hooold ooon!" the piercing screams echoed through the courtyard, mixed with the snaps of bones and muscles being manipulated by the released energy.
"UUURGH! Ahh… please…" each priest fell away gradually, body and soul dominated by the touch of darkness, twisting in endless agony.
The scene was an immediate spectacle of terror: black blood, agonized screams and contorted forms, death moving through every vein, every muscle, relentless and cruel.
Karna, surrounded by the eight remaining knights, a smile appearing beneath the hood. He breathed deeply, body steady, fingers touching the bow.
"Good... I've done my part. Now, where should we begin?" he murmured, laughing softly, voice laden with confidence and a slight provocation.
The silence around the temple was cutting. Miles away, at the heart of the Northern territory, the banquet hall buzzed in apparent calm.
Still, a few attentive eyes perceived the disturbance in the energy that had traversed the night.
The queen tilted her head slightly, attentive eyes fixed on the distance, watching every detail of the hall.
A faint smile formed on her lips, loaded with confidence and an understanding of what was happening beyond her direct sight.
"Impressive..." the queen murmured, the tone sharp as a blade, challenging the king's patience. "I wonder how they manage to remain so motionless for so long."
The king rose slowly, cold eyes sweeping over Ereon and Éon, a contained, noble smile, evaluating every movement as if they were pieces on a board:
"This time you acted faster. I remember well: before cursing and eliminating the others... you at least watched them."
The queen lifted her chin, keeping the noble, ironic smile, her posture firm as armor.
"Perhaps one felt threatened," said the king, voice calm, steady and glacial, each word precise, laden with weight and veiled threat.
She inclined her head, dark, calculating eyes measuring each syllable:
"When you play the game of thrones, you win... or you die. I don't intend to yield until my son ascends the throne."
The king smiled briefly, cold and cutting, like someone recording a move on the board and preparing the response:
"And you would not hesitate to sell your very soul for it. Interesting."
A faint vibration ran through the hall. Candle flames flickered for an instant, subtle reflections danced across goblets and marble, and an almost imperceptible sense of electricity hung in the air, as if the very atmosphere pulsed in anticipation.
Small objects on the tables trembled slightly, and some candelabras flickered, casting restless shadows on the walls.
A subtle crack cut the air, and the souls of Ereon and Éon were pulled back into their bodies.
Ereon remained in absolute calm, posture impeccable, indifferent to the return. Every gesture he made conveyed control and serenity, as if nothing had happened.
Éon, however, felt the impact more intensely. His fingers wavered, and the goblet he was holding slipped from his hands, falling and shattering into a thousand shards.
The sharp sound of the cup breaking echoed through the hall, drawing immediate looks from all present. Nervous murmurs spread among the nobles.
The king rose slowly, cold eyes fixed on the brothers, each movement measured. An almost imperceptible smile appeared at his lips, full of authority and contained disdain:
"Interesting... it seems their determination reflects your own."
The short, venomous comment carried a silent warning: he recognized the threat and was already calculating each of their steps on the board of the game that now began.
The queen remained motionless, but the slight furrow in her brow betrayed discomfort. The air felt dense, vibrating under the weight of something invisible.
The chill that ran down Éon's spine was distinct, metallic, as if something inside him had reacted to the force of the return.
His eyes, once full of life, blinked quickly, trying to adjust to the body that now contained them again.
"A...ah... everything hurts..." he murmured, voice low and trembling, lacking the strength to support his own body.
Ereon, serene, reached out and helped Éon to compose himself.
"We have observed enough," he murmured.
Éon nodded, straightening his posture. Ereon then stepped forward, and another step, his footsteps echoing firmly through the hall.
All eyes followed him as he approached the young Marquis.
The Marquis stared at Ereon with disgust and repulsion, jaw tight in silent challenge.
Each of Ereon's steps seemed to measure the floor, echoing through the hall, and the air thickened with his firm presence.
When Ereon approached Lucien he rested his right hand on his shoulder; Lucien arched an eyebrow, half surprised, and murmured with an ironic smile, voice low:
"Hahaha... it seems I'm being 'visited' without notice," he said, still recovering from the shock of the broken cup.
Ereon smiled with delicacy and control:
"Thank you," he said with elegant irony. "I loved the warm reception. I'm here only to reciprocate."
The nobles drew back, exchanging confused, fearful looks and feeling the tension.
Ereon withdrew with elegance, casting a brief, studied glance at the queen. For a moment, a shadow of confusion crossed his face — perhaps contained fear.
"Your majesties... I beg your pardon. My brother seems... a little indisposed. We will take our leave early. I wish you all a good celebration." His voice was courteous, cold, unshakeable.
Then he walked toward Éon, helping him walk through the hall; all eyes present fixed on the brothers. The air seemed heavy.
The hall fell completely silent. As they passed through the doors, Ereon cast a final look at the queen. His eyes flashed for a brief instant. He whispered something.
The queen, without realizing, repeated the words.
"Let the games begin..."
The door shut.
Shortly after, Lucien's and the nobles' screams nearby tore the air, cutting through the hall like sharp blades:
"AAAAHH! No... no...!"
The veins in their necks and faces exploded into pulsing black trails, like living roots extending under the skin, sucking heat and strength.
Each pulse brought pain, each ripple twisted muscles uncontrollably.
"Help! Someone... please!!"
Inside their bodies, something crawled, penetrating tendons and joints, contorting them into spasms that forced involuntary screams.
The metallic smell of blood mixed with the electric energy that seemed to vibrate in the air, making the scalp tingle and the heart race.
"No... no... what is happening to me?" — the voice faltered between fear and pain, each breath an effort to stay conscious.
Black blood spurted from eyes, ears, nose and mouth, running down the face in thin, viscous lines.
But that was only the surface; the true terror moved within, slowly, devouring nerves and bones as if each cell were being crushed from the inside out.
Lucien stumbled, faltering, knees buckling under the weight of horror. His voice broke into hysterical screams:
"Father! Help! No... I don't want to die! Please, save me!"
Marquis Alaric D'Lorien held his son tightly, protective arms wrapped around Lucien's trembling body, while commanding one of his knights:
"Someone! Bring the priests immediately!"
The sound blended with goblets shattering on the floor, scattering crystal shards like bright splinters.
The echo of each fragment breaking seemed to resonate in everyone's chest, accelerating the panic.
Nobles backed away, swallowing their own breath, bodies rigid, eyes wide, mouths open in silent horror.
A tremor ran through the air, and the electricity of tension made hair and clothes vibrate.
Each second prolonged the agony, each breath was torture, and the entire hall seemed under the dominion of a living, hungry and cruel force.
And in that instant, the feast ended. What remained was not laughter, nor wine, nor music. Only pain, death and darkness, spreading through the hall like a living shadow that would not retreat.
The screams echoed through the hall, cutting through walls and corridors, reaching Ereon, who walked away with Éon, slow, measured steps, the corridor plunged into shadows.
The only thing visible were his purple eyes, the pupil contracted into a long, sinuous slit, resembling the blade of a claw or the shape of an untamable creature, almost alive.
Ereon, with a deep and ancient voice, let the words escape:
"Pân en tôi bíōi timḗ esti. Toîs epithumoûsi tḕn emḕn zōḗn, míān mónēn antídosin apotíthemai: thánaton."
(Everything in life has a price. To those who covet my life I reserve a single payment: death.)