The Ashen Peaks rose ahead, jagged black rocks slicing through the clouds. Snow swirled in the high winds, and every ridge looked like a throne carved for the dead. Rayon walked along the path leading to the Third Seal, coat fluttering, one hand lazily in his pocket, the other tracing faint threads in the air.
Vorthalaxis coiled around his arm, sleek and quiet, its black markings pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. Erethon drifted in the back of his mind, whispering sarcastic commentary.
"The Circle's heralds are waiting," he said. "You think they'll know what hit them?"
Rayon smirked. "They'll find out soon enough."
From the shadows, six figures moved silently across the rocks. Each was an Awakened of considerable power, radiating energy that distorted the wind around them.
Isaleth, the Whispered Flame, led the group, her eyes glowing like molten gold beneath her black hood. Rovan, the Steel-Seer, was next, a massive silhouette wrapped in shards of reflective steel that shimmered unnaturally. The others followed: Asha of the Void Choir, Elandir the Pale, Serik the Hound, and a newcomer named Vey, a tall man with an aura that warped the air around him.
They had been given a simple directive: Eliminate the Fourth Seal's liberator before he reaches the Third Seal.
The group advanced, thinking Rayon alone, unaware that the threads they sensed already bound their minds in ways they couldn't perceive.
Isaleth raised her hands, dark fire coiling between her fingers. "Move!" she whispered.
The heralds lunged from all sides, weapons and magic aimed to crush Rayon instantly.
Rayon didn't move a muscle. His silver eyes watched, his posture casual, one hand in his pocket. When their attacks reached striking distance, he simply sidestepped, as if walking through air.
Strings unfurled like invisible walls, tugging at their legs and arms, redirecting blows, forcing their movements into loops that made them collide with each other.
"Oh, this is going to be fun," Erethon whispered.
The battle erupted into pure hand-to-hand combat. Rayon moved with deliberate slowness, yet each step and dodge was precise, effortless. Vey swung a massive gauntlet, aiming to crush Rayon's chest. Rayon caught his wrist mid-swing and flipped him into a boulder. Rovan came next, metallic shards slicing like blades. Rayon spun, strings wrapping around the shards, pulling them inward until they bit into Rovan's chest.
Isaleth tried to hit him with flame, but Rayon's strings twisted the fire back, scorching the rocks beneath her. Asha's shadow tendrils lashed out, only to wrap around her own limbs as Rayon subtly manipulated them.
Erethon chuckled in Rayon's mind. "This is what I call a one-man symphony."
For an hour, the fight raged. The heralds moved with impeccable coordination, but Rayon anticipated every step. Not one of them could touch him directly without first battling themselves against his strings.
Finally, the battle ended in a blur. Rayon had killed all six heralds, their bodies lying across the rocks in grotesque positions, beaten and broken.
He looked down at the ground casually, hands still in his pockets. The snow around the bodies had turned dark with blood, but his expression didn't change.
But then something strange happened. A faint, mocking laugh echoed in his mind — the heralds weren't truly dead. Rayon cocked his head.
A voice called out from somewhere in the air. "Yo… Herald?"
Rayon frowned, walking over to one of the fallen. The man stirred. Confused, shaken. His eyes widened in realization.
"I… I've been killing my own team," he whispered. "I thought… I thought it was him."
Rayon smirked faintly, hands still in pockets. "And it was."
"What?"
"You were under my strings the entire time," Rayon said casually, almost bored. "Perfect hypnosis from the start. You didn't know what was real, did you?"
The herald groaned, collapsing back to the snow, the fog of manipulation slowly lifting.
Erethon laughed from within Rayon's mind. "See? I told you. Let the world underestimate you. That's how you have fun."
Rayon looked at the Third Seal looming ahead. "Now," he muttered, "let's see what all the fuss is about."
Vorthalaxis coiled tighter around his arm, ready. The black markings shimmered like flowing ink.
"We're just getting started," Erethon whispered.
And with that, Rayon strode forward, calm, unstoppable, the strings of fate following his every step.