The bestial growl echoed through the forest, a sound Marcus had learned to dread above all else. Dozens of red eyes pierced the darkness, and the misshapen forms of Level 5 Shadow Monsters emerged from the depths of the woods, moving with unearthly agility. They were more than he and Lena had ever encountered, and the air grew frigid with their malevolent presence.
Brother Gareth, sword already drawn, assumed a defensive stance. "Protect the rear! Do not let them encircle the cave!" The other two templars, Brother Thomas and Brother Elias, likewise drew their blades, their faces etched with grim determination. Their armor, once a mere adornment, now seemed a bulwark of hope against the tide of darkness.
Marcus, however, remained still, the cross in his right hand gripped tight, the iron bar he'd found in the village clutched in his left. He felt the familiar panic rise in his chest, but this time, something was different. The anger that had driven him to flee was transforming into something else: a cold fury. The rage of having his life and home destroyed, the wrath of seeing Lena in peril again.
"Marcus, stay behind us!" Brother Gareth ordered, sensing the young man's inexperience.
But Marcus did not move. His eyes fixed on one of the monsters, a creature resembling a gigantic boar made of shadows, with razor-sharp tusks. This was the kind of beast that had terrorized Florentia. Lena, trembling, clutched at his tunic.
"Lena, stay behind me," Marcus instructed, his voice surprisingly firm. He raised the iron bar, muscles taut.
The templars advanced in a cohesive formation. Brother Gareth was a seasoned warrior, his sword cutting through the air with precision, dispersing darkness with every strike. Sparks of light seemed to emanate from the sacred steel of their blades, and the monsters recoiled slightly with each impact, groaning in pain. They fought with impressive coordination, protecting one another.
However, the creatures were numerous. Two monsters, with serpentine bodies and flaming eyes, veered from the main skirmish and lunged toward the cave, where Lena and Marcus stood.
"Marcus! Watch out!" Brother Thomas shouted, but he was locked in fierce combat with a quadrupedal abomination.
Marcus did not think. He instinctively raised the cross. One of the serpentine monsters hesitated, hissing, as if the faint light of the cross burned it. Marcus advanced a step, the cross extended. The monster recoiled further, its body hissing.
Encouraged by the creature's reaction, Marcus used the iron bar to strike the ground in front of the monster. The metallic clang resonated, and he advanced, not like a warrior, but like one defending the last shred of his world. He thrust the cross forward with greater force, the light emanating from it seeming to intensify. The monster shrieked in a cacophony of pain and began to dissipate, transforming into black smoke, just like the boar that had fallen in Florentia.
The second serpentine monster, seeing the fate of its companion, lunged at Marcus with astonishing speed. Marcus barely had time to react. The creature struck him in the shoulder, knocking him down. The iron bar flew from his hand. The cross, however, he held firm.
The monster loomed over him, its sharp fangs ready to tear his flesh. Lena screamed, her panic echoing in the darkness. In a desperate act, Marcus plunged the cross directly into the ethereal body of the creature.
A deafening shriek of indescribable agony erupted from the monster. It writhed violently, the darkness of its body boiling where the cross touched it. The light of the cross pulsed with greater intensity now, almost blinding Marcus. The monster began to disintegrate, its form dissolving into black smoke that rose into the night sky, carrying with it a scent of sulfur and decay.
Marcus rolled away from the smoldering remains, gasping, his heart pounding uncontrollably. He had killed a monster. Two, in fact. With the cross.
The battle continued around them, a whirlwind of shadows and steel. The templars, though brave, were outnumbered. Brother Thomas was struck by a shadow claw, his cry of pain momentarily silenced by the fury of battle. Brother Elias fought heroically, but he was surrounded.
Brother Gareth, seeing his brethren in distress, invoked a prayer, and his sword shone with a stronger light, disintegrating three monsters at once. But the horde seemed endless.
Marcus watched it all, a maelstrom of emotions in his chest. Fear, yes, but also a strange pang of something he couldn't identify. Pride? Perhaps. He had acted, he had fought. And he had used the cross.
As he watched Brother Gareth battle the monsters with unwavering faith, Marcus began to question his own certainties. If that cross was merely a "magical object," why did these men, these "Templars," fight with such devotion, with the same iconography? Why did they seem to be so effective against the monsters, invoking light and strength he had never seen before?
He saw Brother Thomas fall, struck again, his chest pierced by darkness. Brother Elias tried to rescue him but was thrown back by a massive blow from a shadow monster resembling an ogre. It was the image of Florentia repeating itself, hope annihilated before his eyes.
Marcus's anger, once cold, became a devouring fire. He no longer wanted to flee. He no longer wanted to lose. He didn't want to see Lena suffer again. He raised the cross once more, his mind clearing amidst the chaos. He didn't believe in God, not entirely. But he believed in the power of that cross. And he believed that, for some reason, it was in his hands.
"BACK OFF!" he cried, his voice stronger than he expected, echoing across the battlefield. He launched himself forward, toward the shadow ogre that was about to finish Brother Elias.
Brother Gareth's eyes widened. "Young man, no!"
But it was too late. Marcus ran, the cross extended. The ogre, surprised by his audacity, turned to him. Marcus did not stop. He knew the iron bar was useless against these beings, but the cross... The cross had worked. He threw himself at the ogre's flank, plunging the cross with all his might into the creature's massive, ethereal body.
A deafening howl of pain ripped through the air. The shadow ogre began to boil, its darkness contracting and dissipating in jets of black smoke. The light of the cross shone with dazzling intensity, consuming the creature from within. In seconds, nothing remained of the ogre, only the smell of ozone and smoke in the air.
Marcus rose, gasping, feeling a new energy, a strange connection to the cross in his hand. He looked at the other templars, who were stunned. He had purified the monster, just as Lena had said in Florentia.
The remaining wave of monsters, seeing the destruction of their comrades by the templars and Marcus's sudden and fierce effectiveness, seemed to hesitate. The light of the cross in his hands and the newfound determination in his eyes were a terrifying sight for the shadow creatures. They grunted, and one after another, began to retreat, dissolving into the depths of the forest, leaving behind only emptiness and the stench of darkness.
The silence that followed the monsters' retreat was deafening. The smell of gunpowder and ozone hung in the air. Lena, trembling, ran to Marcus and hugged him tightly.
Brother Gareth approached, limping, and looked at Marcus with a mixture of admiration and astonishment. "You... you purified them, young man. In a way few people can." He looked at the cross in Marcus's hand. "That is a powerful relic. You have a gift."
Marcus looked at the cross, then at the exhausted templars. Brother Thomas lay fallen, gravely wounded. Brother Elias, though standing, was gasping for breath and pale. He had seen their faith in action, and he had seen his own.
The idea that the cross was merely a magical tool, without any connection to the divine, began to crack in his mind. The act of purification, the way darkness reacted... it seemed something deeper, more intrinsic.
He knelt beside Brother Thomas, who was moaning in pain. The older templar breathed with difficulty. "There's... no cure... for this, Brother Gareth..."
"Resist, brother! We won't leave you!" Brother Elias said, tears in his eyes.
But the darkness that had wounded Thomas was profound. Marcus watched the man die right there, before his eyes, faith etched on his face even in his last breaths.
Gareth closed his eyes, profound grief etched on his face. "May the Light receive him, brother."
Marcus felt a tightening in his chest, different from panic. It was a familiar pain, but also a new sense of responsibility. He had fought, and they had won, but at a terrible cost. Two templars fallen.
He stood, the cross in his hand. He looked at Brother Gareth, then at Lena, who was in tears. The forest, once a refuge, now seemed merely a stage for more tragedies.
"What do we do now?" Lena asked, her voice weak.
Marcus gripped the cross. The journey to the cave, the escape, the skepticism... all seemed a lifetime ago. He had witnessed more than "magic" tonight. He had witnessed faith and sacrifice. And he had felt a power, a connection, that he could no longer completely deny.
His mind, once so closed, now harbored a small, but persistent, flicker of doubt. Perhaps there was something more. Perhaps there was a purpose. He didn't know if he believed in God, but perhaps it was time to find out. He looked at Brother Gareth, the sole remaining templar.
"I... I don't understand what happened," Marcus began, his voice softer than before. "But I used this..." he raised the cross. "...and it worked."
Brother Gareth gazed at him, his eyes filled with ancient wisdom. "Yes, Marcus. It worked. The light responded to you. There is a war being fought, young man. And you, with that cross, are more than a survivor. You are an instrument, whether you believe it or not."
Marcus looked at the ground, where the smoke of the monsters still dissipated. The decision he had avoided for so long seemed inevitable now. He had fled, he had hidden, but darkness had found him anyway. And with it, had come the cross, and a power he did not comprehend.
"Teach me," Marcus said, his voice low, but laden with a new resolution. "Teach me about your light. About what this cross truly does. Not to have faith... yet. But to fight. So that no one else has to go through what I have." The flicker of doubt in his heart had found a new purpose: vengeance against the darkness, even if he could not yet surrender completely to faith. Purification, perhaps, was not just a divine act, but an act of war.
"It will be a long journey, young Marcus," Gareth replied, a weary smile on his face. "But the light will be with you, even if you do not yet see it."
And so, beneath the shimmering stars, with the smell of death and smoke in the air, Marcus Antonius, the hardened atheist, took his first hesitant steps on a path he never imagined following, carrying the cross that was both his salvation and his curse. The world had been corrupted, and he had been forced to stop running. Now, doubt lingered, but the war against the shadows, for Marcus, was just beginning.