The ruins were a storm of chaos. Dust and debris spiraled through fractured corridors as Lysera's raw energy slammed against stone pillars, sending shockwaves that rattled even Voryn's finely tuned shadows. The air smelled of ozone and fear, mingling with the faint metallic scent of blood.
Voryn's eyes scanned. Amid the debris, civilians, looters, and wanderers who had stumbled too close to the ruins were caught in the chaos. Panic was written across their faces, energy surges dangerously close.
"Collateral damage is not an option," he thought, his mind already calculating. Even fools deserve survival for now.
His shadows twisted and elongated, reaching for the civilians. Tendrils of darkness coiled around them, lifting, shielding, and guiding. But the energy in the ruins was unstable, and every action carried a cost. Voryn felt the first sharp tug—a subtle burn in his veins, a reminder that every application of the Black Oath exacted a price.
He gritted his teeth. Fine. Then the price will be paid willingly.
The shadows shifted, forming protective barriers that deflected debris and energy pulses. But these were not ordinary defenses; they were extensions of Voryn himself, siphoning energy directly from his own vitality to amplify their effectiveness. Pain shot up his arms and chest, veins throbbing as the cost manifested physically, but the civilians were safe.
Lysera, oblivious to Voryn's intervention, roared again, unleashing another massive wave of energy. The ruins trembled, stones cracking and glyphs glowing erratically. Shadows coiled around him, protective yet malleable, extending outward in a deadly ballet of offense and defense.
"If you insist on chaos," Voryn murmured, "I'll answer in kind."
He extended his hand toward the largest of the Stage 5 relics. Darkness surged from the Black Oath, flowing into the artifact. The energy response was instantaneous pulses radiated, twisting reality slightly, disorienting Lysera. She faltered, her attack misaligned, giving Voryn the crucial opening he needed.
But the cost was immediate and brutal. Energy siphoned from his life force, shadows draining him faster than ever before. Dizziness clawed at the edges of his consciousness. Every heartbeat felt weighted, strained, as if reality itself was pressing down on him.
Voryn clenched his jaw. Worth it. Every drop… worth it.
He had learned long ago that power was never free. That lesson had been taught with blood, suffering, and whispers from the Black Oath. And yet, each time he paid, each time he sacrificed a part of himself, he grew stronger strategically, intellectually, tactically.
Lysera stumbled, energy faltering, as Voryn's calculated assault began to take effect. Shadows coiled tightly around her movements, redirecting energy blasts, subtly influencing her trajectory, predicting every reactive motion. For a moment, psychological dominance was complete. She realized too late that brute force alone could not overwhelm him.
Voryn's voice was calm, almost playful, despite the blood coursing faster in his veins. "Pathetic. Truly. Let chaos guide you, and you will show me where your limits truly lie."
He allowed a small, dark chuckle to escape. Shadows whispered in response, voices layered, almost sentient: Yes, the thrill, the dance, the cost.
But the strain was mounting. Veins throbbed visibly under his skin, faint burns appearing along the arms where shadow energy siphoned directly from his lifeforce. Every motion, every strategic calculation, drained him further.
He faltered slightly, feeling the weight of mortality pressing against the calculated detachment that usually governed his mind. Pain and dizziness were real, undeniable, humanizing him even as shadows continued their ballet of defense and offense.
Focus… adapt… survive… he reminded himself.
Lysera roared again, her energy pulsing uncontrollably. The ruins shuddered violently as stone cracked and glyphs flared erratically. Shadows coiled protectively around Voryn and the civilians, forming living barriers that absorbed kinetic force and redirected it harmlessly.
He moved deliberately toward a large fissure where debris threatened to crush those he had saved. Shadows responded, lifting stones with supernatural strength, bending reality slightly around them. He winced at the strain, feeling life force drain even faster, sweat beading his brow.
"Almost there…"
A massive collapse rocked the central chamber. Dust filled the air, and visibility dropped to near zero. Voryn staggered slightly, using shadows to anchor himself, his breaths shallow and ragged. He had achieved temporary control of the battlefield, saved the civilians, and disrupted Lysera's assault, but the cost was devastating.
He could feel the edges of consciousness fraying. Every calculation now demanded more energy than he had, every motion exacted a sharp toll. The Black Oath pulsed violently in response, whispers sharp and cold: You cannot escape the price. Your debt is owed now.
Voryn collapsed to one knee, shadows wrapping around him protectively. Pain lanced through his veins, vision blurred, but the analytical mind remained sharp enough to track Lysera and the unstable energy within the ruins.
"I will not fail," he muttered between breaths.
Then came the laughter.
Low, dark, resonating through the shadows themselves. A voice that was not Lysera's, not human, yet intimately aware of the Black Oath, the ruins, and Voryn's every movement:
"Foolish Shadow Slave… so eager to spend life to shape fate… so predictable and yet so entertaining."
Voryn's vision narrowed, focusing through the pain. The shadows around him shivered, vibrating with ominous energy, coiling protectively yet alert. The ancient presence from the ruins stirring for the first time was now observing him directly, aware, amused, and perhaps hungry.
He had survived, the civilians were safe, Lysera was weakened, but the true challenge had just begun.