Chapter 4: The Forsaken Acolyte

  The air in the chamber grew heavy as the Forsaken Acolyte straightened, its presence exuding a slow, creeping dread. The rusted chains on the massive door behind it rattled, and the runes carved into its surface pulsed with a deep crimson light.

  Lior clenched his daggers, his breath steady despite the icy grip of fear gnawing at the edges of his mind. Sylwen stood beside him, bow drawn, her emerald eyes scanning for any weakness in their enemy’s stance.

  The acolyte extended its hands. Shadows coiled around its fingers, twisting into writhing tendrils of pure darkness. Then, without warning—

  It struck.

  The tendrils lashed forward like whips, forcing Lior and Sylwen to scatter. Lior rolled to the left, feeling the sheer force of the attack pass just inches from his body, the air humming with unnatural energy.

  Sylwen loosed an arrow in response, aiming for the acolyte’s hooded face. But just as the arrow neared its target, a shadowy barrier flared into existence, deflecting it harmlessly aside.

  “We need to close the distance!” Lior shouted, darting forward.

  [Twin Fang Strike] Activated.

  His daggers flashed in the dim light, slicing toward the acolyte’s torso. But before they could land, the acolyte moved—unnaturally fast, like a flicker of darkness shifting between spaces.

  Then came the counterattack.

  A force slammed into Lior’s chest like an invisible hammer, sending him skidding backward across the stone floor. He barely managed to twist midair and land on one knee, the breath stolen from his lungs.

  “Damn it,” he cursed, eyes narrowing.

  Sylwen fired again, but the acolyte barely seemed to notice, stepping forward with a slow, deliberate gait. More tendrils formed around its arms, and with a flick of its wrist, they shot toward Lior once more.

  This time, he was ready.

  He ducked low, using the momentum of his previous fall to push off the ground and sprint forward in a sudden burst of speed. The shadows barely missed him, striking the stone where he had been mere moments before.

  [Shadowstep] Activated.

  Lior’s form blurred as he reappeared directly behind the acolyte. Without hesitation, he drove both daggers into its back.

  The acolyte let out a distorted, inhuman wail.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Sylwen took the opening and loosed three arrows in rapid succession. The first shattered against the acolyte’s barrier, but the second two found purchase—one embedding in its shoulder, the other piercing its side.

  Black ichor oozed from the wounds, but the acolyte did not falter. Instead, it turned its head toward Lior, a low, guttural sound emanating from beneath its hood.

  Lior’s vision darkened.

  A wave of suffocating, oppressive energy crashed into him, filling his mind with whispers—hissing voices, foreign tongues, promises of power. His limbs felt heavy. His pulse slowed.

  His body refused to move.

  “Lior!” Sylwen’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and clear.

  With sheer willpower, Lior tore himself free from the acolyte’s influence, gasping for breath. His hands tightened around his daggers, his golden eyes blazing.

  “No more tricks,” he growled.

  Something inside him stirred.

  A new instinct—one that whispered of strength, of hunger.

  His body moved before his mind could catch up.

  He lunged, faster than before, and drove one dagger straight through the acolyte’s chest.

  The wail that followed shook the chamber.

  The shadowy tendrils recoiled, and the acolyte stumbled.

  Sylwen didn’t hesitate. She loosed a final arrow—the shot striking true, sinking deep into its skull.

  For a moment, silence reigned.

  Then, the acolyte crumpled to the ground.

  Lior exhaled, feeling the tension drain from his body. His hands trembled slightly, but his grip on his daggers remained firm. He turned to Sylwen, who was already kneeling beside the acolyte’s corpse, inspecting it.

  “That was too close,” she muttered.

  Lior nodded, but his attention was elsewhere. His gaze fell upon the acolyte’s chest—where its heart should have been.

  He could feel it.

  A pulse of energy, still lingering within the corpse.

  He swallowed hard. “I’m going to take it.”

  Sylwen looked at him sharply but said nothing. She simply stepped back, giving him space.

  Lior placed his hand over the acolyte’s chest.

  The moment he touched it, the black ichor surrounding the body swirled, as if drawn toward him. The heart—what remained of it—dissolved into pure essence, flowing into his palm like liquid shadow.

  A surge of power crashed through him.

  Essence Absorbed.

  Progress to Evolution: 63%

  Lior shuddered as the energy settled within him, the raw strength of the acolyte now coiled deep inside his core. His body felt different—not just stronger, but sharper, more attuned to something greater.

  Then, a faint glow caught his eye.

  Among the acolyte’s remains, a single stone pulsed with dark energy.

  Lior reached for it instinctively.

  Skill Stone Acquired: Abyssal Dredge Summoning

  Effect: Grants the ability to summon and command an Abyssal Dredge, a creature of the void, for a limited duration.

  His breath hitched.

  Summoning magic was rare—even among elves. But this wasn’t just any summon. The Abyssal Dredge was a creature whispered of in ancient texts, a being of shadows and hunger.

  “This dungeon just keeps giving us surprises,” Sylwen said, peering at the stone.

  Lior nodded, his fingers tightening around it.

  Then, a deep, resonating click echoed through the chamber.

  They both turned toward the massive rusted door.

  The chains that had bound it had fallen away, vanishing into darkness. The runes that had once pulsed with warning now lay dormant.

  The path forward was open.

  Lior met Sylwen’s gaze. “Are we really doing this?”

  Sylwen smirked, drawing another arrow. “We came this far.”

  Lior exhaled, rolling his shoulders.

  The battle had only just begun.