Lord of the Mysteries: Catalyst of Shadows

From the rift, the first summon emerged—a towering, skeletal beast, its ribs lined with flickering souls, its claws curved like scythes. It lunged, fast as thought, its wailing mouths crying out in a chorus of suffering.

Nivlek moved in response.

"His" footwork was precise and fluid, a step backward that invited the strike before "He" twisted—"His" left arm surging with compressed fire—and sent a blazing punch strike into the creature's sternum. The impact shattered bone and set its spectral form alight. It screeched and trashed, before it burned to ashes in front of "Him".

Silas Andariel, who bore the alias "Hound", cursed as he watched the beast be slayed effortlessly by the hunter.

"It seems I have only found a child, calling forth his pets to fight for him. How pitiful," Nivlek taunted, his grin sharp and amused, firelight flickering in his eyes.

Silas snorted, rolling his shoulders as the rift behind him pulsed ominously.

"A child? Please. You throw fire around like it's the only trick you know. Should I clap every time you burn something?"

Nivlek's grin faltered—barely.

Silas tilted his head, pressing further.

"Or maybe I should pretend to be impressed. After all, isn't that what you're here for? Set a battlefield ablaze, call it war, and hope someone remembers your name."

The flames around Nivlek flared, the heat surging as if in response to the slight.

Silas grinned, sensing the crack in his opponent's composure.

"But tell me, does it ever get lonely? All that fire, all that noise—yet you still can't drown out the fact that no one actually cares?"

Nivlek's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something far less amused crossing "His" face.

Then—"He" laughed.

A deep, predatory sound.

"You'll care when you're screaming."

Silas's smirk wavered—just slightly—his instincts screaming too late.

He pressed his hand once more upon the silver-white tablet, exuding light that deformed the surroundings and opening new rifts for more creatures to arrive.

A dozen rifts appeared, opening to bring terrible creatures from within. Three nightmarish entities emerged, each warping reality in its own eerie way. Gaunt wolf-like creatures cloaked in spectral mist, flickered between shadows, their silent howls gnawing at the minds of those who heard them. A writhing mass of tattered flesh and fractured crescents, drifted forward, its mournful wail drowning its victims in a fog of lost memories. Towering over them, a behemoth of gilded bone and stained glass, moved in oppressive silence, its attacks unraveling the very sense of self of those who faced it.

Silas expended half of his own spirituality in this attempt, to either gain the upperhand or to stall even some more seconds, if possible. Not only that, his black suited form flickered between illusory and reality as the Gate pulled him even stronger into the endless grasp of the Spirit World.

Nivlek scoffed, barely amused. "Tsk, calling more pets will change nothing."

There was a beat of silence before Silas snorted. "That's it? That's the best you've got? I've heard better comebacks in a nursery."

Nivlek didn't slow, didn't even acknowledge the quip. Instead, "He" released a grand red fog once more, "His" broadsword forming a streak of burning steel in "His" grasp. Moving in quick motions, "He" darted through the battlefield, "His" figure a blur against the growing chaos.

Stepping closer to the colossus, Nivlek barely spared it a glance before thrusting "His" sword forward, the steel wreathed in searing azure-tinged violet flames. With a flick of "His" wrist, the compressed fire ignited in a controlled detonation, sending the blade spiraling like a meteor straight into the behemoth's towering form. The impact was instant—a shockwave rippled outward, the blazing force consuming the twisted glass and bone, reducing it to nothingness. The Colossus's cry never fully formed, its fractured essence collapsing into oblivion, the wailing hum of its existence silenced as quickly as it had arrived.

Nivlek landed lightly, boots skidding against the scorched ruins, but before "He" could recall "His" embedded sword, a blur of motion snapped to "His" left.

The shrouded hound spectral body bled in and out of the material world, a lunging blur of matted fur and curling mist, its bloodshot eyes burning with a mindless, rabid hunger. Its foaming maw snapped shut inches from "His" throat, but Nivlek was already moving, twisting mid-step with unnatural precision. "His" right foot dug into the charred ground, pivoting "Him" into a tight arc just beyond the beast's fangs, its breath carrying the scent of grave soil and iron rot.

"He" didn't pause.

Flames burst beneath "Him", propelling "Him" into a blur of motion. With a single step, Nivlek looped behind the creature, "His" hand igniting, preparing to drive a compressed fire-fist straight into its spine—

But the air behind "Him" shifted.

From the edges of Nivlek's vision, the elegy's writhing form twisted, stitched flesh stretching grotesquely as dozens of tattered limbs lashed outward in vicious speed, each limb elongating, contorting, their jagged ends snapping like ravenous maws, reaching to devour "Him" whole.

Nivlek twisted sharply, "His" body coiling like a predator before the strike. Both creatures flanked "Him", spectral hunger on one side, grotesque, writhing limbs on the other—no room for retreat.

"His" hands ignited.

A sudden burst of compressed azure-tinged violet fire detonated from "His" palms, the flames not just spreading, but consuming, rolling outward in a wave of destruction. The shrouded hound's wails split through the air, its spectral body unraveling, limbs flailing as it dissipated into cinders, devoured by the consuming blaze.

On the opposite side, the elegy's grotesque limbs shrieked, the stitched flesh bubbling and splitting, muscle and sinew crisping into nothingness. The fire ate into its core, its many-mouthed howls warping into a garbled cacophony before it collapsed into a heap of charred ruin, reduced to nothing but the stench of burnt corruption.

The battlefield hissed in their absence, the lingering embers flickering in the storm-touched night. But Nivlek didn't pause—"His" eyes were already scanning after "His" prey.

Nivlek moved swiftly, "His" steps like flowing embers, streaking across the battlefield toward "His" target—a blur of fire and steel cutting through the storm-lit ruins. "His" grip on the hilt of "His" sword tightened, the searing edge gleaming as it met the rain. The demon was within reach.

Then the world twisted.

The earth convulsed, a grotesque, deformed tree erupting violently between them, its bark pulsating, resembling the flesh of something that should not exist. The branches cracked and stretched, growing with unnatural speed, forming a massive wall of writhing wood, severing Nivlek's direct path. From its bulging knots, vines surged forward, their surfaces gleaming like hardened muscle, snapping toward Him like the grasping limbs of a living trap.

Nivlek halted—just for a moment.

"His" sword cut upward, "His" movement a fluid arc of destruction, and fire answered "His" call. A hurricane of searing violet-azure flames erupted from the sweep of "His" blade, a controlled inferno that devoured the vines upon contact. The mutated plants shrieked as they withered and curled into themselves, reduced to charred husks, the blaze licking across the deformed tree, consuming over half of its towering mass in an instant.

And yet—it did not die.

Despite the near annihilation, the twisted monstrosity pulsed, glistening fibers expanding from the edges of its blackened trunk. The burning wood did not collapse, it regrew. The fire could destroy it, but something was feeding it, forcing it to thrive despite its wounds.

Nivlek's gaze snapped past the smoldering ruin, tracking the pulse of unnatural growth.

And then—the ground gave way.

To Silas's left, the earth churned, thickening into a swamp-like mire, the storm's rain turning to a sickly sludge. The marsh bubbled, the surface splitting apart, and a figure erupted from its depths.

A pale, hooded man, his emerald robes stained with the damp soil of decay, his fingers curling in rhythmic, controlled gestures. His presence reverberated with the energy of unchecked growth, of death feeding into life in a never-ending cycle.

The Pallbearer Gideon had arrived.

The battlefield twisted further, warping into a realm of living death under the Pallbearer's influence. The very soil pulsed, giving birth to abominable flora—thorny vines writhing like predatory serpents, their tips glistening with virulent green poison. Sickly bulbous fungi bloomed grotesquely, expelling clouds of noxious yellow mist, the very air tainted with a cloying, deathly perfume.

Nivlek's eyes narrowed, "His" grin stretching into something sharpened, confident—almost theatrical.

"Ah, great. Another one. This one plays in the dirt."

A pause.

Gideon tilted his head, unimpressed, his expression unreadable beneath the hood. "Yes. That's generally what we Pallbearers do."

Nivlek shrugged "His" shoulders, stepping forward through the flickering embers of the battlefield, the firelight licking across the steel of "His" broadsword.

"I do hope you last longer than the others. It'd be a shame if I burned through you too quickly."

A beat of silence.

Gideon exhaled, long and slow. "...That was dreadful."

Even Silas, still flickering between reality and illusion, let out a hoarse chuckle—not amused, but utterly scornful.

"That's it? That's the extent of your wit, General?" he sneered, tilting his head mockingly. "No wonder they call you a blunt instrument."

"Tell me, do your men laugh out of loyalty, or out of pity?"

Nivlek blinked once, "His" grin faltering ever so slightly. A flicker. A tightening of "His" jaw.

Then, "He" scoffed.

"It'll be funnier when you're on fire."

Gideon rubbed his forehead with a long, suffering sigh, shaking his head.

"That's... that's not how that works."

Silas snorted sharply, lips curling in wicked amusement.

"Oh, but I wish it did. Maybe then your words wouldn't be as dull as that slab of metal you keep swinging around."

Another pause.

The flames around Nivlek crackled violently, his posture shifting—not uncontrolled, but edged.

"He" ignited.

Fire roared to life around "Him", cascading into a dense armor of searing violet-azure flames, forming a protective shell against the encroaching poison. The foul miasma that choked the battlefield hissed and recoiled against the intense heat, its plague-ridden tendrils curling into ash before they could reach "Him".

Yet, the fire flickered.

Something dampened it.

A sudden shift in the air pressure, a subtle breeze cutting through the battlefield. The unnatural gale whispered against "His" flames, sapping their vigor. The moment of recognition was brief—too brief.

From the periphery of His vision, a barrage of ice-cold projectiles sliced through the air. Razor-thin, translucent icicles shot toward "Him", their edges gleaming with an almost imperceptible frost—a deathly cold that seeped beyond mere temperature, seeking to rob motion, to freeze not just flesh, but the very spirit.

Nivlek's instincts flared.

Before "He" could react, movement surged behind "Him".

The ground rustled, not with wind, but with malicious intent.

The vines had not relented.

The sentient plant creatures—twisted, grotesque forms of pulsing bark and gnarled limbs, dripping with decay—lurched toward "Him", their tendrils coiling like nooses, seeking to crush, pierce, and poison.

Nivlek moved.

"He" leapt aside, twisting in midair to evade the incoming frost-laden barrage—but the vines followed. The very roots of the earth conspired against "Him", pursuing "His" every movement, their poisoned tips glistening with malice.

A voice slithered through the air, foul and eldritch, crawling into existence like an unseen whisper in the bones.

"Slow!"

Silas's voice was not spoken—it was inflicted.

The world around Nivlek dragged to a halt.

"His" limbs resisted "Him", moving as if submerged in tar, every motion unnaturally sluggish, weighed down by the hex of the Abyss.

The moment stretched, drawn agonizingly thin—the ice spears, the coiling vines, the lurking abominations converged upon "Him".

Nivlek's eyes narrowed.

And then—"He" adapted.

"His" body twisted, descending toward the ground, but "He" did not fall. "He" controlled the momentum.

Arms struck the earth first, "His" palms pressing against the dirt, fingers digging into the ruined temple stone.

"His" body spun.

A dancer in fire.

A single, sharp movement—and "His" legs snapped outward in a rotating blur.

Azure flames erupted from "His" feet, ringing outward in a perfect spiral, igniting the air, sending out a rolling inferno that roared across the battlefield like a devouring beast.

The vines shrieked as they burned, recoiling violently, their pulsating, poison-coated barbs reduced to smoldering husks in an instant.

The oncoming ice shattered, liquefying before it could reach "Him", dissolving into harmless rivulets of water that hissed against the searing heat.

The surrounding plant-like creatures convulsed, their grotesque forms crumbling to ash, their decay accelerated beyond even their unnatural ability to regenerate.

From a distance, Gideon reacted. He breathed more life into the earth, desperately attempting to conjure more twisted shields of nature. But it was too late.

The fire was relentless.

The inferno surged outward, a tempest of destruction that swallowed both Gideon and Silas where they stood.

Their screams pierced the air, raw and guttural, as the searing heat devoured flesh and bone alike. Gideon's agonized howl twisted into something inhuman, his very voice cracking under the unbearable torment. The once-proud Pallbearer staggered, his body blackening, the scent of burning bark and rotting decay thick in the air.

Silas fared no better. A pained, guttural grunt tore from his throat as the fire ripped through him, his robes igniting into a writhing cloak of embers. His flesh bubbled and split, the frigid energy within him desperately fighting against the consuming heat.

Then—a sound unlike the others.

A Shriek.

A cry that did not belong to the living.

It came from beyond the veil of flame, ethereal, piercing, wracked with unspeakable agony—a wail so raw and haunting that even the flames seemed to recoil from its despair.

And then—a shift.

A figure lurched forward, emerging from the embers of the battlefield, her form flickering like a dying mirage.

Elodie, the Disciple of Silence.

Her ghastly wail of torment still lingered, reverberating in the air like a curse upon the world itself. The silver stitching along her lips glistened, partially burned away, exposing a mouth that should never have been opened.

Her body was marred, patches of raw, blistered flesh sizzled sickly, yet even as the wounds smoldered, they froze over, jagged ice sealing over the damage, locking it beneath a layer of unholy frost.

Her ghastly eyes burned with something beyond pain—beyond hatred.

Nivlek stood tall as the oppressive effects of the slowness curse dissipated from "His" form. The battlefield had transformed into a hellscape of fire and ash, the once-rampant flora wilting beneath the infernal heat, their unnatural growth finally halted. Even the poisonous mist that had once blanketed the air had been eradicated, consumed by the relentless azure flames.

Without hesitation, "He" extended "His" influence, the very air thickening as "His" unseen dominion spread outward. A red fog slithered from the embers, a suffocating miasma that dampened and hindered the senses of the injured foes still standing. "He" raised a hand, summoning the flames around "Him", twisting them into a form of divine punishment. The raging inferno coiled and slithered, bending to "His" will, shaping into a burning cage that enclosed upon the illusory ghost.

Elodie's eyes widened in silent horror, her spectral form flickering erratically as she instinctively recoiled from the impending trap.

Then—she screamed.

A wretched, soul-rending wail tore from her scorched throat as she threw a curse, a final desperate attempt to bring her hated enemy to ruin.

But within the depths of "His" fog, Nivlek was untouchable.

The curse unraveled like a frayed thread, its malignant whispers dying in the air, unable to reach him—unable to defy "His" presence.

With a sharp motion, "He" clenched "His" fist, the flaming cage tightening, constricting, pressing against her ethereal form like an executioner's vice. The flames ignited with a vengeful roar, their heat burning not just her body, but her very essence, as if condemning her to hell itself.

Her ghastly shrieks echoed across the battlefield, growing weaker, thinner, until at last, there was only silence.

The remnants of her form collapsed into blackened crisps, disintegrating as the flames consumed the last of her existence.

Nivlek did not stop.

With a single breath, "He" commanded the fire anew, summoning dozens upon dozens of fire ravens, their bodies ablaze with pure destruction. They circled around "Him" for a heartbeat—then, as one, they launched forward with blistering speed, streaking through the air like flaming spears, homing in on the remaining foes.

Gideon, desperate, thrust his hands toward the scorched earth, summoning yet another towering colossus of bark and bone in an attempt to shield himself. But the terrain itself rebelled against him, the once-rich soil now scorched and barren, resisting his call. The tree rose, but it was imperfect, feeble, half-formed and weakened by the devastation around it.

The ravens struck.

They tore through the unfinished barrier, shredding its weakened trunk like dry parchment. Some of the flames were blocked, but not all. The remaining firebirds pierced through and descended upon Gideon, exploding against his body in a cascade of destruction.

A scream ripped from his throat—a deep, guttural agony—as the flames ate away at him, tattering his robes, searing his flesh down to the marrow. The intense heat ravaged his regenerative abilities, rendering them sluggish, ineffectual against the onslaught. His body twitched, writhing against the pain, but there was no escaping the Angel's wrath.

Silas gritted his teeth, his gaze flickering with desperation as he made his choice. With a howl, his body contorted, twisted, expanded, bones snapping and reforming into something monstrous.

A Devil's true form.

But there was only so much a mere Saint could do against an Angel's flames.

The ravens struck his exposed form, targeting every joint, every vital, exploding against his flesh with pinpoint accuracy. His blackened blood splattered onto the charred ground, his muscular, grotesque form riddled with gaping wounds, as if he had been blasted apart like brittle copper.

His agonized screams filled the battlefield. Pain. Rage. The realization that his transformation wasn't enough. That even his Devil's resilience crumbled beneath the Angel's might.

And Nivlek stood before them, untouched, "His" flames still burning bright.

Nivlek barely acknowledged the smoldering remains of Gideon as "His" steel broadsword cleaved through his burning, wretched form, culling the last vestiges of his existence. The charred corpse collapsed into itself, reduced to little more than seared husk and embers.

With deliberate calm, "He" shifted His focus to the writhing demon sprawled across the ground, his mangled, twisted body blackened and still aflame, his grotesque form squirming in agony.

A bemused smirk tugged at the corner of "His" lips.

"Before I send a lowly demon to burn in hell, let's see what you were hiding from me," Nivlek mused, "His" voice carrying the edge of amusement and authority.

Without hesitation, "He" unleashed a suppressive force, an aura so dominant, so commanding, that even the air itself seemed to bend to "His" will. "His" presence bore down upon Silas like a vice, and the demon could do nothing to resist.

A single pulse of "His" will, and Silas was forcibly bound—a soldier within "His" army.

The fallen Devil thrashed, his body rejecting the overwhelming power that now tethered him, but his resistance was futile. The weight of an Angel's authority was absolute.

With that, Nivlek descended.

Like a lion sinking its teeth into the jugular of its prey, "He" lunged into Silas' mind, tearing through his failing psyche, prying into his memories with brutal efficiency.

—Flashes.

A horrifying, disfigured tree stood at the center of a grotesque gathering, its bark blackened, pulsing with a sickly, unnatural rhythm. Dozens of bodies—some alive, others long dead, twisted together in an orgy of depravity and decay.

A scene of flesh and madness, of insanity and worship.

At the heart of it—something abominable.

A grotesque oval mass, pulsing, breathing, pregnant with corruption. Though malformed and repulsive, it pulsed with life, its very presence writhing with a silent, malignant hunger.

Something waiting.

Something growing.

Something hatching.

Nivlek's eyes widened, the realization immediate and revolting.

The very air around "Him" rippled as "His" flames raged, instinctively intensifying as "His" presence burned brighter. "His" hands moved on their own, summoning a compressed, near-white spear of flame, its heat so violent that the ground beneath it melted into slag.

Without hesitation—"He" hurled it.

The spear tore through the air, obliterating Silas before another word could leave his mouth.

The burning demon was no more.

"Shit."

"He" muttered the curse under "His" breath, "His" gaze snapping toward the ruins.

You have got to be kidding me. It's the hotbed for that abomination's familiar?!

"He" didn't waste a second.

Nivlek moved. "His" form blurred, heat warping the air around "Him" as "He" launched "Himself" forward, sprinting toward the ruins at blazing speed. "His" presence burned a path through the scorched battlefield, the ground beneath "His" boots cracking with every step. In this action, "He" sent a small order through the closest of "His" soldiers from "His" previous battlefield.

As He approached the temple's threshold, a sharp pulse rippled through "His" mind—a call.

A prayer.

One of "His" soldiers was invoking "His" name.

"He" halted, turning "His" attention inward, focusing on the voice that had reached out to "Him" across the vastness of the battlefield.

It was Captain Selene.

"He" had stationed her at Azan Port.

And she was calling upon "Him" not in routine report, but in dire need.

Her voice rang in "His" mind, clear and desperate:

"The Calamity Treading The Battlefield, The Bishop of Weather and War, The Incarnation of Iron and Blood, The Great Nivlek Sauron."

"Azan Port is under siege. The Rose School of Thought, in tandem with the remaining forces of the Andariel Family. We held our stance—until their reinforcements arrived, worsening our defense."

As Nivlek prepared to strike, gathering flames of destruction to purge the ruins, something abruptly shifted in the air.

A presence.

A predator.

Nivlek's intuition flared violently, a warning woven into the very fabric of "His" awareness.

"He arrived. He's in there."

"That brainless abomination is inside, guarding it until they are ready to leave."

"His" teeth clenched.

"His" fingers twitched, the urge to launch a final, devastating strike against the ruins nearly overwhelming—but the timing was wrong.

Not yet.

Tsk.

A low curse rumbled in "His" chest as "He" shifted "His" focus.

Azan Port.

Selene's prayer still echoed in "His" mind, carrying the weight of urgency and bloodshed.

"His" decision was immediate.

"His" arm ignited, gathering blazing violet fire into a colossal broadsword, the blade coated in galvanized steel, its azure-tinged edges vibrating with compressed energy.

With a single, fluid motion, Nivlek hurled the sword forward, the air rupturing as it shot across the sky like a streak of divine punishment.

In the same breath, "He" moved—

Leaping after it, catching onto the surging blade mid-flight, riding it like a comet across the sky—

A storm of fire and war.

...

The port was a warzone, the once-thriving harbor now an inferno of shrieking fiends and clashing steel. The stench of burning flesh mixed with the salty tang of the sea, a symphony of screams and war cries echoing through the embattled streets.

Selene stood firm amidst the chaos, her twin swords gleaming with golden radiance as she cut through abominable creations with holy precision. Each swing carved through flesh, leaving searing light in its wake, her blades singing with divine resonance. With her other hand, she raised a sigil, a pillar of pure light descending from above, obliterating a group of corrupted beasts in one fell strike.

Yet—it wasn't enough.

With the arrival of the reinforcements, the Rose School's forces surged forward, their twisted experiments clawing through the defenses, their witches chanting dark verses, their mutated abominations pushing through the gaps.

They were losing ground.

Selene gritted her teeth, raising her sword once more. She knew they couldn't hold out much longer—not against this.

And then—

The sky ignited.

A storm of fire tore through the heavens, raining blazing azure spears upon the battlefield with perfect, unrelenting precision.

Each fiery lance found its mark.

Corrupted creatures screeched as their flesh was incinerated, their malformed bodies reduced to nothing but cinders. The charging forces of the Rose School faltered, their formations rupturing as their frontlines were erased in an instant.

And then—

A meteor.

A colossal blaze of azure and violet hurtled toward the battlefield, its descent an omen of absolute destruction.

Selene barely had time to shield her eyes before it struck.

The ground shook violently, a thunderous detonation erupting at the heart of the enemy's command. The shockwave rippled outward, a burst of pure, overwhelming force tearing through the battlefield.

In the center of it all—a charred, broken figure.

The Classical Alchemist, one of the leaders of the Rose School's forces, had stood at the impact point. Now, he lay crippled, his form barely clinging to life, his once-magnificent alchemical robes burned to ruin.

And from the embers of the meteor—Nivlek arose.

The moment "His" feet touched the ruined ground, "His" aura surged outward, swallowing the battlefield in an unshakable wave of authority.

"His" eyes burned.

With a mere glance, "He" pulled every remaining soldier on the field into "His" command, pouring strength into their weary bodies, filling them with renewed vigor, binding them to "His" will.

They were no longer men and women struggling to survive.

They were "His" army.

And "His" voice thundered across the battlefield, cutting through the dying cries of the enemy.

"My soldiers! Cull the rest of these heathens and roar an end to this battle!"

The response was immediate.

A chorus of war cries erupted, a booming, unified declaration of unwavering loyalty and rage.

And then—they charged.

The flames of war raged anew, but this time, it was Nivlek's forces who brought destruction upon their foes.