Chaosbound: Elarith Chronicles

A Scholar's Revelation

Aurel's gaze flicked back to Clyde as the scholar's expression grew serious, his enthusiasm tempered by the weight of the topic. "What about the Malifuge?" Aurel asked, keeping his tone steady, though his own thoughts churned with unanswered questions.

Clyde adjusted his glasses, his voice lowering slightly as his tone shifted into something more somber. "That is what remains to be known," he admitted. "The Malifuge might be an anomaly in the cycle—or perhaps they are not directly related to the Malice Bloom itself. However..." He paused, leaning forward. "Our findings suggest that the monsters from the Bloom—the ones documented—have the same chaos energy signature as the Sorrowfiends and the Malifuge you fought."

Aurel didn't react outwardly, though Clyde could sense the undercurrent of tension in his silence. Clyde continued, his voice carrying the weight of his own curiosity. "Our organization is seeking the truth. We want to understand the connection between these entities—how they're tied to one another. And yet... there are organizations trying to stop us. Do you see what I mean?"

Aurel's expression didn't shift, but his mind buzzed with quiet reflection. I already know who's controlling it, he thought grimly, the knowledge of the Athenari's involvement lingering heavy in his mind. But even as Clyde talked, Aurel couldn't help but wonder: Why the Malifuge? It doesn't make sense... not if it's connected to the Athenari's manipulation of the Bloom. What purpose does it serve?

Snapping out of his thoughts, Aurel spoke finally. "No, the darkcuties—"

Clyde interrupted before he could finish, his excitement bubbling up. "Gatherers," Clyde corrected quickly, as though he'd already made the terminology official.

Aurel shot him a brief, unimpressed glance but carried on. "The Gatherers don't seem to like the Malifuge. I've noticed that. They avoid them—or their behavior changes whenever there's a Malifuge nearby."

Clyde froze, his eyes wide with shock. "What? Really? That's... That's a major discovery!" He leaned forward eagerly, the weight of Aurel's observation pulling at his thoughts. "If the Gatherers change their behavior around the Malifuge, it suggests there's more to the relationship. Perhaps the Malifuge interferes with their process—or perhaps it's an entirely separate phenomenon."

Aurel added quietly, his tone almost matter-of-fact, "And the Malifuge—you said they can only be found in the southern territory, right?"

Clyde nodded, his expression serious as he pushed his glasses up. "Yes. Based on our research, all documented sightings are isolated to the southern territories. It's consistent—reliable. But why? Why there?"

The two sat in silence for a moment, each immersed in their own thoughts—the scholar overwhelmed by the discovery, the mercenary carrying the burden of secrets and unanswered questions. For now, the threads of the mystery remained tangled, but the pieces were slowly beginning to fall into place.

Clyde's excitement was palpable as he stood up, his hands practically shaking with the gravity of the discovery. "Aurel, this—this is incredible! We've uncovered a new addition to the missing links in the cycle. We have to prove this to the organization." His voice carried an edge of urgency as his mind raced with the implications.

He looked at Aurel, his expression briefly softening. "And don't worry," Clyde added earnestly. "I won't tell them about your ability to see the Gatherers—or, as you call them, darkcuties. That's between us. I promise."

Aurel nodded subtly, his expression neutral but his thoughts swirling. He watched as Clyde quickly gathered his notes, fumbling slightly as he stuffed papers and books into his satchel. "I'll go make a report on this—tell the other researchers. Sorry, but I need to get back to them. This is a breakthrough, Aurel! We have to dig deeper into this."

Without waiting for further acknowledgment, Clyde dashed out of the room, the door swinging shut behind him. Aurel sat in the lingering silence, his gaze shifting briefly to the window where shadows danced in the fading light. His grip tightened slightly on his sword, his thoughts turning inward.

"Was it right to tell him?" Aurel murmured to himself, his voice barely audible. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor, his brows furrowed. To tell him about my ability to see the darkcuties... I trust him.

Aurel straightened slowly, his resolve building. Clyde might be eccentric, but his passion for uncovering the truth was genuine. For now, trusting him felt like the right move—but the weight of secrets hung heavy in the room.

A New Mission, A Dying City

Clyde's voice was a burst of excitement, shattering Aurel's quiet contemplation. "Aurel! We got a new mission! Not many details, but there are sightings of Malifuge. We go now!"

"Wait? Now?" Aurel remembered his missions with Ron—just riding along, no questions asked, and he'd been fine with that. He was fine with it now, too.

Arrival in the City

The city stood as a shadow of its former self—a broken monument to survival and fear. Its streets, cracked and uneven, were littered with remnants of lives once lived. Dilapidated buildings leaned precariously, their shattered windows reflecting the dull, red-tinted sky above. Smoke lingered faintly in the air, carrying whispers of what might have been fires from weeks or even months prior. The few residents visible scurried from one crumbling structure to another, their faces downcast, their bodies tense. Fear seemed etched into the very walls, as if the city itself had absorbed the emotions of its inhabitants.

Aurel and Clyde stood at the outskirts, the eerie quiet enveloping them like a shroud. Clyde broke the silence first, his enthusiasm undeterred by the unsettling surroundings.

"Ah, so this is the city from the reports," Clyde said, rubbing his hands together as though bracing for adventure. "According to what we've been given, there've been numerous sightings of Malifuge here. It's all linked to—"

He paused mid-sentence, noticing that Aurel hadn't replied, his attention fixed elsewhere. Aurel's sharp eyes scanned the streets, his brows furrowed in deep concentration.

"Aurel?" Clyde called out, leaning closer. "Hey! Weren't you listening to me? What's going on in there?" He gestured vaguely toward Aurel's head with exaggerated motions.

"Ah," Aurel said finally, snapping out of his trance. He shook his head slightly, as though clearing cobwebs. "Sorry. I can't seem to focus..."

Clyde tilted his head, intrigued. "Why not? Come on, spill it. What's distracting you?"

Aurel hesitated for a moment, before speaking quietly, his tone serious and deliberate. "It's the... darkcuties."

Clyde immediately interrupted, his voice brimming with excitement. "Gatherers! You mean Gatherers."

Aurel barely reacted to Clyde's correction, his expression remaining tense. "They're everywhere," he continued, gesturing vaguely toward the city. "It's not just them. The people here—they're afraid. That fear, that desperation... it's feeding them. Their emotions... I've never seen anything like this."

Clyde's eyes widened as he absorbed Aurel's words. "Hmm," he muttered thoughtfully, his mind racing. "Well, if you're saying that, then I guess we're in the right place. Sounds like we've got quite the mystery on our hands."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Aurel turned to him, his expression unreadable. "What's happening here?" he asked softly, almost to himself. "There's more to this than just Malifuge sightings."

Clyde grinned faintly, trying to lighten the mood despite the ominous undertones of the conversation. "Maybe we should go to a bar or something. There has to be one left around here—we could ask around, maybe get some info from the locals."

Aurel, after a pause, nodded. "Sure. Let's do that. I'm thirsty anyway, but no alcohol, okay?"

"Fine, fine," Clyde said with a playful shrug. "Water for you, then. I'll find something interesting for myself." He chuckled lightly, gesturing for Aurel to follow as they began walking deeper into the city.

The Struggling Bar

The door creaked as Aurel and Clyde entered the dimly lit bar. The faint smell of spilled alcohol and damp wood lingered in the air. Only two patrons sat in the corners, hunched over their drinks, their eyes flicking uneasily toward the newcomers. The bar itself was a haphazard operation—scratched counters, flickering lights, and shelves half-stocked with dusty bottles. Yet, despite its weary state, the bartender cleaned glasses methodically, as if nothing had changed despite the city's slow collapse.

Aurel stepped inside first, his powerful aura unmistakable. His new sword, beautifully crafted and gleaming faintly, hung prominently on his back, exuding authority. His posture, the deliberate way he scanned the room, and the quiet intensity in his expression—all designed to establish dominance. It worked. The bartender paused mid-clean, and the patrons froze, their gazes locking on Aurel with a mix of wariness and fear.

Clyde walked in a step behind, his lighter demeanor clashing with the heavy atmosphere of the room. He didn't exude power like Aurel, but his curious eyes scanned the bar with equal intent.

Aurel's presence wasn't just a show of strength—it was a test. He observed how the people reacted, watching as the flickering darkcuties—or Gatherers, as Clyde insisted—shifted subtly around the patrons, feeding off the fear and unease that rolled through the bar. The subtle, negative energies heightened his already sharp focus.

The Interaction with the Bartender

They approached the counter, Clyde leading the way with an easy smile, though his hands fidgeted slightly. "Give me your best milk," Clyde said cheerfully, his tone almost too casual. "And the best fruit juice for my friend here."

The bartender paused, his brow rising in skepticism as he set the glass he'd been cleaning back down. "You do know this is a bar, right? People usually drink alcohol here." He smirked, wiping his hands on a stained cloth. "Oh well, we serve those, too. Strange choices, but okay."

Clyde didn't miss a beat, leaning on the counter as if they were old friends. "We're not here for the booze," he replied smoothly. "But as good guests, we figured we'd at least buy something. A gesture of goodwill, you know?" He added a playful wink as he lowered his voice slightly. "See, we're actually here to investigate."

The bartender glanced at him, tilting his head with a mix of suspicion and interest. "Investigate, huh? Fine. Ask your questions, but I'm expecting tips. This isn't a charity."

Clyde's lips curled into a grin as he glanced back at Aurel, as though silently celebrating his minor victory in establishing rapport. Aurel, however, remained stoic, observing quietly.

The Interrogation

Clyde got straight to the point. "I've heard rumors about deaths. Strange ones. And spirit sightings. What's the story there?"

The bartender leaned slightly forward, setting his elbows on the counter. His voice grew gruff, laced with irritation. "Rumors? They ain't rumors—they're real. One of my friends, he was a victim." His tone faltered momentarily before sharpening again. "Eyes black, body pale, like he was frozen solid. Looked like a goddamn statue."

Clyde's expression turned serious, his curiosity shifting into genuine concern. "And there are more of these bodies? Around the city?"

The bartender nodded grimly. "Plenty. And those spirits you mentioned? People call them demons, shadows, ghosts—I don't care what you call 'em, but they're everywhere. You talk to enough folks here, you'll find plenty who've seen 'em."

Aurel's Observation

Aurel, silent until now, muttered almost inaudibly, his mind churning as he processed the information. "So that's why... the fear. The malice energy. It's so high here."

The bartender's eyes snapped to Aurel, puzzled by the cryptic statement. Clyde, quick to diffuse the moment, waved dismissively. "Oh, don't mind him. He's got a whole world in his head—always thinking, you know?"

Clyde turned back to the bartender, flashing another disarming smile. "So, can you tell us more about these sightings? Where are people seeing the most activity?"

The bartender leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make the air feel heavier. "Well," he began, his tone laced with weary frustration, "this one's a rumor, but it's been going around—not just here in the city, but even travelers like you've brought it up."

Clyde leaned closer, his curiosity igniting. "What is it?" he asked, practically on the edge of his seat.

The bartender glanced briefly at Aurel, hesitating as though choosing his words carefully. Then he continued, "The abandoned prison—the Forsaken Bastille. People say... experiments are happening there. Sick, twisted experiments. They claim humans are being used—changed—turned into one of those monsters. Those spirits you're looking for."

Clyde's face darkened as he processed the chilling information. "Experiments..." he repeated under his breath. "Are there people who've seen this happen?"

The bartender nodded grimly. "There's a group. They go in and out of there—not hiding it, either. They talk about something called the Cataclysm Order and 'the Bloom.' Whatever they're doing there, it's not right."

Clyde pressed on, his tone eager but measured. "Do you know anything else about these groups? Or the experiments?"

The bartender sighed heavily, shaking his head. "If you ask other folks, they'll tell you the same things I've said. Rumors, sightings, stories about bodies left behind—dark eyes, pale skin, petrified, like something drained the life out of them."

Clyde leaned in again, maintaining his cheerful tone despite the ominous weight of the conversation. "So," he said, "is there anything else you can share about the Bastille? Anything people have seen or heard? Anything that might give us more clues?"

The bartender shrugged, picking up another glass to polish. "Not much more I can say. People here are afraid to leave their homes—it's bad out there. But some of us don't have a choice. Mouths to feed, debts to pay. If I had a choice, I'd be locking my doors, too."

Clyde slid a handsome payment across the bar for the drinks, adding a generous tip atop it. The bartender, briefly startled by such generosity, managed a genuine "Thanks," before resuming his mechanical cleaning of glasses. With their business inside the bar concluded, Aurel and Clyde stepped out into the chilly streets of the desolate city.

An Unexpected Encounter

The atmosphere outside felt even heavier than before. The shadows stretched unnaturally along the broken roads, and the flickering lights from occasional fires cast eerie patterns on the crumbling walls. They began walking toward the next area to gather more information, Clyde rambling about his theories and interpretations of what they'd learned so far.

Clyde gestured animatedly, his excitement unaffected by the dismal surroundings. "So, we've got rumors of experiments, connections to the Cataclysm Order, and—ah, don't forget—something about the Bloom. This could be groundbreaking! Aurel, we could—"

Suddenly, Aurel froze mid-step, his body tense and his sharp gaze scanning the empty street ahead. Clyde barely noticed at first, continuing with his animated musings. When Aurel held his arm out defensively, shifting his stance as though preparing for an attack, Clyde stopped short.

"What is it, Aurel?" Clyde asked, his excitement dropping to confusion, then concern.

Without turning to look at him, Aurel said in a low, commanding voice, "Stay close. Don't leave my side, and stay on guard."

The tone left no room for argument, and Clyde instinctively took a step closer to his companion. He followed Aurel's gaze but saw nothing—just the same ruins and empty streets. Yet the tension radiating from Aurel's stance told him that something was very wrong.

A figure emerged from the shadows of the crumbling city street, his slow clapping echoing ominously through the hollow silence. His movements exuded confidence, his voice playful and mocking as he spoke. "Impressive, impressive," he began, his tone dripping with feigned admiration. "I can't expect any less from a member of the Shadowblade. Your reputation precedes you." His sharp eyes flicked to Aurel's stance and the sword at his back, lingering for a moment before a smirk curled on his lips.

"But..." the man continued, his voice rising slightly in theatrical flair, "I did expect you to be doing disguise work, trying to blend in. Though, your disguise seems to stand out quite a bit." He chuckled darkly, turning his gaze toward Clyde, who stood frozen in confusion. "And that one..." The man gestured lazily toward Clyde. "One of your props, I assume? Pathetic. Irrelevant."

Clyde blinked at the sharp insult, his mouth opening as though to respond, but no words came. Aurel, on the other hand, maintained his composure, narrowing his eyes slightly as he assessed the situation. His sharp instincts told him this wasn't some random encounter—it was deliberate. He quickly realized the man had made a critical error: a case of mistaken identity. But rather than correct him, Aurel decided to play along for now, watching carefully for an opening.

"Who are you?" Aurel asked, his voice calm and steady, though his grip on the hilt of his sword tightened slightly.

The stranger's smirk widened into a grin, his posture straightening as though relishing the moment. "My name's Arman," he said, his tone dripping with mock courtesy. "And I'm here to take your life. You see, I don't underestimate prominent figures like yourself. But let's make it simple—you can leave that guy behind." He gestured dismissively at Clyde again. "I won't be killing him. I'm only interested in taking down a member of the Shadowblade. That's you, isn't it? You must be their leader—the Phantomblader."