Chaosbound: Elarith Chronicles

The Fight's Dramatic Shift

Arman gritted his teeth, his fingers trembling on his sword hilts. He lunged, blades a blur, but Aurel moved with an unnerving grace. Daggers, alive with chaotic energy, spun around Aurel, deflecting every strike. Aurel's sword became an extension of his will, anticipating Arman's attacks before they even began.

Arman stumbled back, a cold dread seizing him. He's not fighting me. He's playing with me. Panic tightened his chest.

Aurel's smirk widened, a truly devilish expression. Malice radiated off Arman, growing heavier, more tangible, and Aurel fed on it. His movements sharpened, precise and deadly. For the first time in the fight, Arman felt utterly powerless.

The Revelation

Aurel stepped closer, his voice chillingly confident. "I think it's time you knew something," he said, almost playful. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not the Phantomblader. I'm not even a Shadowblade. Whatever you think I am—it's not me."

Arman's eyes widened, the words hitting him like a physical blow. "What?" he stammered, his voice cracking. "No... that can't—"

Aurel cut him off. The spinning daggers flickered, their chaotic energy intensifying, then transformed in a blink. One by one, they merged, shifting and lengthening into a single, glowing sword. It mirrored Aurel's physical blade, its edges pulsing with the daggers' chaotic energy.

Aurel gripped the conjured blade, its weight feeling natural. He exhaled slowly, his smirk stretching into something unsettling. "Doesn't matter, though," he said softly, almost mocking. "Phantomblader or not—you're done."

The Finishing Blow

Arman roared, shadows erupting around him one last time as he launched a desperate, reckless strike. Aurel stood firm, his conjured blade held steady, chaos energy pulsing.

Then, with a single, fluid motion, Aurel swung. The arc cut cleanly through Arman's defenses. A shockwave rippled through the air, the force of the blow sending Arman staggering back before he collapsed to his knees. His short swords clattered to the ground, his strength utterly drained, the shadows around him fading to nothing.

Aurel looked down at him, his satisfied grin lingering as he lowered his weapon. "That's the problem with arrogance," he said quietly. "You overestimate yourself—and underestimate everyone else."

Clyde's Awe

From the sidelines, Clyde had watched the entire fight, jaw slack, eyes wide. He couldn't believe it. Aurel, who'd once struggled against Malifuge, now stood confident, his control over chaos energy more refined than Clyde had ever imagined. The daggers, the malice reading, the calculated dominance—every aspect was flawless.

Clyde finally found his voice, a whispered "He's... incredible."

Aurel sheathed his physical sword and let the conjured blade dissolve. He turned to Clyde, his expression far less menacing. "Come on," he said simply, calm and firm. "We've still got work to do."

Aqua's Investigation: Three Days Before

Aqua's Mission

Aqua moved like a ghost through the crumbling, desolate city, her form shifting seamlessly with the shadows. As a Shadow Divinant and an Eclipseborne, infiltration was her specialty. Her ability to change her face and blend into the darkness made her untouchable. Her mission was clear: investigate the rumors surrounding the Forsaken Bastille and Malifuge sightings without raising suspicion. She was forbidden to attack or cause commotion, and there was no better infiltrator for the job.

Dressed in borrowed faces, Aqua had spent the past few days moving through the city's population. She slipped into conversations with survivors and visitors alike, her demeanor tailored to evoke trust. Sometimes she played the role of a timid girl, sometimes a concerned traveler—always with the goal of gathering information. She pieced together tales of spirit sightings, rumors of death, and, most importantly, whispers of a hidden laboratory deep within the prison.

The Forsaken Bastille: A Silent Investigation

On the third day, Aqua's search led her to the gates of the Forsaken Bastille, the supposed epicenter of the chaos. The tall, jagged walls loomed. She blended into the darkness, her spear strapped to her back, her malice-tinged senses sharp and alert. Her shadow magic hid her completely, allowing her to slip through the gates undetected.

But what she found inside was unexpected. The prison was empty—silent. No laboratories, no operatives, no machinery humming with chaotic energy. It was desolate, decayed, and untouched, as though no one had stepped foot inside for decades. Aqua frowned, her suspicions growing. If there's nothing here, why are the rumors so persistent?

She replayed the information she'd gathered: death, petrified bodies, Malifuge sightings—evidence, but nothing tangible. Why are there records of attacks but no traces of Malifuge? Where are they hiding?

The Encounter: The Malifuge and Divinant

Late that night, Aqua lay concealed within the prison's shadows, her presence undetectable to most. Then she saw it—the first Malifuge. It drifted through the halls, its grotesque form subdued, almost submissive, moving silently behind a figure cloaked in darkness. Aqua's breath hitched. The Malifuge was being controlled.

The cloaked figure was a man, his presence commanding and unsettling. His aura radiated malice, though his posture remained casual, almost relaxed. He spoke quietly, but Aqua heard him clearly.

"Everything is prepared," the man said, his voice calm but laced with menace. "This city will soon be swimming with Malifuge, and it will be a perfect ground for our experiment."

Before Aqua could fully process his words, another figure appeared—a Divinant, his face obscured by shadow. The Divinant nodded to the cloaked man. "Yes, Boss. Everything is in place."

The cloaked man, presumably Nephra, paused, a slight frown creasing his brow. "Perfect," he mused, his tone flat. "Just as intended. We are only interested in our experiments."

The Capture

Aqua remained motionless, her shadow magic keeping her hidden. But Nephra paused suddenly, his head tilting as though sensing something. His gaze shifted—and then, without warning, he teleported directly in front of her.

"Gotcha," he said, his smirk chilling as his eyes locked onto hers.

Before Aqua could react, darkness enveloped her, and the world went black.

Imprisoned

When Aqua opened her eyes, she was tied up in one of the prison's quarters. The room was cold and empty, its walls lined with decaying stone. Her malice senses flared as she took in the two Divinants standing near her—Nephra, who had captured her, and another shadow-cloaked figure whose hoodie obscured his face.

The hooded Divinant leaned closer, his voice sharp. "You're awake. Good."

He then turned to Nephra. "Boss, what are we doing with her?"

Nephra smirked faintly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. "She's a Shadowblade member? Oh, I didn't factor in the Shadowblades barging into our experiments. How unlucky." He sighed, then his smirk returned, tinged with a cold calculation. "Oh well, I'm sure when one of them is here, the others will follow. When they come, make sure Arman does the proper greeting. I'm sure they'll miss this little girl we've got here. Make sure she doesn't escape, but don't do anything to her, you got that? I want results from our experiments without their interference, but I guess it's too late for that. Let's just hope for the best."

He turned to leave, adding as he walked away, "Oh well, I guess I'm off to see my sister Lysara—something important came up."

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Aqua's Realization

Aqua watched Nephra carefully, her mind racing. So this is the Boss, she thought. He doesn't look strong—not physically. But he's dangerous. His skills, his aura... even I couldn't do anything against him.

She glanced at the hooded Divinant, then at the binds holding her. Her skills were formidable—her ability to wield shadow magic and her spear unmatched—but the gap between her strength and Nephra's was undeniable.

There's more than just him, she thought grimly. Two Divinants are guarding me—and he mentioned Lysara, his sister. Is she a partner, or someone just as strong as him?

Then she began piecing everything together. The Malifuge being unleashed into the city... the deliberate spread of rumors... even the supposed laboratory—it's all fake. He's spreading false information to bait us. Her stomach twisted. It's a trap. A trap for us Shadowblades.

Present Time: Clyde and Aurel Reflect

Back in the present, Clyde and Aurel walked the city streets, the echoes of their encounter with Arman still lingering. Clyde spoke first, his tone full of curiosity.

"So this guy Arman," Clyde said, "he really thought we were Shadowblades. Called you Phantomblader, didn't he?"

Aurel nodded faintly, his gaze fixed forward. "Mistaken identity," he muttered. "But it worked to my advantage."

Clyde chuckled lightly, though his thoughts drifted to the fight he'd just witnessed. If Aurel wasn't a Shadowblade, then what was he? What kind of power was that?

Clyde's Calculations

Clyde paced slightly, processing the puzzle pieces, his mind racing. "So this guy Arman," he began, thoughtfully, "he's probably a member of the Cataclysm Order. And from what he said, they were expecting company. Shadowblades, I'm guessing. Seems like we've walked straight into the crossfire of two groups. This must be serious."

Aurel interrupted, his voice sharp and steady. "So what now? Do we abandon the investigation? It's dangerous, Clyde."

Clyde turned to him, shaking his head resolutely. "No," he said firmly. "I think we've stumbled onto something big here. Something worth risking. This is a rare opportunity—we're not going to waste it."

Aurel nodded silently, his own curiosity aligning with Clyde's determination. But his thoughts remained practical, focused on protecting Clyde. He muttered quietly, almost to himself, "If it's too dangerous, I'm dragging you out of here. I won't let anything happen to you."

Clyde grinned faintly, appreciating Aurel's loyalty. "Fine by me," he replied. Then, his tone shifted as he pulled out the map from his satchel. "Alright, the next step. Everything points to the prison. It has to be there. Let's move."

Toward the Forsaken Bastille

The air grew heavier as they walked closer to the prison. Aurel's senses sharpened as he felt the malice energy saturating the atmosphere. The subtle flicker of darkcuties—the Gatherers—became more pronounced, their movements erratic and predatory, clinging to the shadows of crumbling buildings.

Aurel stopped suddenly, raising a hand to halt Clyde. His gaze scanned the surroundings, his instincts flaring. "Wait," he said, his voice tense. "The darkcuties are showing up. The malice energy—it's getting stronger."

Clyde looked around, his nervous curiosity bubbling. "Where? Inside the prison?"

Aurel shook his head, his expression darkening as he pointed to a faintly glowing horizon. "No. It's coming from that direction."

Clyde glanced at the map, his brow furrowing as he checked their position. "That direction leads to some kind of cave. It's marked here—but I didn't think anything of it before. Do you think...?"

Aurel nodded slowly. "That's where it's coming from. The malice energy is concentrated there."

Without hesitation, Clyde folded up the map, his trust in Aurel's abilities unwavering. "Then we head to the cave. If that's the source, the real laboratory must be there."

Aurel adjusted the grip on his sword, his gaze hardening as he led the way. "Stay close," he said simply. "We'll figure this out—but we're not taking unnecessary risks."

The two set off toward the unknown, the oppressive energy growing with every step, the shadows lengthening unnaturally around them.

Inside the Cave: The Malifuge Unleashed

The cave walls were damp and uneven, their jagged surfaces catching the faint light of the hooded lackey's swinging lamp. Shadows moved unnaturally, twisting and flickering as the light illuminated the dark recesses of the cavern. Then, as the light reached further, grotesque figures emerged from the blackness, their forms twisted and unnatural. Malifuge began to crawl and slither from the shadows, filling the cave with low growls and sinister whispers.

The lackey stopped, his smirk widening as he raised the lamp higher, his voice cutting through the unnerving stillness. "Alright, boys," he called out to the creatures, his tone dripping with menace. "As per Nephra's orders, now's the time. Show them terror. Go on—show them what chaos truly looks like."

The Malifuge hesitated for only a brief moment before surging forward, their movements swift and predatory as they poured out of the cave entrance. Their grotesque forms seemed almost synchronized, marching with an eerie purpose toward the city.

Back to Aurel and Clyde

Aurel and Clyde continued moving toward the cave, the tension mounting with every step. Aurel's malice sense flared sharply, hitting him with such intensity that he froze mid-stride, his instincts screaming at him. The oppressive energy wasn't subtle—it was overwhelming, thick and suffocating as it spread from the direction of the cave.

"Stop!" Aurel shouted, halting Clyde abruptly as he scanned the horizon. The faint flicker of darkcuties grew stronger, their chaotic forms darting erratically at the edges of his vision.

"What's wrong?" Clyde asked, alarmed by Aurel's sudden reaction.

"Malice energy," Aurel replied, his voice low and tense. "It's strong—too strong. And it's heading this way."

Clyde fumbled for his telescope, his hands slightly shaky as he raised it to his eye. Through the lens, he saw them—the Malifuge pouring out of the cave, dozens upon dozens of them, their movements fast and deliberate. "Aurel, look!" Clyde exclaimed. "There are so many—twenty, fifty, or even more! And they're heading straight for the city!"

Aurel's jaw tightened, his grip on his sword firm. Clyde's thoughts raced as he observed the creatures. They aren't moving randomly, he thought grimly. They're organized, deliberate. Someone's controlling them—and it's not just one person.

Clyde's voice dropped to a near whisper. "The city... They're heading there. Aurel, we can't stop them all by ourselves. There are too many. What are we going to do?"

The Decision

Aurel's eyes flickered toward the horizon, his resolve firm. His thoughts drifted to the people in the city—the innocent faces, the fear he'd sensed earlier. He knew the devastation these creatures would bring, and it made him feel sick. He had fought many battles before, but this wasn't something he could face alone. Yet Clyde was with him now, and his safety had to come first. No matter how much Aurel's instincts screamed at him to run to the city, he couldn't risk Clyde's life.

Clyde interrupted his thoughts, his voice filled with a mix of fear and determination.

"We should go to the prison instead," Clyde suggested, gripping Aurel's arm firmly. "We need to hide—at least for now—and maybe there's evidence there we can use. The prison's been mentioned in every rumor we've heard. If we're lucky, we'll find something useful."

Aurel hesitated, torn between his duty to protect Clyde and his burning need to help the people in the city. But Clyde's logic was clear, and the urgency in his voice pushed Aurel to agree. "Alright," Aurel said finally, his voice steady. "Let's go. But stay close."

Inside the Forsaken Bastille

The towering walls of the prison loomed above them as they approached, the oppressive malice energy waning slightly as they passed through the gates. The silence inside was almost eerie—no sounds, no movements, no signs of life. Yet Aurel's senses remained sharp, scanning for even the faintest hint of hostility.

He adjusted the grip on his sword, his jaw set as his thoughts lingered on the city. They'll need help, he thought grimly. But Clyde needs me here first. His safety is what matters now.

"This place feels... quiet," Clyde said, breaking the silence. His voice was cautious as he looked up at the decaying walls. "Too quiet."

"It's safe enough," Aurel replied, though his tone betrayed his lingering concern. He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing slightly as he focused on the faint energy signature he'd detected. Then, he stopped abruptly, his instincts flaring.

"There's someone here," he said quietly, his voice tense. "And they're asking for help."

Clyde turned to him, startled. "What? You can feel that?"

Aurel nodded, his expression serious. "I don't know who it is, but the emotion is clear—they're trapped, and they're desperate."

Clyde adjusted his satchel, his determination sparking as he replied. "Well, let's go, then! We have to be quick."

Aurel didn't hesitate, leading the way deeper into the prison as they searched for the source of the plea for help. His mind raced, his senses focused, knowing that time was against them—and that the chaos outside would soon reach its peak.

Inside the Forsaken Bastille: Finding Aqua

The stale, cold air of the prison hung thickly around Aurel and Clyde as they navigated its abandoned corridors. Aurel's senses remained sharp, his focus unwavering as he felt that faint emotional resonance—something desperate, a silent plea for help emanating from deeper within the building. Every step echoed softly, the sound swallowed almost immediately by the oppressive stillness.

"There," Aurel said abruptly, stopping in front of a heavy metal door. He gestured toward it, his voice low but firm. "It's coming from behind this door. Someone's here, and they're asking for help."

Clyde nodded, his heart pounding as he stepped closer. Aurel pushed the door open cautiously, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword in case of danger. Inside, illuminated by the faint light streaming through cracks in the walls, was a figure slumped on the floor, bound by chains. Her breathing was shallow but steady.

Aurel crouched next to her, his voice calm but urgent. "Hey, hey—are you okay? Can you hear me?"

The figure stirred, her eyes flickering open as she groaned softly. Then, as her vision focused on the two men in front of her, her expression hardened, and she recoiled slightly. "You..." she muttered, her voice weak but defensive. "You must be one of that man's lackeys. Are you here to kill me now?"

Clyde frowned, her accusation catching him off guard. "Wait, what?" he said, shaking his head. "No, no, we aren't from here. We just found you. We're the good guys—but who are you?"

The woman narrowed her eyes, her suspicion evident. "Untie me first," she said, her tone sharp despite her weakened state. "Then I'll tell you everything."

Breaking the Chains

Aurel hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly as he focused on the woman's emotions. He didn't sense hostility—just caution, fear, and faint hope. Her malice energy was low, almost non-existent, which only reinforced his initial instincts. She wasn't a threat.

"Stand back, Clyde," Aurel said, his voice steady as he examined the heavy chains binding her. He reached for his sword, testing its edge against the links, but the metal didn't even scratch. "These chains... they're reinforced with something. This isn't normal."

Clyde stepped back nervously as Aurel furrowed his brow. With a deep breath, Aurel extended his hand, summoning one of his conjured chaos blades. The ethereal weapon materialized with a faint hum, its dark edge gleaming ominously in the dim light.

"Hold still," Aurel said quietly. Then, with a precise swing, the chaos blade sliced cleanly through the chains, the metal clattering to the ground. He stepped back, letting the conjured weapon dissolve as he observed the woman cautiously.

She rubbed her wrists, her expression softening slightly as she looked between Aurel and Clyde. "A Divinant?" she murmured, more to herself than to them. But she didn't have time to dwell on the realization. "Tell me—what's happening outside? I heard rumblings. Is the city...?"