Chapter 173: Robed Beings

  The cemetery had always carried an eerie atmosphere, but now, something was deeply wrong.

  The ground bore signs of unnatural tampering—trenches dug with almost surgical precision, strange symbols carved into the dirt with an intent Burt couldn't yet decipher.

  Clusters of egg sacs—disgusting, pulsating orbs the size of a man’s fist—were scattered around the graves, some twitching as if something inside struggled to be free.

  Burt’s gut churned. What the hell is going on here?

  The distant sounds of battle echoed through the night that had arrived, the clash of weapons and the occasional inhuman screech reaching his ears. His fellow officers were fighting, and he needed to get back to them.

  But before he could take another step, a thunderous boom erupted from the center of Reinhart.

  Burt's head snapped in that direction. His eyes widened as a column of smoke and fire rose above the rooftops.

  The explosion shook the very ground beneath his feet, the force sending a gust of wind that carried the scent of burning wood and something else—something acrid and unnatural.

  His heart pounded.

  What the hell was that?!

  His instincts screamed at him to move, to run back to the town and help, but then—

  A voice, smooth yet dripping with condescension, spoke from behind him.

  "Leaving so soon?"

  Burt spun on his heel, his stance immediately shifting into a defensive position. His hand hovered over his bracer, his muscles tensed as his eyes locked onto the figure standing at the edge of the disturbed graves.

  The man was cloaked in a robe that seemed to be made entirely of thick, writhing hair, the strands occasionally moving as if they were alive.

  His face remained hidden beneath his hood, but what unsettled Burt the most were the long, rope-like tentacles extending from the man’s sleeves and digging into the ground like roots.

  A shiver crawled up Burt’s spine. This wasn’t an ordinary person.

  "Who the hell are you?" Burt demanded, eyes narrowing.

  The hooded figure tilted his head slightly, amused. “Such hostility,” he mused. "But I suppose I shouldn't expect much else. After all, you're standing in the presence of something far beyond your comprehension."

  Burt clenched his fists. "I don’t need to comprehend anything. I see defiled graves, and filth like you ruining everything. That’s enough for me.”

  The man chuckled, the sound distorted, like multiple voices speaking in unison. The tendrils wriggled, burrowing deeper into the ground.

  "You fail to see the bigger picture," the hooded man said. "Reinhart has been graced. A divine entity has turned its gaze upon this town, and its people shall receive its blessings."

  Burt felt his stomach twist. He'd heard zealots talk like this before—fanatics who believed in greater forces beyond mortal understanding. And none of them ever brought anything but destruction.

  "Your 'divine entity' is just another monster trying to sink its claws into this land," Burt snapped. "I don't give a damn about whatever madness you're preaching. What I see is corruption. And I’m going back to my town to stop it.”

  The hooded figure let out a disappointed sigh, shaking his head as if pitying Burt’s ignorance.

  "I'm afraid I can’t allow that," he said, his tendrils flexing, the ground beneath them shuddering as if something writhed beneath the surface. "You see, we have important work to do tonight. And you're not part of it.”

  Burt’s eyes hardened. "Then I'll just go through you."

  Without warning, he pivoted on his foot and lunged toward the cemetery gates, his speed enhanced by the artifact belt wrapped around his waist. The ground blurred beneath him as he raced forward.

  But in the blink of an eye, the hooded figure leaped into the air as it retracted its tentacles, twisting unnaturally, and landed directly in Burt's path, blocking his escape.

  Burt skidded to a halt, his bracer glowing faintly as he prepared for a fight.

  His opponent stood tall

  …

  Near the heart of Reinhart, Pine Street lay in grim silence. The air was heavy, carrying the distant echoes of clashing steel and muffled shouts — remnants of a battle that had swept through the town like a violent storm.

  The once-bustling streets were now littered with debris — splintered wood from shattered carts, broken lanterns flickering weakly, and the twisted bodies of fallen officers. Blood pooled between the cracks in the cobblestone, dark and stagnant.

  Among the bodies was Lieutenant Niko — the tall, lanky officer known for his earring that transformed his ears into moth-like wings.

  His body lay crumpled and disfigured, one side blackened and scorched, the other half corroded as if eaten away by some unnatural force. The marks of both magic and brutal violence marred his corpse.

  His expression was frozen in grim determination, a reminder that he had fought until the very end.

  In front of the Mayor’s office, Elliot stood rigid, his breathing labored. Pain flared through his ribs — he'd taken a hard blow earlier — but he pushed it aside.

  His injuries were nothing compared to what he'd just witnessed. His hand trembled faintly, not from fear, but from the heavy weight of grief and frustration.

  Niko had saved him. The trusted lieutenant had thrown himself into the path of danger to protect him — and paid the ultimate price. Elliot’s gaze lingered on Niko’s motionless form, his heart heavy.

  He clenched his fists, swallowing the grief that threatened to overwhelm him. There was no time to mourn — not yet.

  Before him stood a robed figure, clad in a writhing hair-covered garment. The strands pulsated unnaturally, as if alive.

  Beneath the hood, the figure’s features were obscured, but his voice carried a tone of unsettling patience.

  “Come with me, Elliot.” The figure’s voice was smooth, persuasive, almost hypnotic. “You don’t have to resist. I can show you the truth, the reality beyond your limited understanding. If you open your eyes, you will see the grace that awaits you.”

  Elliot scoffed, wiping a bit of blood from his mouth. “That’s a hard pass.”

  The figure let out a sigh, almost disappointed. “You could elevate Reinhart beyond its mediocrity. This town could be so much more. You—you could be so much more. But first, you must embrace the will of our deity.”

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  Elliot’s eyes hardened. “You talk a lot, but all I see is a lunatic trying to drag this town into madness. I won’t let that happen.”

  Without hesitation, Elliot raised his arm, and his bracelet of ornate, glossy beads shimmered.

  He activated it with a chant, and in an instant, the beads pulsed with power, each glowing in different vibrant colors.

  One by one, they began to detach from the bracelet, materializing into eight knights standing around him, each radiating a powerful presence.

  They were faceless, their armor gleaming in the dim light, but their stance imposing, each wielding a long, sharpened sword and shield. They formed a protective ring around Elliot, their weapons poised toward the hooded figure.

  The robed man chuckled, completely unshaken. “Ah, a magical artifact of considerable power,” he mused, his hair-like robe shifting eerily. “I did expect the Mayor of Reinhart to have something useful at his disposal.” He tilted his head, the unseen smile in his voice dripping with amusement. “But artifacts have limits, don’t they? And I wonder—do you have the strength to wield them to their fullest?”

  Elliot’s fist tightened. “Lucky for me, I only need enough strength to take you down.”

  The robed man exhaled, the air around him thick with something unseen yet suffocating. “You are fortunate, Elliot. Our deity has requested that you be taken alive. Otherwise, I would have already peeled the flesh from your bones.”

  Elliot’s expression didn’t waver. He had to buy time. That was all that mattered.

  As he stared down his opponent, he couldn’t help but think of Abel. That guy had seen this coming, hadn’t he?

  The way he had warned him to stay alert, the way he had spoken about unseen dangers lurking in the town—it all made sense now.

  Elliot let out a slow breath. If he could hold on long enough, if he could stall, maybe Abel’s plan would unfold.

  Each knight stood tall, their armor reflecting the glow of their respective beads—Crimson, Azure, Emerald, Gold, Silver, Violet, Obsidian, and Pearl. Their longswords gleamed, the air around them rippling with latent power.

  The robed figure clicked his tongue, his eight glowing eyes narrowing beneath the hood. “So, you really intend to struggle?”

  Elliot didn’t respond. He simply lifted his hand and made a sharp motion.

  The knights surged forward.

  The Crimson Knight struck first, lunging with a brutal downward slash. The robed figure twisted unnaturally, his body bending at an impossible angle as the sword narrowly missed his chest. With a flick of his elongated fingers, he retaliated, a black tendril of mucus whipping out toward the knight.

  The Azure Knight stepped in, his shield raised, blocking the corrosive substance before countering with a thrust of his blade. The robed man flowed around the attack, his movements like liquid, shifting and contorting to avoid each strike.

  The Emerald and Gold Knights followed next, their coordinated slashes weaving together in a deadly rhythm.

  The robed figure suddenly dropped to all fours, his fingers digging into the ground. Without warning, thick, hair-like strands erupted from beneath him, slithering toward the knights like living wires. Some of the knights were pierced and died on the spot.

  The Silver Knight reacted first, severing the strands with a clean cut, but the Obsidian Knight wasn’t fast enough. One of the strands wrapped around his leg, yanking him off his feet before violently slamming him into the ground. His form shattered into light, retreating into his respective bead.

  Elliot cursed under his breath.

  The Pearl Knight leaped forward, swinging his blade in a wide arc. The robed man ducked, his body bending at an unnatural angle before snapping back upright. With a flick of his fingers, he released a sticky black mucus, coating the knight’s arm and locking his blade in place.

  “Pathetic,” the figure sneered, delivering a vicious kick to the knight’s chest. Pearl staggered back, before turning back into a bead.

  Elliot clenched his fists. He had to change tactics.

  “Surround him!” he commanded.

  The remaining knights fanned out, forming a circle, their swords raised in a perfect formation. The air grew dense, their collective auras building into a radiant crescendo of colors.

  The robed figure paused.

  Then he laughed.

  A deep, guttural sound that slithered under the skin, crawling into the bones.

  “You still don’t understand, do you?” he mused, raising his hands.

  The ground shuddered.

  From the cracks in the earth, dozens of small, grotesque spiders erupted, each one covered in the same hair-like strands as his robe.

  They scurried forward, their legs clicking against the stone as they surged toward the knights.

  The Violet Knight swung his blade, cleaving through a wave of them, but more just kept coming.

  The Emerald Knight was overwhelmed, his armor covered in skittering horrors as the creatures ate away at his form. With a final burst of light, he vanished, his bead returning to Elliot’s wrist.

  Elliot gritted his teeth.

  The Silver and Gold Knights worked in tandem, their swords moving like a synchronized dance, cutting through the spiders with precise efficiency. But it was a losing battle. For every creature they cut down, two more took its place.

  The robed figure simply stood there, watching, enjoying the struggle.

  “Do you see it now?” he asked, stepping forward. “You’re delaying the inevitable. Your knights are illusions of power, fragile things that crumble under the weight of true divinity.”

  Elliot’s mind raced. He had only four knights left.

  Crimson, Azure, Silver, and Gold.

  He took a slow breath. He couldn’t win this fight. But he could stall.

  He raised his wrist, activating the last-ditch ability of his artifact. The remaining four knights radiated with intense energy, their forms glowing brighter, their swords elongating.

  The robed figure tilted his head. “Oh?”

  Elliot took a stance. “We’re not done yet.”

  The Crimson Knight dashed forward, his blade bursting into flames as he swung it in a powerful, sweeping arc. The robed figure barely dodged, his robe singing from the heat.

  After the powerful move, the Crimson Knight faded into nothingness as if using the last of its energy.

  At the same time, Azure and Silver flanked him, forcing him into a tight space where his flexibility wouldn’t be as effective.

  The Gold Knight raised his sword to the sky, gathering what remained of his strength before bringing it down in a blinding, radiant slash.

  A shockwave exploded through the street.

  For a brief moment, everything was bathed in golden light.

  When the dust settled, Elliot stood alone with two knights remaining after Gold Knight used his last strength to attack.

  The robed figure loomed, his grotesquely long fingers still dripping with that strange, sticky substance.

  Though his hood concealed most of his face, eight crimson eyes gleamed from the darkness, unblinking, predatory.

  Elliot swallowed hard, resisting the urge to step back. He had never seen anything like this before.

  His artifact had saved him plenty of times, but against this…thing, it felt like he was grasping at straws.

  The knights moved in defense, but the robed figure danced between their attacks, his movements unnatural, almost boneless.

  He bent, twisted, and contorted in ways that shouldn’t have been possible, dodging their strikes as if he knew exactly where they would land before they even swung.

  He was toying with him.

  “Give up,” the man said, his voice a mixture of amusement and boredom. His fingers twitched, releasing more of the sticky black mucus, ensnaring the last of Elliot’s knights.

  With a flick of his wrist, he delivered a powerful strike, cracking their armor, sending them shattering into light before retreating back into their beads.

  Elliot barely had time to react before a hand shot out, gripping him by the collar and yanking him forward.

  “I’m running out of patience,” the robed man muttered, his breath rancid, his voice low and guttural. “You will come with me, whether you like it or not.”

  Elliot gritted his teeth, struggling against the iron grip, his mind racing for options—none of them good.

  Then, a voice cut through the night.

  “Let him go.”

  The pressure in the air shifted, something primal and potent uncoiling like a beast awakened from its slumber. The robed man stiffened, his eyes snapping to the source.

  A lone figure walked into the ruined street, feline eyes glowing in the dim light.

  Lena.

  But…not the Lena he remembered.

  Elliot’s breath hitched. There was something different about her, something feral. The air around her seemed distorted, warping ever so slightly as she moved.

  The way she carried herself was different—controlled, powerful, confident. The very sight of her sent a shiver down Elliot’s spine, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of her presence.

  The robed man frowned, his head tilting slightly. Then, with an unsettling wet sound, he spat out a small green spider, which scuttled away into the shadows.

  “And who,” he rasped, “might you be?”

  Lena simply smirked, flexing her clawed fingers, her aura flaring around her like a golden storm.

  “Someone who's here to ruin your plans.”