The young man's hand traced the edge of the door. His exit lay right before him, but he wasn't rushing to open it yet. Having ventured into enemy territory, maximum caution was necessary. He had no idea whether anyone was guarding the other side.
Charles pressed his ear to the narrow gap between the door, trying to detect any movement from the other side. But all was silent—no rain pouring as when he had first arrived, only the faint sound of water dripping from eaves and rock crevices. Unable to glean much from sound alone, he switched to peering through the door crack, but the sulfuric residue encrusting the gaps severely limited his visibility.
Though still uncertain, he couldn't just stay there indefinitely. He turned to Michael, who sat resting nearby.
"Help me push this door open. We need to get out of here."
Michael, who had been sitting and catching his breath, rose slowly. He was still weak from their journey through the tunnel, but forced his body to move despite the lingering dizziness and nausea.
Together they pushed against the stone door. The rusty metal hinges screeched slightly from moisture and years of disuse, making the door more resistant than normal. But eventually, it opened just wide enough for a person to slip through.
The smell of sulfur mingled with post-rain dampness drifted into their nostrils. Charles slipped out first, surveying the surroundings. His eyes swept across the area as moonlight illuminated rows of weathered graves in the abandoned cemetery. The headstones had eroded from sulfuric acid exposure, and the ground was a muddy slurry mixed with yellowish sulfur deposits.
Once certain it was safe, he nodded for Michael to follow. But just then, from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a light reflecting off his silhouette. Charles quickly pulled Michael down, both crouching behind a broken, crumbling headstone.
Charles looked toward the light source. What he saw put him instantly on alert: three figures standing clearly illuminated by their lantern in the darkness of the cemetery.
The three were dressed plainly like cemetery caretakers and gravediggers, but Charles knew well that no one in this temple was as ordinary as they appeared. One held a long-handled scythe, another gripped a sharp four-pronged rake as if it were a weapon, and the last one—the lantern bearer—had a gun pointed in their direction.
'Damn it,' Charles thought. Despite his caution, relying on hearing alone hadn't been enough. They now faced three sentries ready to attack at any moment. He'd made a critical error in not anticipating guards in the cemetery.
There was no time for planning; he had to act. Charles unleashed his power on all three, momentarily disorienting them and making them forget what they were about to do.
Charles rushed toward the gunman with lightning speed, before the other could regain his senses. His hands seized the gun, violently twisting the man's wrist until a cry of pain escaped his lips. The weapon came loose in Charles's grasp. Without hesitation, he smashed the gun's handle against the man's temple with such force that fragments flew off. The body collapsed, unconscious.
The other two were still dazed. Charles quickly closed in on the scythe holder, locking his arm and twisting until the weapon fell from his grasp. Then he delivered a brutal kick to the man's groin. The scythe-wielder's face contorted in agony before he collapsed, writhing on the ground.
The final target was the man with the four-pronged rake. Charles drove a fist deep into his abdomen, causing him to double over, then followed with a knee smashing directly into his face. The body crumpled to the ground.
In mere seconds, all three guards had been neutralized. The confrontation happened swiftly and silently, not loud enough to draw attention from others.
Michael peered out from behind their hiding place, his expression both startled and relieved at how efficiently Charles had dispatched their enemies.
Charles exhaled, drawing the damp, sulfur-tinged air into his lungs. Though it stung his nostrils, it was still far better than the poisonous fumes from the secret passage. Relief coursed through his body.
Suddenly, his eye caught movement. One of the fallen men was raising his arm, bringing a small whistle to his lips. A shrill sound pierced the air: "Fii—!"
"Hréoda!" Charles flicked his hand, and a force wave erupted from his palm, slamming into the whistle-blower.
The man's body flew back and crashed against a weathered gravestone. The whistle alarm cut off mid-blast as the metal instrument clattered to the ground.
Though he'd managed to silence it quickly, Charles knew the sound had already gone out. Soon, others would hear it and begin hunting them.
Charles turned to Michael, who stared at the scene with a terrified expression. "We need to leave this place now," he said, grabbing the researcher's arm and pulling him to his feet.
"That way," Charles pointed toward a row of stone markers extending to the edge of the forest.
They sprinted through the darkness, their boots squelching in the sulfurous mud, heading toward where Charles had left his horse before infiltrating the temple.
Behind them, the sound of multiple footsteps grew louder. Lantern light brightened, indicating that a larger group was converging on the scene.
They discovered the bodies of their four comrades sprawled across the muddy ground. One rushed to question the man who was still conscious, clutching his groin with an agonized expression.
"What happened?" But the man didn't answer, still holding the spot where he'd been kicked, his face twisted in pain.
"Tell me what happened!" The same question was repeated, but the only response was another grimace of pain. Frustrated, the questioner moved to revive one of the unconscious men instead.
The newly awakened guard couldn't recall much, only that there had been intruders. With just this limited information, they went to rouse the man by whose side a whistle lay.
"What happened?" the second man asked immediately upon opening his eyes, his body aching all over.
"Intruders. They took down all four of us like it was nothing," he answered, relaying what little he remembered.
"Which way did they run?"
"I don't know. I was knocked unconscious before I could see."
"Damn it!" the man cursed in frustration, having gained no useful information.
Without a clear direction, they split up to search. Some headed into the forest, others back toward the temple, while the rest continued searching the surrounding cemetery.
Inside the still-damp temple, the priest who had been bound was trying to free himself from his restraints. He scraped his face against the altar's edge, loosening the gag enough to utter a spell.
"Shul uk ta!"
As the words faded, the tight knots began to loosen, the constricting bindings gradually falling away. The priest stood, adjusting his robes, about to free the other clerics who remained tied up—when the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the main doors.
A figure in a black cloak entered, its shadow stretching across the wet temple floor. The dim candlelight failed to reveal the face beneath the hood. Water drops from the ceiling fell in slow rhythm, mingling with the steady tread of this silent visitor.
"Who comes?" the priest asked politely, though his voice betrayed underlying suspicion.
No answer came, only the sound of measured footsteps drawing closer. Droplets fell from the hem of the dark cloak, pattering onto the stone floor.
"If you've come to pray, I'm afraid this isn't a good time," the priest continued, attempting a gentle tone despite the tension coiling in his chest. "Please return tomorrow."
Throughout all his years guarding this place, not once had anyone genuinely come to worship. Only prisoners and their keepers ever set foot here. The priest sensed the approach of danger. In the faint glow, he couldn't make out the visitor's features or intentions.
'Who could this be... a sorcerer? Another Elevation Bearer?' the priest thought to himself, recalling the earlier intruder. 'Are they allied with the previous one? Regardless of who they are, I must strike first. If I can't subdue them, at least I might escape.'
His lips began moving in silent incantation. But without warning, the world spun upside down. His vision blurred as everything reversed. Suddenly, he found himself looking at a headless, robed figure standing upright—from a vantage point just above floor level.
Behind that headless body stood the cloaked stranger, a sword dripping with fresh blood gleaming ominously in the candlelight.
In that moment, the priest realized the headless corpse was his own body, and what he was seeing came from his severed head now rolling across the damp floor. A final flicker of consciousness, and darkness claimed him forever.
The black-clad figure stood over the priest's remains, the sword in his hand still wet with blood. He turned and methodically dispatched the other bound clerics, executing them where they sat.
He paused momentarily, and the blood coating the blade began to pass completely through the metal, as if no material could hold it, dropping to the floor and mixing with the rainwater to form pale red streams flowing along the stone grooves.
After the blade had cleaned itself in this unnatural manner, the figure walked straight through the altar to the underground chambers, with no need for secret mechanisms. His form simply passed through the solid stone as if it weren't there, just before black smoke began billowing from the storage rooms and priests' quarters above.
In the underground corridor, it took only a few steps to reach the laboratory door. The guards who spotted this unexpected visitor quickly assumed defensive positions. But before they could act, the razor-sharp blade cut through the air.
Wounds appeared across their throats as if sliced by an invisible edge. Warm blood gushed forth as both guards clutched desperately at their necks, trying to stem the flow. They felt the cold, numbing embrace of death closing in as their life force drained away with each heartbeat, until finally, they collapsed.
The cloaked man continued onward, killing everyone in his path. Lifeless bodies fell onto the damp floor, their blood mixing with the stagnant water. He finally reached Michael's private laboratory in the deepest section, stopping there as if it had been his destination all along. He began searching through documents, experimental samples, and glass vials, also retrieving a brown satchel that lay nearby.
Finally, he grabbed a lantern and threw it onto a stack of papers which, despite the underground dampness, immediately erupted into flames. The fire spread rapidly, consuming everything in the lab. He repeated this action in the upper laboratory as well, setting the entire complex ablaze.
Dark smoke curled upward into the night sky, heavy with sulfur fumes. The dancing flames reflected off the wet surfaces all around. The cloaked figure departed along the same path he had arrived, leaving only utter devastation in his wake. The acrid smell of smoke mixed with sulfur created a toxic cloud even more caustic than before, rising into the pitch-black heavens.