Borne

Chapter 11

A cold wind blew across the blasted plains as Amina surveyed the ruins of what was once a vibrant land. All around, robed cultists swarmed the ziggurat engaged in their dark rites, sacrifices bleeding out upon obsidian altars.

At the ritual's apex stood a monolithic statue of a horned entity whose very form corroded reality, eyes aglow with fell energies swirling within. Amina sensed its imminent awakening would sunder the veil forever. She must act swiftly to disrupt their working.

Turning to her delegation, she whispered plans in their minds. As one, the small coven phased halfway into the spirit realm, cloaking their auras. Then they scattered on the wind like leaves, infiltrating the ziggurat's cursed heights.

Amina's first stroke was subtle yet deadly. She sent psychic lances lancing through cultists overseeing sacrifice, bursting brains within cowled heads. Her allies struck in kind, blades and arrows finding robed hearts with eldritch accuracy. Chaos erupted among the blasphemers as paranoia took hold.

Sensing disruption, the high priest bellowed a curse, casting about with a gnarled staff. But Amina was already upon him, athame slipping between ribs to pierce the black heart within. As he collapsed, she snatched the staff, feeling its fell energies surge within her grasp.

Chanting a banshee hymn, Amina turned the staff against its former masters. Veins bulged in robed throats as they clutched at constricting esophagi, toppling from the ziggurat's edge. Her coven redoubled their strikes, cutting down cultists in a whirlwind of summoned blades.

Yet for each one felled, it seemed two more emerged from hiding places. Amina realized with grim certainty they were too late - the ritual was already nearing completion, anchored by fell magic beyond mortal ken. Only by unmaking the statue itself could they hope to undo what had been wrought.

Calling on reserves of power that set the very air ablaze, Amina turned staff and will against the monolith. Eldritch energies assailed the blasphemous form, seeking purchase between engraved runes and sigils. Stone cracked and crumbled, yet an aura of fell magics held fast.

Amina poured herself into the assault with merciless focus, senses expanding beyond the veil. There, in the aetheric depths, she perceived the true visage of the entity the cult sought to invoke - an ancient chaos dragon whose very name was taboo. With a bestial howl of defiance, it began to force its way into the material realm.

The primordial forces Amina had unleashed were taking their toll. Cracks spiderwebbed the statue as chunks rained from its shuddering form. With a thunderous crash that rent the skies, it collapsed in a storm of rubble. A howl of baffled rage shook the ziggurat - the ritual had been disrupted mere moments before completion.

Amina turned to see the remaining cultists fleeing in terror. Her task here was done, but the battle to come would shake the very foundations of reality...