Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 35: Midnight Struggle

Narinder awoke at midnight, his mind restless and filled with thoughts he couldn't quiet. He sat up in his massive bed, feeling the weight of fatigue, but the unease pushed him to get up. He left his house and gazed up at the starry sky; the moon shone with an intensity that illuminated the forest.

"If it were a blood moon, I could drag the Lamb's soul into this earthly plane," he murmured, feeling drawn to the idea.

However, wanting to escape those dark thoughts, he decided to leave the cult. With a determined stride, he headed to the portal area, stepping into the shadows of Darkwood. The cool night air filled his lungs, but his mind kept racing, tormented by the decisions he had to make.

"I must be mad to come here before resting," he thought, feeling a bit foolish for his rashness.

As he passed through the portal's threshold, the surroundings changed, and the dense atmosphere charged with dark energy enveloped him. Narinder ventured deeper into the forest, where the shadows of the trees seemed to watch him, as if the place itself were aware of his presence. The moon cast long shadows that danced around him, sending a shiver down his spine.

As he walked, Leshy's voice echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of the battle that awaited. "Bearer of the Red Crown... I'm still here, in every corner of this forest..."

Narinder stopped, closing his eyes, trying to focus his energy. "I can't let that voice dominate me," he told himself, determined to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

In the distance, he heard a whisper, as if the shadows themselves were speaking to him. Yet his resolve did not waver. He was determined to confront Leshy, to end his brother's legacy, and claim the power that was rightfully his.

With a deep breath, he pressed on, his heart pounding. The night was still young, and he was ready to face whatever Darkwood had in store for him.

Narinder advanced through Darkwood, feeling a strange mix of anxiety and determination. It was as if he had embarked on another crusade, a personal mission driven by the desire to see Leshy again, though he didn't fully understand why. The dense air of the forest surrounded him, and the silence was overwhelming. Enemies, sensing his deathly aura, dared not approach.

As he walked, his eyes landed on stars that seemed to hang from the branches of the trees. He recognized that light and knew it was Clauneck. The duck had always intrigued and perplexed him, but now, in this critical moment, he felt he needed his guidance.

Upon entering the room where Clauneck resided, the duck greeted him with a peculiar bow.

"Oh! The chained god! What a joy to see you again," Clauneck exclaimed, his eyes gleaming with a mysterious glint.

Narinder, still burdened by the weight of his previous card reading, couldn't help but feel a pang of irritation. His patience was thin.

"Be direct and tell me my future," Narinder demanded, trying to hold back his rudeness, but the anxiety in his voice was evident.

Clauneck smiled enigmatically and, with a swift motion, drew just one card from the deck.

Narinder frowned, frustrated.

"Why only one?" he asked, his impatience growing.

Clauneck looked at him with a mix of amusement and seriousness.

"Your fate is volatile now, dear god. Though you have a decision in mind, you do not yet hold it in your heart," he replied.

Narinder took the card and examined it closely. It was a mask of comedy on one side and a mask of drama on the other. His expression shifted from confusion to displeasure.

"What does this mean?" he inquired, feeling as though the message was slipping away from him.

Clauneck chuckled softly, letting the echo of his laughter fill the room.

"You may make the right choice, but you will suffer. And if you choose wrongly, you might find enjoyment... or perhaps the opposite. The decision ahead is one you must hold until the end. If it's power you seek, choose wisely," he explained, his voice like a floating murmur.

Narinder frowned, still not fully grasping the card reading. It felt as though each word from the duck led him further away from the clarity he craved. Frustrated and without answers, he turned and left the room, leaving Clauneck's enigmatic presence behind. As he walked through the dark forest, the weight of his destiny felt more overwhelming than ever, and the uncertainty of his choice followed him like a shadow.

Narinder entered the dark hall where Barbatos, the corrupted follower of Chaos, awaited. The atmosphere was thick with tension; the air vibrated with the malice emanating from the creature. In the center of the chamber, Barbatos' grotesque figure stood out: a bobbit worm of tan color, its pustules glowing with a dark light, while black ichor dripped from its enormous mouth, a reminder of the horror it was.

Barbatos had four red eyes, with black cross-shaped pupils, that fixed on Narinder with a terrifying intensity. The god of death felt his blood freeze in his veins, but he wouldn't be intimidated. He raised his scythe, the symbol of his power, and prepared for the battle.

"Come, monster," Narinder growled, his voice echoing in the silence. "I don't have time for your tricks."

Barbatos, hearing the challenge, let out a gurgling sound, an echo of death. With a sharp movement, he dove into the ground as if it were water. Narinder remained alert, waiting for the creature's reappearance.

Moments later, Barbatos emerged at a different location, his enormous mouth open, spitting black ichor projectiles that flew through the air like cursed arrows. Narinder dodged them nimbly, feeling the cold wind of the projectiles as they passed by.

With a determined gaze, he lunged forward. In a swift motion, he raised his scythe, slicing through the air with powerful force. But Barbatos sank into the earth once more, leaving Narinder to strike only the empty space. Yet the god of death didn't stop; his determination grew, fueled by the desire to end this abomination.

Suddenly, the ground began to tremble, and green pustules started forming at Barbatos' base, signaling his next attack. With a war cry, Narinder dove to the side, just as the worm spat out a torrent of projectiles that shattered the ground around him. The chamber filled with explosions of dirt and dust, but Narinder stood firm, knowing he couldn't let Barbatos win.

Barbatos emerged again, this time surrounded by a rain of spikes that shot out in all directions, as if the ground itself were against him. Narinder twirled and rolled, dodging the sharp spines that whizzed dangerously close to his body. Each move was a ballet between life and death, a deadly game where only one could emerge victorious.

With every attack dodged, Narinder's frustration grew. It was no longer just about power; it was personal. Gathering his energy, he channeled his power into the scythe, imbued with the essence of death itself.

When Barbatos prepared for another strike, Narinder didn't hold back. With a shout that echoed through the forest, he launched his attack. His scythe glowed with a dark flare, and with a move that defied logic, he struck at the worm.

The blow was precise. The scythe sliced through Barbatos' flesh, leaving a deep wound from which black ichor poured. The creature let out a wail, a sound like an eternal lament, writhing in pain. Narinder felt the energy coursing through his enemy, and he didn't stop.

Barbatos, in a final attempt to resist, sank once more into the ground, but this time Narinder was ready. He prepared, gathering all his strength, and when the worm emerged once again, he met it with a powerful slash of his scythe. The chamber erupted in a dark glow, and Barbatos' figure dissolved into a cloud of dust and pustules, finally defeated.

Standing amidst the remnants of the battle, Narinder breathed deeply, feeling the victory surge through him. The threat had been eliminated, and once again, he had proven that death was his domain. Now, only one more path remained to open the temple's door, and his destiny was approaching.