Eleanor's POV
In the heart of the shimmering pool, Ethan's body began to convulse, his form writhing as if torn between forces beyond comprehension. His frame stretched unnaturally, his height surging to nearly three meters, each muscle swelling grotesquely under unseen strain. Shadows gathered on his back, twisting and churning until they coalesced into a horrifying visage, a demon face that seemed to crawl with malevolent energy. Its four blood-red eyes burned with a sinister glow, surveying the surroundings with a sentient, malevolent awareness.
The face bore a grotesque, deformed nose and a jagged, gaping mouth that stretched from ear to ear, filled with razor-sharp fangs. Its long, barbed tongue, blood-red and dripping with malice, hung from its ghastly maw. Crowning its head were six horns, their surfaces gleaming with an ominous, black luminescence. The entity was not inert; it twisted and writhed, its macabre grin widening as it emitted an eerie, bone-chilling cackle that seemed to resonate through the very core of the chamber.
Ethan lay unconscious, his body betraying him as bulbous, grotesque protrusions shifted beneath his skin. His veins pulsed with a dark, unnatural energy, and the room seemed to darken with each beat of his unnaturally enlarged heart. My father, his expression set in a grim mask, acted swiftly. With a booming chant, he summoned an enormous, ice-blue spectral hand. The hand, shimmering with a glacial aura, phased toward the demon face, bypassing Ethan's physical form to strike at the source of the evil.
The demon, however, was far from defenceless. Black smoke poured from its grotesque visage, pooling on the ground before rising into the air, transforming into an army of serpents. Hundreds of writhing, shadowy snakes with glowing, blood-red eyes hissed as they coiled and slithered, each fang glinting with deadly intent. They surged forward, coiling around the spectral hand and biting into its ethereal form, halting its progress with sheer ferocity.
Old Man Aelric and the Association Head snapped into action. Aelric, with his sharp instincts, unleashed a tempest of emerald wind blades, the shimmering projectiles slicing through the air toward the serpents. The Association Head commanded the stalactites overhead to break free and rain down in a cascade of crystalline destruction. The two attacks, combined with my father's ice-blue hand, began to push back the swarm of serpents.
But the demon was far from finished. Its horns crackled with dark energy, arcs of black lightning converging into a single, devastating bolt that shot upward. The bolt struck the air above the pool, where reality itself seemed to fracture like glass. A resounding boom echoed as a swirling black vortex emerged, spinning with malevolent force. The whirlpool pulsated with an ominous light, its edges flickering with chaotic energy.
Panic surged through me as a legend of ancient wormholes crossed my mind. In my desperation, I conjured an enormous ice pike and hurled it toward the vortex, hoping to disrupt it. The pike splintered on contact, repelled by an invisible barrier. Again and again, I struck, my efforts futile against the vortex's impenetrable shield. Meanwhile, the combined assault of the three mages seemed to gain ground, their magic pressing the serpents back toward the demon face.
Just as victory seemed within reach, black lightning crackled from the pool, and Ethan's unconscious body was yanked upward into the vortex. His form vanished into the swirling darkness, and in an instant, the whirlpool collapsed, leaving only silence in its wake. The shadowy serpents dissolved into nothingness, leaving no trace of the horrifying spectacle that had just unfolded.
I sank to my knees, my mind reeling in despair. The image of Ethan being consumed by the vortex played on an endless loop in my thoughts. Tears blurred my vision as Aurelia rushed to my side, her sobs echoing in the now-quiet chamber. She clung to me, her tears soaking my shoulder as I stared blankly at the empty space where Ethan had disappeared.
My father's voice cut through my despair like a lifeline. "He's not dead," he said firmly, though his voice carried a weight of uncertainty. "That was a wormhole. He's been transported, not destroyed. We'll find him."
His words, though laced with doubt, ignited a flicker of hope within me. I stood, my resolve hardening with each passing second. "Yes, Father," I declared, my voice steady despite the turmoil in my heart. "Ethan is alive. We will find him no matter what it takes."
He turned to the two men, his eyes blazing with resolve, and spoke in a voice that left no room for dissent.
"We need to sign a secrecy pact. No one can know what happened here today. I don't care about your reasons and if you refuse, I'll fight you to the death," he declared, his tone chilling and absolute. His gaze lingered on the association head, knowing Duke Aelric, his lifelong friend, would not oppose such a critical request.
The association head's expression darkened, and his voice rose in defiance. "Don't threaten me, Arctis! I have an obligation to report this incident to the higher-ups, and—"
Before he could finish, Father unsheathed a three-foot curved blade from his spatial equipment. Its hilt bore intricate thorn engravings, and its cryptic patterns shimmered faintly along the blade. He held it aloft, his face devoid of emotion as he said evenly, "You recognize this, don't you?"
The association head's eyes widened, his voice laced with disbelief. "The Winterthorn Saber... the Grade 5 magic artifact. Eisdrith Mistborn himself wielded it. It has been in your family all this time?"
"Exactly," Father replied. "Now you understand the seriousness of my demand. Drop your blood on this parchment, or face the consequences." From his robes, he produced an ancient, yellowed scroll inscribed with intricate silver runes that seemed to pulse faintly with magic.
"What?" Aelric exclaimed, his amazement palpable. "An ancient Oathbinder Scroll... Where did you even—"
"There's no time for questions," Father interrupted curtly. With a whisper, he pricked his finger and let a drop of blood fall onto the parchment. The ancient page absorbed the blood instantly, leaving no trace behind. Without hesitation, I stepped forward, pulling Aurelia along, and we added our blood as well. Aelric followed, his face grave, and finally, after a moment of hesitation, the association head reluctantly sliced his palm with a silver dagger and allowed his blood to fall onto the scroll.
Father began chanting cryptic incantations under his breath. The parchment burst into blue flames, burning away without a trace, leaving behind five luminous, silver runes that floated briefly in the air before phasing into our bodies.
Then, in the silence that followed, an ethereal, expressionless face materialized before us. Its blank, glowing visage, devoid of pupils or hair, recited the terms of the agreement in a dispassionate tone, ensuring that all present understood the unbreakable pact they had entered.
As the face faded into nothingness, Father exhaled deeply and turned to the group. "Forgive me," he said, his voice softer now but still firm. "I had no other choice. He is my only grandson, the future of my family. I cannot allow harm to come to him."
The association head's scowl deepened, but after a long pause, he gave a curt nod. Duke Aelric placed a hand on Grandfather's shoulder, a silent show of support.
We ascended back to the surface in heavy silence, each lost in our thoughts. As we reached the cave's entrance, I turned for one final look at the place where I had last seen my son. It felt like leaving a part of myself behind, but I forced myself to keep walking.
The moment we emerged into the open air, a deafening uproar reached our ears. The panicked cries of the city filled the air. We exchanged tense glances before stepping outside.
When I lifted my eyes to the sky, I felt all the blood drain from my face.