Within a matter of seconds, the battlefield underwent a dramatic transformation, becoming an unrecognizable landscape. Swaths of Sun Magic rained down upon the hollow, devastating groups of bandits and turning the evening into noon. Soltair swung his sword with immense force, forcing the Bandit Leader onto the defensive, reversing their positions from moments earlier.
"I must say," Soltair began casually. "I was wondering how we’d track you down. But to think you’d deliver yourself to our feet..."
"Shut it," the bandit roared, smashing his axe down in fury.
Soltair gracefully sidestepped the blow before striking at the haft. The bandit’s eyes widened, a curse forming on his lips, but he had invested too much power into the attack to retract it. The sword passed through cleanly, severing the enchanted wood like butter. He stumbled back, staring at his sundered weapon before Soltair’s next attack forced him to one knee, panting.
"To think you’ve pushed me this far," he growled, stuffing a hand inside his leather jacket. "You heroes are no joke."
Soltair frowned, warily raising his blade. "Surrender now, and I can promise a fair trial for you and your men."
"I’m not looking for pity," the bandit spat.
As he withdrew his hand from his jacket, he revealed a silver-handled mirror. I blinked, temporarily blinded by the overwhelming magical aura emanating from the mirror. It surpassed even Soltair’s essence, possessing a strength closer to that of the Pope’s.
Soltair stared at it in confusion. "A mirror?"
Ignoring him, the Bandit lowered his head, not daring to meet the mirror’s reflective surface. "I require your power once more," he prayed, his voice twisted with frustration.
A powerful aura surged from the mirror as an overwhelming presence descended upon the hollow. I stumbled, catching myself on my staff, feeling my mana slip away. Even Soltair appeared strained, his sword trembling as he struggled for control.
Following the aura, a voice pierced my mind, emanating from nowhere yet everywhere. "You are weak, human. Yet, I am not displeased by your predicament. Slay the hero, and I shall grant your desire."
The aura receded into the mirror as the presence withdrew, leaving us gasping in relief. The remaining bandits collapsed to the ground, their strength exhausted, but we dared not relax. Black, mist-like magic flowed out of the mirror, seeping into the Bandit Leader’s body. He screamed as he absorbed the mist, his soul surging with power. He fell to the ground, writhing and groaning as his body contorted and began to swell. Tendrils of the black mist spiraled through the air, lancing toward me and piercing my chest.
I staggered, clutching my head in my hands as the presence within the mirror called out to me. It was dark and malevolent, yet strangely familiar. It struck a chord deep within my soul, beckoning me, and enticing me to embrace the tainted power. The black mists clouded my mind, whispering my deepest doubts and fears, exploiting my vulnerabilities. I took a reluctant, unsteady step forward, my resistance locked within my mind. I had nearly surrendered to the darkness when a hand fell upon my shoulder.
"Release her, bastard," Fyren said coldly. "You can’t claim what’s already mine."
His voice echoed distantly in my mind, as I was beyond words, yet his touch sent a jolt through my body. The shadows protested, coiling tightly around my soul, forcing me to cry out in pain. A fiery presence pierced through the shadowy tendrils, and the haze dissipated like morning fog.
I gasped as my mind and body returned to me, sagging weakly against Fyren’s chest. The black mist swirled aimlessly around me before being sucked back into the mirror.
"W-what was that!" I gasped, holding a hand to my chest as my mana returned and began purging the tainted remnants of the darkness.
"I don’t know, but I’m glad you’re back," Fyren said, breathing a sigh of relief. He glared at the mirror, narrowing his eyes in an accusatory manner.
I tried to recall what he had said before dispelling the mist, but my memory remained hazy. Shaking my head, I resolved to ask him later. We had more pressing concerns at the moment.
A towering column of black fog swirled at the heart of the hollow, obscuring the Bandit Leader. Although his body was concealed from us, his anguished cries continued, approaching the level of torment I had experienced when the slave crest was activated. Soltair and Trithe stood side by side, stepping back from the foul currents that churned within the swirling vortex.
"What’s happening?" Soltair shouted over his shoulder, locking eyes with Fyren.
Fyren shook his head. "I’m not sure, but he possessed some sort of demonic artifact. Whatever comes out of that thing won’t be human, that’s for sure. What do you see, Xiviyah?"
I peered closely, activating the Eyes of Fate. My soul was weakened, hindering my vision, yet I discerned seven magic circles. They spun too rapidly for me to decipher the runes, but all their power converged upon the bandit, whose soul I could perceive huddled within the mist.
"Seventh-circle," I cautioned, unable to raise my voice louder than a whisper. "It’s almost complete."
Fyren echoed my words, and Soltair gripped his sword firmly. "That’s not good."
"Should we attack now?" Trithe inquired, setting her blades ablaze.
Soltair nodded grimly and raised his sword, pointing it toward the heart of the pillar. "Might as well try. Dawnfire Lance!"
At his command, six magic circles materialized around his blade, which began to radiate with the brilliance of the sun. I averted my eyes, unable to withstand the concentrated Sun Magic, but felt a shudder course through me as the spell reached its culmination. Sixth-circle spells held the power to obliterate entire towns, and Dawnfire Lance was no exception.
The radiant energy flowed to the tip of Soltair’s sword and condensed into a small sphere. Everything fell silent, and the sphere trembled before the full force of the spell was unleashed. A slender beam, no thicker than a finger, shot forth from the sphere’s surface, hurtling toward the pillar of black mist. The ground ruptured along its path, kicking up chunks of rock and grass that disintegrated upon contact with the lance. I traced the spell’s trajectory as it struck the soul at the center of the pillar and detonated, engulfing the pillar in another blinding burst of light. The Bandit Leader’s agonized voice was abruptly silenced, replaced by the deafening roar of the explosion’s shockwave.
Gradually, the light dimmed, revealing a crater spanning twenty feet in diameter. Soltair and Trithe rushed to the edge, and I shook my head. No one, especially a demon, could survive something of that magnitude. It possessed all the intensity of Solar Flare, albeit confined to a much smaller area.
"I-impossible!" Soltair’s strangled cry sent a shiver of despair down my spine, and even Fyren appeared shocked.
Trithe slashed her swords, sending gouts of fire downward, filling the crater with a sea of flames. Soltair grabbed her hand and they quickly retreated, distancing themselves until they stood beside us.
A dark hand emerged from the veil of fire and gripped the rim of the crater. The ground shattered beneath its grasp, and my tail swayed anxiously as a colossal silhouette rose from the depths. A powerful aura erupted from its soul, scattering the flames and revealing a demon.