Requiem of the Abyss & The Dawn's Call

4 – The Unseen War

The stench of burning wood and flesh filled the air as flames consumed the village. The once-peaceful settlement had become a battlefield, where the banners of the Order of the Dawn clashed against the ragged armor of the heretics. Screams of pain and rage echoed through the streets, drowned only by the clashing of steel.

Lucian gripped his sword tightly, his breath steady despite the chaos around him. He had trained for this—prepared for battle since childhood—but something felt wrong. The heretics fought like beasts, unnaturally fast and resilient, as if driven by something beyond human will.

He blocked an incoming strike, twisting his blade to disarm his attacker before driving his sword through the man's chest. Blood splattered onto the dirt road, yet the man's lips curled into a twisted grin before his body fell lifeless.

Lucian's grip tightened.

"Why are they smiling?"

A deep, commanding voice echoed over the battlefield.

"Push forward. Purge the heretics. Leave none alive!"

Malagar's voice carried authority, but there was no trace of hesitation or mercy. The Grand Inquisitor stood in the distance, cutting through enemies effortlessly, his sword glowing with golden flames. Around him, knights of the Order followed his command without question, mercilessly cutting down any who stood against them.

Lucian turned his attention forward. The main battle was nearly over—only a few dozen heretics remained, cornered near the remains of their temple. The holy warriors had the upper hand, but instead of surrendering, the heretics stood defiant.

Then, the air grew heavy.

A chilling whisper slithered through the battlefield, sounding like a voice yet coming from nowhere. The temperature dropped, and an unseen force made the flames waver unnaturally.

From the ruins of the temple, a lone figure stepped forward.

The man was clad in a tattered black robe, golden markings glowing faintly along his arms and neck. His face was partially hidden beneath a hood, but his eyes—**burning with golden and abyssal energy—**were visible to all.

Lucian felt his heartbeat quicken.

"He's not an ordinary heretic."

The knights around him also hesitated, sensing the power radiating from the figure. Even Malagar narrowed his gaze, gripping his sword tighter.

The robed figure let out a low chuckle, his voice carrying both amusement and sorrow.

"You march forward in the name of gods who have abandoned you."

The knights bristled at his words, but he continued.

"Do you truly believe the light you serve is just? That it has not been tainted by greed, by pride?"

Lucian remained silent, but his thoughts stirred.

The robed figure's gaze fell on him.

"You. The Chosen of the Order. Do you feel it? The weight in your chest? The doubt creeping into your soul?"

Lucian's fingers curled around the hilt of his sword, his body tensing.

"You were raised to believe in absolutes. That light is righteous and darkness is evil. But tell me—have you ever questioned why?"

The words struck deeper than any blade.

The man raised his hands, golden and abyssal symbols glowing along his skin.

"You fight for gods who are no longer listening."

The ground beneath them began to crack, dark tendrils seeping from below. The air trembled with power, and suddenly, the remaining heretics let out inhuman screeches. Their bodies twisted and contorted, bones snapping unnaturally as abyssal energy surged through them.

Their flesh darkened, eyes turning hollow as they transformed into something monstrous.

Lucian stepped back, his breath caught in his throat.

"What… what is this?"

The creatures lunged forward with unnatural speed, crashing into the knights. Swords that once cut through flesh barely pierced their hardened bodies. Some knights were dragged down, their screams cut short.

"Hold the line!" Malagar commanded, his sword igniting in divine flames as he cleaved through the creatures.

Lucian regained his composure just in time to dodge a clawed hand that nearly tore into his throat.

He retaliated—his sword glowing with Divine Etherion as he struck. Unlike normal heretics, these creatures didn't bleed—they burned under the holy energy, shrieking in pain.

Divine magic still worked against them—but it wasn't enough.

The robed figure remained unmoving, watching the battle unfold.

Malagar turned toward Lucian, his voice sharp.

"Kill the remaining heretics. Now."

Lucian turned to see a small group of villagers—unarmed, kneeling—pleading for their lives.

"Please… we are not warriors. We never wanted this."

Lucian's heart pounded.

"They… they aren't corrupted."

Malagar's golden eyes burned with expectation.

"Strike them down."

Lucian hesitated. For the first time in his life, he hesitated.

His grip on his sword loosened slightly.

The moment of hesitation cost him.

A shadow loomed from behind—a transformed heretic, faster than he could react. The creature's claws tore through his armor, slashing deep into his side.

Pain exploded through him, a sensation he had never felt before.

His vision blurred as he staggered back, his breath ragged.

"Lucian!"

Someone shouted his name, but the battlefield around him faded into chaos.

The robed figure finally moved.

"Enough."

He raised his hand, and the ground erupted with abyssal energy, throwing knights off balance.

The creatures screeched once more before disintegrating into dust.

A gust of wind rushed through the battlefield, and when the dust settled—the robed figure was gone.

Lucian collapsed onto one knee, his hand pressed against his bleeding side. His own blood felt foreign to him. He had never suffered a wound like this.

Malagar approached, his face unreadable.

"You hesitated."

Lucian didn't answer. He couldn't.

The battle was over, but something had changed within him.

For the first time in his life, he felt weak.

For the first time in his life, he felt afraid.

And for the first time in his life…

He wasn't sure if he still believed in the gods.