The Twice-blessed Paladin

Far beyond the mortal world, in a realm where light and shadow intertwine, two divine beings watch in silence.

The Radiant Dawn, the god of light and life, stands with his arms crossed, his golden armor dimmed with unease.

Beside him, the Veiled Reaper, god of death and the beyond, lounges against nothingness, his ever-shifting form flickering like a shadow in candlelight.

They both look down at the battle unfolding beneath the earth.

"This is bad," the Radiant Dawn says, his voice heavy with concern.

The Veiled Reaper smirks. "It is entertaining, at least."

The golden god turns sharply. "This is not a game. You felt it, did you not?"

The Reaper's amusement fades slightly. "Oh, I felt it." He gazes downward, watching as Aldric readies his blade against the priest. "The Unseen Father has noticed him."

The Radiant Dawn shakes his head. "We should have foreseen this."

"Perhaps," the Reaper admits. "But what is done is done. Now we shall see if our Twice-Blessed paladin is strong enough to resist a god's gaze."

The Radiant Dawn clenches his fist. "Aldric must not waver. If the Unseen Father takes him—"

"He won't," the Reaper interrupts. "Not yet. But…" He leans forward slightly, his many eyes narrowing. "This battle will test him. Far more than any before."

Below, the battle begins.

Aldric tightens his grip on his greatsword.

The Veilborn Priest raises both arms, and the chamber trembles.

Dark symbols flare to life along the stone walls, and the bodies of the slain cultists begin to shift.

Aldric watches in grim silence as the corpses jerk upright, their broken limbs snapping into place with sickening cracks.

Not alive. Not even undead.

Something worse.

The Priest smiles. "They are not yours to kill, knight."

Aldric does not waste words. He moves.

He lunges forward, his blade flashing in a downward arc, aiming to cleave the priest in two.

The air bends.

His blade stops an inch from the priest's flesh, held in place by invisible pressure.

Aldric grits his teeth.

The priest's black eyes gleam. "Did you think I would fight you like the others?"

Aldric forces his strength forward, pushing against the invisible force.

For a moment, it resists.

Then his blade breaks through.

The priest barely dodges, the sword grazing his shoulder.

The robe tears—but no blood spills.

Instead, the wound seals instantly, flesh weaving back together like writhing tendrils.

Aldric steps back.

"I see. So you do not die easily either."

The Priest laughs.

Then the dead cultists attack.

They do not move like men.

They lurch forward, their twisted bodies jerking as though controlled by unseen strings.

Aldric meets them head-on.

The first swings a clawed hand toward his helm.

He ducks, slamming the pommel of his sword into its ribs, shattering bone and sending it sprawling.

The second grabs at his arm.

He twists, bringing his blade down in a brutal executioner's chop, severing it from shoulder to hip.

A third lunges, maw splitting open wider than humanly possible.

Aldric slams his gauntleted fist into its face, sending it crashing into the altar.

But they keep coming.

And through it all, the Priest watches.

Waiting.

Aldric clears a path through the risen cultists, his sword painting the stone floor in black ichor.

He turns toward the Priest—just as the air shifts again.

The torches flicker violently.

The symbols on the walls pulse, and for a moment, the room expands, stretching impossibly far.

The Priest lifts a hand—and the shadows around Aldric's feet rise like grasping tendrils.

Too fast.

They wrap around his legs, his arms, pulling him down.

He struggles, but the more he fights, the tighter they constrict.

The Priest steps forward, his voice a whisper in the dark.

"You have been touched by two gods."

His hand reaches out—toward Aldric's chest.

The moment his fingers make contact, pain erupts.

Not physical pain.

Something deeper.

Aldric's vision distorts.

He sees images, flashing too quickly to comprehend.

A city drowning in darkness.

A throne of writhing flesh.

And eyes. Hundreds of them.

Watching.

Waiting.

Then, a voice—not the Priest's.

"You do not belong to them."

Aldric's mind snaps back.

His blessings flare violently—both of them.

A golden radiance bursts from his body, burning away the shadows.

At the same time, a black pulse of necrotic energy erupts outward, shattering the tendrils around him.

The chamber shakes violently.

The Priest stumbles back.

For the first time, he looks surprised.

Aldric rises, his sword blazing with twin energies—life and death.

He presses the attack.

The Priest lashes out with more shadows, but Aldric moves faster now.

He ducks under the first, cleaving through the dark tendrils with his blade.

The Priest steps backward, muttering an incantation—but Aldric is already upon him.

He swings his greatsword in a deadly arc, and this time, the magic does not stop it.

The blade cuts deep.

The Priest staggers, black ichor pouring from the wound.

He laughs, even as his body begins to fall apart.

"You think this is over?" he hisses.

Aldric says nothing.

The Priest smiles.

Then, with his last breath, he speaks:

"You will always have to watch over your shoulder, Twice-Blessed."

His eyes darken further, the blackness consuming him.

"The Unseen Father has taken an interest in you."

Then his body collapses into dust.

Silence.

The chamber is still.

Aldric stands amidst the remains of the cult, breathing heavily.

But something lingers in the air.

A presence.

And then—

A whisper.

"I see you now."

Aldric's vision darkens.

For just a moment, he sees something beyond the veil.

A city of endless darkness.

A throne waiting to be filled.

Then it is gone.

And the gods watch in silence.