Re: Elf Prince—A Degenerate's Second Chance-Chapter 67. Vision
67. Vision
Eryndor still felt paralyzed by fear but standing there and not knowing what made him so frightened was much worse than going to confront it or at least see what it was. Eryndor took in a deep breath of air and conversed with himself. "Please don’t be an evil cult of ritualists."
Without access to the magic he so cherished he knew he had no way to defend himself from any unforseen circumstance. He walked over through the arch that constructed a makeshift gave that led into a wide space m, as he crossed into the space Eryndor flinched momentarily, he half expected the ground to open up and swallow him or worse he runs into a beast but aside from the chantings that seemed to have risen in volumes nothing was significantly different.
"Common Eryndor it’s just some creepy chanting from an ancient temple, you’ve faced worse." He was not sure if that was his usual sarcasm returning to him but it picked the worst possible timing for a joke.
Eryndor’s eyes jumped about the place like a sniper looking for an invisible target, he had a hand pressed to his chest to suppress the pounding in his heart. He wondered if he was perhaps in hell but he dismissed the fact immediately after, he did not want to die of a heart attack— now that would be disgraceful.
A few seconds passed before white mists of smoke started to rise from the ground making them barely visible. Eryndor almost stopped for a moment but chose to keep walking, a moving target was better than a stagnant one he thought. A huge whirlwind of mist blew ahead of him and left behind a huge temple or the entrance to one. For some reason he could not see the walls of the temple as it was shrouded by a wall of mist. He gulped down and proceeded to enter the entrance with little delay.
Already one foot in and a strong wind blew at his face causing him to shut his eyes against his will. A second later he was standing in the corner of a dark room. It was in the shape of a square and had a small circular ring in the middle where an altar sat. On seeing the altar Eryndor gulped down and tightened his grip on his chest
The air permeated with an eerie air spelling uncertainty and doom. Strange symbols and inscriptions were carved into the altar, whenever Eryndor’s eyes saw them he would feel a splitting headache causing him to look away.
A flurry of thoughts were bustling through the young elf’s mind and a majority of them were unsettling. Where was he? How did he get there? Why was he before an altar? Why could he not look at the inscriptions? If there was an altar was there also going to be a sacrifice? Was this a horrible dream? What was his role in all of this?
A second later his line of thought was disrupted just as flame touches lit up at the four corners of the room. They all came up at once causing him to jump back in fright, he felt something would be happening soon and it did not seem to be good.
He waited patiently for the next scene to play out before him, in the light of the flame touches he was able to see the reflection of light from the altar. Why would an altar be shining like the sun? It only took a few seconds for him to find an answer.
"Don’t tell me the altar is made of gold." He almost exclaimed. "What king of crazy bastard would waste good gold?" It seemed like a waste to him.
The stomping of feet drew his attention as a number of people dressed in black walked into the room. Eryndor had a distaste for people dressed in black, he assumed them to be the villains of the story. On their waists were red sashes and a symbol of a red skull in a red ring, he could only look at the symbol for a few seconds before another pang of headaches struck him.
Eryndor felt the next few seconds to be an horrendous torture, what good would come from observing whatever vision he was experiencing and not being able to see some crucial information without having a headache or worse— dying as a result.
A new sound disrupted his line of thought and threw him off guard, it was not those of the cloaked figures but a lighter more innocent sound. The cries of a baby pierced the once quiet and ominous air, Eryndor trembled at the thought of what a baby was doing in such a place and surrounded by such unfriendly figures.
"Please let them be worshipping the child or paying tribute to the gods or something." He prayed silently not wanting what he imagined to be the case.
He watched the cloaked figures set the child on the alter causing his stomach to sink into an icy pit. The cloaked figures started to chant, it was the same dark chant he had heard from outside the temple. Frozen by fear he watched them chant for a few more minutes their voices rises to a crescendo, going above the wails of the child. Eryndor still prayed for things to be as different as he pictured, even thinking what they wanted to do to the child made him throw up.
A shimmer of light caught his eye as he raised his head to see a long silver blade looking sharp and unforgiving. Eryndor could not longer stand by and watch the act any longer but what could he do against them without his magic?
A moment later the blade came down on the child and the world seemed to slow down and all he could do was watch. A second later a flash of light and boom of thunder followed leaving Eryndor blinded for a few seconds but the act he had perceived with his eyes left him in a deep trance. All air stopped flowing through his body as his eyes widened, his big blue eyes started to trembled in their sockets as they got wetter and wetter.
He felt a strange feeling biting down at the back of his mind, it was something he had never felt before. "I-- I could have done something. Right? No, if I ran in I would have definitely gotten killed. But that little kid got killed instead." He started to pull his hair at the unfamiliar feeling. "What’s wrong with me? Is this what they called a conscience?"
It was more than just regret that he felt, he pressed his hand so hard on his chest that he felt his nails begin to dig into his skin. He ignored the pain and pressed harder in an attempt to rip out his heart, he gnashed his teeth in rage. A blood dropped down his hand and dropped into the floor one of the cloaked figures looked up from the sacrificial alter and turned in Eryndor’s direction slightly but he was oblivious to this fact as he was in deep turmoil.
Eryndor began to question himself, his mind in a constant clash with itself. "It happened again just like it did with the mountain wolf king. I could not do a thing even though I knew it was wrong. Why? Why did I just stand here and do nothing? Dammit why am I such a wimp?"
Seconds passed with the only thing escaping his lungs being his rough, heavy breathing. His eyes were now red and his face red, beneath him was a little puddle of blood. His lips finally parted to speak and the words that came out were screams of rage.
"That’s it! It’s because I’m so damn weak, that’s why I did nothing. If I had power like dad or uncle Thalvarin I could have just obliterated them in an instant."
Unknown to him the cloaked figure that had noticed his presence earlier was now approaching him from the shadows. A second later Eryndor’s body froze as someone touched him on the neck, he did not feel cold or hot but frozen in place. He had no way to resist even as the figure squeezed his throat. Eryndor was shocked, he had thought he was in an apparition or vision but why was this more real than he thought? Why did he feel his life was being threatened?
If this was real then they would have noticed him from the start, also Eryndor bled earlier and bleeding was impossible in the soul void so he was real or wasn’t. He was confused.
Even if he wanted to talk his way out of his situation he had no way of doing that since he was frozen. He tried to look underneath the hood of his attacker and regretted it. Underneath was a head of black smoke held together by an unknown force. Two blazing red lights signified eyes, "You’re not the messiah of the night." The words sounded like drums in his ear, blood shot out of Eryndor’s eyes, nose and ears as his body went limp.
