High Priest

The silence was a suffocating blanket, broken only by Raj's ragged breaths. Every inch of his body screamed in protest, a chorus of aches and burns left by the Berserker Deadman's brutal onslaught. Blood, his and the Berserker's, stained the broken earth a dark, ominous crimson. He'd survived. Barely.

Beside him, Hex stood motionless, a statue carved from shadows. His dark green chi flickered around him like phantom flames, coiling and twisting, a visible manifestation of the raw power that simmered beneath his calm exterior. Even the air seemed to hold its breath, anticipating something terrible.

Above, the sky was a bruised, crimson void, pressing down on them with oppressive weight. It amplified the dread that gnawed at Raj's gut, a primal fear that whispered of something ancient and malevolent.

The Berserker, a mountain of rage and muscle just moments ago, lay broken at their feet, its thunderous roars finally silenced. The cunning Serpent Deadman, however, had slithered back into the shadows, escaping the purifying touch of Hex's flames. Raj exhaled, a shaky breath that did little to calm his racing heart.

Then, the ground began to tremble. Not the familiar tremor of an earthquake, but a deep, resonant shudder that vibrated through their bones, a primal warning echoing from the depths of the earth. It was a heartbeat, slow and deliberate, of something vast and terrible awakening.

Ravyn, Hex's crow, shrieked, a piercing cry that tore through the unnatural stillness. His wings beat frantically, a frantic dance of fear that resonated with something beyond human comprehension. Raj's muscles coiled, his senses screaming for him to be ready. Something else was here.

Hex's crimson-tinged gaze narrowed, his eyes burning with an intensity that mirrored the blood-red sky. "We are not alone," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous.

And then, a figure materialized from the swirling mist, stepping out of the shadows as if they were his birthright.

The High Priest of the Cult.

Raj felt a primal terror grip him, a fear that went beyond the physical. This presence was fundamentally wrong. Not like the mindless hunger of the Deadmen, not even like the chilling power of the Awakened. This was… something else.

The air around the figure rippled and distorted, as if reality itself recoiled from his presence. Shadows stretched and writhed, defying the laws of light and space. The very air seemed to thicken, making it hard to breathe. Raj's stomach clenched, a cold knot of dread tightening within him.

He was tall, a gaunt silhouette draped in tattered black robes, each layer covered in grotesque scripture. The demonic glyphs, embroidered in crimson thread, pulsed with a sickening, internal light, like veins throbbing beneath the skin. His face was hidden, completely obscured by the shadows of his cowl. Only two violet glyphs burned where his eyes should have been, twin stars of malevolent intelligence. They didn't glow; they burned, with a cold, knowing hunger that chilled Raj to the bone.

But it wasn't his appearance that made Raj's blood run cold. It was his presence. He radiated an aura of ancient power, of cosmic horror. He felt like a living blasphemy, a prayer whispered into the abyss and answered with terrifying force.

And when he spoke—the very fabric of reality seemed to bend to his will. His voice was a low, resonant drone, layered with whispers that seemed to slither into Raj's mind, promising power and oblivion in the same breath. It was a sound that bypassed the ears and resonated directly with his soul, a chilling symphony of madness and ancient malice.

"The Blood Moon rises. And so does our Lord."

Raj's fists clenched, his knuckles white. "Who the hell are you?"

The figure's lips barely moved. The whispered layers in his voice intensified, a chorus of madness just beneath the surface. "I am merely His voice." A pause, heavy with unspoken menace.

Raj's heart hammered against his ribs. "His?"

Hex's usually impassive face tightened, a flicker of something dark crossing his features. His voice, normally calm and controlled, was now laced with ice. "Dante."

The High Priest tilted his head, a slow, deliberate movement that exuded an unnerving sense of amusement. The whispers in his voice shifted, becoming a mocking echo of laughter. "Ah. The last scion of the Hex Clan remembers."

Raj's eyes darted to Hex, searching for answers. "You know him?"

Hex's fingers curled into fists, his knuckles bone white. A muscle twitched in his jaw. His voice was a low growl, barely audible. "I've purged his kind before."

The High Priest chuckled, a dry, rasping sound that grated on Raj's nerves. It wasn't laughter. It was something far more disturbing. The sound of static twisting into a mockery of mirth, of reality distorting into amusement. The whispers in his voice intensified, becoming a cacophony of madness. "And yet, here I stand."

Raj's muscles coiled, every fiber of his being screaming for him to flee. This wasn't just a battle. This was a confrontation with something ancient, something fundamentally wrong.

Then—the High Priest raised his hand.

His tattered sleeve fell back, revealing an arm covered in writhing scripture. Each rune was not merely tattooed, but carved into his flesh, pulsing with an abyssal energy that made Raj's stomach churn. His breath hitched, a wave of nausea rising in his throat.

And with a single, languid gesture—the dead began to rise.

The battlefield groaned, the earth itself seeming to weep. The corpses of exorcists, candidates, even the Deadmen themselves, twitched and convulsed, their bodies reanimating with unnatural speed. Then—their eyes snapped open.

But they were wrong.

Their pupils were empty voids, black holes where souls should have resided. No spark of life, no flicker of recognition. Only a chilling, single-minded purpose.

These were not the shambling, mindless Deadmen of before. These were something… different.

Their movements were fluid, coordinated, terrifyingly skilled. They moved with the precision of trained killers, their bodies animated by a dark, puppeteer's hand.

Hex's voice was dangerously calm, a stark contrast to the chaos erupting around them. "This is no mere necromancy."

Before Raj could even process the implications of Hex's words, the undead attacked. One moment, they were still; the next, they were upon them. A spear blurred towards his temple, a strike that would have been lethal had it connected. Raj's breath hitched, a jolt of pure adrenaline surging through him. He twisted in mid-air, the weapon whistling past his ear, the wind of its passage a chilling reminder of his near-death. He countered with a brutal knee strike aimed at the warrior's jaw.

CRACK!

The warrior's skull caved in, bone splintering and teeth shattering. But its body didn't stop. It kept coming, its dead eyes locked on Raj, its movements unnervingly fluid. Raj stumbled back, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the rising tide of fear.

"They don't feel pain!?"

Hex's hands blurred, a whirlwind of motion as he wove intricate symbols in the air. "Hex Mark: Sealing Array!" he roared.

A dozen floating talismans ignited with a searing light, forming a massive, circular script suspended in the air. The moment the undead warriors stepped within its boundaries—they froze. Bound. Trapped.

Raj exhaled a sigh of relief, a moment of respite in the face of the encroaching horde. His muscles trembled, the adrenaline beginning to recede, leaving him weak and shaky.

Then, the High Priest snapped his fingers.

And the entire sealing formation shattered. The talismans exploded in a shower of sparks, the undead warriors instantly freed.

Hex's eyes darkened, his expression hardening.

Raj cursed under his breath. "That's… impossible!?"

The High Priest's voice was smooth, devoid of any emotion. The whispers were gone, replaced by a chilling clarity. "What is written can be rewritten." His gaze shifted to Hex, a hint of something cruel flickering in those violet glyphs. "Your clan should know that best."

Hex's fingers twitched, his hands clenching and unclenching. The air around him crackled with raw power.

Raj realized then. Hex wasn't just focused. He wasn't just composed.

Hex was furious.

The earth ripped open, the cracks in reality widening into gaping wounds. A wave of fetid air, thick with the stench of decay and sulfur, washed over Raj, making his stomach churn.

And from these wounds, something far more terrifying emerged.

Demonic figures, twisted parodies of exorcists, crawled forth from the abyss. Their armor clung to their warped bodies, their flesh corrupted and grotesque. Their faces were no longer recognizable, consumed by the demonic transformation, their features replaced by writhing masses of tendrils and gaping maws filled with needle-sharp teeth. Some had extra limbs, others had spines that jutted out fromtheir flesh, tipped with cruel barbs.

Raj's pulse thundered in his ears. He could barely register the sheer number of them, the tide of demonic horror that surged towards them. His breath hitched, a whimper escaping his lips before he could suppress it.

Hex's breath was steady, but his hand was already moving, weaving more complex seals in the air, his chi surging around him like a raging storm. The air around him shimmered with raw power, a palpable tension building.

Raj swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Hex?"

Hex's fingers danced, forming the intricate patterns of a powerful sealing array. His red-tinged gaze met Raj's, a flicker of warning in their depths. "Stay close. If you fall behind, you will die."

Raj gritted his teeth, a surge of adrenaline coursing through him. Fear was a luxury he couldn't afford. He channeled his terror into a sharp focus, his senses heightened, his body coiled and ready. "Then let's finish this together."

The High Priest smiled, a chilling expression that didn't reach his hidden eyes. The whispers returned to his voice, now laced with a triumphant edge. "Then come, Last Scion of the Hex Clan. Come, Warrior of the Eclipse Flow." He raised his hand, a gesture that unleashed the full fury of the abyss.

The demonic army charged, a cacophony of snarls, screeches, and guttural roars. The ground trembled beneath their advance, the air thick with the stench of their corruption.

Raj exhaled, focusing his chi, channeling his fear into a razor-sharp focus. He could feel the power surging through him, a burning heat that pushed back the encroaching dread.

Then—he moved. He launched himself forward, a blur of motion, meeting the demonic horde head-on. He didn't just stand and trade blows. He used the uneven terrain to his advantage, dodging behind crumbling pillars and weaving through the legs of larger demons. He used their momentum against them, drawing them into each other or off balance.

When Raj used Eclipse Flow, the air around him shimmered and distorted. Dark, almost smoky tendrils of energy flowed from his hands and feet, leaving trails in the air as he moved. These trails dissipated quickly, like shadows flickering in the light. When he struck, the dark energy coalesced into a sharp point, amplifying the force of his blows. He launched himself off a demon's back, using the momentum to deliver a spinning kick infused with dark energy, or he might slide under a demonic attack and then erupt upwards with a palm strike that sent a shockwave of force.

He noticed the demons' enhanced coordination. He realized he couldn't fight them like mindless undead. He started to analyze their movements, looking for patterns and weaknesses. He adapted his fighting style, using feints and misdirection to create openings.

Hex's magic was more than just glowing symbols. He manipulated them in real-time, expanding, shrinking, and moving them to control the battlefield. He could use them to trap demons, deflect attacks, or even enhance his own strikes. His chi wasn't just a green aura. It manifested as tangible constructs – whips of energy that he used to lash out at demons, shields that he used to block attacks, or even temporary platforms that he used to gain a height advantage. When Hex cast a spell, runic inscriptions appeared in the air, glowing brightly before the spell was unleashed. These inscriptions weren't just visual flair; they represented the complex incantations and magical formulas that powered his spells. He could imbue his chi with elemental properties. For example, he might create a seal of fire that burned any demon that passed through it, or he might conjure a wave of ice to freeze a group of enemies in place.

High above the chaotic battlefield, Ravyn, Hex's crow, circled. He beat his wings against the oppressive air, gaining altitude, his sharp eyes taking in the scene below. From his vantage point, the battle was a swirling vortex of chaos. The crimson-tinged sky provided a macabre backdrop to the carnage.

He saw the tiny figures of Raj and Hex, two beacons of defiance against the encroaching darkness. Raj, a whirlwind of motion, carving a path through the demonic horde, his Eclipse Flow techniques a dance of death. Hex, a fortress of power, his seals flashing and exploding, holding back the tide of demonic fury.

Ravyn cawed, a harsh cry that was lost in the din of battle. He wheeled in the air, his gaze sweeping across the battlefield, searching, calculating. He saw the High Priest, a still point in the swirling chaos, his presence radiating an aura of malevolent power. Ravyn felt a primal fear grip him, a dread that resonated deep within his ancient instincts.

He knew what he had to do. He had to warn them. He had to show them the full extent of the High Priest's power, the true horror of the abyss that they faced.

Ravyn beat his wings harder, climbing higher, pushing against the suffocating pressure of the corrupted air. He needed a broader view, a perspective that would reveal the High Priest's strategy, the patterns of the demonic horde. He needed to see the bigger picture.

He reached the apex of his climb, the battlefield spread out beneath him like a grotesque tapestry of death and destruction. And then he saw it. The High Priest's movements, the subtle shifts in the demonic horde's formations, the way the very ground seemed to bend to his will.

Ravyn cawed again, a desperate cry that carried the weight of his warning. He had seen enough. He knew what he had to do. He plunged downwards, a black arrow aimed at the heart of the battle, carrying the knowledge that could mean the difference between survival and annihilation. He used his agility and size to harass the demons, distracting them and creating openings for Raj and Hex. He scouted ahead, identifying the High Priest's position and any traps or ambushes. He relayed information between Raj and Hex, coordinating their attacks and strategies.