The Broken Seal

The monolith before them stood as a silent sentinel, its jagged edges pulsing with the power of an ancient, forgotten ritual. Callan could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise as he approached. Every step felt heavier, as though the ground itself was fighting against him, urging him to turn back.

"It's too late," Ren muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "We shouldn't have come here."

Callan ignored him, his gaze fixed on the runes carved into the monolith. The symbols glowed with an unnatural light, their edges shifting and undulating like living things. He could almost hear them, whispering to him in a language long forgotten.

"We have to stop this," Callan said, his voice firm.

Ren stepped closer, eyeing the monolith warily. "I don't know if we can. The seal is broken, Callan. Whatever they were trying to summon, it's already here."

Callan clenched his fists, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. His sword, still sheathed, felt like a weight at his side. He had always relied on it to get him through the darkest moments of his life, but now, even the blade seemed uncertain.

"You know what this is, don't you?" Ren's voice cut through his thoughts. "This is the kind of thing that changes the world. The kind of thing that even you can't stop."

Callan didn't respond. He didn't need to. He already knew what Ren was trying to say. This was a war he couldn't win with strength alone. It wasn't just about the demon lord or the creatures they had fought. It was about the very foundation of their world. And if they didn't stop whatever this was, everything they knew would crumble.

The air grew colder as they neared the monolith. The shadows around them seemed to deepen, stretching longer and darker, as though they were alive. Callan's grip tightened on his sword, and he could feel the energy of the monolith pulling at him, trying to draw him in.

Ren hesitated before taking a step forward. "You're sure about this?"

Callan nodded grimly. "We don't have a choice."

A sudden gust of wind swept through the ruins, and the monolith's light flickered. The runes pulsed faster, their glow becoming almost blinding. Callan's heart raced as he felt the ground tremble beneath his feet.

And then, a voice, deep and resonant, echoed through the air.

"You dare disturb me?"

Callan's breath caught in his throat as the voice reverberated in his mind. The power was overwhelming, pressing down on him like an invisible weight.

"We didn't come here to disturb you," Callan said, his voice steady despite the pressure. "We came to stop this."

The voice laughed, a low, mocking sound that made the very air feel thick with malice. "You cannot stop what has already begun. The seal is broken, and the blood of the General is spilled."

Callan's blood ran cold. He could feel it—the sword in his hand, the curse that had followed him for so long. It was all connected, and he was the key.

The monolith shuddered, and the shadows around them twisted and writhed, coalescing into a shape—a figure that emerged from the darkness, its form shifting and changing like a living nightmare. It was tall, its body cloaked in robes of shadow, its eyes glowing with an unnatural light.

"It is time," the figure intoned.

Callan raised his sword, the blade gleaming with an eerie light. "Time for what?"

The figure smiled, its teeth sharp and black like obsidian. "Time for the return of the Demon General."