The Hooded Man

Adonis and Elora stepped cautiously into the mansion's depths. Each footstep echoed off the cold stone floor, the sharp sound swallowed by the oppressive silence. The golden light from Adonis's sword cast long, quivering shadows across the ruined grandeur—shattered furniture, blood-streaked curtains, and walls etched with dried crimson like grotesque murals of pain and madness.

"This place…" Elora murmured, her voice trembling. "It's not just a house. It's a prison… or maybe… a laboratory."

Adonis's eyes scanned the surroundings. "Chains… restraints… ritual markings. Someone's been experimenting here for a long time."

They reached a spiral staircase, and as they descended, a dull red light filtered down through a cracked dome overhead. The blood-colored illumination pooled around a stone ritual circle carved into the basement floor—covered in dark, dried blood and cryptic runes etched in pain and madness.

At the center of the circle stood a man in a hooded, black robe. His face hidden, his hands calmly behind his back. Around him, half a dozen undead creatures crouched like puppets, still and silent, awaiting a command.

"So… you made it," the man spoke, voice calm, but sharp like glass. "What disappointment these undead turned out to be at Knight-level strength in numbers, yet they couldn't stop you."

He tilted his head, almost amused. "No matter. I suppose it's fate you came here."

Without warning, the stone beneath his feet turned pitch black, forming a pulsing circle of shadows. From it came distant cries and wails, as though a doorway to hell had opened. The stench of rot intensified. Horrific creatures began to crawl from the circle—twisted, malformed undead, even worse than the ones before.

"Elora," Adonis said sharply, bracing himself.

"Undead element…" she gasped, eyes wide with disbelief.

The robed man chuckled. "Didn't expect anyone to know that. Yes—Undead Element. A miracle element. Or should I say, a curse from the netherworld? Only appeared once in history."

"Tell me about it," Adonis said, never taking his eyes off the figure.

Elora spoke quickly. "Undead element is… considered fantasy. No records of anyone awakening it in the past few centuries. It's said to summon the dead directly from the Netherworld—a realm where dark element souls go after death."

"Exactly!" the man laughed, the shadows swirling stronger around him. "But there's a limit. The Netherworld… is like hell. Not many with dark element die and end up there. So the number of powerful souls I can summon is small."

He raised a hand, slowly. "But not after today."

Adonis narrowed his eyes.

"Are you Malverick's descendant" Elora asked

The man grinned under his hood. "You think I'm Malverick's descendant?" he scoffed. "Your brain must be rotting like my minions. No… maybe your masked boyfriend has already guessed the truth. Isn't that right… Adonis?"

Elora turned, startled. "What is he talking about?"

Adonis stepped forward, his voice calm but heavy. "Malverick… was never the villain. The Sorcerer was. The story passed down—it was a lie."

The man clapped once, mockingly. "Good boy."

Adonis continued, his voice steady. "The Sorcerer wasn't a hero. He was the experimenter. This whole village… it's a lab. The people… subjects. Malverick came to stop him, and he died trying. The Sorcerer's final act—turning into a red star—wasn't a sacrifice. It was a control mechanism. That star manipulates the villagers' wills… keeps them in line. Makes them believe the false story."

"And we're the first outsiders in a long time…" Elora whispered, horror dawning on her face. "Everyone's smiles… the unnatural calm… They weren't normal. They were conditioned."

"Yes," Adonis said. "Everything we saw was a cover. The real truth lies in the light—that red star above. It's the eye of the Sorcerer… still watching."

The man laughed again—cold and triumphant. "History is written by victors, after all. You two... you're not bad. But you're too late."

The undead around him stirred.

"And now, I'll finish what that 'hero' Sorcerer started. The awakening of my perfect undead army."

Adonis's golden eyes gleamed, his swords forming silently at his back.

Elora drew her staff, whispering a spell. "Then I guess we'll have to rewrite history ourselves."