Rae van Daleon – The Roots of the Storm
by Lea von Löwenstein
Chapter 21: The Cultist in the Shadows
Rae pressed her back against the cold stone wall, her breathing shallow and controlled. The flickering beam of her flashlight illuminated the jagged, rusted walls of the narrow corridor ahead. The footsteps of the monstrous creature had faded into the distance, but the oppressive sense of dread in the air hadn’t lifted.
She gripped her blade tightly, its cold steel grounding her in the moment. She couldn’t afford to let her fear take hold. Talia’s face, pale and lifeless, flashed in her mind. She had to go back. She had to find another way.
Rae turned down another passage, her footsteps silent, her flashlight sweeping the path ahead. The air grew colder, the hum of ancient machinery replaced by a faint, rhythmic chant. The sound sent a chill through her, an unnatural cadence that seemed to echo from every direction.
She paused, her heart pounding. The chant grew louder as she moved forward, the words becoming clearer:
“Chaos guides me. Chaos saves me.”
The voice was low and guttural, filled with reverence and madness. Rae extinguished her flashlight, plunging herself into darkness. She moved carefully, relying on her memory and the faint glow of flickering lights in the distance.
The Cultist
As Rae approached the source of the voice, she crouched behind a rusted piece of machinery, peering out into a larger chamber. The room was dimly lit by flickering red lights, casting ominous shadows across the walls. In the center of the room stood a figure, cloaked in tattered robes, their back to her.
The cultist was kneeling before a makeshift altar—a twisted amalgamation of pipes, chains, and what looked like bones. Strange symbols were scrawled across the floor in a dark, viscous substance that Rae didn’t want to identify. The chanting continued, the words now more distinct.
“Chaos guides me. Chaos consumes me. The weak will fall, and the strong will ascend.”
Rae’s grip on her blade tightened as she studied the figure. They moved with a jerky, unnatural rhythm, their head tilting and twitching as though listening to an unseen force. The symbols on the floor seemed to pulse faintly, in time with the words.
She knew she couldn’t stay hidden for long. If the cultist noticed her, they might alert others—or worse, whatever monstrosity lurked in the depths.
The Confrontation
Rae took a deep breath and stepped out of the shadows, her blade held low but ready. The cultist didn’t react at first, their chant continuing unabated.
“Who are you?” Rae demanded, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart.
The cultist froze, their head snapping to the side as though hearing her voice for the first time. Slowly, they turned to face her, and Rae felt her stomach tighten.
The figure’s face was hidden beneath a hood, but their eyes glowed faintly, a sickly yellow that pierced the darkness. Their mouth twisted into a grin that was more animal than human.
“You shouldn’t be here,” the cultist rasped, their voice dripping with malice. “The shadows are not for the unchosen.”
“Where is Talia?” Rae asked, her blade rising slightly. “What have you done to her?”
The cultist laughed, a wet, gurgling sound that echoed through the chamber. “Talia? The weak one? She was offered, like all the others. Chaos guides her now, as it guides me.”
Rae’s grip on her blade tightened. “Where is she?”
The cultist tilted their head, their grin widening. “In the pit. Where she belongs. Where you will join her.”
Before Rae could react, the cultist lunged, their movements unnaturally fast. She sidestepped just in time, her blade slashing out and catching the edge of their robe. The fabric tore, revealing patches of flesh fused with metal, grotesque and pulsating.
The cultist snarled and swung at her with a jagged blade, its surface etched with the same strange symbols as the floor. Rae ducked and countered, her blade slicing across their arm. Black ichor oozed from the wound, but the cultist didn’t slow.
The Fight for Survival
The chamber erupted in chaos as Rae and the cultist clashed. The chanting had stopped, replaced by the clang of metal on metal and the snarls of her opponent. Rae’s movements were precise, her training kicking in, but the cultist fought with a feral intensity that made them unpredictable.
The symbols on the floor began to glow brighter, the air in the chamber growing heavier. Rae could feel it pressing down on her, an unnatural force that seemed to sap her strength.
The sacred chamber, once thrumming with the guttural rhythms of warped devotion, became a maelstrom of violence. The litanies of the damned were abruptly choked off, replaced by the shrieking clash of steel against steel, and the rabid growls of the cultist. Rae moved like a viper, each strike a precise cut honed by years of her father’s merciless instruction. Her blade was a blur, a silvered sliver of death weaving through the cultist’s frantic flailing. But the heretic, a wiry thing half-mad with faith, fought with the frenzied energy of one touched by the void, a desperate, unpredictable savagery that forced Rae to be constantly aware, her muscles screaming for respite she could not afford.
The sigils carved into the flagstone floor pulsed with a sickening light, each rune a sickly green that radiated with an unholy intensity. The air itself became heavy, thick and cloying like a tomb, pressing down on Rae’s lungs, each breath becoming a struggle. The unnatural weight of the warp seeped into her bones, leeching at her strength, a tangible corruption that even her disciplined mind struggled to ignore.
“Chaos guides me!” the cultist bellowed, spittle flecking their lips. Their voice, a ragged screech, tore through the oppressive air, a declaration of their soulless allegiance. “You cannot escape its will, child!”
Rae’s jaw clenched, her young face set in a mask of grim determination.
She ignored the terror crawling beneath her skin, the primal fear of the unnatural.
With a snarl of exertion, she lunged, her blade a silver flash of righteous fury.
The blow struck true, the tempered steel shearing through the cultist’s threadbare garb, slicing past muscle and sinew and biting deep into flesh.
A spray of dark, oily blood painted the flagstone, the scent of iron and corruption filling the air.
The cultist’s weapon, a crude iron thing, clattered from suddenly nerveless fingers, the sound echoing loud in the sudden silence.
The heretic’s eyes went wide, a look of shocked surprise twisting their face as they crumpled to the floor, their body twitching like a puppet with cut strings.
Rae did not hesitate, did not offer the fallen enemy a second chance to spill her blood.
She spun on the balls of her feet, her training screaming for speed and efficiency, and sprinted, her small boots pounding on the stone, her flashlight flickering back to life.
The single beam pierced the dimness ahead, a spear of blessed light in the encroaching darkness, pointing her to salvation.
She was gone in a heartbeat, leaving only the stench of blood and the chilling whispers of the unholy in her wake.
Rae gritted her teeth and lunged, her blade striking true. The cultist staggered, their blade falling from their grasp as they crumpled to the ground. Rae didn’t wait to see if they were truly defeated—she turned and ran, her flashlight flickering back to life as she sprinted toward the exit.
Deeper into the Shadows
Rae didn’t stop running until the faint sound of the growling creature returned, echoing from the direction of the bloodstained door. She slowed, her breaths ragged but controlled. The cultist’s words echoed in her mind, their twisted grin burned into her memory.
Talia was in the pit. Rae knew she couldn’t leave without finding her.
Steeling herself, she moved toward the door, her blade ready. The growling was louder now, a deep, guttural sound that reverberated through the corridor. Whatever lay ahead, Rae knew she was walking into the heart of the darkness.
And she wouldn’t stop until she brought Talia back—or faced whatever horrors the shadows had in store.
