Rae van Daleon – The Roots of the Storm
by Lea von Löwenstein
Chapter 22: The Ambush
The corridors, previously choked with a tangible, oppressive silence, now vibrated with the low thrum of ancient machinery.
Rae moved with the caution of a cornered animal, her blade, a flickering silver extension of her will, held firm in her grip.
Her flashlight, a weak beacon against the encroaching darkness, stuttered as if it too felt the weight of the shadows.
Each step was a burden, a leaden weight pulling her down, fueled by the heretic’s words that echoed like a poisoned mantra in her mind and the gruesome image of Talia chained in the abyss that burned behind her eyes, forever seared into her memory.
A faint scraping sound, the rasp of metal on stone, sliced through the silence, snapping her back to the present.
She froze, every muscle tensing.
Every muscle in her small body coiled tight, a spring ready to unleash, and the shadows around her seemed to writhe and coalesce, and she understood then, a beat too late, that she was no longer alone.
A voice, a low, guttural mockery that grated against her ears, shattered the stillness. “You shouldn’t have come here, little thing.”
Rae spun, her flashlight beam lancing through the murk, momentarily blinding the figures that emerged from the shadows.
They were three, clad in the same tattered robes as the fallen cultist, their faces hidden behind crudely fashioned masks, each a mockery of humanity.
Jagged weapons, teeth of rusted metal, glinted wickedly in the dim light, promises of pain etched into their very form.
The leader, a hulking figure with a grotesque metallic plate bolted to the side of his face, stepped forward, his eyes, two points of malignant darkness, raking over Rae with undisguised contempt.
“Just a weak little girl,” he sneered, the words dripping with venomous disdain. “What do you think you’ll do against us?”
Rae didn’t answer, her jaw set firm, her small hands tightened around the hilt of her blade.
Her training, the years of harsh, demanding instruction from her father, rose to the surface, a mantra that pushed back the fear.
Stay calm.
Stay focused.
Watch their movements.
The leader laughed, a harsh, broken sound like rusted gears grinding together, “Brave, are you? Or just plain stupid? Either way, you end here.”
The First Strike
With a speed that defied his size, the leader lunged, his blade, a crude, serrated thing, slicing through the air with the brutal efficiency of a butcher’s cleaver.
Rae dodged, her body moving with the precise fluidity of a seasoned warrior, and countered with a swift, biting slash. The edge of her blade scored across the leader’s arm, a line of dark ichor welling up, thick and oily like crude.
He barely flinched, the blow only stoking the fires of his blood lust.
The other two cultists moved in unison, closing in around her, circling her like carrion birds scenting the dying.
One swung a heavy, rusted mace, the blow a whistling tempest that barely missed Rae as she ducked beneath it.
The other jabbed with a spear-like weapon, forcing her to backpedal, the crude metal scraping against the stone.
“You’re quick,” the leader snarled, his grin widening, a grotesque mask of malice. “But not quick enough to escape the embrace of the ruinous powers.”
Rae’s mind worked with frantic precision. She couldn’t allow them to hem her in, to encircle and overwhelm her. She feinted left, toward the mace-wielder, and with a sudden, explosive burst of speed she spun right, her blade a silvered streak of lethal intent.
It plunged into the side of the spearman, piercing through his thin robes and sinking deep, her small hands twisting the blade. A tortured cry, a guttural expelling of agony, echoed off the stone walls as he collapsed, a twitching, bloodied heap.
But the other two pressed harder, the tide of violence turning against her.
A Fight for Survival
The leader, a hulking brute fueled by a perverse faith and an intoxicating desire for bloodshed, surged forward once more, his attacks a relentless, hammering torrent of brutal force.
Each swing of his crude blade was a desperate attempt to cleave Rae in two, the rusted metal whistling through the air like the breath of some malevolent entity. Rae, small and agile, danced on the precipice of disaster, her blade flashing in a desperate counterpoint.
She deflected one blow, the impact sending tremors up her arm, the force of it threatening to wrench her grip. Then another, the impact jarring her bones, each collision a brutal reminder of her fragile mortality.
But the momentum of the leader’s assault was relentless, each strike forcing her to give ground, her small frame retreating under the sheer weight of his aggression.
The corridor narrowed, and each step backward brought her closer to the wall, closing off her avenues of escape.
The mace-wielder, a hulking silhouette of muscle and hate, saw his chance. His face, half-hidden behind a grotesque scrap of metal, was contorted into a mask of savage anticipation.
His eyes, two pinpricks of malicious glee, locked onto Rae, a predator fixating on its prey. He roared, a sound that vibrated in the confines of the corridor, and raised his mace high above his head, the rusted metal catching the meager light. It was a clumsy, telegraphed swing, but the sheer power behind it was enough to make Rae’s heart leap into her throat.
It was not a weapon of finesse, but rather of sheer destructive force.
It was a weapon intended not to cut or pierce, but to crush and pulverize, to shatter bone and rupture flesh.
The corridor erupted into chaos. Rae moved like a shadow, her training guiding her every step. The cultists were brutal but clumsy, their attacks fueled by rage rather than skill. She used their aggression against them, dodging and countering with precision.
One of the cultists swung a heavy club toward her head, but Rae sidestepped and delivered a sharp kick to his knee. He crumpled with a howl, and she followed up with a quick strike to his side, incapacitating him.
The second cultist came at her with a jagged dagger, his movements erratic. Rae blocked his thrust and twisted his arm, forcing him to drop the weapon. She shoved him back into the wall, his head striking the stone with a sickening thud.
The leader, now seething with fury, charged at her with a makeshift blade. He was faster and stronger than the others, his attacks relentless. Rae parried blow after blow, her arms aching from the effort.
“You think you’re strong?” he spat, his blade slamming against hers. “You’re nothing but a scared little girl!”
Rae gritted her teeth, her eyes narrowing. “Then why are you the one bleeding?”
She feinted to the left, drawing him off balance, then spun and drove her blade into his side. He roared in pain, stumbling back and dropping his weapon.
Using all her concealment skills, she learned from her father.
The Aftermath
The corridor fell silent, save for the labored breathing of the leader as he clutched his wound. The other two cultists lay unconscious on the ground. Rae stepped forward, her blade still at the ready, her gaze cold and unyielding.
“Where is Talia?” she demanded, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
The leader glared at her, his lips curling into a snarl. “You’ll never save her,” he hissed. “She belongs to the shadows now. Chaos has taken her.”
Rae’s jaw tightened. “What does that mean? What’s in the pit?”
The leader laughed, blood dripping from his mouth. “You’ll find out soon enough. It’s waiting for you.”
Before Rae could press him further, a low, guttural growl echoed through the corridor. The sound was deep and unnatural, vibrating through the walls and sending a chill down her spine.
The leader’s eyes widened in fear. “You… you woke it.”
Rae took a step back as the growl grew louder, closer. The leader scrambled to his feet, clutching his side. “You’re dead,” he spat.
“Sorry… I´ll pass. I am just a little girl… and now I will vanish, right before your eyes, in the shadows.” Rae face widened to a wide and angry grin.
Within the blink of an eye…
Rae was gone.
The Growling Beast
Rae turned toward the source of the sound, her blade steady but her heart racing. The growl became a roar, shaking the corridor as a massive, shadowy figure emerged from the darkness. Its form was grotesque—a twisted amalgamation of metal and flesh, its limbs jerking unnaturally as it moved.
Its eyes glowed faintly, a sickly yellow that locked onto her with predatory intent. Rae took a step back, her mind racing. She couldn’t fight this—not alone.
The creature lunged, its massive clawed hand slamming into the wall where she had stood a moment before. Rae rolled to the side, her movements instinctive. She didn’t stop to think. She ran.
The Chase
The corridor became a blur as Rae sprinted through the darkness, the creature’s roars shaking the walls behind her. Its heavy footsteps pounded like thunder, each one closer than the last.
She turned a corner and spotted a narrow passage ahead. Without hesitation, she dove into it, the walls scraping against her shoulders as she squeezed through. The creature roared in frustration, its massive frame unable to follow.
Rae didn’t stop. She ran until her legs burned and her lungs screamed for air. When she finally stopped, she leaned against the cold stone wall, her body trembling.
She had survived the ambush, but the leader’s words echoed in her mind.
“Chaos has taken her.”
Rae clenched her jaw, her determination hardening. Whatever was in the pit, whatever had taken Talia, she wasn’t going to stop until she brought her back-or destroyed the darkness that had claimed her.
