Chapter8 : The after effect

Beside Maro, Zellrid crouched and placed a hand on his chest, feeling the shallow rise and fall of his breaths. The Sorrowweaver, a towering creature with pulsing purple veins, clenched its fists and emitted low growls as it contemplated revenge through dark magic.

But then, as if in an instant, Zellrid's sorrowful expression transformed into one of fiery rage. His eyes glowed with a fierce determination that made the Sorrowweaver hesitate in fear. Without a word, Zellrid stood and lifted Maro into his arms before turning to face the creature.

"We leave now," he commanded with authority. "I crave a battle without restraint."

The Sorrowweaver had no choice but to obey Zellrid's orders as they ventured deep into a desolate forest, where life seemed to have fled.

With each step, Zellrid's glowing form lit the way until they reached a clearing. Suddenly, with a surge of power that shook the very air around them, Zellrid summoned bolts of brilliant purple lightning that crackled and danced around him. The trees trembled in response.

"Now you will face my reckoning," Zellrid declared, his voice echoing with power. "But first, tell me: where did you find the corpse with the silver ring?"

"Taken from a ravaged village," the Sorrowweaver replied with defiance. "Your strength doesn't intimidate me. Behold my true power!"

A memory flashed through Zellrid's mind, recalling the night of destruction and anguish that drove him to seek revenge. Fury ignited within him like never before, causing his eyes to mirror the hue of lightning as he let out a thunderous scream.

"If winning my life is a price I can take," he roared, his voice shaking the surrounding trees.

The Sorrowweaver began to chant, seeking to immobilize Zellrid in place. But suddenly, its vision was clouded by swarming specks of motion. Before it could react, the specks cleared to reveal a blur of shadowy steel bearing down upon it.

Zellrid, his arm lost but charged with an intensity that made his sword gleam from within, struck with a swiftness that defied prediction. The blow penetrated its magical defenses, striking true with a precision that luck couldn't explain. It was as if destiny guided the blade, and despite his missing limb, Zellrid's mastery over swordplay proved deadly. His strike bore down upon the Sorrowweaver, breaching its defenses like rainwater breaking through a dam.

But Zellrid's wrath surpassed the blow. He desired the Sorrowweaver to taste suffering before its end. His strikes became a frenzied dance, slashing with incredible speed and fury, cutting through everything within reach.

The Sorrowweaver's cry resonated, drawing the attention of the Zolabnyk. Over two hundred of them rallied to its aid against Zellrid. Yet he stood undeterred, confronting the horde alone. His singular prowess decimated the adversaries, and as the last foe fell, his blade was drenched in the chilling aftermath.

Now, the Sorrowweaver's plea for clemency fell on deaf ears. "Mercy? Did your victims know such kindness?" Zellrid's voice held resolute conviction, his response unyielding.

The Sorrowweaver's bones shivered as it met Zellrid's steely gaze. The shimmer in Zellrid's eye exuded an unsettling aura.

"Let my life be," the Sorrowweaver begged.

Zellrid's retort was curt, his voice dripping with scorn: "Scared of the fear you embody?"

His sword fell as he grasped the Sorrowweaver's eyes, wrenching them from their sockets and seizing the ring. With swift determination, he plunged his hands into the Sorrowweaver's eye sockets, releasing a torrent of electric energy.

The resulting explosion illuminated the night, leaving Zellrid clutching the ring amidst the fading sparks. His muttered words carried disdain: "Ugly creature."

As the violet lightning subsided, Zellrid's focus shifted to Maro. Urgency fueled his steps, propelling him to Maro's side. Already, a soldier attempted to move Maro to safety. Zellrid offered his assistance, helping transport Maro while ensuring he was protected from the cold by his armor.

The glow in Zellrid's yellow eyes waned as they made their way. Eventually, they reached the camp and carefully placed Maro on a bed. The soldiers recoiled at the sight of Maro's severed arm; shock was evident on their faces.

A soldier informed Zellrid of Maro's dire condition and Serana's need for blood. Danger loomed over them both. Zellrid acknowledged the gravity of the situation, his gaze shifting from Maro to the soldier. "Your name?" he asked.

"Johan, sir," came the soldier's reply.

Zellrid's nod carried a grim understanding. He pivoted to the remaining soldier, issuing his command with authority: "Into the forest for medicinal herbs. I possess the skill to brew a potion. Fail me not again. Understood?"

The soldier affirmed his understanding with a resolute "Yes, sir."

With purpose, Zellrid ventured into the forest, returning with a handful of medicinal plants. The rekindled glow of his yellow eyes illuminated the night, guiding him as he mixed the herbs with a soft hum.

In a matter of minutes, the potion was ready. Zellrid cradled Maro's head with care, pouring the potion into his mouth. He then turned his attention to Serana, who trembled nearby in agony.

With gentle precision, Zellrid lifted Serana, drawing his sword across his own skin to offer her his blood. The soldier's warning went unheeded as Zellrid reassured Serana in a hushed tone: "Drink, find relief."

Serana's consumption of Zellrid's blood yielded visible results. As her tension waned, Zellrid monitored the risks, his determination to aid his friends eclipsing the danger.

His arms cradled Maro, allowing him to drink water. The effort left Zellrid lightheaded, yet his resolve remained unyielding. He ordered the soldiers to remain vigilant and watch over their companions as he departed to secure sustenance for the camp.

Once more, Zellrid navigated the forest's depths. The darkness felt more oppressive; the silence unsettling. Instincts sharpened, and he scoured for provisions. A distant sound of leaves and twigs led him to a deer. Drawing his sword, he stalked closer, senses heightened.

As he approached the noise's source, a shadow emerged, its eyes reflecting sorrow and anguish. Zellrid's smirk gave way to concern as he addressed the creature.

"What's wrong, buddy?"

The wolf's mournful howl communicated urgency, guiding Zellrid deeper into the forest's heart. He followed, uncovering a path unseen by others. The wolf's posture shifted defensively as Zellrid pursued until eventually revealing four hunters threatening its offspring.