The Dark Warlock's Game

Chapter 32: The Hidden Part

Vardy turned just in time to see one of the attackers, huge with deadly gaze charging at him. 

He raised his staff again, but the beast was too fast. 

Just then, as Vardy was trying to run away unseeing the beast was about landing on him, he got stuck and the beast landed on his left hand. 

“Get off him!” Ferah roared, tackling the beast and locking him in combat.

Meanwhile, Tracy fought the crossbow-wielding woman, their movements a deadly dance. Tracy’s spear nicked the woman’s arm, drawing blood, but her opponent was relentless, firing bolt after bolt.

Vardy focused on the leader, the man with the twin daggers. He moved with calculated ease, dodging every strike as though he had fought them a hundred times before.

“White Oak’s best, I assume,” Vardy said, his tone icy.

The man smirked beneath his hood. “You’ve caused quite a mess, Dud. My employers aren’t pleased.”

“Good,” Vardy replied, launching another blast. The man dodged it effortlessly, closing the distance between them.

Vardy swung his staff, but the man caught it mid-air, twisting it out of his grip.

“Pathetic,” the man sneered. “You think your little tricks can scare us?”

Before he could strike, a piercing whistle cut through the air. Ferah, covered in blood but unbowed, had taken down the beast and now charged toward them. The leader dodged her attack, but her sword sliced through his cloak.

“White Oak,” Ferah hissed, her eyes narrowing.

The man cursed, retreating into the shadows. “This isn’t over, Dud. We’ll find you again.”

The remaining attackers followed suit, disappearing into the darkness.

“Cowards,” Tracy muttered, lowering her spear.

Vardy retrieved his staff, his breathing ragged. “They’ll be back. We need to move. Now.”

---

There was chaos in Haven City. Fires burned  in the slums, and the sound of shouting echoed through the narrow streets. Among the chaos, a small group of rebels gathered, their faces grim.

“We can’t keep this up,” one of them said, a woman with a scar running down her cheek. “Dean’s forces are too strong. We’re losing ground every day.”

A man at the head of the table slammed his fist down. “We don’t have a choice. If we don’t fight, we die.”

The group fell silent.

“What about the rumors?” a younger rebel asked hesitantly. “About the Dud with the undead army?”

The scarred woman scoffed. “Rumors won’t save us. We need action.”

“Rumors have a way of becoming real,” a voice said from the doorway.

The group turned to see Selene step into the room, her dark cloak billowing behind her.

“And you are?” the scared woman asked.

“Someone who knows what’s coming,” Selene replied, her eyes cold. “And if you’re smart, you’ll be ready when he arrives.”

---

The forest was silent once more as Vardy and his group hurried away from the clearing.

“Do you think they’ll follow us?” Luthor asked nervously, glancing over his shoulder.

“They’ll try,” Vardy said, his voice grim. “But next time, we’ll be ready.”

Tracy frowned, her grip on her spear. “And if they send more?”

Vardy didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The path ahead was growing darker.

“Look, there’s a passage over there...” Ferah pointed, her sword ready and her voice low.

Vardy followed the direction of her gesture. Nestled between jagged rock and stones.

“Hold on...” Vardy stepped forward, his staff gripped tightly in his hand. The others remained still as he moved closer to check the passage. 

The entrance was flanked by strange carvings, the symbols was deep into the stone, whispering of an ancient language long forgotten.

Tracy stepped forward, clutching her spear. “Doesn’t exactly scream ‘welcome.’”

“Stay back,” Vardy muttered, running his fingers over the markings. The moment his skin brushed the cold stone, the ground trembled.

“Vardy...” Ferah’s voice cried out.

“I know,” he said quickly, pulling his hand away, he moved backward as though sensing something.

The shimmering light grew into a faint barrier, blocking the entrance entirely. From within the depths of the passage, a low, resonant hum began to grow louder.

“Something’s waking up,” Luthor muttered, gripping his dagger.

Vardy turned to his group. “It’s a route to Haven City. We need it. If we want to avoid more bounty hunters or worse, this is our best shot.”

“And if it kills us?” Tracy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Then we’ll find another way,” Vardy replied. But even as he spoke, he knew there was no other way.

As Vardy stepped closer, the barrier faded. The hum subsided, leaving a ringing silence. They entered cautiously, the air inside the passage cold and still, carrying the faint smell of damp earth.

The walls of the tunnel shimmered faintly, faint runes flickering to life as the group moved further in.

“This doesn’t feel like a regular cave,” Luthor said, breaking the silence.

“Because it’s not,” Ferah replied, her eyes scanning their surroundings. “This place has power. Old power.”

Tracy frowned. “Is that supposed to make us feel better?”

“No,” Ferah said simply.

The passage began to widen, opening into a cavernous chamber. At the center stood a towering figure carved from black stone, its surface shone. I

It looked like a human but impossibly tall, with elongated limbs and glowing eyes.

“An ancient lookman,” Ferah whispered, her voice tinged with both awe and fear.

The figure stood motionless, its gaze fixed on the group. The cavern was silent, save for the faint sound of dripping water echoing from unseen crevices.

“Is it alive?” Tracy asked, gripping her spear tighter.

“It’s watching us,” Vardy said, stepping forward cautiously.

As if in response, the lookman's eyes flared brighter, and the ground beneath them shook. Dust and loose stones fell from the cavern ceiling as a deep, resonant voice filled everywhere.

“Who dares disturb the sacred yard?”

The voice reverberated through the air, each word heavy with authority.

Vardy raised his staff, his voice steady. “We mean no harm. We seek passage.”

Its head tilted slightly, its glowing eyes narrowing. “Passage is not given, it is only earned.”

Ferah stepped forward, her hand on the hilt of her sword. “We don’t have time for riddles. Either let us through, or we’ll find another way…”

“No, Ferah..” Vardy shot her a hard glare.

The lookman's gaze shifted to her, and a wave of pressure rippled through the air, forcing her to her knees.

“You do not speak for him, warrior.”

Vardy’s eyes darted between Ferah and the lookman “What do you want?”

The lookman’s gaze returned to Vardy, lingering on his staff. 

“You carry the taint of the void. The mark of undeath.” The voice deepened, almost mournful. “You are bound to darkness. Do you know the path you walk?”

Vardy hesitated. “I know what I am,” he said, his tone cold.

The lookman’s eyes dimmed briefly, as if not wanting to agree. “Few who claim such power wield it without consequence. Fewer still survive its cost.”

Tracy stepped closer, her voice trembling. “What does that mean? What cost?”

The lookman ignored her, its attention fixed on Vardy. “You seek Haven City. A place of shadows and lies. Why?”

“To stop a greater darkness,” Vardy replied, his voice firm.

The lookman tilted its head again, the glow in its eyes pulsing. “A darkness of your own making, perhaps. Or one you will amplify.”

Ferah struggled to her feet, her hand still on her sword. “Enough with all this. Are you going to let us through or not?”

The lookman remained silent for a long moment before speaking again. “The void recognizes you as one of its own. It is both your weapon and your curse. You may pass... but be warned: the path you walk will not end in salvation. It will end in destruction.”

The glowing eyes dimmed further, and the lookman stepped aside, revealing a second tunnel at the far end of the chamber.

Vardy hesitated, his grip tightening on his staff. “What kind of destruction?”

The lookman’s voice echoed one final time, fading into the depths of the cavern.

“The kind you cannot escape.”

---

Far above the underground passage, a man in a tattered cloak knelt before a glowing altar. The room was dark, lit only by the eerie green light coming from the altar's surface.

The man’s breathing was hard, his hands trembling as he traced the runes carved into the altar. “It’s happening,” he whispered.

Behind him, a figure emerged from the shadows, cloaked in darkness.

“Is it ready?” the figure asked, its voice smooth but laced with menace.

The man nodded, his gaze fixed on the altar. “The artifact... it’s reacting. The ripples are growing stronger.”

“Good,” the figure replied, stepping closer. “Then he’s coming. And when he does, we will be ready.”

“Can we defeat the undead?” The man asked, a little shaky as the monster looking figure turned back.

“If you're scared then, I'll have to kill you first.” The monster roared.

The man fell to his knees, “pardon me master, please.”