Lord of the Mysteries: Catalyst of Shadows

The war chamber was cloaked in shadows, the flickering candlelight casting long, wavering silhouettes across the heavy wooden table. Maps, intelligence reports, and hastily sketched battle formations were scattered across its surface, each one a testament to the weight of the decisions about to be made.

The tension in the air was suffocating. Every officer present knew the stakes—this wasn't just another operation. This was the decisive move against the rot that had infiltrated the colony.

Nivlek stood at the head of the table, hands braced against the polished wood, "His" gaze scanning the room before shifting to the documents before "Him". "His" mind was already sorting through contingencies, balancing risk against necessity. They lacked the overwhelming force for a total sweep, meaning every move had to be surgically precise.

Captain Elias, composed but sharp, took a step forward. "General, our forces have been assembled. We stand at one hundred and eighty combatants—barely enough to maintain the colony's defense while committing to an assault." His tone remained professional, but there was an unspoken concern beneath his words.

Nivlek already understood. Even with their numbers, this wasn't a guaranteed victory. The enemy had embedded themselves deeply. If the operation went awry, the colony could be left vulnerable.

"We lack the luxury of attrition," Nivlek said, voice steady. "Every engagement must be swift, every strike precise. Our goal is to neutralize the enemy before they can properly react."

Elias nodded, motioning to the officers standing apart from the rest. "Leading the detachments are Captains Reaper Gregor; Priest of Light Selene; Guardian Alden; and Disciplinary Paladin Varin."."

A calculated move. Each one possessed unique strengths suited to the objectives at hand.

Nivlek straightened, meeting each captain's gaze in turn.

"Captain Alden," "He" began, "your Guardian unit will serve as the vanguard. Break enemy formations, draw their attention, and clear the path for the main strike force." Alden nodded firmly, the veteran's presence unwavering.

"His" gaze moved next. "Captain Gregor, you will cut off all escape routes to the northeast. No one makes it into the jungle."

Gregor smirked slightly but gave a nod of acknowledgment. He was efficient. Merciless.

"Captain Varin," Nivlek continued, "you will lead a force to the west. The docks are not to be used as an escape route. If they attempt to flee by water, eliminate them."

Varin said nothing, simply offering a sharp nod. A man of few words, but he understood orders well.

Selene inclined her head, silent and composed, but Nivlek's gaze remained on her. "His" tone sharpened. "Additionally, you are to hunt down the hidden members within the city. We cannot allow any remnants of their influence to linger."

A flicker of understanding passed through Selene's expression. No hesitation. No need for further clarification. She simply nodded. "Understood, General."

A ripple of acknowledgment passed through the room.

Still, there was more to address.

"We need captives," Nivlek continued, "His" voice edged with finality. "Some of these individuals must be taken alive. We need intelligence—locations, supply lines, additional operatives. If they resist, kill them. Otherwise, extract what you can."

A few officers stiffened. They understood the subtext. This was not a battle where mercy played a role.

"His" eyes swept across the table. "Furthermore, there will be no leaks. If word of this operation reaches the enemy before we strike, the consequences will be immediate and severe."

No one protested.

Nivlek's fingers traced the map's edges. "His" thoughts ran ahead of the conversation, predicting the flow of battle, the possible complications, the inevitable shifting of tactics once they were in the field. A moment's hesitation could doom them all.

"His" voice dropped, cutting through the silence like a blade.

"There is a high likelihood of third-party interference. If an unknown force enters the battlefield, invoke my Honorific Name immediately. I will be monitoring all movements mid-mission. Be prepared to adjust accordingly."

This wasn't paranoia—it was a necessity. Too many things had gone unnoticed for too long. If someone else had their hands in this conflict, they needed to be prepared.

"His" attention settled on the unmarked routes east of the ruins. If any attempt was made to slip away through unconventional means, their hunters would be waiting. "Scouts will be stationed along all minor trails. Any attempt to flee through them will be intercepted. No survivors unless they prove useful."

Another beat of silence, broken only by the distant howl of wind beyond the chamber walls.

Elias exhaled, his expression hardened. "Understood, General."

Nivlek met his gaze.

"Prepare the troops," "He" ordered. "The hunt begins at dawn."

…

Nivlek strode through the dimly lit corridors, the echoes of "His" boots swallowed by the hush of night. The war chamber's heavy atmosphere still clung to "His" mind. The operation was set, the pieces in place. Now, all that was left was the inevitable march toward blood and fire.

The office "He" had chosen for "Himself"—whether out of necessity or amusement—had once belonged to Governor Marcel. Now, its previous occupant lay cold in the ground, his final words dissolved into nothingness. A fitting irony.

Nivlek stepped inside, the door closing behind "Him" with a dull click. The space was tidy, almost disturbingly so. This is the office that rat used to arrogantly plan his misgivings. Pathetic.

With a quiet exhale, "He" unfastened "His" coat, draping it over the chair before settling behind the desk. "His" fingers drummed idly against the polished wood as "His" thoughts coiled into place.

This operation involving devils is too fishy for my taste. It's not involved with the Devil Monarch, his situation is too dire for simple Saints to be interfering and it is managed by the Earth Mother Church. For now.

Alongside the Chained Pathway, those demons are also under the wing of that indulgent mother. I wouldn't be surprised if all this is for "Her". And if that's the case…

Sigh

Nivlek sighed as "He" remembered the headache "He" had to endure with the upcoming problems appearing on "His" doorstep.

The political angles were just as much of a battlefield as the one "He" was about to set ablaze. Intis wants stability in the colonies, but only enough to keep control. The Church wants purity, but not at the cost of a war they aren't ready to fight. Meanwhile, the secret organizations slither in the shadows, each pulling at the seams of this land. 

A slow grin stretched across Nivlek's face. Perfect.

This is what I wanted. War and fire… My blood boils with such anticipation! It has been too long since my last hunt, and now, I will revel in their demise.

This is where the fun begins.

…

The night was restless. The colony, usually still in the late hours, carried an uneasy tension that crackled beneath the surface. Nivlek stood upon the outpost's watchtower, "His" coat billowing lightly in the unnatural breeze. The skies above were shifting, responding to "His" presence. The clouds swirled in slow, deliberate motions, as if waiting for "His" command.

Below, the last preparations were being made. Officers moved swiftly, their boots striking the dampened ground with purpose. The forces were gathering, finalizing their equipment and setting their routes. Each squad was taking their designated position, according to the strategy Nivlek had carefully laid out.

"He" observed them keenly, "His" mind assessing every movement, every shift in morale. "His" Chain of Command hummed beneath the surface, tethering him to "His" men. "He" could feel their unease, their anticipation. This was the moment before the storm, the breath before the plunge.

The air was thick with moisture, the distant jungle stretching in foreboding silence beyond the colony's borders. 

Hound would already know by now. His Danger Premonition would have warned him the moment I became a threat. The chances of capturing him have plummeted—unless whatever they're doing within or beneath those ruins is meaningless enough to abandon without hesitation.

Then again, there's an equal chance he's arranging for reinforcements, buying time, scrambling to fortify his defenses against my inevitable strike.

Nivlek let out a low chuckle, amusement flickering in "His" gaze. That's assuming it was anyone else standing here.

That cheapskate wanted the spotlight again, to twist this little game to his favor. Not on my watch.

"His" thoughts drifted to the sly offer "His" newfound partner-in-crime had whispered to "Him" days ago.

One Saint? Nivlek scoffed internally. That's nothing I can't handle.

With a slight motion of "His" fingers, "He" willed the atmosphere to shift. The wind carried "His" intent, rolling over the marshlands where their enemies hid. A thick, heavy fog began creeping from the outskirts, bleeding through the trees like a rising tide. "His" fog would stretch deep, choking all visibility and suppressing the senses of those within it.

They would never see the strike coming.

Behind "Him", Captain Elias approached, his voice low but firm. "General, all units are in place. The scouts report no movement yet, but we expect resistance once we breach the ruins."

Nivlek nodded, not taking "His" eyes off the horizon. "Good. Keep the formations tight. Do not let anyone slip past. If you notice third-party interference, invoke my name immediately."

Elias stiffened slightly but gave a firm nod. "Understood, General."

Nivlek lifted "His" hand, palm facing the sky. The air pressure dropped suddenly, and a cold wind swept through the colony. The soldiers on the ground felt it, their instincts sharpening as if nature itself had given them an unspoken warning. High above, the clouds darkened, thickening into an oppressive stormfront.

"He" would command the battlefield before the first blade was drawn.

From "His" elevated position, Nivlek let "His" vision stretch forward. "His" control over the environment granted "Him" an extended awareness of the region, allowing "Him" to sense the shifts in air currents, the disturbances in the elements.

Lightning flickered deep in the belly of the approaching storm. "He" was preparing something.

The moment the operation began, "He" would strike.

…

Hours later, under the cover of thickening mist, the first movements commenced. The jungle swallowed the soldiers like ghosts slipping into the unknown. The wind carried whispers of their steps, their breaths, their intent. Their presence was masked—the enemy would not hear them until it was too late.

At the temple ruins, the first signs of resistance emerged. Dim torchlight flickered between the broken pillars, silhouettes shifting through the haze. Figures stood guard, their weapons glinting faintly. Hound's forces were ready, but they were blind.

A soft rumble echoed from the skies above. The air vibrated, pressure mounting as if the heavens themselves were bracing for impact.

Then, it began.

A crack split the sky, followed by a rapid chain of thunderclaps. Nivlek extended "His" arm, and from the storm above, streaks of violet-tinged azure lightning rained down in guided precision. They struck the outskirts of the ruins, setting fire to the damp undergrowth, illuminating the enemy's confusion.

Hound's men scrambled, their formations thrown into disarray. Some attempted to flee deeper into the ruins, while others raised their weapons against the unseen threat.

Nivlek's voice carried through the air, reaching "His" captains through the Chain of Command. 

"Now. Strike."

The jungle erupted.

From the mist, squads emerged, executing a coordinated assault. The vanguard—Alden—clashed directly with the scattered forces, their augmented weapons tearing through the enemy line with ruthless efficiency. Gregor's men cut off the escape routes, while Varin's flank ensured that none reached the docks.

The temple ruins became a battlefield of steel and flame.

Nivlek moved with a supernatural grace, "His" presence a blur of destruction upon the battlefield. "His" figure twisting into a massive spear of violet fire, streaking through the air before crashing into a cluster of enemies like a divine javelin. The impact sent shockwaves rippling outward, scorching the ground and incinerating those caught in its wake. The moment the explosion cleared, "He" reformed, rising from the embers like a war god stepping out of a battlefield pyre.

Without pause, "He" transformed once more. This time, "His" body condensed into a blazing meteor, plummeting from the sky with devastating momentum. The impact shattered the stone beneath "Him", sending a violent shockwave rippling through the temple ruins. The unfortunate enemies caught beneath "Him" were reduced to little more than shadows seared into the earth. The battlefield roared in protest at "His" arrival, flames licking the air as "His" presence distorted the very atmosphere around "Him".

Even as "He" reformed, a blade of pure augmented steel appeared in "His" grasp. "He" struck with merciless precision, each swing infused with Cull, severing life before the enemy even realized they had been marked. No one who stood against "Him" remained whole.

The enemy was outmatched. Their desperation became apparent, their movements frantic. Some fell to their knees in surrender, others turned to run—only to be dragged back into the suffocating red mist.

And yet, Nivlek's eyes remained sharp. Something was missing. Something was wrong.

Hound is not here.

The realization settled deep, cold despite the raging flames.

"His" mind worked quickly, scanning the battlefield as "His" senses reached outward. The enemy's movements were uncoordinated, panicked—like a force left to fend for itself without leadership.

That meant their true target was elsewhere.

With a swift motion, "He" lifted his hand to the storm. The winds shifted abruptly, carrying "His" command outward.

"Find him."

The storm howled in response, the shifting winds carrying Nivlek's will across the battlefield. Sheets of rain cascaded down, crashing against the earth like a relentless tide. Thunder rumbled, a growl rolling through the heavens, an unspoken warning of the devastation yet to come. The battlefield itself bent beneath "His" authority—the very air shivering as if bracing for the inevitable.

Below, "His" forces moved with merciless precision.

Alden pressed the front, their reinforced armor absorbing desperate blows, shields locking into an unbreakable formation. They pushed forward, swords cleaving through flesh and steel alike, a moving wall of discipline and merciless slaughter.

Gregor's men were phantoms in the fog, slipping between pillars of stone and shattered ruins, blades flashing before stragglers even realized they were marked for death.

Varin's flank secured the western escape routes, his warriors cutting down those who tried to flee toward the docks. There would be no second chances.

Still—the unease persisted.

Something wasn't right.

Nivlek's Weather Manipulation granted "Him" an unparalleled sense of the battlefield's flow—the shifting air pressure, the fluctuating temperature, the breath of the land beneath "His" feet. Yet, something was missing.

The enemy's defense was scattered, their resistance fractured. This wasn't the calculated desperation of a leader rallying his forces. This was directionless, chaotic—as if abandoned.

Where was Hound?

Nivlek's gaze darkened, extending "His" senses outward. The storm stretched at "His" command, unseen tendrils reaching across the jungle, scouring the land beyond the ruins, searching—listening.

Then came the silence.

A void within the storm's reach.

Something was suppressing his influence.

"His" Chain of Command flared to life. "Elias, report."

The Captain's voice cut through the link, steady despite the chaos. "Resistance is weakening, General. We've secured most of the ruins, but—" There was a pause, a sharp intake of breath.

"Wait. Something's happening. Eastern perimeter. The jungle—"

Then it happened.

The storm shuddered.

For a moment, Nivlek's control over the battlefield wavered. "His" Fog of War quivered—not from resistance, but from something foreign entering its domain.

Then, a crack.

Not thunder. Not lightning.

Something tore open the storm, a jagged rift of shifting darkness, an intrusion into the natural order.

The air itself strained as an unnatural pressure descended upon the battlefield, a weight that sent an involuntary shudder through even the most hardened warriors.

Nivlek's influence resisted, the storm unnaturally sluggish.

Then "He" saw it.

At the heart of the disturbance, standing at the epicenter of the shifting storm, was a figure clad in ashen robes, his form flickering like a mirage.

In his grasp—a twisted, ever-shifting tablet, its surface composed of a silver-white material that appeared both solid and fluid at once. The glyphs etched upon it distorted ceaselessly, rearranging into an indecipherable script that flickered between moonlight luminescence and abyssal darkness. At its center, a deep rift pulsed, not with physical depth but an illusion of infinite expanse, as though gazing into it might drag one's soul inward. The air around it wavered subtly, as if the boundary between realms had thinned in its wake.

Nivlek's eyes narrowed. A High Summoner artifact.

A chill swept through the battlefield as a voice slithered through the air, layered, shifting—a voice from the depths of something unclean.

"General… finally."

The fog recoiled.

The storm wavered.

And from the rift, Hound stepped forward.

Not alone.

And still grinning.

A deep wail echoed from the ruins—not human, not beast, but something that resonated beyond reality itself. Nivlek's intuition screamed a warning just as the moonlight deepened, revealing something lurking beneath the ruins.

Nivlek's carefully controlled battlefield of destruction was no longer entirely "His" to command. The artifact twisted the spiritual landscape, forcefully imposing the Moon's influence on reality. "He" could feel the weight of something moving beyond the ruined temple, answering the Summoner's call.

Nivlek's gaze snapped to the side, where shadows stirred between the remnants of shattered pillars. The figure was distorted, shifting between states of reality like a mirage under the silver glow.

"I hope you enjoy the hunt as much as I do."

And then, the first summon emerged—stepping forth from a rift of silver-edged darkness, a creature woven from whispers and bone.