In the land of Tordale, magic is as diverse as the many living beings which call the continent home. Different forms of the intangible energy can allow one to accomplish a seemingly-boundless variety of feats that could not be achieved by hand or willpower, alone.
Often, that power is used to benefit all life. But there are some forms of magic that offer abilities which best satiate the selfish, the cruel, and the evil. In this brief passage, The Legend of Light’s main character, Alamor, experiences the horrifying presence of magic that wrought sinister deeds upon the innocent.
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They found the Market District completely empty and untouched by the invasion. Without the interruptions from holding enemies at bay or waiting for hordes to pass, they were able to make their way through the rest of the city much more swiftly than they initially had been able to.
They eventually came into a large plaza that was one of the most popular market sections of Caldeya. Alamor remembered the sprawling space from the afternoon he spent walking through the metropolis with Raissa; on that day it was filled from corner to corner with people as every last stall and shop bustled with activity.
He, Raissa, and Tiroku were the plaza’s only occupants on this night. It was silent, save for their footsteps over its stone surface.
“How much further to the sewer entrance?” Tiroku soon asked.
Raissa’s eyes scanned the rows of buildings that rose above the store’s rooftops just ahead of them. She had regained much of her composure since fleeing the battle. “We’re very close. I can see some of the spires from the River District; the buildings with those are all around the storehouse.”
Tiroku nodded in such a way that he appeared thankful for her answer. “Good. Let’s keep moving, then.”
They took off across the plaza. When they reached the center, Alamor felt as though he had run into a wall. His body and mind froze. He couldn’t see anything that seemed out of the ordinary, but he felt a strange presence all about him in the air. It chilled him to his very core.
In one way, it was familiar, but this presence that had suddenly descended upon the plaza was far more powerful than anything Alamor had encountered in the past, and although he couldn’t decipher why, he knew that it was of a malevolent nature.
Then, he heard it—what sounded like a person crying out from afar. It was soon joined by a host of other cries, until it sounded like hundreds—perhaps thousands—of faceless voices wailing into the night. Alamor sensed that they did not emanate from the living, but from a multitude of agonized souls who had suffered an unthinkable fate.
Terror fell upon Alamor as he realized that an insidious magic had found them.
Tiroku came to a sudden halt. As they stopped in the middle of the plaza, the old warrior’s stiff and cold expression turned toward another side of the open space. Alamor and Raissa turned to look down a street that ran into the plaza, where a stone bridge connecting the rooftops of two buildings rose high above.
What looked like an entire army of Wraithlings stood beneath the bridge—a sea of silent, black forms that watched menacingly in the distance. A man stood on the bridge above them. Even from afar, Alamor could see that he was a massive man dressed in black armor with silver spikes rising from his shoulder plates. His ghostly-white skin stood out glaringly beneath his black beard and against the flowing shadow that was his long, jet hair.
Alamor’s feet became pinned to the plaza floor. The malevolent force emanated from that man.
But how could such power come from just one person?