Chapter 25 – The Ritual in the Shadows
Sabbah slipped away from the sounds of battle like a wraith, gliding through the narrow alleys. The moonlight brushed the edges of the buildings as he moved like a ghost. When he turned a corner, a ruined stone structure loomed before him. Time had broken it down: moss-covered walls, a collapsed roof, forgotten by all.
Sabbah narrowed his eyes. "This place is silent enough."
He descended lightly to the ground. After a quick glance around, he opened a small pouch from his robe. From it, he drew a black, misty crystal. A small hole was carved into its tip.
Before wearing it, he knelt. From another pocket, he drew a curved dagger and pressed it into his left palm.
Blood trickled down his fingers. With the tip, he began drawing a crooked hexagram on the stone floor. Every line, every drop of blood, fell like a lament into the night. He placed the crystal at its center.
Half-closing his eyes, he began to chant: "Sha'drak va'losen... Ekrü tal'ven... Thar'kha en silen..."
The voice didn't seem to come from his throat, but from the edge of some abyss. The hexagram trembled. From the crystal, a black mist began to pour out. But it was no ordinary mist—the stench of decay, whispers of forgotten curses, and traces of dark knowledge filled the air. The mist did not spread outward; it was being drawn inward, back into the crystal.
Sweat beaded on Sabbah's brow. His chant quickened: "Vel'zuran... Morh'Tekh... Kal'dar im Na'mek..."
The crystal pulsed as if feeding on his soul.
At last, he spoke the final phrase, looped the thin black cord through the crystal, and placed it around his neck.
His eyes opened. A dark confidence glimmered within. "Now I'm ready... wolf whelp."
His voice was low, but deliberate—as if he wanted Murad to hear him.
And Murad... was already there.
A gust of wind. A blue streak ripped across the sky. Fatih's Sword descended like lightning from Murad's hand toward Sabbah.
It was so fast, the blade left a glowing trail of fire in its wake.
But Sabbah raised a single finger. The sword stopped.
Murad's eyes widened. From Sabbah's finger, a dark tendril spiraled out. It coiled around the blade, smothering the blue light.
Murad stepped back. His eyes focused on Sabbah's neck. The crystal. And from it, dark veins had spread, threading into his chest, shoulders, arms, fingers.
"This power... It's not yours. It doesn't belong to you."
Murad lifted his sword again. But he knew: This was no longer a battle against a mere man. This was a shadow echoing a greater master.
Murad struck again. First slash—a diagonal, overhead arc. Sabbah blocked it with his finger and a flash of black light. Second slash—from the side. Again, the same result. Third slash—quick and close. Sabbah deflected it effortlessly.
From his fingertip now extended a dagger-shaped shard of darkness. It wrapped around his arm, pulsing with black energy.
"Now it's my turn..." Sabbah whispered.
And he attacked. The dark blade danced like a shadow in wind. "Shaak! Shrr!" Murad parried the first. The second. The third. But each one grew faster. Heavier.
The fourth sliced Murad's arm. His sleeve tore. A red line appeared. It burned.
Murad ignored the pain. He countered from below. Sabbah twisted, struck from the chest. Murad was forced back. Again he lunged... Again he was deflected.
Their blades clashed. Light met darkness. And then...
Murad's wound began to burn. "Tsss..."
A venomous sensation crept into his veins. His breath shortened. His grip weakened. Fatih's Sword felt heavier.
Murad fell to one knee. He rose again, gasping.
Sabbah watched in silence. He said nothing. Only stared.
Murad charged once more. But... his foot slipped. His chest tightened.
And he fell. "THUD!"
The sword clattered beside him. "TING!" Its blue glow faded.
Murad lay still. Pale. Silent. Alone.
Surrounded by shadows.