The initial surge of the heroes had bought the Sky Temple precious moments, turning the tide against the corrupted hordes. Nitin, Deva, and Shakti moved with fluid precision, their powers weaving a tapestry of destructive force against the encroaching darkness. But their brief respite was shattered as the air itself seemed to crackle and dim, the very light of the beleaguered Temple flickering. An unnatural silence descended, an oppressive quiet that swallowed the sounds of battle, making the distant cries of the guardians sound like faint, desperate echoes. A cold, palpable dread settled over the battlefield.
From the heart of the swirling, unnatural shadows that now clung to the highest spire of the Sky Temple, a figure emerged. He moved with a chilling grace, his silhouette tall and imposing, draped in robes as dark as the deepest void. His face, when he finally turned towards them, was a mask of cold, intellectual malice, his eyes twin pools of swirling obsidian. In each hand, he wielded a long, wicked sword, their blades absorbing all light, radiating an aura of profound, ancient darkness. This was not a minion. This was the entity they had glimpsed in the Whispering Dunes. This was Kaband.
He landed softly on the shattered courtyard, surrounded by the crumpled forms of his defeated creatures, as if gravity itself bent to his will. His gaze, devoid of emotion, swept over the three heroes, lingering on their glowing weapons, a flicker of something akin to contempt in his eyes. "So, the little sparks have come to play," his voice echoed, not from his mouth, but directly into their minds, cold and sharp as a shard of ice, laced with an ancient, mocking amusement. "You have done well, for mortals. But a spark is easily extinguished."
Nitin felt the raw power emanating from Kaband, a force so immense it made his own elemental blade tremble in his hand. This wasn't the brute strength of a monster; this was a calculated, ancient power, wielded with terrifying precision. Deva's spear hummed a frantic warning against his palm, reacting violently to the unnatural distortion Kaband's presence brought to the very fabric of reality. Shakti, for the first time since leaving the Tree Yard, felt a primal, gut-wrenching fear, an instinct that screamed danger louder than any beast's roar.
Kaband made no grand speeches, no theatrical threats. He simply moved. One moment he was standing, the next, he was a blur, faster than anything Shakti had ever encountered, his twin dark blades a terrifying dance of shadow. Nitin reacted instinctively, raising his sword to block, channelling a burst of elemental earth for defence. But Kaband's attack was not just physical; it carried an insidious dark energy. The impact shattered Nitin's elemental shield like glass, sending a shockwave of malevolent force through his arm, forcing him back, gasping, his arm numb with pain.
Deva lunged, a desperate gravitational thrust with his spear, attempting to pin Kaband, to crush him under immense pressure. But Kaband simply shifted, not physically dodging, but almost phasing, the air around him rippling, the gravity field bending to his presence, rendering Deva's attack useless. He struck back with terrifying speed, his dark sword a streak of pure malice. Deva threw up a defensive gravity shield, but Kaband's blade sliced through it as if it were mere air, leaving a burning, corrupted wound on Deva's arm. The wound didn't bleed, but it pulsed with a sickening violet light, a festering corruption.
Shakti, seeing his comrades falter, retaliated with a flurry of illusions, attempting to disorient Kaband, to create an opening. His daggers flashed, leaving trails of dazzling, confusing light. But Kaband merely laughed, a cold, dry sound that grated on their souls. He moved through Shakti's illusions as if they were smoke, his perception seemingly unaffected. He was inside Shakti's personal space before Shakti could even register the movement, his dark blade poised. Shakti barely managed to teleport away, a raw, desperate burst of energy, but the fleeting connection with Kaband's power left him gasping, his muscles spasming uncontrollably.
Kaband paused, his twin swords slowly tracing a chilling arc in the air, a silent challenge. He hadn't sought to kill them, only to demonstrate the vast chasm of power between them. Their hard-won mastery felt insignificant, their teamwork a child's game. This was no ordinary enemy. This was something ancient, something that played by rules they hadn't even begun to comprehend. The cold dread from the Whispering Dunes returned, amplified a thousandfold. The true battle had just begun, and they were woefully, terrifyingly unprepared.