The world had barely caught its breath after the storm that Aloysius Herrold had weathered. The Radiant Veil, once a fragile barrier, now shimmered faintly stronger, yet thinner than before. Aloysius stood at the edge of the ruined temple, the place where the divine energy still hummed faintly beneath the cracked stone.
But peace was an illusion.
From the depths beyond the mortal realm, something ancient stirred. Whispers barely audible, yet maddeningly persistent wove through the air like smoke curling in the wind. Aloysius felt it deep within his bones: a darkness older than the fallen gods themselves was awakening.
"Power is never free," he muttered, eyes narrowing. His fingers tingled with residual lightning and shadow energy, ready for the storm ahead.
In the shadows of the world's forgotten corners, cults began to gather. They sought to seize the evolving divine radiation for their own twisted ends. Creatures born of cosmic nightmares seeped into reality, their forms flickering at the edge of vision.
Aloysius knew the battle was no longer just for survival it was a war to protect the very fabric of existence.
With a final glance at the darkening sky, Aloysius stepped forward into the gathering storm, his resolve unyielding. The true test of his power and spirit was only beginning.