Chapter 17: The First Strike
The direct encounters with Kieran – the whispered name in the alley, the silent gaze in the park – had ignited a new urgency in Dante. He was no longer just preparing; he was actively anticipating a direct assault. Professor Finch, sensing the shift in the cosmic currents, pushed Dante harder, accelerating his mastery of dark magic's defensive and disruptive aspects.
Dante learned to not just project dark energy, but to subtly manipulate ambient energy, pulling it from his surroundings to augment his own power, a technique Finch called "drawing the shadow." He practiced sensing the exact moment of an energy surge, and then, with focused intent, diverting or dissipating it. This was like learning to parry an invisible sword, crucial for deflecting Kieran's unseen attacks. He also honed his ability to create brief, localized energetic voids, small areas where dark magic would temporarily falter, creating a momentary advantage.
The manifestations of Kieran's power in Oakhaven became more brazen. The missing persons cases grew more frequent, their disappearances more abrupt. The pervasive coldness and metallic scent were no longer confined to specific hot spots; they seemed to bleed into the city's atmosphere, especially at night. It was as if Kieran was flaunting his power, asserting his dominion over the city.
One night, Dante was walking through a quiet residential street, his senses on high alert. The air was thick with an unnatural stillness, a silence that felt heavy and suffocating. He felt a sharp, sudden surge of dark energy from directly ahead, almost like an invisible punch to his gut. He instinctively threw up a mental shield, a technique he had practiced relentlessly with Finch.
He saw nothing, but he felt the impact – a wave of corrosive energy slammed into his shield, trying to burrow into his mind, to consume his resolve. It was accompanied by a chilling whisper, clearer than before, directly in his mind: "Fool. You seek to defy a god."
This was Kieran's direct strike. Not a physical attack, but a potent psychic assault, designed to break his will, to overwhelm his defenses. Dante pushed back, his own internal light flaring, channeling the disruptive dark energy he had learned to wield. He focused on the intrusive force, visualizing it as a venomous serpent, and then, with a powerful surge of his own intent, he willed it to unravel, to dissipate.
The invading force recoiled, a faint ripple of surprise emanating from it. The whisper in his mind faltered, replaced by a momentary silence, then a low, frustrated growl. The silence was more terrifying than the attack itself; it spoke of a powerful being momentarily thwarted, confused by unexpected resistance.
Suddenly, from the shadows of an alleyway adjacent to the street, a figure emerged. It was a cloaked cultist, one of Kieran's minions, their face still obscured by deep shadows. The cultist moved with unnatural speed, a blur of motion, and lunged at Dante, not with a physical weapon, but with an arm outstretched, its hand glowing with a sickly green light, radiating a familiar dark energy.
This was a direct, physical manifestation of Kieran's will, executed by a minion. Dante had practiced for this. He reacted instinctively, channeling dark energy into his own hand, creating a shimmering, almost invisible barrier. The cultist's glowing hand met his shield with a sickening thud. Dante felt the corrosive power of the minion's attack, a localized burst of dark magic that tried to dissolve his defense. But his shield held firm, shimmering under the strain.
Then, using another technique Finch had taught him, Dante channeled a pulse of disruptive energy into the cultist's arm. It wasn't meant to injure, but to interfere, to momentarily scramble the dark magic flowing through them. The minion gasped, its glowing hand flickering and then extinguishing, its form momentarily spasming as if shocked.
Before the cultist could recover, Dante moved. He was not a combatant in the traditional sense, but he was agile, precise. He sidestepped the momentarily disoriented minion, and with a swift, powerful kick to the cultist's chest, sent them sprawling backward into the shadows of the alley. The cultist hit the wall with a dull thud, then lay motionless.
Dante paused, his senses still on high alert, scanning for more threats. He could feel Kieran's lingering presence, a simmering fury radiating from afar, but no immediate follow-up attack. The minion remained motionless, its energy signature faint and flickering. He hadn't killed it, but he had neutralized it, at least for now.
This was the first direct engagement, the first physical confrontation. Dante understood the message: Kieran was escalating. He wouldn't just send psychic probes; he would send his agents, his physical manifestations of power. But Dante had held his own. He had met Kieran's strike, and he had pushed back.
He retrieved his fallen umbrella, its mundane appearance a stark contrast to the battle he had just fought. He looked down the alleyway where the cultist lay, a silent warning etched into the night. The war had begun in earnest, and Dante Lucian, the detective who could see the shadows, had just shown Kieran that he would not be an easy opponent. The stakes were higher than ever, and Dante knew that his every move from now on would be directly scrutinized by the entity he hunted.