Ashes to Light

Chapter 4: The Azure Mountains

The sudden noise startled the Gloomhorn, its red eyes narrowing as it pinpointed Marco's location. With a ferocious snarl, the beast charged, hooves pounding the snow, turning the tranquil scene into a battleground.

The Gloomhorn moved with surprising speed, its body a blur of dark fur and mist. Marco, caught off-guard, barely had time to react. The creature's eerie aura seemed to thicken, wrapping around Marco, trying to slow his movements with a chilling cold that sank into his bones.

With no option remaining but to confront the oncoming threat, Marco tapped deeply into his reserves of prana, the vital energy that coursed through him, a connection to the very essence of the air around him.

The air around him suddenly swirled and gathered around his stretched out hands and dual wind swords began to take shape. They were almost invisible, save for the faint, shimmering outline that hinted at their deadly form. This outline was not static; it pulsed and flowed like the wind itself, a constant motion that suggested the energy contained within. The swords, though seemingly ethereal, were unmistakably tangible, with their edges defined by a swirling torrent of wind that coalesced into a blade so sharp, it seemed capable of slicing through the fabric of reality itself.

The air around the blades crackled with energy, particles of ice and snow caught in their wake, spiraling around the swords in a mesmerizing dance.

Sensing the shift in Marco's stance and the sword within his hands, where the air around it crackled with energy, as particles of ice and snow caught in their wake, the Gloomhorn hesitated for a split second. Its instincts warn it of the impending threat. This moment of hesitation allowed Marco to act. With a swift motion, he sent a barrage of wind blades while slicing through the air towards the Gloomhorn.

The creature reacted with astonishing agility, dodging most of the blades but one struck, slicing a furrow along its flank. The Gloomhorn retaliated with a powerful leap, aiming to impale Marco with its twisted, glowing horns. Marco rolled aside, allowing the snow cushioning his fall then at the same time he sprung up, summoning more wind blades as he maneuvered for a better angle.

The battle raged on, a dance of elemental magic and primal fury. Marco, despite his skill, found himself pushed to the limit by the Gloomhorn's relentless assaults. Each exchange left him more breathless, the cold air searing his lungs.

In a daring move, Marco feigned a stumble, luring the Gloomhorn into a charge. As the beast neared, he used his magic to leap high, somersaulting over the Gloomhorn to land deftly behind it. The Gloomhorn, caught in its momentum, struggled to stop and turn.

This was Marco's moment. With precision, he summoned a whirlwind, concentrating its force into a singular, devastating blade of wind which he then cast at the monster. He then followed charge with it and he readied his swords. As the Gloomhorn turned to face him, the released windblade hit its face directly causing black liquid, which seemed to be the monster's blood to splatter in every direction.

As the Gloomhord staggered due to the impact of the windblade, Marco, did not waste this opportunity. Going faster than ever before, he charged at the staggered monster and he stabbed it in its eyes through its brain mercilessly using his swords.

As the final blow was dealt, the Gloomhorn's pained cries echoed hauntingly across the silent expanse. The dark mist that had once enveloped the monstrous goat dissipated, and the once menacing glow of its horns dimmed to nothingness. Marco stood, breathless and fatigued, watching as the creature lay defeated before him.

Exhausted, Marco collapsed into the snow, feeling the cold seep through his clothing. A jubilant chime from his wristband momentarily cut through the solitude, announcing, "Congratulations! For defeating a Tier 2 monster, you have been awarded 50 points." He wearily stretched out the arm adorned with the device, covering his eyes with his free hand, seeking a moment of respite under the blinding white sky. It was then, amidst the silence, that a faint, yet playful whisper reached his ears. "Thank you," it said mockingly but at the same time, so softly that Marco questioned if he had imagined it.