Night life(2)

The room erupted into a chaotic symphony of clashes and cosmic surges as Alaric, the harbinger of change, faced off against the guards of the underworld. His movements were a blur, a dance of deadly precision that left no room for the guards to comprehend the impending doom that awaited them.

With a flick of his fingers, Alaric unleashed an arch of celestial lightning that crackled through the air, sending one guard hurtling backward. The impact shattered the table, the shards of wood and glass creating a chaotic backdrop to the unfolding battle.

As another guard lunged forward with a menacing blade, Alaric sidestepped with unnatural speed. His hand, an extension of cosmic prowess, struck like a viper, aiming for a vital point. The guard crumpled to the floor, a gasp escaping his lips as the celestial energy disrupted the flow of life within him.

The remaining guards, now wary of the masked intruder, attempted to encircle Alaric. However, his speed defied their attempts at coordination. He moved through their ranks with ethereal grace, each strike a lethal ballet of precision and power.

A guard swung a heavy mace, aiming to crush Alaric beneath its weight. With a seamless dodge, Alaric evaded the blow, his hand retaliating with a strike to the guard's throat. The guard staggered backward, gasping for breath, as Alaric moved on to the next adversary.

The dance continued a relentless onslaught that seemed to defy the laws of mortal combat. Alaric's strikes targeted vital points with ruthless efficiency—neck, heart, temple. Each guard fell with a graceless thud, their weapons clattering to the floor. 

Amidst the chaos, two guards emerged, each bearing a distinct elemental affinity. One wielded the power of earth, his strikes resonating with the force of the ground itself. The other, an embodiment of fiery determination, unleashed torrents of flames with every swing of his weapon. Alaric, recognizing the added challenge, adjusted his tactics accordingly.

The earth elemental guard lunged forward, creating seismic shockwaves with each step. Alaric, nimble as ever, dodged the heavy blows, his movements akin to a shadow navigating the tumultuous landscape. In response, he directed a surge of celestial energy towards the guard, disrupting the connection between him and the earth. The guard stumbled, momentarily weakened, and Alaric seized the opportunity. With a swift and calculated strike, he incapacitated the earth's elemental adversary, rendering him powerless on the floor.

Simultaneously, the guard with the power of fire launched an onslaught of scorching attacks. Waves of intense heat radiated from his weapon, creating a fiery spectacle that sought to consume Alaric. Unfazed, Alaric's cosmic energy formed a protective barrier, shielding him from the searing flames. In a countermove, he harnessed the celestial energy to extinguish the elemental fire, leaving the guard vulnerable. With a precise strike to a vital point, Alaric incapacitated the fiery adversary.

As the battlefield cleared, only the master remained, cornered and defeated. Alaric, an embodiment of cosmic power, approached the fallen master with an unsettling calm. The room, once filled with chaos, now hung in eerie silence. No more of the lackeys emerged from the door. However, his guard remained as the Principality was still in effect.

The master, witnessing the carnage from his opulent chair, paled beneath the veneer of authority. The guards, once his staunch protectors, now lay defeated by an unseen force. Alaric, his movements unhindered by the chaos around him, turned to face the master with an unsettling calm.

The master, defiant to the end, glared at Alaric. "You may have defeated my guards, but you won't leave this place alive," he spat, his resolve unbroken despite the inevitable.

In response, Alaric's eyes gleamed with an otherworldly light as he seized the master by the neck. The master, now at the mercy of the cosmic grip, struggled in vain against the force. Suspended above the ground, his defiant words faltered.

"That's a very nice watch," Alaric remarked casually, his tone contrasting the gravity of the situation. The master, bewildered by the unexpected comment, gasped for breath. Alaric continued, unfazed by the struggle beneath his grasp, "How long did it take?" The question hung in the air, chilling in its nature.

However Alaric didn't linger for too long, the real powerhouse had finally shown up, He dropped the Fatman and directed his gaze at the entrance.

"My My, I leave you for a few minutes and all your men die Malachi?"

°°°°

The master of the underworld, known in the shadows as Malachi Voss, was a figure both revered and feared. His ascension to power had been a ruthless climb, marked by cunning strategies and a merciless approach to those who dared to challenge him. Behind the opulent facade of his public persona lay a man shrouded in mystery, his past concealed beneath layers of deception and illicit dealings.

Born into the squalor of the city's darker corners, Malachi forged his path through the criminal underbelly, leaving a trail of alliances and betrayals in his wake. His rise to prominence was swift, fueled by an insatiable hunger for power and a willingness to embrace the shadows that others feared. The Devil's Lounge, his stronghold and sanctuary, became a symbol of his dominion over the illicit and the forbidden.

As the masked intruder, Alaric, stepped into the Devil's Lounge, Malachi's eyes widened with trepidation as he observed Alaric through their surveillance system. The aura of cosmic energy that surrounded Alaric was unmistakable, a force that transcended the boundaries of the mundane. Fear crawled up Malachi's spine as he realized that this was no ordinary threat.

The master's mind raced, contemplating the sudden intrusion into his carefully crafted empire. The guards, once stalwart defenders, now seemed insignificant in the face of the masked interloper. Malachi, despite his reputation for ruthlessness, felt a shiver of dread as he witnessed Alaric's celestial gaze unveiling the secrets of the room.

What terrified Malachi even more was the realization that the bracelet, a symbol of his control over cosmic energy within the lounge and much more importantly his office, had no effect on the intruder. The masked man moved with an abnormal speed, a blur that eluded Malachi's discerning eyes. Panic clawed at the edges of his consciousness as he comprehended the gravity of the situation.

The Principality that had served as a safeguard, a shield against potential threats, proved impotent against the mysterious intruder. Malachi, struggling to maintain composure, watched in horror as Alaric effortlessly dismantled his guards. Each strike, precise and lethal, resonated with a power that transcended the confines of the physical realm.

As Alaric's presence drew near, Malachi felt an overwhelming sense of powerlessness. The Principality in effect, "that witch's Principality," as Malachi had dubbed it in his mind, failed to impose its influence upon the masked assailant. It was a revelation that instilled a deeper dread within Malachi's heart. The very foundation of his defences crumbled before this enigmatic force. Amid the chaos, Malachi's thoughts raced, grappling with the reality that his carefully constructed empire faced an unprecedented threat. 

The confusion didn't stop there. The world around him seemed to fall for a moment until he realized he was the one who got higher. His breath was caught in his lungs and an iron grip found its way around his throat. He desperately clawed at it to no avail. Death was looming over his head and he could feel it. The masked assailant said something which he could not make out as he struggled for air. His time was coming to an end and his regrets were laid bare for him to consider in his mind. However, that end did not arrive and he suddenly fell to the ground. He greedily gasped for air taking in mouthfuls, choking on the very air he was dying for. In his confusion, however, he heard a familiar voice.

"Malachi my dear get up, you look quite unsightly... you are being rude to our guest here."

'Ah that witch arrived,' he thought relief washing over him. 'That monster will get taken care of then.'

However unbeknownst to him, the Devil's Lounge, once a symbol of his dominion, now bore witness to an inevitable confrontation—one that would redefine the balance of power in Lysandria's underworld.