Elior: After the Gate
The ruins of Thal'Nora were still smoking.
Stone was cracked in every direction. Ash floated in the air like feathers after a storm. People were pulling survivors from rubble. No one spoke much. Not yet. Everyone was still trying to believe it was over.
Elior didn't wait.
He moved through the wreckage with his staff in hand, boots crunching over broken tiles. The sun hit the top of his shoulders. He didn't look back.
But something did.
A whisper.
It came from the stone itself. A hiss that didn't belong.
He stopped.
The ground behind him… twitched.
A shadow slithered out of the crack left by the Gate. Not big—just a ripple. But then it grew. Fast. It climbed up the buildings, across the stone, wrapped around the dead statues like vines.
And then the world split again.
Crack.
A long, jagged line opened in the middle of the sky. This one didn't scream—it pulsed. Red and black, like a heartbeat. Then something slammed through it.
Big.
Fast.
Alive.
It hit the ground hard enough to shake the city again. A shockwave fired in all directions. Windows shattered—again. People dropped to the ground—again.
Elior didn't move.
He turned.
The thing was crouched in the center of the old plaza. Built like a giant. Skin like scorched iron. Arms longer than they should be. A spine made of bones that glowed red-hot. Its head looked stitched together from masks and skulls.
It stood up.
Twice Elior's height.
Behind it, the air shimmered—and more things started coming through.
Ten. Twenty. Maybe more.
Each one worse than the last.
"Revenants," Elior muttered.
He spun the staff once. The runes flared awake.
The giant roared and lunged.
Fast. Too fast for something that size.
But Elior ducked under it, slid, twisted the staff, and—
Boom.
A pulse of sound and force threw the giant sideways. It skidded, tearing up stone. But it didn't stop. It charged again.
Elior stepped into it.
They clashed.
Flesh and light. Metal and rune.
The Revenant swung both fists down like hammers. Elior caught the blow with the staff—but the force dented the ground under his boots. Cracks spidered out from the impact. His arms trembled.
He growled, shifted his weight, and threw the Revenant.
A full flip over his shoulder.
It crashed into the wall behind.
Then the rest came.
A swarm of twisted creatures. Skin like armor, eyes like coals, mouths stitched closed. They didn't scream—they just attacked.
Elior moved.
He didn't run. He wove. One foot over the other, staff swinging, lines of light carving the air.
Wham— one down.
Slash— another cleaved clean through.
He spun, ducked, slammed the staff into the earth—fwooom— a wave of gold shot outward like a ripple, erasing the first line of enemies.
One leaped from behind.
Elior tilted his head.
Crack— the staff reversed mid-air, smashed the thing mid-jump, sent it flying into another two behind it.
He kept moving.
Left—sweep.
Right—stab.
Up—block.
Down—strike.
They fell like paper under a storm.
But it wasn't enough.
The giant got up again. This time faster. It roared and slammed its fists into the ground.
A spike of corrupted stone shot up under Elior.
Too close.
It scraped his side—blood flew. Not deep, but real.
Elior stepped back, gritting his teeth.
He whispered to the staff.
The runes shifted.
Then he raised it high—and called.
The light answered.
Not just light. Wings.
Two made of radiant energy unfolded from his back. Not real flesh. Just power. The wind bent around him. Dust spiraled upward.
He launched into the air.
The creatures below followed—but they couldn't fly.
He came down like a thunderbolt.
The staff glowed white-hot at the tip and slammed into the ground.
BOOOOM.
Everything stopped.
The light flattened the plaza. All corrupted flesh evaporated. The Revenant screamed as its body tore apart from the edges in. Its spine cracked. One last roar—and it was gone.
Just smoke.
Elior stood in the center of the blast crater. His cloak burned away at the edges. Blood on his shoulder. Breathing hard.
But standing.
Then… the air changed again.
Colder.
A slow ripple opened in the center of the crater. No fire. No sound. Just space bending like it was tired of holding itself together.
And from it stepped… him.
Not twisted.
Not monstrous.
Just tall. Pale. Long white coat. Clean boots. Silver hair pulled back tight. And black eyes with no reflection.
He looked around like he was bored.
Then looked at Elior.
"Still standing?" he said.
Elior didn't answer.
The man smiled. Not cruel. Just… casual. Like they knew each other.
"You're late," he said. "The Gate was never meant to open. Not yet."
"You sent them," Elior said quietly.
"No," he said. "They followed. Big difference."
He took one step forward.
The air around his boot froze. Literally. Ice spread in a circle from every step he took. And not white ice—black, with sparks of red light inside.
Elior raised the staff again.
The man nodded.
"I'll make this quick."
He moved.
No warning. No shout. Just movement.
Fast.
So fast.
One second he was standing across the crater. The next, his hand was on Elior's throat.
They crashed through the stone, through a building, into the mountain wall behind the city.
Elior gasped—first time he'd been hit like that in days.
The man didn't stop.
Fist to stomach—thud.
Palm to face—crack.
Elior flew back, skidded through rubble, rolled, and—
Stopped.
He spat blood. Stood.
Swung the staff.
The man caught it. Bare-handed.
Then broke it.
Snap.
Not in half—just enough to crack it.
The runes flared in pain. A shriek of old magic bled into the air.
Elior screamed—not loud, but real.
The man sighed. "You're not ready."
Then—he stopped.
Because the staff—shifted.
The crack healed.
The runes bent, changed, rewrote themselves.
And the light turned blue.
Deep, ocean-blue.
The staff shook in Elior's hand. Then blasted outward.
This time it wasn't a beam.
It was a wave.
A sphere of solid force.
The man flew backward for the first time.
Boom— into the far side of the cliff. It exploded.
Rocks fell. Trees snapped. The mountain echoed.
Elior stood. Bleeding. Breathing heavy. But alive.
The staff now hummed with new power. Different. Older.
He looked up.
The silver-haired man climbed from the wreckage.
Bruised.
But grinning.
"Now we're talking," he said.
Then he vanished.
Not blink. Not teleport.
Just… gone.
Elior didn't smile. He just lowered the staff and looked at the sky.
The city behind him was still. No new shadows. No new monsters.
But the Gate had only been the beginning.
And he knew it.
Still, for now, there was silence.
And in that silence, Elior picked up a piece of stone, wiped the blood from his lip, and walked back into the city.
Not as a savior.
Not as a legend.
Just as a man with work left to do.