Corvin slipped through the final tunnel of the Web Hewn Ravine and emerged at the hidden inlet where a lone lugger bobbed under bioluminescent fungi. The hull's wood was inscribed with Synod concealment runes, their edges faintly glowing. Settling at the bow, he extended his Water affinity, soothing the Aelmar Sea's churning waves into gentle swells. He navigated the lugger by memory, leaning into each current as dawn's pale light pierced the cloudy sky.
Two days later, he guided the vessel into a secluded cove along Argyll's northern cliffs, where jagged rocks and windward grasses concealed his arrival. Stepping ashore, Corvin cloaked himself to shroud his silhouette and started to move to survey the Church of the Crimson Chalice. Another day was spent to reach the mountain top where the damned church standing. The sandstone spire rose atop a grassy promontory, its exterior lined with warding sigils that pulsed. Two armored sentinels patrolled the front gate, their helms marking them as veteran wardens. Corvin used his Telepathy, extending his mind across the distance to detect the faint whispers of thoughts and hum of arcane energy with the rhythmic prayers echoing within.
He extended his mind beyond mere sentry chatter to delve into the fervent minds of the Church's inhabitants. He discerned the grand cruciform layout: a long central nave flanked by twin aisles, a westward bell tower housing three bronze carillons, and a vaulted crypt concealed beneath the altar. He sensed the deliberate hush of a hidden passage branching from the southern chapel into the hillside, its existence whispered only among the high clergy and the captain of the guards.
Thoughts flickered of High Priestess Aurelia and her small inner circle. Four acolytes and half a dozen novices. Each convinced of their divine mandate. Beyond them stood twenty seasoned wardens rotating shifts at the gate, their minds reinforcing warding sigils in silent incantations. Far more telling, however, were the pulsating ambitions of the three hundred freshly recruited conscripts, resting at the barracks on the hillside. Rural villagers pressed into service to fill the swelling ranks. These new recruits bristled with zeal, believing their numbers could overwhelm any threat to their theocracy.
Corvin felt the undercurrent of xenophobic hate. Elves, Feralis, Demons, and Aetherborn were thought fit only for subjugation, livestock in human hands. Their sick minds were not able to comprehend that their ambitions were high, yet their limited physiology and mortal lives were the shortcoming of their kind. Human beings were same on fundamental basics. Every prayer, every ritual chant, echoed with the conviction that humanity alone was chosen by the divine. With these revelations of structure, strength, and fanaticism etched in his mind, Corvin slipped back into the shadows, already weaving the strands of his lethal strategy.
He crouched by the outer wall, cloak drawn tight, his senses thrumming with predatory anticipation. He released spores into the humid air, each drifting unseen toward the veteran wardens. He transformed into Wolfkin, lean, sinewy, and utterly silent.
Probing the air, he sensed the wards positions as the spores took hold. Without hesitation, he channeled Metal and Lightning: a razor sharp shard crackled into existence at his fingertips and flew true, striking the first guards throats with no more sound than a sigh. As the wardens gasped their last, Corvin was already next to the corpses absorbing, he felt a surge of cold weapon mastery and battlefield tactics fill his mind with more memories and details about the structure of the church, names of the guards and other small details.
Shifting into Bearkin form, he plowed through two more veteran guards near the gate, claws rending armor and bone. Each kill was preceded by a spore bonding. Ten percent siphoned in each instance, before Corvin's crushing blows ended their resistance.
He stalked the final veteran pair as Jackalkin, silent and swift. A pair of lethal bites, and their muscle memory and strategic acumen joined his growing arsenal. In Lionkin form, he dispatched the last sentinel with a single mauling swipe, leaving no alarm raised.
Satisfied with the outer perimeter, Corvin pressed on into the courtyard where the clergy gathered. In a sudden hush, he released spores at the four acolytes and six novices, feeling the pull of their piety and ritual knowledge. At the high pulpit, two priestesses knelt in prayer. He dispatched them swiftly, then siphoned from the third and fourth. To his astonishment, siphoning the sisters unlocked the rare spark of Healing Magic within his veins.
Intrigued, Corvin conducted an impromptu trial: he carved shallow wounds into the final sister's arm and watched as her flesh knit together under his new power. Tissue reforming more cleanly than any salve he'd known on Earth. Repeating the test with deeper gashes, and some broken bones. He marveled at speed and resilience surpassing mortal medicine, and mentally smiled as 'his' Healing Magic affinity risen to stand at A+. Though he clearly understood that anesthetics needs a lots of work from the creams of the poor extremist.
With the inner sanctum in deathly silence, he firstly looted it clear and clean. There was no need to be wasteful. Thus started the use of fire magic, burning the furniture and curtains from multiple points. Eroding the walls and towers with earth magic, leaving the structure at the edge of collapse. Upon finishing his rigorous reassembly, Corvin turned to the fresh recruits. Now leaderless and unaware. He used the crypt to go to the barracks. Harnessing Bearkin strength, he cut them down with ruthless efficiency. Small rooms not allowing them to organize any resistance. Dozens fell to his claws, more to his teeth. Small injuries did not bother him anymore as he was able to heal himself on the go and these rookie zealotlings were in panic and no challange. Sparing only a handful from different rooms as living proof of a Feralis onslaught. One of them saw a Bearking while the others witnessed Wolf, Lion and Jackalkin. As dawn's first light clashed with the church's burning wards he ran to the rocky cliffs still in his Wolf form. Once he was far away from the scene, he utilized the elemental body of the Windborne, drifting upward, soaring back to his lugger on the sea.
--
By nightfall of the second day after his mission, Corvin reported to Archmagus Vaelorin and his Magisters Seredai and Kel'Mara in the sanctum of the Obsidian Gate. "The veteran wardens fell silently. The Feralis ruse held and the inner clergy has been neutralized." Vaelorin sent him to rest until they decide to his next trial, he sent three Shades to the Church of the Crimson Chalice to assess the results of the attack.
When the Umbral Shades returned with detailed reports from the Crimson Chalice: lionkin maul marks, jackal and wolfkin claw gashes every detail confirming Corvin's deception.
Kel'Mara's frost tipped lips curved in approval. "Such precision and subtlety our elite squads could learn much from this." Seredai's voice was a low murmur: "No alarms, no resistance. A perfect shadow strike." She proposed, "We should tail him during the next trial." Vaelorin shook his head. "He moves like smoke. Any watcher would reveal himself and be lost to us."
Later, Vaelorin ascended to the secret chamber of the Council of Six, the hidden conclave of Archmagi and Planarchs. Standing before the obsidian idol of Lloth, he reported Corvin's situations and desire to be free even after they covered him. His answer of ten trials and flawless undertaking of the first two. The Council's silent deliberation produced a decree: Decide the level of his Space Affinity upon his return from the third trial, and 'convince' him to stay with the Synod if he is this effective. He will be brought in front of the Council of Six when he completes his fifth trial and his fate be decided. Corvin's third trial would send him to Nefrath to destroy Pride's Vanguard, a demon platoon known for its unholy mastery of Dark and Psychic magic. An anomaly among their kind. As Demons would have Acid, Fire and Magma as their main affinities. Even rare cases will show different secondary or rare elements but Dark and Psychic affinities were clear Dark elven traits, Mother's gifts to her children. It will stay that way. No demon was worthy enough to claim mastery over Dark Mother's gift to her chosen.
Five days after this debrief, Corvin would set forth on his next unbreakable oath bound assignment. To a new continent and prey. This was going to be his first feast on Demons. He was excited and hungry, always hungry for more.
--
After a day from the attack, at dawn in Caldmere's peripheral barracks, the Holy Purifiers mustered beneath the looming reliefs carved into the gatehouse wall. Each stone panel depicted their triune pantheon. The Gilded Vessel, its facets catching the first light like molten gold. The Iron Covenant, forged fists suspended in an eternal oath. The Veiled Flame, a hooded visage etched in curling ember lines. Intricate runes of consecration spiraled around each figure, worn smooth by wind and countless prayers, imbuing the stone with palpable sanctity. These carvings watched over the small group of shaken new recruits. Survivors who had fled the attack's aftermath and sought refuge in a nearby town, brought here for questioning.
"In the name of the Vessel, by the strength of the Covenant, and with the insight of the Flame, speak only truth," Purifier General Marius commanded.
The young recruits exchanged uneasy glances. One, voice trembling, recalled distant roars: "We heard lion roars, tearing at armor, screams of our brethren… then jackal yips, lupine howls… it sounded as if three war packs converged."
A second added, "I saw a bearkin killing one of my mates, we tried to resist and fight but it was stronger. The walls shook and the night air carried the scent of blood. By dawn, all was silent." Third one added, a wolfkin slayed my squad. It was fast, it's claws sunk into the chests of my brothers.
Lieutenant Seraphine knelt, she sketched rudimentary glyphs in the dirt, marking sound patterns, four distinct clusters, bear, lion, wolf, jackal. Each striking in perfect rotation.
Marius nodded gravely. "No veteran wardens survived to tell of their fate; they held their own barracks at the church proper. Here, only these innocents fled."
Under the Veiled Flame's silent presence, Marius declared, "Such coordinated feral assaults clearly stem from a coalition of Feralis warriors. Bear, Jackal, Wolf, and Lionkins assembled across tribal lines, perhaps even carried by eagle or dragonkin over the hills. The fiends slayed over three hundred of our brethren. We'll slay and collar ten times of that! Prepare five platoons of the Templar legions and await orders from the grand citadel."
As falcons took wing toward the Council of Verranate, the Purifiers offered prayers to their triad, steel resolve hardening into a vow. No Feralis threat would escape their purifying flame.