noveldrama
Chapter 104: Wake Up!
Chapter 104: Wake Up!
Warlock Ch 104. Wake Up!
In the darkness, Damian heard a woman's voice. It was distant at first, like a whisper carried on the wind. "Wake up... Please, wake up!" she said, her tone desperate and trembling.
The voice was unfamiliar, yet it tugged at something deep inside him. 'Who is that?' he thought, his mind sluggish and heavy. He couldn't place the voice, but the emotion in it—fear, pain, desperation—was impossible to ignore.
"Please wake up..." the voice sobbed, and something in the sound made his chest tighten.
'Why are you crying?' he thought again, his consciousness struggling to claw its way back to the surface.
"Please wake up... Kaelan!"
The name hit him like a lightning strike, jolting him awake. His eyes shot open, and he gasped, his heart pounding as his surroundings came into focus.
He wasn't on the street anymore. He was in a dark, cold room—a jail or dungeon, by the look of it. The air was thick with the smell of damp stone and decay. Flickering torches cast faint, eerie shadows on the walls, revealing rusted torture devices and piles of bones. A cracked skull stared back at him from the floor.
Damian tried to move, but his arms and legs were bound by heavy chains, the cold metal biting into his skin. He was sitting against a stone pillar, the rough surface pressing uncomfortably against his back.
'What the hell happened?' he thought, his breathing quick and uneven as he tried to piece everything together. The last thing he remembered was the shadow, the mocking voice, and then... darkness.
The voice that had woken him was gone now, leaving only the sound of dripping water and the faint crackle of the torches. But the name she'd called out still echoed in his mind.
'Kaelan?' he thought, frowning. That name—he knew it from somewhere, but it wasn't his. It was... Kaelan Voidweaver.
"Great," Damian muttered under his breath, the sound of his own voice grounding him. "I'm tied up in a creepy dungeon, and now I'm hearing voices calling me by someone else's name. Just another normal day."
The clink of chains echoed as he shifted, testing the strength of his bindings. They were tight, the kind of tight that didn't allow for even the smallest bit of movement. Whoever had brought him here clearly didn't want him to escape.
'This must be Malthus's doing. It must be him…' Damian thought, his mind racing as he stared at the chains binding him. He didn't know the man well, but the methods, the malice—it all screamed of someone who thrived on control and power. If this was his handiwork, Damian knew he was in serious trouble.
'I can't stay here. I have to get out. Now!' he thought.
"[Hellfire Spear!]" he called, summoning his skill without hesitation. His plan was simple—destroy the pillar behind him, maybe take half the dungeon down with it if necessary. If someone wanted him alive, they'd think twice before burying him in the rubble.
The air crackled with energy, the fiery spear forming in front of him. Its heat radiated against his skin, and for a moment, hope sparked in his chest. But before he could aim it, the spear flickered and vanished as if snuffed out by an invisible hand.
"What the—" Damian's eyes widened in shock as notifications appeared in his vision.
[You can't use your skills!]
[Manaspire Shackles are binding you!]
"Shit," he muttered, his voice tight with frustration. His heart pounded as he tested the chains again, yanking hard enough that the metal cut into his wrists. No good. They didn't budge.
"Golem," he said aloud, trying to summon one of his servants. Nothing happened. He tried again, his voice sharper this time. "Fenrith! Bloodwing!"
Another notification appeared.
[You can't summon your servants!]
His stomach dropped. 'This is bad… really bad.' He was completely cut off—from his magic, from his summons, from everything that made him who he was. His mind raced, a hundred scenarios playing out at once, most of them ending badly.
He glanced around the room again, his eyes scanning every inch for something—anything—that could help him. The bag with Kaelan Voidweaver's books was gone, taken by whoever had brought him here. The dungeon offered little else but despair: rusted torture devices, old bones, and the dim glow of torches on the walls.
'Think, Damian, think!' he urged himself, trying to push through the rising panic. There had to be a way out of this.
Footsteps echoed in the distance, faint but deliberate. Damian stiffened, his breath catching as the sound grew louder, closer. Someone was coming. The dungeon wasn't as empty as he'd hoped.
The footsteps stopped just beyond the faint light of the torches, and a figure emerged from the shadows. His presence radiated power, the kind that made the air feel heavier and colder.
Malthus stepped into the light, his presence commanding and oppressive. He was tall, his lean frame draped in an elegant black robe embroidered with intricate crimson runes that pulsed faintly with an ominous glow. His pale, angular face was framed by dark hair slicked back in a way that screamed arrogance. Sharp, cold eyes gleamed with cruel intelligence, and a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, exuding the confidence of someone who had never been challenged—and certainly never defeated.
Beside him slithered the shadowy creature that had dragged Damian into this nightmare. The Umbra Devourer was grotesque, a mass of writhing darkness adorned with countless glowing eyes that blinked and shifted constantly. Its mouth stretched into a jagged grin, filled with sharp, uneven teeth that seemed designed to tear through anything.
Umbra Devourer <Level 121>
HP: ???
MP: ???
Skills: [Mana Leech], [Sleeping Injection], [Void Rend]
Weakness: ???
'Right… Level 121. That explains why I'm hopeless,' Damian thought bitterly, his gaze flicking between Malthus and the creature.
"Comfortable?" Malthus asked, his voice smooth and mocking as he stopped a few steps away, his hands clasped behind his back.