Chapter 46 #2
The air hums. The earth itself seems to breathe again. I feel it fill me, life, raw and endless, mending every fracture within me. My veins blaze like dawn and the first breath I draw feels like drawing the world itself into my lungs.
Daed’s hands find my face. He looks at me as if it kills him to love me this much, and then he does what he always does when he feels too much. He kisses me hard and desperately.
When he pulls away, his voice cracks through the hush, sharp as a whip.
“Stop doing that,” he growls before he snatches my hand and pulls me through the gate where the others wait for us.
The moment we cross the threshold, the air changes. It thickens, the scent of sulfur and decay floods my lungs. The sky above us bleeds grey and black, split by streaks of crimson lightning.
Then the darkness moves.
Shapes crawl from it, too many to count. Limbs where no limbs should be, eyes burning white within faces that twist and reform with every breath. They shriek, the sound so shrill it makes the bones in my skull hum. The demons of the void have come to greet us.
The Blades flood the battlefield to meet them while Zyphoro takes to the skies in a flash of silver, her wings igniting like burning steel.
She dives through the swarm, twin daggers slicing clean arcs that trail smoke while below her, Orios wades through the fray, his sword cleaving through flesh and shadow, his armor already slick with black blood.
Beside him, Ronin’s blade hums, precise and merciless.
The ground beneath my feet trembles, whispering my name. I drop to one knee and press my palm to the ashen soil. “Rise,” I whisper, and the land obeys.
From the cracks and scars of An’kel’s wasteland, vines burst through, blackened roots turned green by my touch, sprouting thorns sharp as blades. They lash outward, wrapping around the demons, impaling them, dragging their shrieking bodies down into the crooked earth that birthed them.
For every one that falls, three more rise. But I am no longer afraid. The Grove lives within me now, even here, where life was never meant to be.
And through it all, Daed.
He is death incarnate, a storm of shadow and smoke. Death Singer gleams in his hand, cutting through the void with every swing. The smoke around him takes form, tendrils and wings, the echoes of Emranth’s power surging through him. Shadows bend at his will, wrapping around the enemy like chains.
The great doors of the temple groan open, and from the depths emerges a gargantuan demon, black armor fused to molten flesh, each breath a furnace roar.
Reon turns toward it, cutting down the last of the creatures between them.
Then he spins his blade, grip tight on the hilt, his gaze locked on the oncoming goliath.
He darts left, too fast to follow, but the demon’s claw catches him mid-stride.
It hurls him like a rag doll across the field, his body slamming against jagged rock.
He crumples to the ground, blood dark against the ash.
The demon closes in, forming a spike of hardened bone in its smoky hand.
Reon lifts his head, eyes widening as the spike plunges toward him and then time stops.
The air stills. The demon freezes, spike suspended inches from his chest, golden sparks dancing from Reon’s trembling fingers. His lips part in disbelief, then curve into a slow, feral smile.
He pushes to his feet, the power blazing gold around him. In one bound he scales the demon’s arm, boots striking sparks against its armor. He vaults onto its shoulder, then onto its head, his sword raised high and drives his blade straight through its skull.
Light bursts from the wound. The demon convulses, fractures, and collapses into a storm of ash. When the dust settles, Reon lands lightly on his feet, hair wild, sword gleaming, eyes alight and behind him, the battle roars on.
“Get to the temple!” Reon bellows, his voice cracking like thunder over the battlefield. “We’ll take care of these pitiful demons!”
I nod once, breathless, and Daed and I push forward, shoulder to shoulder through the carnage.
We reach the base of the temple steps just as fresh horrors pour forth. Demons wrapped in smoke and sinew, claws like hooked blades, their fangs dripping trails of venom. They surge toward us in a tide of shrieks and gnashing teeth.
Daed and I exchange a single glance. No words, only the grim understanding that this is what we were made for.
I draw in a breath and let the power build.
My veins blaze with light, throbbing with living fire until the energy burns behind my eyes.
When I raise my hands, they are wreathed in emerald flame.
The nearest demon lunges, too slow. I hurl a blazing sphere into its chest, and it detonates, bursting the creature into ash.
The explosion ripples outward, catching the others in its wake.
Those who survive stagger, burning, their shrieks echoing up the black steps.
The stone runs slick with their blood, thick, oily, and dark as tar.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Daed. He’s not moving, just watching. Still as a statue in the storm.
“Daed?” I call.
He doesn’t answer. He lifts Death Singer high, both hands wrapped tight around the hilt. Then, with a roar, he drives it down.
The blade strikes stone with the force of a quake. Sparks burst out, white-hot, and the ground cracks in spiderwebs beneath our feet.
Then the world inhales.
Smoke floods upward, coiling around him, cloaking him. When it clears, wings of shadow erupt from his back, unfurling banners of night that stretch wide enough to blot out the dim light of An’kel’s sky. The wind howls as they snap open, the sound like a scream torn from the void.
And then Emranth.
The demon tears free of Daed’s chest in a torrent of shadow and smoke.
His form is monstrous, tattered cloak whipping like a storm as his tentacles writhe, his white eyes gleaming with hunger.
He swoops upon the oncoming horde, a specter of horror, swallowing everything in his path.
Screams cut short. Bodies vanish into his gaping maw.
We push forward, side by side. The steps climb and climb, each one a drumbeat in my chest, each corpse a promise that we are closer. Estra hangs at the edge of every breath I take, a name like a prayer on my lips.
The horde crumbles. Demons shriek and unmake beneath green fire and void, bodies unspooling into smoke. For a moment, the world settles. Then, at the top of the stairs, new danger lays itself bare.
The creature is not like any demon we’ve faced, but something other.
I’ve never seen such armor. Heavy plates etched with impossible filigree, ribs and runes carved into black steel that seems to swallow the light.
The helm is forged into a snarling maw, a demon’s face twisted in eternal hunger, and within the hollow sockets burn two white, furious eyes.
Daed’s mouth quirks. “Is this all that’s left?” he calls.
Emranth laughs. He vaults from Daed in a column of smoke, a ravenous silhouette that plunges toward the armored figure.
The demon reaches to the sheath at its back and draws a blade slender and silver, a line of moonlight forged in steel. Emranth slashes. The demon meets him in midair.
The cut is obscene in its elegance. One clean diagonal of silver that cleaves the shadow. Emranth howls. His monstrous shape unravels, unpicking itself into drifting smoke. He is gone in a single breath. A ripple runs through Daed as the shadow recoils, folding into him like a returning tide.
For a heartbeat he keels, shoulders collapsing as he sucks in air. I fear, for an instant, that the fight has left him. Then he steadies, rolls his shoulders, flings hair from his eyes and hauls Death Singer free from the stone.
“Good,” he breathes. “A challenge. I will enjoy taking your head, demon, and shoving it down your master’s throat.”
He plants his feet, shoulders squared, Death Singer held high. Around us the ruined city listens, and the grin on his face is a promise that will not be broken.
Daed launches himself upward, wings of smoke and shadow snapping wide, the night folding beneath their span.
He rises with impossible speed, the force of it cracking the stone at his feet.
Death Singer burns in his grip, the blade alive with the void’s hum.
The armored demon tilts its head as if in mockery, unmoving and with ice-veined patience.
When Daed descends, he brings the blade down in a strike that could cleave mountains. Only then does the demon move, raising its silver weapon in a single, lazy arc.
Steel meets steel.
The sound is cataclysmic. Sparks burst like dying stars, their light scattering over the blackened temple steps. The impact drives a shockwave through the air, rippling the smoke around them in concentric waves.
They break apart, then crash together again.
The fight becomes a storm. Blades whistle and shriek as they meet, each strike a flash of light against the dark.
Daed’s wings beat once, propelling him forward.
The demon pivots effortlessly, its cloak swirling like liquid night.
There is rhythm in the violence, an ancient, dreadful grace.
Each movement echoes the other, as if they were mirror images born from the same void.
I watch, breath trapped in my chest, unable to look away. For all Daed’s ferocity, this thing meets him without strain, without fear.
Daed’s blade howls through the air again, a deadly arc of shadow. The demon sidesteps, the blow missing by a breath. Then it counters, spinning, slashing upward, and Daed blocks, the force of it sending cracks through the landing.
It’s not a battle. It’s a dance between gods.
I can feel the earth tremble with every clash, the air split with their fury. Still, Daed doesn’t call for me, but I know he needs me. His strength cannot match this creature alone.
I summon my power, a flare igniting in my palm. The flame builds and builds until it roars to life, searing green, my veins burning. I thrust my hand forward and the fire tears through the air.
But the demon doesn’t even glance my way.
It lifts its free hand, and from the air itself, a wall of smoke materializes. My flame crashes into it, shattering. The embers scatter harmlessly into the dark and still, the warrior fights Daed with its other hand, unbothered.
How?
Smoke and vine. Death and life. Both subdued by a single foe.
My stomach twists with dread, my heartbeat stuttering as the truth takes shape in my mind. This is no mere servant of Gygarth.
This is his champion.
Emranth’s successor.
And as its burning white eyes finally shift to me, I feel the weight of eternity in their gaze.
I will not be undone by this monster.
I will not fall to a servant before I’ve even set eyes on its master.
I have not come this far to fail now.
My fingers curl, power surging through my veins like wildfire. With a cry, I throw my hands forward and the earth answers. Vines burst through the stone in a thunderous crack, shards scattering as they spiral upward toward the demon.
It reacts instantly. Tendrils of smoke unravel from its armor, meeting the vines midair.
They crash together, smoke and root, twisting and strangling as they fight for dominance, life and death locked in a furious embrace.
But my power is older. Wilder. Some vines break through, snapping around the demon’s leg and wrenching it to one knee with a groan that echoes like thunder.
“Now!” I shout.
Daed surges forward, wings flaring, raising Death Singer high.
The void hums as he brings the blade down, but the demon catches the strike, its silver weapon raised above its head, steel locking against steel.
The impact throws sparks, and for a heartbeat they are frozen, equals in strength and fury.
Daed grits his teeth, pressing down with all the power left in his battered body. Shadows rise from his skin, coiling around the demon’s arm, trying to drag it lower. The stone beneath them cracks.
“Yield, damn you!” he snarls through clenched teeth.
I summon another surge. More vines spear through the fractured floor, wrapping the creature’s other leg, dragging it down. The demon is forced onto both knees, armor screeching against stone. Death Singer’s tip inches closer to its neck. The creature trembles, resisting, but I can feel it breaking.
So close. So very close.
Then, with a metallic cry, the demon’s sword slips from its grasp and clatters to the ground.
Victory flares in my chest until, in a blur of motion, it twists aside, Daed’s killing blow slicing down and shearing through its arm instead.
The cut is clean, armor and flesh giving way like paper.
Black smoke spills from the wound, thick and writhing.
The creature makes no sound of pain. Not even a hiss.
It crouches low, and in one swift motion, draws a dagger from its boot, slicing through the vines at its feet. In a blink, it’s up, retreating, limping toward the temple steps.
“No, you don’t!” Daed bellows, fury ripping through the air. “Coward!”
He grips Death Singer in both hands, draws back, and hurls it with all his strength. The blade spins through the darkness, trailing smoke like comet tails.
It should have struck. It should have ended this.
But before the blade can pierce the fleeing demon’s back, a massive tendril of smoke lashes from the temple’s doorway, snapping through the air like a whip. It coils around Death Singer, tightens, and with a sickening crack, shatters it in two.
Daed staggers as if struck himself, his whole body jolting with the pain of it. His connection to the weapon breaks in that instant. He falls to one knee, gasping, as the shattered blade clatters to the stone beside the fallen purple gem, its light dying.
“Daed,” I breathe, rushing to him.
He pulls me into his arms, holding me tight as we both lift our eyes to the temple’s towering entrance.
The air ripples. The shadows bend, and then he comes.
Smoke bleeds from the shadows, thick and sentient, coiling upward until it blocks the sky.
It gathers and swells, a towering mass of writhing tentacles and gnashing void-teeth, a gaping maw large enough to swallow a world.
And above it all, a single white eye opens, the eye that sees all, staring down as if we are insects beneath its heel.
The temple groans. Stone cracks. The city trembles around us.
Gygarth.
The Father Below.
The God of Death.
His roar shakes the foundations of this forsaken world, and while the demons that still live answer with cries of devotion, the few of our own who yet breathe stare in terror.
But I do not bow.
I stand unbroken where I was always meant to. At Daed’s side.