Chapter 45
Chapter forty-five
Rynna staggered as the world snapped back around her, the sudden shift like a blow to the head. She barely had time to brace when Fenn’s arm flexed, holding her upright.
Steadying herself, she squeezed his wrist in thanks just as the stench hit.
Her stomach turned, and she threw an arm over her face as the air closed in, thick and rancid, clinging to her lungs like mold. Above, the clouds hung bloated, suffocating the light into a sickly smear.
What had once been a lush marshland was now a writhing, desolate wasteland.
The ground was cracked and blackened with pockets of earth bubbling dark, oily sludge.
Far below, a sea of twisted, shambling figures moved, walking corpses stretching out in all directions, their forms barely distinguishable from the scorched and ruined earth.
“This can’t be right,” Elara murmured as they flew closer. The marshland was unrecognizable, as though it had been wiped clean by something unspeakable.
“It’s already begun.” Taren’s face had gone pale, his gaze focused on the sea of the dead. He swiveled toward Bran, panic in his eyes. “Are we too late?”
“No, my doves.” The Phoenix’s voice rose around them, deep and sorrowful. “It can’t complete its work without me.”
The devastation stretched as far as they could see, mounds of blackened bones, skeletal trees half-submerged in the murky, toxic remnants of water, and the faint glow of something dark and malevolent pulsing at the center of it all.
Kaelith, usually unshaken, stared out at the scene, his face pinched with an emotion Rynna had never seen in him before—disturbance. His eyes trailed across the wreckage, his lips parting in a rare moment of speechlessness before he found his voice.
“With respect, Mistress,” he said quietly. “If it needs you to complete its work, you should stay far away.”
“Indeed.” Her voice hummed in a low, mournful song. “A paradox. Since you cannot hope to prevail without me.” She sighed, the note vibrating through Rynna, resonating with subtle but unmistakable dread. “A sacrifice will need to be made.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” Fenn’s entire body went rigid. “But if there must be a sacrifice, it should be me. I’ve already cheated death.”
“Fenn!” She knew him well enough to understand that he’d throw himself in front of any danger to protect those with him, maybe even Kaelith.
“Perhaps, Crimson Wolf, the Weaving will call you home,” Hika answered.
Rynna’s head jerked at the word.
But before she could speak, the Phoenix added, “And perhaps not.”
“There!” Bran interrupted, pointing ahead.
In the distance, the earth fell away into a gaping spiral pit, its edges rough and raw, like an open wound in the world itself. Dark smoke coiled lazily from the cracks in the stone, and the walls buzzed with a sickly glow.
A chill rushed down Rynna’s spine. This wasn’t just a battle. It was far darker, far worse than anything she had imagined.
“How are we supposed to land?” Taren grimaced. “The dead are everywhere.”
All eyes turned to Fenn.
He stood still, scanning the writhing landscape beneath them—the countless undead cresting like a tide across the blackened terrain. The muscle in his jaw ticked as he tracked their movements.
Then, with a short puff of air, he spoke.
“Bran. Can you bring us lower? Close enough to see what we’re dealing with? We need to evaluate our options.”
“Sure, boss.” Bran nodded. “Hika?”
Her great wings tilted in answer, and slowly, cautiously, they began to descend through the swirling haze. Then the air shimmered—warped and wrong. Without warning, Hika reared back with a piercing cry, her entire form convulsing midair against an unseen wall, stopping her cold.
Her wings flared open, straining to hold altitude under the crushing force pushing them away. Wind howled in violent bursts as she fought to stay airborne, clawing for space between them and the encroaching barrier.
Kaelith swore as he grabbed Rynna’s arm, while Taren dropped to one knee, clutching the Phoenix for balance. But just as they teetered on the brink, flames surged upward, anchoring them in place as she strained against the invisible force.
“Hika!” Bran called. “What’s wrong?”
“I cannot pass. A wall of void rot wrapped in agony blocks the way.” The Phoenix flinched again. “You will all perish if I try to drop you through.”
Kaelith braced himself with a curse, clinging to Rynna as Hika pitched unevenly in the sky.
“We have to land,” Taren called out, squinting into the haze below. “I need to examine the barrier. See what’s anchoring it so we can get through.”
“Land where?” Elara looked down. “The ground’s crawling with them.” She hugged herself. “I didn’t even know there were that many people in the whole world.”
“It seems they’re welcoming us,” Kaelith said dryly, nodding toward a mass of undead on their left.
The horde had begun to shift, moving together in eerie unison, and the sea of bodies shuffled apart, creating a wide, open space in the center, just large enough for the Great Phoenix to land.
“So much for the element of surprise.” Taren clenched his teeth.
“It always knew we were coming,” the Phoenix seemed to whisper. “This confrontation was always meant to happen.”
Great. Another cryptic reference. What is she trying to tell me?
“Bran, Taren, and Elara,” Fenn spoke, taking command. “You three stay together. Wolf Formation. Get to the barrier. Find out how to break it.”
The three nodded, their hands already moving to their weapons with the practiced ease of years spent fighting together.
Wolf Formation was one of their most powerful battle strategies, reserved for three-person teams facing overwhelming enemies.
It allowed them to fight as one, utilizing their individual strengths to compensate for each other’s weaknesses.
“Bran, Taren, come here,” Elara instructed, pulling out a small pot of black material from a small linen pouch at her waist. “This will link the three of us,” she explained, wiping the black substance in the shape of a simple fish symbol onto each of their foreheads.
“I’ll be able to heal you both from a distance and balance your use of Source or elemental energy, enhancing it across all of us. ”
“Whoa.” Bran raised his hand to his forehead, feeling for the mark, but Elara swatted it down before he could touch it.
“It’s what I do within my own body,” she continued. “I’ve been developing this binding technique for the past four years with my Healer unit to improve efficiency, but it should work just as well with you two.”
“Good,” Fenn said as the Phoenix descended.
The closer they got, the more the earth itself seemed to twist like something alive.
“Kaelith, Rynna, you’re with me. We keep the dead off the other three.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll take point.”
“Of course you will, wolf.” Kaelith rolled his eyes.
“I may not be the strongest in this group anymore.” Fenn gave Kaelith a hard look.
“But I am still Unit Leader, and in the field, I will be the voice of command. Our only chance of succeeding here is if we work together.” He paused, his eyes scanning each of them.
“Back to back. Side to side. You fight for the Hollow-born standing with you. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Commander,” Bran, Elara, and Taren responded in unison, their fists raised to their chests in respect as they bowed low.
“Always,” Rynna echoed, her palm pressed to her heart.
Fenn’s gaze shifted to Kaelith, one eyebrow raised in question. “Kaelith? Do you fight with us?”
For a moment, something unreadable passed across Kaelith’s face, but then… “Yes, Commander,” he replied, raising his fist and dipping his head. “This day, I do. I will guard your life with my own.”
United, they stood together as the Phoenix slowed, flames casting a crimson glow over the wasteland below. Muscles coiled and eyes fixed on the small opening in the sea of the dead where they would make their stand.
“Good luck.” Hika lowered them to the ground. “But do not waste time on these ones. Find a way to break the barrier.”
She let out a final, resonant hum before her fiery form began to shift. And around Bran, flames thrashed into a cycle that engulfed him completely. Then, as the power settled, fire danced along his skin before dissipating, leaving him standing unharmed, eyes glowing like embers.
“Woah.” Rynna stared with the rest of the group.
Around them, the dead stood eerily still, as if frozen in place, perhaps waiting.
“Do we just—” Taren began, but the words caught in his throat.
The dead stirred, parting in a smooth, synchronized ripple through the rotting masses as bodies twisted and pulled back, clearing a path in eerie silence.
Kaelith went still as tension hummed through his frame, fingers twitching at his side.
Through the parted sea of corpses, Skarn stepped into view, his dark robe fluttering in the stagnant air, untouched by the decay that surrounded him.
“Skarn.” Kaelith’s hiss scraped out from deep in his throat. His fangs pushed lower, splitting his bottom lip as blood welled and trickled down his chin.
“Guide Fenn?” Taren’s head whipped toward them.
A rasping exhale tore through the air—thousands of ruined bodies sucking in breath at once.
Then the stillness fractured, and the dead advanced as one, limbs jerking into motion.
“Go!” Fenn yelled, blades already in hand. “To the barrier! We’ll deal with this!”
But Kaelith didn’t seem to hear, his gaze unblinking, hungry. The mask he always wore—sarcasm, charm, indifference—splintered as a smile curved his lips. There was no humor in it. No quip. No warning. Only intent.
“Mine.” He exploded into motion as if unchained, boots flying over scorched earth, eyes fixed on Skarn and nothing else as the wave of dead fighters collapsed toward them.
Rynna broke into a run after him, short swords in hand, with Fenn matching pace beside her.
They didn’t speak. Didn’t look back. Together, the three of them cut through the scourge of undead, a spearpoint of fury and power driving straight for the heart of the storm.