Chapter 61
Chapter sixty-one
“What in the fuck...” Her eyes were wide as she dropped with Kaelith still in her grasp, bracing herself against the waves of power rolling off the battle raging from deeper within the chamber.
Beside his sagging form, her fingers flew to her belt as his head lolled.
“Stay with me,” she muttered, yanking the strap free and looping it around his thigh.
He’d heal fast, but not if he bled out before then.
“Down!” Fenn yelled, yanking them all flat to the ground, barely missing the molten glob of lava suddenly hurtled their way. Kaelith hit first, then Rynna, twisting as she fell to throw herself over him as the blast struck the wall nearby with a sickening thud.
Beside them, a hiss of steam erupted where the glob met cold stone, blanketing them in a choking haze that clung to her skin and burned her eyes. Then came the sting. Splatter from the blast peppered her back and shoulders in small, searing-hot drops, cutting through cloth, biting into flesh.
Rynna’s body jerked as the world narrowed to heat, smoke, and the dull throb of exposed nerves.
Still, she didn’t move. Her body stayed over Kaelith’s, shielding him until the pain began to ebb.
Then Fenn dropped to her side, arms wrapping around her in shelter.
His weight pressed in at her back, steady and solid, even as the air still swirled with smoke and rising heat.
“Fenn!” she coughed, seeing the side of his charred shirt clinging to scorched skin.
“I’m fine.” His neck was craned, gaze locked over his shoulder. “How’s the snake?”
“Death seems unlikely,” Kaelith muttered from beneath her. “Unless one of your overenthusiastic younglings throws another bucket of lava our way.”
Rynna pushed upright, bracing one hand on Kaelith as she scrambled to her knees. His leg lay at an odd angle, the makeshift tourniquet tight around his thigh, but the bleeding had already stopped. She tugged the belt again, anyway, twisting the knot to reinforce it.
He hadn’t passed out. That was good.
Only once it held did she look past Fenn, through the roiling curtain of steam, and catch her first glimpse of the war erupting above them.
Bran and Taren moved like blurs of light through the air, their forms streaking with terrifying speed.
The great, flaming wings of the Phoenix unfurled behind Bran, each beat sending waves of heat rippling outward as he launched streams of fire toward something dancing just out of reach.
Taren, his great sword flying in midair beside him, swung a whip of lightning, its bright arcs illuminating the ashen cavern.
The sword moved as though it had a mind of its own, attacking the shadowed figure below them.
“What is that?” She tracked the white shimmering cords of light that connected both Bran and Taren to…. “Elara!”
The girl sat cross-legged in the middle of the battle, her brows knit in deep concentration, eyes closed, with a faint glow of Source power emanating around her.
“No!” Rynna cried as a spear of darkness hurtled toward her friend. Even with her power, she’d be too late. But the blackened weapon never crossed that silver light.
It’s some kind of shield! she thought, sagging in relief.
For a brief moment, Rynna marveled at the sight. It was a battle of storm and thunder, shadow and fire, all colliding in a beautiful, deadly ballet.
“Since when have they been able to do that?” Fenn whispered, his jaw slack as his claws slowly retracted.
He briefly looked her way. “I don’t think there’s much we can do to help here, love.”
Rynna nodded, still trying to calm her pulse. “Stay ready.”
She searched for the elusive force behind all their troubles, a Hollow-born or power or monster nobody had even heard of until this nightmare began.
“There!” She pointed, eyes focusing on the trace of movement above where Bran and Taren flew.
Amidst the swirling black, a figure wavered in and out of view, more a suggestion of movement than a solid form. The darkness clung to him like a living thing, shifting and blending as he moved, making it impossible to tell where the shadows ended and he began.
“Can you see him?” Rynna squinted, straining to focus.
His movements were erratic, dropping in and out of sight, sometimes dissolving into the darkness entirely.
“Barely.” Fenn’s brow furrowed. “It’s like he’s part shadow, himself.”
“Void?” Kaelith grunted from behind them.
“Perhaps.” Fenn started when—
Suddenly, a blast of fire from Bran erupted across the cavern, illuminating the battlefield with blinding radiance. The dark figure recoiled as the flames tore through its cloak, shredding the black shields that concealed its form.
“What…” Rynna’s mouth fell open.
What remained was barely human—a desiccated corpse with parchment-thin skin stretched over bone, and hollow eyes locked in a contorted, silent scream.
“Is that what I think it is?” Fenn’s voice faltered, his usual confidence shaken as he looked over at Rynna. “Just who or what are we supposed to be fighting?”
Rynna stepped closer, her eyes fixed on the thing that had once been a man as Taren and Bran swooped down, blow after blow slamming into the desiccated corpse. And, with each blow, they forced it to the ground, holding it in place as it thrashed beneath their power.
But something wasn’t right. Rynna’s gaze followed a faint, eerie trail of oil, barely visible as it snaked away from the enemy, leading toward the center of the cavern. And there, in the middle of the ash-covered floor, lay a well of…emptiness…thicker and deeper than the surrounding shadows.
“What?” The word slipped from her lips as she stared at the strange connection between the creature and the abyss at the back of the cavern.
It can’t be. The familiar screaming deep within her soul grew louder, swirling into a mournful wail as memories she could barely comprehend forced their way to the surface.
Her legs buckled, driving her to her knees as her mind spiraled through the centuries.
The millennia. Seeing world after world drained to desolation.
Over and over again. And then, the endless chase across space and time.
She saw herself tracking down every last one of the void-spawned race responsible.
The endless pursuit, the agony of loss, the orb. .. Losing her...
She shook her head. No!
She had locked them all away once, beyond the reaches of reality, sealed behind the Weaving. Outside. She gasped, scratching at her arms, trying to block out the torrent of images, but the memories continued their cruel assault.
“Rynna?” Kaelith’s voice came from behind her as a hand fell on her shoulder.
She latched onto the sound, clinging to it like a lifeline, pulling herself through the pain, desperate to find her way back to the surface. But there was nothing he could do. Nothing any of them could do.
It’s a Wraith.
She’d sacrificed her very soul to defeat them before…before…she had become this wretched, broken agent of the Weaving.
Her body shook as her vision sharpened, locking onto the creature’s puppet. How did this one escape?
“Bran!” The scream ripped from her as the truth hit her full force. “You can’t win! It can’t be destroyed!”
“I know!” Bran called back, his voice straining. “We’re going to bind it again like the ancient warriors did!”
Taren landed beside her, his whip sparking as he lashed it at the corpse. “The Source has been feeding off us as we use it, giving this thing the power it needs to break free. But it’s not fully loose yet. We still have time to reset the bindings and cut its connection to us.”
Rynna’s heart pounded. “The ancient’s were able to bind it?” The thought felt impossible, yet it clicked into place. “There must be only one, then.”
They usually traveled in packs, draining planet after planet. If this was the only one, maybe they had a chance.
She ground her teeth, mind racing. “But how did you figure this out?”
“It told us. Gloating. Hika confirmed it.” He shrugged, raising his whip again. “Only the dead and Skarn to talk to for thousands of years made it chatty, I guess.”
“Almost there,” Bran grunted, a streak of darkness streaking past his face. “Just a little more!” He was weaving intricate symbols of fire in the air, while a sustained blast of flames kept the creature trapped in place. The hum of the Great Phoenix resonated through the cavern.
“But…” Rynna swallowed hard. “The corpse is just a puppet.”
Both Taren and Bran jerked their heads toward her, eyes wide.
“What?!” they cried in unison.
She felt it then, a tremor rippling through the ground, subtle at first but growing, originating from the center of the cavern.
Just as she opened her mouth to warn them, something pulsed, and the ground beneath them quaked.
Then, before anyone could react, a shockwave crashed through the room, knocking them all off their feet.
And as the cavern shook, nobody noticed when a hole tore open directly beneath Fenn.
“Rynna!” His hand shot out, reaching for her.
She saw the shock in his eyes, and her stomach lurched as her fingers skimmed his. But she couldn’t grasp him in time, and he disappeared, only to reappear near the churning pit at the center of the cavern.
“Fenn!” Blood pounded in her ears as she scrambled to her feet.
Every muscle screamed for her to act, but when she jumped forward, a force crashed into her body like a battering ram, sending her sprawling back. Behind them, Elara stumbled, supporting Kaelith, his weight sagging against her shoulder as blood dripped from his still-healing leg.
“What’s happening?” she demanded, looking to Rynna.
“I don’t know!” Rynna’s eyes were wide as the pit beat with dark energy. “I thought it needed the Great Phoenix.”
“AND NOW I HAVE IT!” a voice thundered in their minds. “FREEDOM AFTER SO LONG IMPRISONED.”
The ground split open with a deafening crack, like the earth itself was screaming. Then, limbs burst forth, massive, chitinous, and spider-like. But the legs weren’t just large, they were wrong, mottled with disease-colored patches and jointed in unnatural places, glistening like fresh-peeled skin.
Yet, they moved fast, lancing upward in a blur of violent motion.
One—straight into Fenn.
Then another.
They speared through him, one into his side, driving through flesh and bone with a wet, splintering crunch.
No! Her mind nearly blanked as blood sprayed in thick, arcing bursts, the sound of it pattering against the stone floor. His body jerked once, then went slack as the limbs hoisted him into the air like a broken marionette.
No! Rynna couldn’t breathe.
She stared, frozen, as his blood rained down, hot and vivid. Her mind reeled, refusing to accept what her eyes were showing her. Fenn—Fenn—was hanging above her, run through like some discarded doll.
Her legs moved without her permission. She staggered upright, throat tight and burning.
“No—” The word tore from her throat, raw and useless. This couldn’t be happening.
He was dying. Again.
“NO! He’s not even the Phoenix, you great leech of an idiot!” She pounded her fists on the barrier.
But the Wraith didn’t even flinch at her screams.
It bent lower, sinking deeper into Fenn’s body. And inside him, buried beneath torn flesh and broken bone, something stirred. A flicker. Small and fragile. A spark of fire, barely there, shaking in the dark.
Rynna felt it before she saw it. The echo of his Will—his self—fighting to hold on, bolstered by the now familiar energy of the Great Phoenix. Wavering, the spark shuddered once, then was dragged out, drawn into the Wraith like air ripped from lungs.
And then it was gone.
Rynna staggered back a step as the world pitched sideways, too bright, too loud. Her breath hitched, stomach hollowing out with a pressure that left no room for…anything.
“No,” she rasped, voice barely audible, as if anything louder might shatter her entirely.
She doubled over, forehead pressed to the stone, her shoulders heaving.
“I’m sorry, my doves.” Hika’s soft, sorrowful voice chimed around them as if coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. “He carries my spark, though small. As do many who have come in contact with Bran over the years.”
Rynna barely heard, eyes locked on the man she loved, falling to the ground with a lifeless thud. She stared, unmoving, as blood spread beneath him in slow, widening rings. His chest, once so solid beneath her hand, was torn open, flesh ragged, ribs shattered like splintered bone-white glass.
He didn’t stir.
She didn’t blink.
The world narrowed to the shape of him lying there, impossibly still.
Dead. Dead. Dead.
“You knew?” Her vision tunneled as she turned on Bran, her nails biting into her palms. “You knew it would take him!?”
“What? No!” Bran staggered backward, his hands raised. “I thought it needed me. But we were too strong. It couldn’t take me!”
“So it took him?” Rynna’s voice splintered, and her body whipped toward him, fists raised, fury flooding her limbs.
But the ground shifted beneath them before she could take a step.
It started as a low groan, then rolled into a violent tremor.
Fractures split the stone with harsh, echoing snaps.
Then, the air thickened as the Wraith erupted from the earth.
Coming up in pieces, it hauled its grotesque form from the depths.
A towering monstrosity, its elongated body undulated with unnatural grace as a chain of slick, segmented armor oozed dark bile. While hundreds of needle-thin legs skittered across the cavern floor, it filled the space with the scrape of chitin and stone.
Rynna scrambled back, heart quailing as she fell to her knees.
The head emerged last, misshapen, with serrated fangs clicking together in anticipation, ringed in slime and venom. It hissed as it rose fully into the chamber, casting its massive silhouette across the walls in fevered, flickering light.
It was everything she remembered. Everything she’d hoped to never see again.
The nightmare given flesh.
But Rynna didn’t move.
She couldn’t feel the heat anymore. Couldn’t hear the others. The world had narrowed to the throb beneath her ribs where her heartbeat should’ve been.
Something inside her had shifted. Buckled. Like before…in the orb…when she’d lost her soul. It was a silent rupture spreading under the surface of her sanity.
She stared up at the thing that had taken Fenn—at the venom-slicked fangs, the glistening limbs—and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to fight it or walk into its maw and let it finish what its kind had started millennia ago.