The crystalline forest had gone too still, a brittle silence wrapping around the camp like frost creeping over ancient stone. The fire crackled low in the center, its embers casting flickering shadows across the worn faces of the group, their edges softened by exhaustion. Xin sat hunched near the ring's periphery, his back rigid despite the heaviness tugging at his eyelids. The stars above hung dim, their light muted as if smothered by the relentless tide of monsters they'd faced over days—dusked beasts that reeked of void ether, their blood staining the earth black and leaving the air thick with a residue only Xin could filter.
They'd been relentless, those waves of claw and shadow, each one a brutal test of endurance. Raven, had poured himself into shielding the others, his armored form a bulwark against the onslaught, channeling ether until his breaths came shallow and sharp. The others had fought too...swords flashing, gauntlets cracking—but it was Xin who bore the aftermath. His gift was a double-edged blade: pulling the corrupted ether from Raven's body, from his own, drawing it out like venom through invisible threads. It was a labor that tore at him, each pull like drinking salt through shattered glass, a searing ache that clawed at his soul.
Yet even now, battered and sore, the fire in his veins burned undimmed. The monsters had slowed, their assaults thinning as the night deepened, but his pulse thrummed with restless energy. He paced the camp's edge, cracking his neck, stretching fingers still tingling with static charge. The others lay curled in cloaks and fatigue—Raven's head slumped sideways in sleep, his breathing deep and even—but Belial couldn't rest. The cold chill in his blood wouldn't let him.
The hunger of strength.
The night air called to him, thick and sharp, crackling with static—like a challenge whispered on the wind. He waited until Raven's slumber deepened, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, his guard down for the first time in days. Only then did he move.
No one saw him go.
He slipped into the trees like a wraith, a whisper swallowed by the fog that clung to the forest floor. His sword hung at his hip, its weight a familiar comfort, and his senses sharpened to a razor's edge—years of training distilled into this moment. He'd felt it earlier, a lingering ether trail just beyond his range, a thread of wrongness tugging at his awareness. It was reckless to chase it alone, stupid even. He didn't care.
The forest shifted as he ventured deeper, its character twisting into something darker, more warped. Trees grew at crooked angles, their trunks leaning as if recoiling from some ancient malice. Vines dangled low, unnaturally still, unmoved by the faint breeze that carried the stench of rot. Scattered among the roots lay broken animal carcasses—too decayed to identify, their bones picked clean by time or something worse. The air thickened with decay, but beneath it, buried deep, Belial sensed it: a familiar, insidious pulse of ether, sharp and wrong.
He followed it like a bloodhound, his boots silent on the mossy earth, his breath a controlled rhythm.
The creature waited in the hollow of a dead grove, a hulking silhouette framed by gnarled, leafless trees. It towered twice the size of a bear, its armor-like plates cracked and pulsing with dark fluid that oozed like tar. Four arms sprouted from its torso, each ending in jagged claws, and bony protrusions jutted from its spine like a crown of thorns. Its head was a nightmare—a cracked helm of bone encasing coal-black eyes that burned with a smoldering fury. A dusked monster, larger and fiercer than any they'd faced, its presence a stain on the night.
Belial stepped into the clearing, his blade half-drawn, already flowing with ether. His lips curled into a faint, defiant smirk.
The beast turned.
And lunged.
The clash was instant, a collision of violence that shattered the silence. Xin's sword met claw with a metallic shriek, the force reverberating up his arm and throwing him back. He hit the ground hard, the impact jarring his bones, but he rolled with it, springing up in a fluid motion. His blade slashed again, a streak of steel and ether aimed at the creature's exposed joints. The strike bit deep, dark fluid spurting from the wound, and the beast roared—a guttural bellow that shook the grove, flattening the brittle grass.
It struck back with terrifying speed, two arms slashing downward while the others whipped around its torso like bladed tendrils. Belial ducked, the claws whistling overhead, and slid beneath its reach, his boots skidding on the damp earth. He thrust his free hand forward, releasing a burst of condensed ether—lightning arcing from his palm in a crackling explosion that slammed into the beast's flank.
Smoke curled from the charred wound, the stench of burning flesh filling the air, but the creature recovered in an instant, its roar deafening as it swung a massive arm. The blow uprooted a tree trunk, hurling it like a battering ram.
Belial dove, weaving between roots and shattered rock as debris rained around him, the ground trembling under the beast's fury. He baited it deeper into the grove, his movements a calculated dance—dodging, striking, watching. Each clash revealed more: the creature was powerful, its strength overwhelming, but it was slow, relying on brute force and sheer mass.
Belial was faster, smarter, his mind racing as he mapped its patterns, its weaknesses. A claw here, a stagger there—he could win this.
He had to.
The beast bellowed again, a sound that rattled his skull, and Belial answered with a roar of his own, raw and primal. He charged headlong, his blade a blur of steel and sparks, slashing into its midsection with relentless precision. Gashes opened, oozing black, and the creature shrieked, rearing back to crush him beneath its bulk. Too late—Belial saw the opening. He leapt, his sword igniting with a surge of ether, and drove it upward into the beast's exposed throat. The blade sank deep, twisting as he poured every ounce of his will into the strike. The creature's death shudder shook the clearing, its massive frame collapsing with a thud that silenced the forest for miles.
Panting, Belial yanked his blade free, dark fluid dripping from the steel. He stood over the corpse, blood-slick and wild-eyed, a grin breaking through despite the ache in his limbs. "I told you," he muttered, his breath ragged, voice hoarse with triumph. "I don't need a team."
But then...the air shifted.
It grew colder, tighter, a sudden weight pressing against his chest. The hairs on his neck stood on end, a shiver racing down his spine. Something was wrong—terribly wrong. The forest, already still, seemed to hold its breath, the silence deepening into something unnatural.
Behind him, a branch snapped.
Not clumsy like an animal, not accidental. Deliberate. Heavy.
Belial turned slowly, his eyes narrowing, his pulse hammering for a reason beyond the fight. The treeline stared back—dark, impenetrable, a wall of shadow. His grip tightened on his sword, the static charge still buzzing faintly along the blade.
Nothing.
Just darkness.
And then...a low growl. Deep, resonant, wrong. It wasn't like the dusked monster he'd slain, not a sound born of void ether or feral rage. This was older, hungrier, a vibration that sank into his bones and made his fingers twitch around the hilt. The growl rolled through the grove, a predator's promise, and the shadows thickened, coiling like smoke.
Another footstep. Wet. Heavy. Deliberate.
Then silence...a silence that stretched taut, a bowstring pulled to breaking.
Belial's lips parted, his breath shallow. He took one step back, his boots sinking into the soft earth, his senses straining against the void.
The moment held, suspended.
Another growl. This one with purpose.
Belial froze.
High above, on a distant ridge, another figure stirred—unseen, but watching. Cloaked in smoke and the shroud of cursed ether, Belial narrowed his eyes.
He saw it too.
The monster in the shadows.
And it was smiling.