Lynzelle gasped awake, her whole body jerking with a violent shudder. She clutched Cainan's arm in a death grip, her nails digging through the thick material of his cloak and into his skin, though he barely noticed. Her breathing came out in short, harsh bursts, her forehead slick with sweat, strands of her hair plastered to her cheeks. For a long second, she just clung to him, eyes wide, trembling like something hunted.
Cainan blinked slowly, the last echoes of the dream still rattling inside his skull.
The way Lynzelle held onto him — the sheer terror vibrating through her — made the truth settle like lead in his gut.
She had seen it too.
"What did you see?" His voice was low, rough with urgency, his hand moving to grip her shoulder firmly, steadying her.
Lynzelle swallowed, staring at him with dazed eyes. "A… a woman," she whispered hoarsely. "Tall… towering… black veil over her face. She cried. And—" she clutched him tighter, her voice hitching. "The children. Shadows. They stood around her. She… she cried and they turned into black roses."
Cainan's blood ran cold.
He stared at her, every word she spoke lining up perfectly with the horrors still thrumming in his mind.
"I saw it too," he muttered, voice thick. His fingers flexed unconsciously against her arm. "Same thing. Every fucking detail."
Lynzelle pulled back just enough to look at him fully, her brows knitting together.
"What… what do you think it means?" she asked, and for once, there was no cocky smirk, no sly tilt of her head—only pure, raw fear.
Cainan exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw clenching.
"I don't know. But we're gonna find out."
Much later, the capital was a roiling, living sea of unrest.
The streets usually so full of shouting merchants, crying children, clanging bells, and drunken bards were subdued. People huddled in tight knots, speaking in frantic, hushed voices, their faces pale and hollow-eyed. Some sat slumped against walls with their heads in their hands, while others simply wandered aimlessly, as if not sure if they were awake or still dreaming.
"Did you see the children too?" a mother whispered, clinging to her son on a corner, her voice cracking. "The crying woman? It was real, wasn't it?"
"I saw it," an old man coughed from his stoop, clutching his chest, tears streaming down his weathered cheeks. "The black roses… they flew right into the godsdamned sky…"
Children huddled together under the eaves of buildings, wide-eyed and whispering.
"She smiled," a little girl said, her voice a brittle thing. "She smiled right before she picked the rose."
Clerics in white and gold robes ran through the streets, their magic shimmering faintly as they tried to heal the bodies and minds of those who couldn't withstand it. Near the central square, two rooftops were dark stains against the cloudy sky where desperate citizens had thrown themselves off in terror after waking from the dream. Priests formed circles around the fallen, chanting prayers of release, but even their strongest rites seemed like pitiful defenses against the weight that hung in the air.
And rumors already spread like wildfire.
"They say the entire eastern kingdom had the same dream," a merchant hissed to his companions as Cainan and Lynzelle passed.
"No, not just them," another interrupted, looking pale. "The northern steppes too! The riders! They all woke screaming!"
"The entire fucking continent…"
Cainan shoved his hands deep into his pockets, his chains clinking quietly as he walked, his mind a thousand miles away. Beside him, Lynzelle said nothing, her eyes sharp and wary, scanning the restless crowd.
"I figured. We're not the only ones who dreamt of that woman." Cainan said.
Lynzelle continued to look around at the worried people. "Could it be her…? The Witch Queen?"
"It could be."
"She felt familiar…"
"Familiar…?"
"Yeah, I can't really explain it."
Cainan thought, 'Familiar…is Lynzelle connected to this?!'
They found his squad huddled near a broken fountain, the stone basin cracked and dry.
Tojin, the youngest, sat perched nervously on the edge, his spiked brown curls a mess, his freckled face drawn and twitchy. His dark blue eyes widened even more when he saw Cainan and Lynzelle approaching, as if they were salvation itself.
Aris stood silent as a ghost beside him, her long red braid tucked neatly over her shoulder, her white blindfold untouched by the grime around her. She looked serene, untouched by the chaos—but the way her pale hands were tightly folded told a different story.
Foxxen leaned with arms crossed against the base of the fountain, his red-and-white fur bristling in agitation, the huge sword strapped to his back nearly catching the sunlight in a deadly gleam. He was scowling fiercely, fangs bared in a rare show of unease.
Raijin's massive armored form towered above them all, the blood-colored cloak hanging heavily from his broad steel frame. The faint hum of his blood-forged sword filled the air like a heartbeat, slow and somber. He stood perfectly still, but the way his fists clenched and unclenched betrayed his worry.
Zaara, who was usually lounging lazily against any surface she could find, chewing fruit and smirking, was dead serious. Her black hair streaked with gold fell loose around her shoulders, and her arms, glowing faintly with golden runes, were crossed tightly against her chest.
When Cainan and Lynzelle approached, all eyes turned to them.
"You two saw it too, didn't you?" Foxxen growled, no arrogance in his voice now—only tension sharp enough to snap.
Cainan nodded grimly. "Yeah. Every fucked up detail."
"It wasn't just us," Zaara said, voice low, serious. "It's everywhere. Everyone's talkin'. Some clerics are saying it's a world omen."
"Not just talking…" Tojin piped up, his voice cracking a little. "M-my neighbor threw himself off the balcony… others too. Some of the healers can't even keep up. Some folks… they just aren't right after waking up."
"It was the same dream for everyone," Raijin rumbled, his voice deep and resonant inside the metal chest cavity. "That cannot be coincidence. It must be sorcery… or something worse."
Aris, who had been silent all this time, finally spoke. Her voice was calm, but it cut through the haze like a blade. "The black roses," she said softly. "They dissolve into black roses when they die. The witches. The ones we hunt. Their bodies crumble into petals… always petals. Always black."
Everyone grew still, letting her words sink in.
"So you think it's connected?" Lynzelle asked, voice careful.
"It has to be," Aris murmured. "The witches… the witch queen. The dream was too perfect. Too… beautiful in its horror. It was crafted. Not born from our minds alone."
"The black rose…" Foxxen muttered, scowling deeper, scratching behind one ear. "What the hell does it even mean then? It's gotta be some symbol."
"Freedom, maybe?" Zaara said quietly, her arms tightening across her chest. "That's what they always say, right? The witches want a world without kings, laws, orders. A world where only the strong and the mad survive. Maybe the black rose is… beauty to them. A symbol of that freedom in death."
Cainan listened to all of it, the tension tightening in his gut like a coiled chain. His mind churned—turning, chewing on memories—until suddenly, something surfaced that made him stiffen.
"…I saw one of those shadowy kids yesterday," he said slowly, his voice dropping low.
The others turned toward him immediately.
"When?" Lynzelle asked sharply.
"When we went with the king… when we saw the Libben trader in the woods. The little merchant folk. I saw it." His hands flexed at his sides, remembering. "It was standing by a tree. Just… there. No sound. No smell. Just watching. When I blinked, it was gone. It's bothered me ever since. Couldn't stop thinking about it."
A heavy silence fell over the group, thick and oppressive.
Above them, the grey clouds churned slowly, as if the sky itself were holding its breath.
The council stood gathered upon the obsidian balcony of Idrathar's palace, the vast marbled courtyard sprawling beneath them, a sea of chaos and disquiet. The city below roiled like a disturbed anthill — people running, shouting, clerics trying and failing to bring order to the shaken masses.
Above it all, the five Lords and Ladies of Kalazeth stood silent for a long, heavy moment, each wrapped tightly in their own swirling unease. They had seen it too — the same dream — and even among the most hardened souls in the empire, a deep, gnawing fear had taken root.
Lord Garron Volkrath's mechanical gauntlet clenched audibly at his side, the blackened steel catching the dying sunlight. His scarred mouth twisted into a grim scowl as he stared down at the chaos with a commander's loathing for disorder.
"This is worse than a mere panic," he growled, voice low and thunderous. "This is fear seeded into the bones of the people. They will not shake it off easily."
Beside him, Lady Selvaria Vance crossed her arms beneath her blood-red cloak, her eyes glinting with a sharp, dangerous light. A cold smile ghosted over her lips, though it was devoid of any real amusement.
"They are right to fear," she said smoothly, voice like velvet drawn over a blade. "The dream was not born of mortal minds. No common sorcerer could craft such a vision — not one so… intoxicating. So complete. But I could be wrong."
Lord Dravok Maernis leaned heavily against the balcony's edge, his layered, tattered robes brushing the floor as he exhaled a long, weary breath. The chains and seals on his sleeves clinked together with each lazy movement.
"I suppose this means another month of endless patrols and wild rumors," he muttered, voice thick with exhaustion. "We'll have to burn half the Tethered Quarter just to keep the panic down..."
Archsage Vharyn Soldeis floated a few inches above the stonework, their silver mask gleaming faintly, the air around them humming with soft magical vibrations. When they spoke, their voice was warm and melodious, as though they were reassuring frightened children.
"We must not underestimate the symbolism," Vharyn said, their trinkets spinning slowly around their form. "Black roses… grieving mothers… shadowed children. These are not random images. They are warnings, shaped in a language we have yet to fully understand."
Master Forgewright Brax Trenhald said nothing for a long moment, his massive bronze-clad arms crossed over his chest. When he finally spoke, it was with the deep, rumbling certainty of a mountainside groaning to life. "The people will not care about symbolism," he rumbled. "They will remember the terror. They will demand protection — or vengeance. Preferably both."
The council fell into a contemplative silence, each weighed down by the enormity of what they faced. The dream had shaken even the unshakable. It wasn't merely the people's fear that concerned them — it was their own.
"What if it wasn't just a dream?" Garron finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if it was… a prophecy?"
Before anyone could answer, heavy footfalls echoed up the steps behind them.
Knight-Captain Camelot emerged into the dusky light, his crimson cloak whipping behind him. His broad shoulders were squared stiffly, but his face was grim, deeply troubled.
"My Lords," Camelot said, offering a brief but respectful bow. "I come bearing troubling news from within the palace."
Garron's sharp eyes narrowed. "What has happened?!"
Camelot hesitated — and that alone was enough to make tension spike through the gathering like a blade. Camelot never hesitated.
"Idrathar remains with his daughter," Camelot said. "Espen… She has not recovered. She woke from the dream trembling and has not stopped since. Her body shakes as though something inside her is trying to tear free."
A heavy silence fell, oppressive as a noose.
"It may be connected to her… condition," Camelot continued, his voice cautious. "The same affliction that curses Lynzelle. You all know it. The darkness that lingers within her blood."
Lady Selvaria's eyes narrowed sharply. "Tread carefully, Camelot," she said, her tone a velvet threat. "You are suggesting treason without proof."
"I suggest only caution," Camelot said quickly, lifting a hand in placation. "Lynzelle shares a bond with the darkness. The dream could be a trigger — or a signal. If Lynzelle were somehow involved—"
"She is not," Garron interrupted with a booming snarl. His mechanical gauntlet struck the railing hard enough to crack the stone. "We trust Cainan's instincts. If he believed her a threat, she would not be breathing."
"But consider," Camelot pressed. "Cainan himself said the curse affects everyone differently. If Espen is trembling uncontrollably, would it not stand to reason Lynzelle should suffer similar symptoms? And yet she stands strong. Why? Unless…" He let the suggestion hang, poisonous and heavy.
"Unless the witches want Espen for something," Vharyn murmured, fingers weaving thoughtful sigils in the air. "Something only she can provide."
Selvaria's eyes gleamed like sharpened silver. "Perhaps. But I would still wager Cainan's instincts above fear. He has the nose of a Bloodhound when it comes to witchcraft. If Lynzelle were compromised, he would have cut her down long before now. He's my pupil, and if he's anywhere near responsible for anything, I will take the blunt of the damage for him. And that goes for all the witch hunters under me."
Camelot heard her loud and clear, thinking, 'Tch. Of course she says that. She treats all of the witch hunters like her children. They could steal from Idrathar and she'll take responsibility for their actions. She's more odd than she is terrifying.'
Dravok grunted, dragging a hand down his gaunt cheeks. "Either way, this is spiraling out of our hands."
Brax's heavy boots shifted, the dwarf-like figure letting out a deep, disapproving rumble. "We should prepare. Steel the garrisons. Lock the Veil and the Tethered. Whatever comes next… we must be ready to meet it with swords and magic."
They all fell silent, the weight of too many possibilities pressing down on them, making even these war-seasoned titans feel suddenly very small.
And then —
A low, trembling rumble shook the stones beneath their feet.
Eyes snapped upward.
In the courtyard below, Cainan, Lynzelle, and their squad had also turned, alert, wary. The crowds fell into a stunned hush, all heads craning upward toward the palace.
A sound like a cannon shot cracked the evening air — the stone turrets of the central tower exploded outward in a shower of debris.
Screams erupted.
And there — rising from the wreckage, as if drawn up by invisible hands — floated Espen.
She was limp, slumped backward unnaturally, her nightgown fluttering around her thin frame. Her skin had turned an ashen pallor, so pale she looked carved from bone. Black veins spiderwebbed across her face and throat, pulsing with sickly light.
And worst of all — her eyes.
Pitch black.
Endless, empty voids.
Every soul in the courtyard gasped as one.
Espen hovered higher, her arms dangling at her sides, hair whipping violently in a phantom wind that smelled faintly of rot and roses.
The capital trembled.
And somewhere, unseen, something laughed.
The sky above Kalazeth was shattered, the broken remains of Espen's chamber still falling like ash from the exploded tower. Espen hung there, slumped in the dying light, her body eerily weightless, her blackened eyes hollow and unseeing.
Below, the capital erupted into noise — shouts, cries, the clamor of soldiers scrambling, the horrified voices of the common folk.
"Gods! It's Espen!"
"What's happened to her?!"
"She's cursed — look at her veins!"
"Someone help her!"
Near the ruined palace wall, Idrathar stumbled forward, blood matting his hair, cuts and bruises deep across his face and arms. He ignored the destruction around him, staggering through the rubble with one arm outstretched toward the heavens. His voice tore from his throat, raw and desperate.
"Espen! ESPEN!"
Cainan, Lynzelle, and the squad stood frozen for a heartbeat. Tojin clutched the hilts of his daggers, wide-eyed and trembling.
"She looks…dead. Gods, she looks dead…!" he stammered.
Raijin's steel frame hummed louder, his voice a low, pained rumble. "No… her soul still burns, but it flickers."
Foxxen bared his sharp teeth, his fur bristling. "This reeks of witchcraft. Heavy, foul."
Zaara's golden runes pulsed like frantic heartbeats, her usually teasing smirk long vanished. "This isn't normal. This isn't natural magic…we gotta do something!"
Even Aris, usually unreadable behind her blindfold, turned her face upward, her soft voice slicing through the din. "We are on the edge of something dreadful..."
Cainan was looking up at her, his fists clenching, remembering the times Idrathar used Cainan as a hero in a story in front of Espen to make her laugh. She would beg for Cainan to tell her some witch hunting stories. Though they were insanely dark and gory, she loved them anyway.
Cainan's anger detonated inside of him, saying, "Espen…"
The council on the balcony leaned forward, grave expressions etched deep into their weathered faces.
Lord Garron growled under his breath. "This is an act of war…dark magic is humming around us…!"
Lady Selvaria's hands drifted to her twin blades, her posture taut as a bowstring. "If the witches have claimed her, we cannot allow her to remain theirs! Everyone grab her!"
Dravok rubbed his temples, muttering, "Just what we needed. As if nightmares weren't enough."
Vharyn's floating trinkets shimmered nervously, their masked face turned solemn. "The chains of fate tighten faster than we can cut."
Even Master Trenhald's massive hand gripped the railing hard enough to crack it. "Move fast. Or lose her forever then!"
And they began to move.
Before anyone could react further, the air split with a whipcrack.
A black chain, dark as pitch and threaded with glinting red runes, tore across the sky with a howl, striking Espen through the stomach. She didn't even flinch. No blood spilled. No pain distorted her slack features. The chain simply embedded itself into her body — binding her soul, locking her in place.
Gasps and shouts rose from below.
"Cut it down — bring her back!"
Without hesitation, knights, warriors, and hunters leapt into action. Lady Selvaria drew her blades, their edges crackling with Destruction magic. Camelot barked orders, rallying the warriors nearest to him. Mages raised staves and bows were drawn — all of them aiming to sever the chain before it could tighten further.
But they were too slow.
The chain yanked sharply, faster than the eye could follow. Espen's body was hurled forward like a ragdoll, the air shrieking with her passage.
The crowd roared as one, a wave of desperate cries.
"AFTER HER!"
"DON'T LET HER BE TAKEN!"
"MOVE!"
Cainan was the first to act, his chains of destruction coiling around his arms, flaring as he sprinted forward like a thunderbolt. His boots tore furrows into the earth, his halo burning brighter over his head, his heart hammering with a fury only the gods could match.
'I'll save you..don't worry….I'll bring you back.'
The black chain tore across the landscape, leveling trees and tearing massive gouges into the ground. Great oaks splintered like matchsticks, their trunks exploding in showers of bark and splinters. Stones shattered, fields buckled.
Cainan dodged through the destruction like a phantom, his movements sharp, viciously precise — leaping over the craters, ducking low beneath flying debris, twisting through the maelstrom the chain left in its wake.
Behind him, the rest of the Bloodhunters scrambled to mount horses.
Foxxen cursed as he ran fast on all fours instead of mounting a horse, fur spiked and bristling. "Move, dammit! MOVE!"
Zaara rode bareback, shouting orders to the others, her gold-streaked hair flying. "Stick together! Do NOT lose sight of her!"
Raijin mounted a massive warhorse, the beast barely able to contain his armored weight, but he urged it forward with a gentleness that contrasted his hulking form.
Tojin clung to his reins like a lifeline, his face white with fear but his mouth set in stubborn resolve.
Aris rode with eerie calm, her blindfolded gaze locked on the sound and direction of the tearing chain, her hands folded calmly until the moment of action.
But even on horseback, they lagged far behind Cainan. He was a blur of movement, a trail of burning destruction left in his path as he pushed himself beyond mortal limits.
Lynzelle sprinted alongside the mounted squad, her scythe humming at her back, her black hair lashing in the wind. She wasn't far behind Cainan, her own movements impossibly fast, her breathless determination clear in every stride.
'No…not Hell all over again….'
The sky was burning black and gold above them. The world seemed to twist and scream around the fleeing princess.
Cainan's teeth gritted, a low, ragged growl clawing its way out of his throat. His destruction halo flared, chains rippling around his body.
"Tch," he spat, laughing darkly at the madness of it all. His voice rose in a snarl.
"Having fun, fate?! Come to ruin shit again? I won't let you…"
The land was tearing itself apart.
Cainan surged forward, the ground splitting wide beneath his feet as entire sections of the earth heaved upward, then collapsed into yawning chasms. The black chain streaked ahead like a god's whip, dragging Espen's fragile, trembling body mercilessly through the skies.
Each step forward was met with catastrophe — a tree exploding into splinters, a massive boulder hurtling through the air — yet Cainan moved like a demon unleashed. His chains flared outward, wrapping around a falling tree to vault over it, or cracking like whips to shatter falling debris.
"Hold on, Espen!" he shouted, voice ragged but unwavering.
Above, Espen sobbed, her thin cries carried by the chaotic winds.
"Help me…Someone…! Cainan! Where's Cainan?! Father?!"
She could see Cainan — that burning figure surging forward through devastation, his halo of destruction shining like a second sun.
Espen's heart, ragged and straining, felt a flicker of hope at the sight of him, even as terror gripped her.
"You're gonna be okay.." Cainan bellowed up to her, his chains snapping outward to pull himself through another collapsing hill. His grin was wild with fury and focus. "I won't let fate have you. I'll kill the bastard before that happens!"
Rubble crashed around him — massive stones the size of carriages — but Cainan hurled himself sideways, his chains lashing around his waist and anchoring him to an outcropping that hadn't yet collapsed. With a grunt, he swung forward, breaking into a sprint even as the earth crumbled behind him.
The wind roared, and from behind came the rapid thudding of approaching figures.
Foxxen was the first, racing on all fours with an unnatural speed, his massive sword strapped tight to his back, smoke coiling from the seams of the weapon as if it hungered for battle. His red-and-white fur whipped wildly in the gale.
Following close were the others.
Tojin burst into sight, his body shimmering as his skin turned to living steel. Flying rubble bounced harmlessly off his metallic flesh, sparks flying with every impact.
Aris arrived, hands folded, her white gown untouched by the chaos. Vines of glowing, ethereal flowers slithered across her arms, curses blooming like deadly lotuses in her wake to consume obstacles before they could touch her.
Raijin barreled forward, his colossal form barely dodging the destruction. Blood magic pulsed from the runes carved into his armor, forming red, shimmering shields that absorbed falling debris before bursting outward in violent counterexplosions.
Zaara zoomed effortlessly among them, her golden-streaked hair dancing as she crafted intricate sigils mid-sprint. Daggers floated around her in perfect synchronicity, carving glowing gold runes in the air that detonated rocks and trees before they could fall on the group.
Lynzelle ran at the edge of their formation, her black scythe cleaving through anything in their path with precise, cold swings. Unlike her usual frenzied style, she was subdued, troubled, her movements sharp but lacking their former manic beauty.
Together, they advanced as one, a storm of chaotic harmony threading through the apocalypse unfolding around them.
Cainan barked over his shoulder, chains ripping apart a collapsing boulder above them. "Push forward! Don't lose her!"
"I'll skin whoever's behind this!" Foxxen snarled, thick clouds of toxic smoke beginning to seep from his weapon, wreathing his swift form in a burning haze.
"Stay calm," Aris murmured serenely. "The garden has not bloomed yet. We should not lose hope."
"We can do this…we can't panic around her, it'll scare her even more…" Raijin's deep voice rumbled as he cleaved through a tumbling tree trunk, blood-forged sword howling in the wind.
"They're slowing down!!" Tojin yelled, his steel body glinting as he sprinted faster, dodging falling chunks of mountain by slamming into them shoulder-first and ricocheting forward.
Zaara, golden runes glowing up her arms, flashed a serious look. "Eyes up. Something worse is coming!"
The ground ahead shifted. Espen's dragging body slowed, descending toward a spot of twisted, blackened earth.
The moment Cainan saw it, he knew.
A massive, black crest pulsed at the center of a wide crater, glowing faintly with blood-red runes that twisted in unnatural, writhing shapes. They burned into the ground like brands:
ᚻᚨᛁᛚ ᛟᚠ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛒᛚᚨᚲᛖᚾᛖᛞ ᛒᛚᛟᛟᛞ
ᚹᛁᛏᚻᛁᚾ ᚲᚺᚨᛟᛋ
ᛋᛖᚨᛚ ᛏᚺᛖ ᚲᚻᛁᛚᛞ ᚨᚹᚨᚣ
Dead witches lay in a perfect circle around the crest, their necks slit cleanly, their bodies dissolving into clouds of black roses, petals drifting upward like ash.
Cainan slid to a halt, the others forming a line beside him while dismounting, all breathing heavily, eyes wide with dawning horror.
"A summoning," Zaara muttered, her voice low with dread.
The crest pulsed again, once, twice — then a massive hand, black as a void, erupted from it, blasting debris everywhere.
It snatched Espen from the air, fingers curling around her with sickening gentleness.
The world darkened.
Wind howled, crows with pitch-black feathers swirling in wild cyclones. Black roses burst from the ground in typhoons, petals slashing like razors in the storm.
The squad raised their weapons instinctively, but the ground beneath their feet trembled ominously, unstable and ready to swallow them whole.
The massive black hand gripped Espen with a chilling reverence, cradling her against its searing blackened palm as the world around them twisted into nightmare. The crows and black roses whirled into a savage typhoon, the winds screeching like dying spirits. Darkness swallowed the landscape, grinding away the green fields and cobbled roads in its path.
In mere moments, everything was transformed — the landscape reshaped into a desolate, grey-black wasteland where the hills were no longer natural formations but towering mounds of abandoned children's toys: cracked wooden rocking horses, shattered dolls with glassy eyes, rusted tin soldiers, and crumbling storybooks left to rot. The fine details were suffocating — tiny toy swords snapped in half, wooden carriages overturned, all drenched in shades of ash and mourning.
All around them, the barrier sealing them in was alive, formed by a swirling wall of black rose petals and thrashing crows, a living maelstrom that shrieked and clawed at the air. It was clear — there was no way out until this nightmare ended.
Cainan and his squad froze, instinctively shifting into a loose formation. Every muscle in Cainan's body tensed. His chains rattled around his arms, responding to the rising pressure in the air. Foxxen's fur bristled, his sword half-drawn. Zaara twirled a dagger between her fingers, her golden runes burning brighter. Tojin's body began to shift, a metallic sheen creeping across his skin, while Aris tilted her head slightly, the folds of her blindfolded gaze narrowing in suspicion. Raijin grunted lowly, planting his enormous blood-forged blade in the ground with a heavy thud.
And from the pulsing crest came the arrival.
The blackened land cracked wider, and from its depth rose a monstrous figure, dragging with him an oppressive darkness. Standing nearly forty feet tall, the ancient warrior emerged like a god of death carved from oblivion. His armor was black as the deepest void, charred and broken in places but eternally burning with black flames that licked at the edges of his towering frame. His helmet was adorned with two massive horns, curling backward like the twisted remnants of some ancient beast, and from beneath the helmet poured a long mane of radiant, crimson-white hair that danced like silken fire. His eyes burned red through the visor — not just glowing, but alive, searing with an ancient fury that rooted itself in the marrow of anyone who dared meet his gaze.
His cloak was made of pure black flame, sackcloth texture fluttering in the tainted wind, licking at the ground and leaving smoldering scars wherever it touched. He had four arms, two were in praying formation, and strapped across his back and in two of his massive hands were two colossal blades, forged not from steel but from black fire and steel itself. The edges of the weapons seethed and shifted like a dying star, and along the flats of the blades, ancient red runes burned bright, forming curses in a language older than the empire itself. The runes twisted and moved as if breathing, forming jagged prayers of ruin:
ᛖᚾᛞ ᚨᛚᛚ ᛒᛚᛟᛟᛞ ᚠᚩᚱ ᚲᚻᚨᛟᛋ ᚹᛁᛚᛚ ᚳᛚᚨᛁᛗ ᛏᚺᛖ ᚨᛋᚲᛖᚾᛞᛖᚾᚲᛖ ᛟᚠ ᚲᚻᛖᛟᛋ
The towering summon placed Espen gently against the blackened chestplate, cradling her like a grim trophy. His red eyes found Cainan almost immediately. For a long, terrible moment, they simply stared at one another, the howling winds dying into a heavy silence.
"I'll kill you…I'll fucking kill you like the last summon!" Cainan exclaimed.
'Fates harbinger…another anchor I have to destroy to be happy. To get out of this loop of desperation and the feeling of helplessness in a world out to get me..'
Lynzelle, who had been moving with sharpness earlier, now staggered back. Her scythe lowered slightly in her hands. Her face, usually a portrait of manic glee or feral focus, was now cracked with something else entirely — pure fear. She backed away slowly, her feet dragging through the ash-laden earth. Her body knew even before her mind did: this summon, this creature, was something born from Hell itself. But it wasn't from Hell. It just carries the same amount of threatening aura and menacing urge to kill something and carry out an order.
It carried the unmistakable stench of the armies she had once fled from — warriors built not for conquest, but for annihilation.
And high above, Lynzelle's red eyes flicked upward — there, far in the obsidian sky, she spotted her again. The woman from the dreams. Cloaked in nothing but shadows, staring down upon the chaos below like a queen surveying her broken kingdom.
The massive summon's voice rolled out like the crumbling of mountains.
"I am Nezreth," he rumbled, the air quaking with the sheer force of his words. "Her Majesty — the Witch Queen — has found her vessel." His burning gaze lowered to Espen, almost reverent.
But before the squad could move, the skies cracked.
Hundreds — thousands — of figures rained down from the clouds, slamming into the blackened soil with thunderous force. They wore the jagged, sea-worn armor of Sorneth, the brutal kingdom across the Sea of Ternith, their colors twisted and faded into black and grey. Their faces were twisted parodies of life, hollowed black eyes staring blankly, dark veins writhing under their pale skin.
Zaara's voice was sharp with panic. "Soldiers from the kingdom of Sorneth…?!"
'The hell are they doing here?!'
As if on cue, the fallen soldiers stood — bones snapping, armor grinding — and began to charge with inhuman howls, blood and dark magic leaking from their mouths and hands.
At the same moment, salvation arrived.
From behind, the thunderous arrival of reinforcements. Captain Camelot charged at the head of a new force, a tide of dozens upon dozens of witch hunters, knights, clerics, and warriors, all surging into the battlefield. Lady Selvaria strode beside him, her twin blades drawn, her cloak snapping like a bloodstained banner.
"Thank goodness…they're okay.." Selvaria said.
Camelot's sharp gaze immediately assessed the battlefield — but his lips tightened grimly at the sight of the summon.
"Sorneth soldiers?! Why are they here? Their kingdom is another continent away!"
Selvaria muttered, "Ignore the fodder. That monster… that's the real threat."
Yet even so, the soldiers were not to be underestimated. Their bodies twisted mid-charge, erupting with bursts of dark magic that slammed into the front ranks of the empire's forces. Screams rang out as men and women were thrown back, some never rising again.
Nezreth raised one of his blazing black swords and pointed it forward, signaling the corrupted army.
"Consume them," he bellowed. "As the girl will be consumed…"
The horde surged.
Cainan gritted his teeth, his chains coiling like living serpents around his fists, igniting with molten-red flame. He turned briefly to the others.
"I'm going for him," he snarled. "Stay alive."
Lynzelle was still in fear, she couldn't move, nor could she speak. Even when she tried to think of her mothers beauty, too much was happening around her.
Zaara reached out for Cainan, grabbing his arm and exclaiming, "No! Don't—! We do this together—!"
"Let me go, Zaara! I won't let this push me around! If I wanna change anything, if I want things to go right, I can't run from it! I never ran from it, I always fought what the world threw at me…"
"But please…I don't wanna lose anyone else. This thing is way too strong."
"…You won't."
He then looked at Lynzelle, seeing her scared, he wanted to say something, but he knew she was completely out of it. He wanted to check on her, but it was no use right now.
And with a furious roar, Cainan launched himself forward, his chains lashing backward to rocket him through the battlefield.
The distance between them vanished in an instant. Cainan's flaming, chain-wrapped fist crashed into Nezreth's blade that Nezreth raised up at light speed. The explosion that followed cracked the very earth, sending a shockwave that flattened soldiers, witches, and trees alike. Sending Cainan and Nezreth soaring backwards.
But instead of Nezreth taking damage, it was Cainan who was hurled back.
He soared through the darkened air, smashing through several hills of broken toys, rolling brutally across the ash-streaked ground. Blood sprayed from his lips as he coughed and struggled to rise. His right arm hung uselessly at his side, the bones within shattered from the impact.
"RAGGHHH!" Cainan roared in anger, not pain. Gritting his teeth, blood pouring down his chin, Cainan forced himself upright. Across the desecrated battlefield, Nezreth stood untouched, his swords lowered, watching with cold amusement.
'What kind of blades are those…? I hit it with all I had and I'm the one almost beaten…??' Cainan thought.
Cainan wiped the blood from his mouth, laughing bitterly even through the pain.
Nezreth said, "From the shadows of rage, only the weak are consumed by it. The dear mourners of Tharnum do not let rage consume them, but they take the initiative and power from the Witch Queen to change their own fate. You are slowly dying to it."
"Fuck you and that Witch Queen! I'm not losing or dying to anything!"
"Ah. Such young and feeble energy. Yet, you know you're no match for me. You let your previous victories against witch summons fill your head into thinking you cannot be stopped. Do you actually think you can stop me? A mere human?"
"You don't know me..!" Then, Cainan's voice cracked, "Please.."
"Please…? From someone like you? You're not as threatening as I see you for, as the Witches of Tharnum claim you to be. As you and that Family are their greatest enemies.."
"What Family..?"
"I see you for what you are. Determined to not die, yet you aren't prepared to face yourself dying to champions like me. You won't know how to react to it. You'll be in awe that you were finally killed by fate itself."
"…Shut up!" Cainan charged forward in a battle cry.
Back near the crest, the battle had fully erupted into a maelstrom of chaos.
Foxxen leapt through the ranks, his blade a whirlwind of toxic smoke that tore through the corrupted soldiers. Tojin threw himself into the thickest fighting, his steel-clad body impervious to blade and magic alike. Zaara danced through the carnage, her daggers spinning and slicing through necks and limbs, runic explosions lighting up the blackened sky. Aris moved like a ghost, branding enemies with cursed flowers that bloomed into horrific explosions. Raijin fought like a living storm, every swing of his blood-forged sword sending ruptures through the enemy lines.
Even Captain Camelot and Lady Selvaria were pressed into a vicious melee, their swords singing and flashing against overwhelming odds.
But Lynzelle… Lynzelle stood frozen, her scythe trembling in her grip, her body locked with fear.
The darkness was back. The nightmares were real.
And they had only just begun.
…
The chains coiled tighter around Cainan's broken arm, blood soaking the iron links as he forced it into place, sealing bone and tendon with sheer, stubborn rage. Nezreth loomed before him like a juggernaut of ancient death, the twin swords of black flame and runes gripped low and ready.
"You cannot stop the girl's fate. She will be taken."
"She won't…!"
Cainan snarled through bloodied teeth, and moved. He spun low, chains slashing outward like a cyclone, using a fallen rocking horse as a pivot point. Nezreth responded with a brutal downstroke of his right blade, forcing Cainan to vault over the swing with a desperate somersault.
As he flipped, Cainan whipped a chain downward to anchor himself midair and yank into a vicious divekick, smashing both heels into Nezreth's breastplate. Sparks erupted, but Nezreth merely slid back half a step, absorbing the blow with chilling indifference. Cainan landed, instantly rolling into a tight crouch, chains spiraling around his waist and ankles as he shot forward again, a living bullet of violence.
Nezreth said, "If I told you that you could save her if you gave your own soul in exchange for hers, would you do it?"
"…I.." Cainan stuttered.
'Why am I hesitating…? Would I really do that…? Would that mean…I finally lost to fate…? When I spent so many years getting strong enough to fight it? Would I really….? Would it make me evil if I couldn't…?'
Nezreth moved with the inevitability of a collapsing mountain. His left blade sliced horizontally, forcing Cainan to twist his torso unnaturally, feeling the heated edge graze his ribs. Before he could counter, Nezreth lunged, driving his opposite sword into a brutal thrust aimed for Cainan's throat. Cainan ducked under the blade with a hair's breadth of space, sliding across a carpet of shattered doll parts, chains snapping out to coil around a fallen wagon.
With a powerful tug, he hurled the wreckage upward, forcing Nezreth to cleave it apart midair—and in that brief instant, Cainan closed the gap.
Chains burned with destruction glyphs as he lashed into a brutal spinning elbow, amplified by the Shackleheart Descent crest burning over his sternum. His elbow collided with Nezreth's side—and a thunderous implosion rocked the blackened field, crumpling a dent into Nezreth's armor like crushed paper. But even barely wounded, Nezreth retaliated with terrifying precision: a backhanded slash ripped across Cainan's chest, blood fountaining as the edge carved through flesh.
Pain thundered through his nerves, but Cainan gritted his teeth and rolled sideways, coiling his chains around his thighs to stabilize his battered body.
'Analyze...' Cainan's mind blazed through the chaos: 'His movements are sharp, decisive. Every attack is a clean kill strike—no wasted effort. He's not just strong—he's ruthlessly efficient. I can't block head-on. I have to make him overcommit. Force openings. Bait parries, counter low, use debris.'
His chains writhed around his form, linking to broken playground structures, tensing like a spiderweb. 'He's armored, but the joints—knees, elbows, underarms—are weaker. Hit there! Move unpredictably. Die otherwise..finally lose..'
Nezreth advanced again, and Cainan charged with a brutal, low sweeping kick, dragging destruction glyphs across the ruined earth with Dirge of the Severed Coil. As Nezreth moved to block downward, Cainan whipped a chain under Nezreth's ankle and yanked—but Nezreth simply stomped down with such force the chain snapped from the tension, fragments slicing Cainan's cheek. As blood blurred his vision,
Cainan used the momentum of the failed pull to vault into a rapid triple strike: a hammering punch to Nezreth's elbow, a whipping chain around Nezreth's neck, and a savage knee toward the armored ribs. Each blow was ferocious, flowing from one motion into the next—but Nezreth caught the chain midair, twisted it brutally, and slammed Cainan into the ground with a sound like stone breaking.
"AGHH!"
Dirt and broken toy shards exploded around Cainan's body, bones screaming. Before he could rise, Nezreth stepped forward and drove a boot into his abdomen, crushing him deeper into the rubble. Cainan writhed, coughed blood, and forced the chains around his broken arm to lock tighter, gritting his teeth. He spun his entire body like a whip, using the pain to fuel a brutal sweeping chain strike aimed at Nezreth's knees. The hit connected—but Nezreth endured, and brought both blades down in a devastating X-shaped cross-slash. Cainan threw himself backward in a chaotic backflip, chains reeling him out of death's path, feeling the burning heat of the twin blades nick his flesh as he evaded by inches.
He crashed down hard among cracked merry-go-round poles and mangled teddy bears, one knee digging into blood-soaked dirt. All around, the corrupted battlefield churned, but in this shattered circle of combat, it was only survival.
Nezreth's stride was unrelenting, every step an execution. Cainan gasped for air, and his eyes locked on the small, broken shard of Nezreth's blade lying near his boot—a splinter from earlier. Rage and defiance surged through his battered frame. He snatched it up, blood smearing the black metal, and with a ragged breath, he wrapped the chains around it, binding it into his wounded arm like a makeshift dagger. His halo flickered crimson above him, chains trembling from raw fury.
"I'm not finished," Cainan snarled, voice ripping from his throat like broken glass. Blood streamed down his face, down his arms, soaking into the toy-strewn battlefield. "I've fought too hard to survive—fate won't take my life like it takes everything else."
"I'm about to take everything from you. You were foolish to follow the girl when she is needed."
He rose, staggering, a broken warrior still refusing to yield, as Nezreth's burning red eyes bore down on him, promising annihilation.
The monstrous titan Nezreth loomed, black flames licking his silhouette, every step he took setting the broken toy-littered ground ablaze in crimson embers. Cainan, chains wound tight around his broken arm like makeshift sinew, hurled himself forward with reckless fury, vaulting off shattered playthings and hurling a barrage of chained punches at the towering warrior's ankles.
Nezreth barely shifted, one titanic sweep of his burning blade carving the air apart with a roar of heat, forcing Cainan to somersault backward, his chains whipping around a broken rocking horse to anchor himself. He spun into a crouch, eyes blazing, and sprang again, feet skating across fragmented doll heads and cracked marbles as he ascended upward, lashing his chains in intricate spirals around Nezreth's wrist in an attempt to snare him.
'Did I get him?!'
Nezreth retaliated with a vicious hurl of his arm, dragging Cainan through the air like a ragdoll, but Cainan twisted mid-flight, planting his heels against a tumbling stuffed bear and launching himself back in a wild arc. He slammed both fists into Nezreth's forearm, igniting Shackleheart Descent with brutal precision. The pulse of destruction crested through the ancient armor—but Nezreth barely flinched. In a flash of red rune magic, a searing glyph exploded across the giant's gauntlet, shattering the air around Cainan and hurling him into a mound of charred carousel horses. He gasped, spitting blood, but forced himself to his feet as Nezreth advanced, blades dragging molten trails behind him. He got up almost instantly to fight again.
He knew staying down too long meant death as well.
With a primal snarl, Cainan shifted into the Maw of the Bound Flame, chains coiling up his arms like living serpents. He vaulted into a low roll between Nezreth's colossal stomps, pivoting and seizing the giant's heel. The chains ignited in violent crimson and bit down, causing a blast of raw destructive pressure to ripple up Nezreth's leg. A fracture split the black armor—small, almost laughable against Nezreth's enormity—but Cainan seized the moment, wrenching himself upward in a spiraling climb along the warrior's calf, ribs grinding under strain as he spun and vaulted higher.
'Kill him…kill him…!'
Nezreth's blade slashed downward like a falling star, but Cainan slipped past it by the skin of his teeth, chains whipping around a mangled tricycle to pivot him around the blow. He unleashed Dirge of the Severed Coil mid-motion, his knees and heels carving destructive crescents into the armored shin, but Nezreth countered instantly, hurling a wave of black flame along the ground. It chased Cainan's retreating form with ferocious hunger, forcing him to twist into a backward roll, the heat kissing his boots. With a desperate lunge, Cainan hurled himself through the blaze, shoulder-first, slamming a crest-empowered strike into the titan's knee joint—but the hit barely staggered him, and a ruthless backhand sent Cainan ricocheting across the dead playground.
Cainan crashed hard, cracking through a teetering stack of porcelain dolls, but he clawed upright, breathing raggedly, left eye burning and shut closed as he activated Crown of Wretched Pulse. Chains snapped to life, detaching from his halo like monstrous fangs. He aimed, snapped his fingers—and the chains detonated into Nezreth's side at point-blank, causing a flash of implosive force that rattled the air.
Nezreth finally reeled slightly, a sliver of armor blasting free from his ribs, but the giant turned, unbothered, and lunged with such brutal momentum that the earth itself cracked.
'Brace!'
Cainan barely braced, parrying the blow with a frantic wrapping of chains around the burning blade, but the force still hurled him backward, bouncing him off a collapsed swing set with bone-jarring ferocity.
'Kill him…'
Gritting his teeth, Cainan planted a blood-slicked palm into the ruined earth and triggered Last Lament of the Entombed. Chains ripped into the ground around him, cocooning him briefly before he erupted forward, body wreathed in scarlet glyphs.
'Kill him…'
He surged with godlike speed, weaving through Nezreth's next swing and ascending the titan's body in a desperate spiral, carving savage glyphs with every step and blow, each movement a raw explosion of destruction—but even this assault, fueled by every shred of rage and skill he possessed, left little more than glowing scars across Nezreth's blackened frame. Nezreth seized him mid-air, one colossal hand crushing around his torso, and flung him downward like a comet, cratering the ground with a deafening roar.
'Kill him…!'
Bruised, bloodied, vision swimming, Cainan crawled up on hands and knees, chains dragging from his limbs like broken wings. He refused to die. He staggered forward, one step, two, igniting Shackleheart Descent again—only for Nezreth to appear before him in a black flash, one burning blade driving downward in a brutal cleave. Cainan barely managed to cross his chains against it, but the sheer weight drove him to one knee, sparks and fire scattering like stars as he fought to keep from being crushed. His body screamed in protest, but he coiled his chains around Nezreth's sword, snarling like a wounded animal, forcing the weapon to skid slightly off-line.
Nezreth snarled low, a sound like an avalanche, and drove his second blade down toward Cainan's exposed chest. In a desperate, feral lunge, Cainan twisted his battered body aside, feeling the edge carve into his ribs but avoiding a killing blow. He retaliated with a furious swing of chain-wrapped fists, hammering Nezreth's knee again and again, causing slivers of black armor to splinter and fly—Blood frothed from Cainan's lips as he struggled to rise again, chains dragging pitifully as he planted one foot, then the other, only to collapse once more beneath the crushing gravity of the titan's presence.
Nezreth loomed above him, a monolithic executioner wreathed in black fire and crimson glyphs. Without hesitation, he lifted his massive blade and thrust it downward toward Cainan's heart again. But Cainan, half-conscious and broken, roared in defiance, summoning every last ounce of will, every fragment of strength he had left. His chains surged to life, wrapping around the massive blade in desperate coils, pushing back against the descent with trembling, groaning force. The ground around them shattered, winds ripping outward in violent bursts from the push and pull, as Cainan clenched his teeth so hard they cracked, refusing to let fate rip him apart. His blood soaked the broken toys beneath him, his muscles screamed, and still—he would not yield.
Then, as Cainan grunted and roared, Nezreth leaned his massive head in Cainan's face, saying, "I will admit you were able to wound me a few times, but this is as far as you will go."
"No..I'll keep going…"