Pinned beneath Nezreth's titanic blade, Cainan gritted his teeth, muscles tearing, chains groaning against the crushing weight. Blood slicked his battered arms, pooling beneath him. Every inch of his body screamed to collapse—but something clawed at his mind louder than the pain. Through ragged breaths, Cainan growled, "What… the hell are you?!"
Nezreth's burning crimson eyes narrowed, black flames coiling tighter around his monstrous form. His voice rumbled like a landslide.
"I am the Champion of the Witch Queen," he said, dark pride lacing every word. "A sacrifice… made by a witch of Tharnum. To be accepted by the Witch Mothers and kneel before the Queen of Darkness, a woman must offer someone she knows—flesh of her life, blood of her past—as tribute. In that sacrifice, they show true devotion." His massive blade pressed harder, and the ground cracked beneath Cainan's back. "Those sacrificed are transformed, merged with the Queen's dark magic itself. Their minds are slain. Their souls are chained. We become loyal only to Her, bound beyond death. Through death… we are summoned. Through death… we become champions."
Cainan's chest heaved, fury flashing across his blood-streaked face. "No wonder the summons felt so damn real…" he spat through gritted teeth. Chains coiled tighter around Nezreth's blade, trembling violently. "Why the hell are you talking like this is normal?!" he shouted, voice raw with disbelief. "Do you even remember who you were?!"
Nezreth tilted his massive head slightly, red runes pulsing down his blade. "I was named Nezreth by the Queen—the Goddess of Darkness. My past is ash. I remember nothing but Her will." His answer was absolute, merciless.
Cainan's heart pounded, rage and sorrow colliding inside him. "Then why…?!" he shouted hoarsely. "Why do they want Idrathar's daughter?! Why Espen?!"
Nezreth's monstrous form seemed to darken further, the black flames wrapping him like a burial shroud. "Because her mother sacrificed her," Nezreth answered without hesitation. "Espen's fate was sealed the moment her mother pledged herself. The girl will become a summon… a loyal instrument of the Queen's will. Once summoned… she will vanish, her purpose fulfilled."
Cainan's mind reeled, horror twisting in his gut. 'Espen's own mother… sacrificed her?' The thought thundered through his skull, disbelief and rage blinding him for a moment. 'Why? Why would she do that?!'
His chains trembled under the mounting force. Nezreth's burning blade descended closer, nearly touching his armor, sparks shrieking from the grinding metal. Cainan's hands bled against his own chains as he fought to keep the weapon at bay, fighting not just for his life—but for the life of the girl he had sworn to protect.
….
Lynzelle knelt alone amidst the carnage, clutching herself, her scythe abandoned at her side, trembling as the world drowned in darkness and slaughter. Her vision blurred, not from wounds but from the clawing terror surging through her chest — memories of Hell whispering, roaring in the black edges of her mind.
'I can't…'
She tried, desperately, to summon the image of her mother's face, to hold on to some fragment of warmth against the tide of cold despair, but the memory slipped through her fingers like sand. Around her, the battlefield raged, but she could barely hear it, deafened by the phantom screams of the damned. Shadows twisted around her as the black roses scattered across the ground swayed with each pulse of dark magic in the air, each petal a drumbeat of inevitable collapse.
'I can't do it..'
Nearby, Selvaria, Zaara, Tojin, Aris, Raijin, and Foxxen huddled together behind a large wooden horse rocking chair, blood dripping from wounds new and old.
Selvaria's astral blades flickered with restless energy, carving faint patterns in the air as she spoke with rapid, grim precision. They had noticed it — the more of the Sorneth soldiers they killed, the harder the rest fought, the faster they moved, their strikes growing heavier, almost desperate yet disciplined. Their lines closed tighter, their formations adapting. "They're tethered," Aris murmured, pale lips tight.
"Their magic binds them. Kill one, and the others surge stronger." Foxxen growled low, licking a bloodied fang.
"We need to splinter them, rip apart the ones in command." Raijin's armored head nodded, his blood sword vibrating ominously in agreement. "Maybe taking down the ones leading will break the link…? It's not wrong to test it.."
Selvaria told them, "Do it, but be careful you idiots. Please.."
'And Cainan…wherever you ran off to with that big bastard…please be alive. And you Espen, you are okay. But these soldiers, their leaders are commanding their formations. It's hard for it to be countered since there's mostly witch hunters out here and they don't know how to properly detach a military's battle formation. It's harder to permeate, harder to find cracks in without getting wounded. Their Tanks are protecting some of their mages within a circle formation, and some warriors are out to hunt down our side. They're all advancing in these formations, they're not stopping. it's like they're marching forward and have a specific place they need to go. Take down the commanders leading each section, and it'll disperse. Without a leader to guide their formation, it'll break apart as they won't know what to do next!'
With a final breath, they broke, each flaring into the battlefield's madness once more — but Zaara, flicking blood off her daggers, muttered under her breath, worry flashing in her golden eyes, and turned, slicing her way toward Lynzelle, her feet weaving between broken shields and butchered bodies.
'I have to check on her! Snap her out of it!'
The corrupted soldiers were relentless. They advanced, shields locking in brutal phalanxes, spears stabbing forward in perfect timing. Dark magic bled from their weapons — black whips of burning force that carved through clerics and tanks alike. One cleric, trying to cast a barrier, had her arms severed instantly by a jagged pulse of dark matter flung from a corrupted captain's halberd.
"No!" Another tank was overwhelmed, his massive shield shattered by three simultaneous spear lunges, his torso gutted moments later by a coordinated spinning assault.
Even some witch hunters fell, their bodies crushed under disciplined waves of hammering strikes and coordinated spellfire that lanced through armor and soul alike. Each death seemed to make the surviving Sorneth soldiers faster, their blades flashing in seamless unity, a single monstrous organism of violence.
"Watch the flanks!"
"They're trying to form ranks!"
"Break them down!"
Selvaria spun through them like a star ablaze, her twin astral blades carving radiant death in ferocious, intricate arcs. She vaulted over a corrupted captain's lunging stab, cleaving his spine midair, landing in a roll that sent a line of soldiers stumbling.
'Sorneth soldiers…Sorneth soldiers…no way their entire kingdom was possessed..Witches aren't known for possession. Since they believe in free will, they believe possession goes against their own agenda. Why would they willingly come here then if that's the case..?'
Her blades shimmered violently — with each spinning strike, the air bent with celestial power, not warping reality but tearing searing lines of destructive astral energy into anything they touched. Her dance was seamless, a godlike rhythm of parries and ripostes, overwhelming whole squads before they could close. She then turned to her witch hunters.
"Witch hunters! The enemy soldiers are all connected by dark magic! Something you're used to! When one dies on either side, they get stronger and faster! And if you're wounded, black roses will form and sap your strength! Watch each other's backs!"
Witch hunters exclaimed in unison:
"Yes ma'am!"
But the enemy adapted. From the shadows, a black spear lanced through a cleric behind her, exploding him into dust, and the shock faltered her step — too late to dodge the knives flashing toward her.
Then, Selvaria was struck, the black roses blooming along her ribs in a sickening shudder, and the memories crashed down. Her regiment — laughing faces smeared in blood, dying in heaps, their bodies piling atop each other while she staggered, too broken to save them, too drunk days later to even remember their names. Selvaria gasped, staggering, barely parrying a brutal axe swing that split the ground beside her.
'"You bastards..don't remind me of that…"
Zaara stayed near Lynzelle to watch her, she weaved through the slaughter, her daggers gleaming gold, spinning and dancing between spear thrusts and arcing blades.
'She's completely lost it. She won't move or blink…what's gotten into her? She's so used to killing by now…did something trigger her? How do I even comfort her at this moment? These idiots I think about are my family right now, seeing them like this, fucks me up even more.'
She vaulted off a collapsing knight, twirling midair to slash runes across the sky using her floating daggers to draw them , detonating three soldiers in a golden bloom of rupturing light and gore.
Her daggers grew and twisted mid-motion, large as scimitars, spinning around her like a storm as she danced between crushing pikes and sweeping glaives. She ducked under a spear thrust, rolled along the corpse-strewn ground, and sprang up behind a corrupted captain, severing his spine with a flick.
But two more squads closed around her, and Zaara snarled, weaving her daggers in furious, rapid arcs, drawing golden glyphs in the blood mist as she desperately carved her way closer, step by agonizing step.
'How many of these fuckers are there?!'
Her blades stabbed through multiple soldiers, brains splattering, faces split in carnage, and bodies flinging all over the place.
Tojin fought like a cornered beast, turning steel and fury into an art of survival. His skin had been hardened to steel as he hurled himself bodily into ranks of enemy soldiers, shrugging off glancing blows, battering spears aside with brutal elbows and shoulder slams.
'Move faster…move faster! Don't go slow..don't slow down…before the blood pours out..'
He twisted around a swinging halberd, grabbed the shaft mid-spin, and hurled its wielder like a ragdoll into his own comrades. But even he faltered as three soldiers formed a wedge, hammering him backward, their black-magic laced blades striking in perfect tandem, cracking even his hard flesh.
His heart pounded, as fear crawled up his body.
'It's cracking…?! It never had before!'
Tojin braced, roaring, and surged forward with a ferocious uppercut that shattered bone and soul alike, forcing a breach where he could stagger through, blood pouring down his arms.
Foxxen snarled and spun through the fray, his smoke-saturated blade carving arcs of blinding vapor that swallowed enemies whole. He flipped over a shield wall, driving his sword down like a falling star into a captain's helm, detonating smoke in a suffocating explosion that tore ranks apart. But another squad immediately closed the gap, stabbing relentlessly.
He parried, twisted, vaulted over low sweeps, his tail snapping out to distract a soldier just long enough to rip open his throat. His strikes were brutal, cunning, his body moving in chaotic, savage harmony with the battlefield's roar. Still, he could feel the slow bloom of black roses along his back, sapping his strength, making every dodge heavier.
"Come on, damn soldiers! Why don't you snap out of it and help us kill the bastard fighting Cainan?!"
'They're completely out of it..'
As the relentless tide pressed harder, Selvaria staggered, black blood running from her mouth. Her blades trembled in her hands, the memories choking her movements.
It was then that Camelot appeared, bloodied and grim, his armor battered, his sword resting heavily in one gauntleted hand. He stood beside her, planting his blade into the bloodsoaked ground. "I won't let you fall," he growled low. "Not when you're needed most, crazy woman."
Selvaria, panting, teeth clenched, whispered through the red haze clouding her vision, "Cainan… he went to fight that monster alone…" Her voice cracked, anger and fear tearing through her. "I can't lose another squad… I'll lose myself again…" Camelot said nothing — he simply gripped his sword tighter. Around them, the corrupted soldiers closed in, eyes black pits of hatred, blades raised. Selvaria and Camelot raised their weapons in grim unison, ready to carve a new legend through blood and ash.
"Then we carve our way to the brat...cleave through these ranks attempting to stop us from reaching him and Espen..but Espen is more important right now."
"Yeah, yeah I know. I want both of them back. I'll leave you behind if you slow us down."
"Don't worry about me. I'm never slow even without magic."
Zaara crouched low beside Lynzelle, blood and smoke painting the battlefield into a living nightmare around them. Her daggers whirled defensively in her hands, carving golden arcs into the air to ward off the creeping dark soldiers pressing forward. "Lynzelle!" Zaara barked, grabbing her shoulders. "You need to move! Run!"
Lynzelle shook, clinging desperately to her scythe, her pale face frozen in terror. "Where's Cainan?" she gasped, voice cracking.
Zaara's lips tightened grimly, flicking a glance toward the distant inferno where Cainan had vanished, battling down the armored behemoth that had ripped apart half their forces. "He's out there. He's buying us time!" she snapped. "But he needs you alive! Move, dammit!"
Lynzelle hesitated, and in that hesitation, black-armored soldiers lunged toward them, crests of burning red magic glowing on their breastplates as they charged. "I have to help him…I have to help him…"
"If you have to, please do. We'll stay here and bold off waves of these soldiers."
The squad converged with brutal efficiency, Selvaria, Foxxen, Raijin, Aris, Tojin, and even Camelot hammering their way through the snarling enemy ranks to reach them. As they fought, a figure stepped from the enemy lines — Commander Varcyl, towering and thin, his black plate twisted into jagged, broken angles, a pale crown of bone fused into his helm. His blade was fused with a black crest etched deep into its surface, pulsating with ghastly red magic that twisted reality in localized fractures at the edge of the blade.
"Haha! More remnants of blasphemy?! Cut them down as well!" He roared.
Foxxen said, "They actually talk…"
Aris replied, "Commander Varcyl of Sorneth. Once held off an entire battalion of enemy soldiers with just his bare hands. He's still halfway in his right mind. Definitely not possessed."
His body moved with a stuttering, unnatural flow, his attacks unpredictable and cruel. Without hesitation, Varcyl lunged, and the squad scattered, his blade carving ruinous furrows into the ground.
"Split him up!" Selvaria shouted, vaulting forward with feral grace, her twin astral blades igniting. She slashed through the air, summoning "Astral Rend," a luminous rift of destructive starfire that brutally severed two soldiers mid-run, the aftermath painting the air in volatile prismatic fire.
Raijin bellowed, slamming into Varcyl's flank, his blood-forged blade screeching against the commander's cursed weapon.
"I'm following up!"
Sparks and dark light erupted from the clash, forcing Raijin to brace as Varcyl retaliated with an upward cleave that tore through his chestplate, black roses blooming instantly from the wound.
'I'm only a soul in a wound, yet I'm still wounded…? This magic…!'
"Raijin!" Aris, weaving delicate hand motions, unleashed "Blooming Woe," a curse in the shape of cascading violet flowers that tangled Varcyl's feet, slowing his impossible momentum just enough for Tojin to somersault behind him and deliver a crushing steel-fist to his spine.
"Here I go.." Foxxen darted in, sword cloaked in toxic smoke, spinning wide brutal arcs that burned through Varcyl's armor where the smoke touched. Every blow they landed seemed to rebound the damage onto them through invisible glyphs etched across Varcyl's skin, forcing them into a desperate, violent exchange where every second cost blood.
Without warning, another commander emerged — Captain Sypherin, wrapped in iron-grey robes and a eagle-like steel helmet and glowing black eyes with glowing white pupils, his spear imbued with a shifting black effigy tethered to the weapon's shaft. His magic allowed him to project devastating impaling illusions — false spears, half-real and deadly.
Sypherin wove them into the battlefield, launching volleys of ghostly spears that tore through tanks, skewering clerics in an instant.
"Take him down now!" Camelot roared, flinging himself toward the captain with a fury that seemed to make up for the lack of magic in his sword.
Sypherin parried with brutal precision, hurling Camelot aside with an explosive somersault kick, but Selvaria was already moving, her twin blades shifting as she invoked "Astral Sundering," two crescents of celestial light that tore through the illusory spears, dissolving them into motes of dying starlight before they could pierce her allies.
Zaara spun into the fray next, her daggers gliding through the air like living serpents. She danced atop fallen shields and wreckage, golden runes sparking beneath her feet as she summoned "Rune of Breaking," slamming an expanding golden crest beneath Sypherin's feet that ruptured the ground in a fiery golden spiral.
"Fuck him up!"
Sypherin stumbled, his effigy fraying, and Foxxen seized the opening with a howling leap, carving a vicious smoke-wreathed cleave into the captain's shoulder.
"On it.."
They bore Sypherin down slowly, savagely, their bodies battered and shredded by the onslaught. Aris pressed forward despite her wounds, cursing the commander's body with white rose blooms that slowed his spear thrusts, until finally Tojin smashed Sypherin's skull into the dirt with an earthshaking piledriver, crushing his head and his own blood splattering Tojin's face.
"He's dead…but there's more.." Camelot said.
There was no time to breathe. Commander Elthaer arrived next — a svelte, masked figure wrapped in raven-feathered armor, twin sabers wreathed in silent dark glyphs. Her movements were spectral, vanishing and appearing mid-strike, her blades carving bleeding illusions into the air.
Raijin barely caught her first strike, the force of her twin sabers carving a deep gouge into his arm.
"She's phasing! She's cutting memory itself!" Aris shouted through gritted teeth, struggling to counterspell.
Camelot and Zaara surged forward as one, Camelot drawing her attention with brutal feints and heavy swings while Zaara flicked her daggers in a golden storm that traced binding runes around Elthaer's form, locking her steps one by one.
The squad fought like demons made flesh, but every movement now was agony. Black roses blanketed their arms, legs, and torsos, strangling their strength, making each dodge a bloody, desperate gamble. And blood leaked from their mouths, their ears, nose, and even their eyes.
Their strength, endurance, and speed were declining rapidly.
Lynzelle, trembling but finally moving, staggered toward the heart of the battle, her scythe dragging behind her, her voice hoarse as she cried out Cainan's name.
"Cainan.."
Zaara intercepted her, pressing her forehead against Lynzelle's. "L-Lynzelle! We'll get him back," Zaara whispered fiercely. "But right now, we need you." And Lynzelle, breathing shallow and broken, gave the faintest nod. "The more we fight in this area, our wounds get worse, black roses grow from it, and it's weakening us. And with the Sorneth army growing stronger with every death or either side, we'll lose at this rate!"
"I…"
With one last surge of dying strength, the squad coordinated. Selvaria struck first, shooting "Astral Shards," her twin blades unleashing a volley of radiant projectiles that tore through Elthaer's defensive glyphs.
Camelot battered her defense open with relentless sword swings, driving her into the reach of Raijin's punishing blade, while Tojin and Foxxen flanked, carving into her exposed ribs and legs. Aris sealed the assault, branding a final purple dandelion curse onto her chest that blossomed violently, sapping the last of her strength. With a final howl, the squad buried their blades into Elthaer as one, pinning her to the ground beneath their collective fury.
When it was over, none of them could stand fully straight. Selvaria dropped to a knee, gasping, her twin blades barely held in bleeding hands.
Camelot staggered beside her, armor cracked and bent, his sword hanging limp at his side, but his eyes still burning with iron determination. "Magic's for cowards anyway," he muttered darkly, lifting his blade again. "But with the commanders down, the ranks and formations of the Sorneth soldiers are more erratic and spread out. They were too strong in those positions."
Selvaria added, "Especially going against my witch hunters who don't know a damn thing about military formations, they'll easily be overwhelmed by it. The formations being broken apart gives an edge to clobber their warriors, as their own heavy tank fighters are moving away from them.."
"Does that mean they are fully in their right mind then? Or still corrupt…if they're not possessed? In battle, when a commander falls, no one else leads them besides their king. But their royals aren't here. So they'll make their own plays and fight as they want without any leadership…."
"Tch…they all die the same. We'll deliver their heads to Sorneth's doorstep."
Black roses covered them head to toe, entwined in their wounds, a grim reminder of the horrors they had barely survived. Raijin stumbled into Selvaria's arms, Zaara supporting them both, while Foxxen, Tojin, and Aris closed in, bloodied and battered, their faces grim. Around them, the battlefield still roared, but for this moment, in the heart of the dying storm, they stood — wounded, bleeding, but unbroken.
"More coming…!" Raijin exclaimed.
Selvaria added, "Keep fighting, dammit! Don't give them an edge! Remember each kill or death on either side only strengthens them! The only way to counter it is to kill them all fast before they fucking power up…but now we don't have to worry about their own formations.."
"Out of all days…" Foxxen snarled.
Steel clashed against corrupted steel in a brutal, relentless din that turned the blackened fields into a crucible of pure carnage.
Camelot roared orders over the chaos, his sword carving through a corrupted knight's helm before kicking the falling body into another attacker, while tanks — brutish warriors in reinforced plate — barreled into enemy lines, shattering corrupted shields with the ferocity of charging beasts.
"Keep bashing! Weaken their formations for an opening!"
Clerics behind them weaved through the madness, barely able to toss healing magic and wards as jagged, black conjured weapons cleaved through ranks. The corrupted soldiers fought in disciplined formations, spinning and locking shields, lancing their swords forward with rapid, disciplined thrusts, some conjuring dark magic through their weapons in pulses of rotting energy, forcing the empire's forces into desperate counter-offensives.
Foxxen was attacking in feral rage, lunging low on all fours, vaulting over a tank's shattered shield to cleave three enemies in a wide, roaring arc, blood spraying everywhere and toxic smoke flaring out from his blade like a beast breathing its last.
His movements were wild yet cunning; he spun mid-air, tail snapping, and hurled himself like a cannonball into a cluster, smoke detonating with explosive force. Yet even as he carved and decimated, a black thornlike rose blossomed across his ribs, slowing his spin mid-vault.
He landed harshly, a heartbeat of disorientation flashing across his senses — and for just a moment, he was back in the snow, crawling toward the tiny, frozen forms of his pups, nudging them with a shaking snout, not understanding why they wouldn't move. Fury ignited him anew, and he retaliated with a guttural howl, cleaving apart two advancing spearmen in a brutal spinning surge.
'No…I never wanted to see that again…'
Aris flowed through the battle like a ghostly dancer, her bare feet gliding across the rubble without a sound. Her pale hands traced blooming sigils of cursed flowers mid-spin, branding enemy armor with violet lotus patterns that erupted into rupturing boils of cursed purple magic on their skin.
She glided through a dispersing phalanx formation, somersaulting gracefully, planting her heel into a corrupted knight's chin, spinning off the impact to brand his helm with a cursed poppy that detonated in floral powder, showering blood and viscera across the ground.
But even her poise faltered when a thorned rose erupted across her left arm, freezing her steps. She staggered, gasping, a rush of heat burning her mind — standing naked beneath a brown sackcloth, noble banners, and shackled in a rusted cage, cold auctioneer hands lifting her chin for all to see, men in fine robes nodding approvingly. She clenched her jaw, slashing violently through the memory, her cursed flowers blooming darker, deadlier.
'Get out of my head…'
Tojin fought like a hammer that was forged in desperation, his body steeled against the horrors that clawed at him. He ducked and spun through spear formations, his fists igniting with the shimmer of iron as he smashed through armor, each punch a deafening crack. He twisted and hurled himself bodily into a corrupted axeman, sending both sprawling.
He vaulted over a toppled tank's corpse, crushing another soldier's sternum beneath his heel. But when a black rose snared around his calf, he froze — and in a shivering heartbeat, he stood again, small and shaking, by his grandmother's side, the blood pooling thicker than water on the ground, his own terror chaining his limbs when he should have moved. With a feral shout, he crushed the cursed rose with his steel fist and vaulted back into the fray, battering a dark magic user into the dirt with relentless brutality. He punched through an enemy soldier's chest, blasting a hole in him with a battle cry to forget about what was shown to him.
'I wasn't fast enough then…I don't care how reckless I am now or how reckless I get, slowing down means losing…the blood will spill out…if I stop..'
Zaara danced in the storm like a whirling sun, her daggers slashing golden slits through the air, summoning massive, whirling glyphs that detonated with volatile beauty. She flipped backwards off a fallen cleric, her daggers launching forward like comets, she manipulated them to make them larger, and they began carving through five soldiers brutally before returning to her hands mid-tumble.
She spun on her heel, igniting a golden crest beneath her feet that exploded upward into a jagged, radiant spire, impaling a dozen more. But the moment another black rose blossomed across her shoulder, she faltered, slipping — and for a heartbeat, she was back on a dirt road, crying, running from a house whose door had slammed shut forever. Grief and rage snapped her focus back, and she surged forward with renewed viciousness, her dancing strikes growing ever more chaotic and wild, carving golden trails of destruction through the enemy ranks.
"The roses…they're showing us our past..don't pay attention to it…! It's just trying to mess with our heads!" She yelled.
Raijin roared like a titan unleashed. Every blow of his blood-forged sword cleaved through bodies and metal alike, each swing leaving gory arcs in the battlefield. He barrelled through formations, crushing shields with sheer mass, hurling enemies into the air with brutal sweeps.
Blood magic pulsed along the engraved runes of his blade, igniting corpses in crimson flame. But when the rose grew across his armored knee, slowing his forward momentum, he lurched — and he stood again amidst chanting, bound in ritual circles, a village deciding his fate as they locked his soul into the soulless prison of armor. A roar that shook the very ground tore free from his helm, and he charged anew, swinging his blade in titanic arcs that crumpled enemy lines like paper before fire.
Even Camelot, pulling his blade free from a corrupted soldier's face, a black rose grew from his own left eye. He saw himself sitting alone as a child in a dark roble of a noble house. His body was skinny and deprived of food. And he just looked out the large window while sitting on the floor, staring at the moonlight shining upon him.
'How lonely was it then…when I felt like nothing?'
The battle had become berserk, hellish carnage; no inch was free of violence, no step safe. Corrupted soldiers roared and stabbed with accuracy, countering feints, pushing formations forward even as bodies fell. Selvaria, her twin blades still blaring with celestial astral magic, fought with primal savagery — parrying a spear thrust, somersaulting off a shield wall, and carving through enemy ranks in an explosion of silver and starfire.
Her blades whirled, precise and explosive, cleaving through both armor and soul alike, yet even she wore gashes along her coat, blood staining her sides. As the squad battled fiercely, black roses still entwined their wounds, haunting their movements, slowing them ever so slightly — enough that every moment became a brutal, desperate struggle between life and death. Finally, battered, bloodied, and breathing hard,
Tojin, catching his breath, turned and saw Lynzelle nowhere, and he exclaimed, "Where's Lynzelle…?!"
The others looked, and saw she was gone as well.
Zaara said, "She went for Cainan….!"
….
Cainan's body screamed in agony as he pressed against the weight of Nezreth's titanic blade, the chains of destruction around his arms writhing and shattering against the unbearable pressure. The charred ground beneath him cracked and cratered under the force, black dust and embers clouding the air as he snarled, refusing to be crushed. Blood ran from his mouth, dripping down his chin as he fought to breathe against the weight pressing into his ribs.
Above him, Nezreth loomed like a living nightmare, eyes burning red through his twisted helm, every inch of his broken, flame-wreathed armor seething with malevolence as he bore down mercilessly on the mortal pinned beneath him. Cainan's hands trembled, his vision blurred—but still he fought, even as death loomed just inches away.
Nezreth said, "You are chaos' incarnate, I am intrigued you were able to even land blows on me."
"I got more for you…" Cainan groaned.
"The blade is close, you are weakening. It's only a matter of time—."
Then, without warning, the world exploded in swirling chaos. A thunderous roar shattered the battlefield as a massive hole erupted in Nezreth's side, black and red shadows spiraling outward like a storm of dying stars.
Nezreth staggered, his great frame twisting away in a spray of burning fragments, his colossal form forced back a dozen steps. Cainan gasped, barely able to lift his head through the haze of blood and dust, confusion cutting through his pain.
And then he saw her.
Emerging from the smoke, clad in a form he barely recognized, was Lynzelle. Her skin was grey as ash, her once black hair now a violent red storm, her crimson eyes glowing with hellish light. A cracked black halo spun above her head, jagged devil wings stretching wide, and a spiked tail lashed behind her. She laughed—high and manic, a sound that scraped against the bones—and held her wicked scythe as if it weighed nothing at all.
"Lynzelle!" Cainan croaked, voice breaking, reaching out as if he could anchor her back to sanity.
'Is that really her…? That form…I feel nothing but animosity…rage..and even fear from it! It's heavy as hell…what's she doing?!'
But she didn't even glance at him. Her laughter only rose as she rocketed forward, her scythe carving screaming crescents of death through the thick, black air. Nezreth roared in fury, swinging one of his massive blades like a falling star, but Lynzelle was faster—somersaulting over the slash, vaulting into a brutal downward strike that forced him to stumble again. The battlefield became a maelstrom of destruction, the two titans moving so fast the ground shattered beneath each step, walls of fire and shadow exploding outward with every clash.
"HAHAHA!" Lynzelle laughed.
Nezreth scoffed, "What are you…?!"
Cainan dragged himself forward, every inch of movement a war against his ruined body.
"No..let me kill him..I-I haven't lost yet!"
He clawed at the earth, broken chains dangling from his wrists, tears burning his cheeks as he crawled. "Is this what you want, fate?!" he roared into the roaring chaos. "Is this what you fucking want?!" His hands slipped in the dirt, blood pooling beneath him as he screamed, refusing to stop even as he collapsed.
His forehead pressed into the dirt, broken and spent, and he whispered, "I won't die… I won't ever die…" But even those words were hollow now, a ghost of defiance lost to the wind. Another tear slid down his dirt-streaked face.
He laid there, numb, whispering for fate to just kill him….
Tired. So tired. Tired of fighting, tired of losing. Every time he climbed, something tore him down again. Maybe… maybe he was just too broken to keep going.
'Should I…?'
The sounds of battle raged on ahead—Nezreth's inhuman roars and Lynzelle's manic laughter echoing through the scorched winds—but around Cainan, a strange, quiet glow began to shimmer. A soft bluish-green light hovered above him, pulsing gently against the dust and ruin.
Slowly, he opened one eye, and frowned through the haze. A tiny, intricate figure floated before him—wings shimmering like glass spun from the northern lights, her skin the pale glow of moonlight, and hair cascading in rivers of silver and aquamarine. Tiny golden rings adorned her ankles and wrists, and her emerald eyes gleamed with mischief and intelligence. The fairy gave a sly, toothy grin.
"Name's Astrid," she said, voice light and mocking.
Cainan growled weakly, swatting at her with a trembling hand. "Fuck off, glitterbug…"
Astrid giggled, nimbly dodging his lazy swings with graceful pirouettes in the air. "Oooh, big scary bloodhunter can't even swat a bug right now. Pitiful." Her eyes narrowed slyly. "I need your help, big guy… but honestly? You're not gonna survive this. I'll come find you if you live… but don't get your hopes up." She winked, flicked his nose with a tiny foot, and with a burst of laughter, shot upward into the darkened skies, disappearing into the smoke.
Cainan lay there, blinking slowly. For a moment, he almost laughed at the absurdity of it. His bloodstained fingers curled into fists against the dirt. Gritting his teeth, he forced his body to move. Inch by brutal inch, he pushed himself up onto one knee, the world tilting crazily around him. He staggered to his feet, swaying, broken chains dragging in the dirt. His head lifted—and what he saw froze the breath in his chest.
'Guess I'll keep going…'
Ahead, Lynzelle and Nezreth were locked in a catastrophic clash of apocalyptic fury. Nezreth's twin swords carved rivers of black fire through the world, while Lynzelle, a surge of crimson death and laughter, somersaulted, vaulted, and spun around him, each strike of her scythe slicing deep and sending shockwaves rippling across the battlefield. Every impact sent flaming debris raining down like meteor showers. The earth shattered under their feet; the very air groaned with the force of their war.
And Cainan, standing bloodied and barely breathing, could only watch, fists clenched, heart breaking all over again.