The trees crackled with the scent of scorched bark. Smoke still hung in the air as the creature stood motionless, its smoldering frame casting a shadow that stretched long over the ruined clearing. It hadn't fled. It hadn't retreated.
It was waiting.
Bryn steadied her stance. Rowan clutched a broken prism orb. Eilo's hands trembled as he summoned glyphs, while Teyla's flames hovered at her palms, flickering but determined.
Darian, bloodied but standing, took one step forward.
Then Caelum raised his voice.
"Hold the line! I need time!"
They didn't ask why. They just moved.
---
The creature attacked first—blurring through shadows, claws flashing. Bryn met it with a bellow, swinging her axe. Sparks flew. Teyla launched fire in wide arcs to drive it back, Rowan shielding with mana-sheets of flickering light. Eilo's illusions darted through the underbrush, mimicking movement, distracting it for seconds at a time.
But seconds weren't enough.
The creature tore through their spells like paper.
It moved faster now. Smarter.
Every blow it took, it shed.
Caelum focused. His hands carved spell-sigils into the air, eyes blazing. He started with a binding spell—ice laced with frost runes. The creature froze for a heartbeat… then split its skin and walked free.
He cast lightning chains, crackling with intensity.
They snapped across the creature's body.
It screamed—only for a moment.
Then the chains shattered as its outer layer dissolved in ash.
Caelum's mana churned in his chest like a storm. "Then take this…"
He dropped to one knee and began chanting in a tongue he rarely used—one that seared the air around him.
Infernal glyphs bloomed at his fingertips.
The temperature dropped.
The fire in his soul ignited.
---
The rest of the cohort fell back, barely holding formation.
The creature surged forward, striking at Rowan. Teyla dragged him aside, gritting her teeth.
Caelum stood tall.
The Infernal spell exploded from his hands—a column of spiraling black and crimson flame, laced with destructive runes older than the Arcadium itself.
The ground shook.
The flames howled.
The creature was consumed.
When the smoke parted, one of its arms was gone, vaporized—nothing left but scorched bone at the socket. Its molten veins flickered erratically. Its shriek was feral and full of rage.
It tried to shed—but the skin clung.
Caelum collapsed to one knee, gasping, pale.
Darian saw the opening.
Sword raised, he charged with every ounce of strength left in him. His blade shimmered red from residual heat as he drove it straight for the creature's heart.
Steel met flesh.
But then—crack.
The sword shattered.
A jagged piece of the blade embedded in the creature's shoulder. The rest splintered mid-swing. Darian froze, breath caught in his throat.
The creature grabbed him.
Before anyone could stop it, it leapt—smoke curling in its wake—and vanished into the trees with Darian held tight in its clawed arm.
"Darian!" Caelum cried out, forcing himself up. "No!"
But his body gave way.
Mana gone.
Strength lost.
---
Time passed.
How long, none could say.
When Darian awoke, it was to the smell of rust and rot.
He was inside a ruined warehouse, dimly lit by the moon. Cracks in the walls let in cold air. Runes lined the ground, cracked and long-dormant.
He was bound—not by rope, but magic. A web of dark energy twisted around his wrists and chest, humming faintly with runes he couldn't decipher.
The creature sat in the shadows.
Watching.
"You're awake."
Darian strained. "What… do you want?"
"You," the creature replied. "Are not him."
It stood, its remaining arm twitching, still blackened from Caelum's fire.
"I thought you might be the one," it said. "But your brother… his fire burns brighter. It reeks of Might."
Darian's eyes widened.
"He will come for you," the creature said. "That is the nature of power born from love. He will come."
It turned away and faded into the dark.
Darian was alone—with silence and the hum of unbreakable chains.
---
Back at the clearing, two days had passed.
Rowan's wounds were bandaged. Teyla had barely slept. Bryn sharpened her axe in silence. Eilo sat beside Caelum, who stared blankly at a fire that had long gone cold.
He hadn't spoken in hours.
Then—thunder.
Not from clouds.
From the sky itself.
Glowing platforms descended, each bearing armored mages clad in shimmering battle robes. They landed without sound—surrounded by floating glyphs of protection.
The Ashveil strike force had arrived.
Their leader stepped forward—tall, wrapped in a deep green cloak bearing the sigil of Embratha's war caste. His voice was sharp and formal.
"You there," he called. "Identify yourselves."
The cohort stood, startled.
"Who are you?" the commander asked.
He stepped closer.
"And what are you doing here?"