Isolde panted lightly as she half-carried Draven, his arm draped over her shoulder, both of them making their way out of the tunnels into the chaos erupting around them. The air was thick with Ethra and rift energy, whipped into a violent storm of wind. She could resonate with that, but what her mind refused to accept was the sight of hordes of Corespawns and rift creatures tearing through the air.
"An incursion," Draven croaked weakly.
"We have a bloody incursion on our hands!" he hissed through clenched teeth.
"Save your strength!" Isolde scolded, her one eye stinging as the wind lashed against them. Drawing on her Ethra, she cocooned them in a sphere of wind energy, repelling the violent winds and volatile rift energies that threatened to tear them apart.
More advanced wind Ethra users could fly or even summon destructive tornadoes that made this storm seem trivial. But she was only a disciple, and a fresh one at that. This protective sphere was the best she could manage, and even that was steadily draining her Ethra reserves.
Again, she cursed her own foolishness for getting involved in such a mission. She knew how the clan worked—how the rise of young prodigies often threatened the established order, and how the powerful would find ways to crush those they saw as rivals. Tunde's rapid advancement to disciple rank had been impressive, but Isolde knew better. She had seen prodigies rise quickly before, only to be crushed when they threatened the status quo.
Still, like the loyal ranker she was, she had followed Tunde, enticed by the prospect of her own advancement, ignoring the risks and consequences. And now, here she was, struggling to stay alive in a mission that was likely a death trap.
She thought of her sister, Emeryn, who would be waiting for her at Red Blossom, probably praying to the hegemons for her safe return. Blinking away a tear, she pressed on toward where the vessel should have landed, Draven's ragged breathing beside her serving as a grim reminder of how close they were to the edge. Injuries among rankers could heal quickly if they were inflicted by those of lower tiers, but Draven's wounds were inflicted by a much higher force—a tier 3 crystalline golem, the kind of creature that should have crushed Tunde without effort.
Yet Tunde had walked it off. The wastelander had not only survived multiple blows from that monster but had torn it apart with his gauntlets, which had transformed from silver to black, sprouting claws. Isolde couldn’t fathom it. Where had Tunde gotten those gauntlets? What was the source of his strength? Rift Ethra was poisonous, and yet Tunde seemed to absorb it like it was nothing. It didn’t make sense.
A stray thought passed through her mind—could Tunde belong to one of the unorthodox sects? The revenants or the death cults? She dismissed the idea just as quickly. He didn’t look like a revenant, nor did he exude the aura of death that she had heard the envoys carried. Still, his lack of aura was unsettling. Perhaps he was just extraordinarily good at hiding it.
"Isolde," Draven's voice cut through her thoughts.
"Save your breath," she said, her tone firm.
"Isolde!" he shouted, shoving her aside just as an explosion of rock and earth blasted through the wind barrier she had formed. She coughed, rubbing the dust from her eyes, only to see Draven on one knee, grappling with a Corespawn—a towering figure with dark wings.
The creature raised one hand, preparing to strike, but Isolde let out a scream of rage. She drew her twin blades, projecting wind Ethra through them, slicing the air in a deadly arc. The wind hummed with power, the projection technique sharp enough to cut through metal. One day, she dreamed of mastering the blade Ethra affinity, a perfect complement to her wind energy, but for now, this was all she had. The Corespawn barely flinched, dispelling her attack with a gust of its wings.
"Filthy human," the creature hissed, its voice unnaturally light, as it glanced at her with mild irritation. "You shouldn’t be here. Not yet. You've disrupted the plan."
"Leave him alone," Isolde growled, gripping her blades tighter.
The Corespawn was a tier 2 disciple, an amalgamation of human and bird, with black and red feathers for hair and clawed feet. He plucked a long feather from his wing, which shimmered before hardening into a blade. Isolde's heart pounded as the creature stalked toward her, holding two feathered blades. She took a defensive stance, knowing she wasn’t ready for this. Not yet.
The Corespawn spread its wings wide, shrieking before launching itself at her in a burst of speed.
One of the advantages of the body tempering technique Isolde had learned was the unusual lightness it gave her body, something crucial for her wind affinity. She became the wind, moving with such speed that she rivaled the peak tier 2 Corespawn, their blades clashing in a furious exchange. Every ounce of her focus was poured into the duel, knowing that a single lapse in concentration would see her cut to ribbons. After a series of deadly blows, both combatants shot backwards, Isolde panting softly as she drew Ethra from the air, acutely aware of the taint of rift Ethra in it—a taint that didn’t seem to affect the Corespawn.
The creature grinned at her, its grotesque form partway through a fusion of human lips and a bird’s beak. "At least you can fight," it sneered.
Blood dripped down Isolde’s body, but she dared not reach for a healing elixir. The Corespawn was too quick, and taking her eyes off him for even a second could cost her life. She steadied her breath, drawing in more of the tainted Ethra. Her choices were grim: either fight and risk death or survive and spend what little she had on cleansing herself of the taint later.
She took her stance again as the Corespawn spread his wings, plucking four feathers, which floated in the air above him, rotating like deadly blades. As if two swords weren’t bad enough. Isolde swallowed softly, her gaze fixed on the Corespawn’s terrible grin.
"Scared? Ready to beg for your life?" he taunted, as Isolde remained silent.
"Well, you should be. All humans of the empire should be," he spat. "We will come down on you with the wrath of a hundred rifts and a thousand Corespawns. We’ll tear your homes apart, convert your people into mindless beasts. Not even your empire or cult can stand against us!"
As he shrieked his threats, a large glowing axe smashed into his back, sending the Corespawn crashing into the ground with a gash down his back. The creature screamed in agony and took to the skies, sending his feather blades flying toward the source of the attack. A ball of rock Ethra deflected them, and the rock crumbled away to reveal a ragged, breathing Draven. Isolde quickly downed a healing elixir as Draven did the same.
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"Thought I’d let you die alone?" he asked, staggering but smiling.
Isolde had never wanted to hug him so badly, wiping a tear from her eye before they turned back to the enraged creature.
"If we survive this," she began.
"You mean if bird boy doesn’t kill us first?" Draven joked, his pale face betraying his true condition.
"Yes, if we survive... I’ll say yes to your proposal," she said with a soft laugh.
Draven froze, disbelief crossing his face. "To marry me?" he asked.
She nodded. Draven sighed deeply, then pulled a black elixir from his void sack, downing it before Isolde could protest. A berserker elixir.
"Why?" she asked, her voice soft but filled with dread.
"There’s no other way," Draven grunted, his aura flaring as fury filled his eyes. His muscles swelled, nearly doubling in size as his gauntlets strained to contain his growing hands, the metal screeching.
Berserker elixirs were dangerous. They flooded the ranker’s system with energy, forcing the heart to cycle Ethra at a deadly pace. The elixir often left users comatose for days, and sometimes even led to death. Isolde prayed Draven had used a low-grade elixir, as the Corespawn unleashed another barrage of feather blades.
With a roar, Draven stamped his feet, sending tremors through the earth. Rocks erupted from the ground, hurtling toward the Corespawn. The creature sliced through them with ease, enduring the ones that struck him, his rage-filled eyes glowing with reckless fury. Isolde, summoning her strength, spammed wind blades at the creature, using the rising rocks as platforms to clash with him mid-air.
Her agility and instinct for survival helped her dodge the worst of his attacks, parrying the rest with her twin blades. She fought with reckless determination. She couldn’t let Draven die, and she certainly couldn’t leave her sister Emeryn alone in the world. With a primal scream, Isolde used her wind affinity to grab hold of the air itself, hurling the Corespawn down to the ground with a burst of power. The move, a half-formed dominion technique, drained her Ethra reserves to dangerous levels, but it worked.
The Corespawn crashed into the ground with a thunderous crack, wings broken and buried deep in the earth. Draven, sheathed in rock Ethra and wearing an impenetrable rock armor helm, stood over the creature, his axe raised high. As the axe came down, the Corespawn lifted its feather blades in defense, but they crumbled under the sheer force of Draven’s blow. The axe bit deep into the Corespawn’s flesh, but in a final desperate act, it struck Draven with a powerful punch, sending him flying backward.
Isolde’s heart raced as she watched the Corespawn drag itself from the crater, a gash running from its face down to its chest, healing slowly. The rage in its eyes burned brighter as it shrieked again, sending its remaining feathers floating into the air, casting a dark shadow over the battlefield.
Shoulder heaving with exhaustion, the Corespawn stretched a hand toward them, launching the feather blades. Isolde gathered every bit of Ethra left in her body, releasing it in an explosion of wind, deflecting some of the blades off course. Draven, still staggering but filled with berserker fury, rushed the Corespawn as it grabbed two more feather blades and charged at him.
The ground shook as Draven, his body burning with rock Ethra, clashed with the enraged Corespawn. The creature’s primal fury shattered bits of Draven’s rock armor, but Draven fought back, his axe biting deep into the Corespawn’s body. Just as the Corespawn began to compress Draven’s head in its hands, Isolde, with her last burst of energy, charged in, her blades whistling through the air as they aimed for the creature’s neck.
The Corespawn shrieked, its piercing cry destabilizing her. Isolde stumbled and fell, rolling across the ground as the battle raged on.
Looking up, Isolde saw a feathered blade buried to the hilt in Draven’s chest, the ranker on one knee, his helm shattered into dust. She cried out helplessly, the Corespawn staring at Draven with surprise. Her gaze followed Draven’s arm—his hand was gripping the still-beating heart of the Corespawn, a hole punched through its chest. The winds stilled, the wings of the Corespawn drooped, and blood sprayed over Draven’s face before the creature slumped dead to the ground, its heart giving its final beat.
Isolde rushed to Draven’s side, cradling him as the rock armor crumbled off, revealing the wound where the feather blade had pierced his ribs. Sobbing softly, cursing the day she became a disciple, she pulled out her last healing and life elixirs, pouring them down his throat before ripping the blade from his chest. Draven winced, patting his chest as he spoke.
“Flesh wound... blade missed my lungs, thanks to the rock armor,” he groaned, before passing out.
She held him close, completely drained of Ethra, unable to move his heavy form. She could only watch as the Corespawns and rift creatures began to close in, drawn by the scent of blood. Closing her eyes, she held Draven’s head to her chest, staring at the core that appeared from the desiccating Corespawn. It was a valuable prize, enough to settle her debts and secure a better future, but it wouldn’t matter—they were about to be torn apart.
The tangy smell of rain filled the air, and Isolde looked up to see darkening clouds overhead. Lightning crackled, and a torrent of bolts struck down from the sky, annihilating the advancing creatures in a storm of destruction. The ground quaked beneath the earth-shattering strikes, and Isolde futilely covered her head, praying to the hegemons for salvation.
A metallic hum filled the air, slicing through the remnants of the creatures, and a figure landed before them. Wet-eyed, Isolde stared up at Elder Moros, who stood impassively, surveying the scene and the dead Corespawn.
Moving calmly, Moros picked up the core and slipped it into his void ring. Isolde felt her heart clench at the sight, her hopes of a better life vanishing before her eyes.
"Where is the wastelander?" Moros asked.
“In the tunnels of the abandoned mines,” she replied, choking back tears. "He... he told us to find you."
Moros snorted. "Playing the hero. Probably dead by now. What did you see down there?"
“A rift,” she answered, shuddering.
Moros’s eyes widened. He pulled out a black rock etched with glowing blue symbols and handed it to her.
"Take this and find shelter. Clan forces will be here soon," he said, turning and heading toward the entrance to the mine.
Isolde watched him go in silence, her gaze shifting to the massive rift tear in the sky. They had survived, but her thoughts lingered on Tunde. Whatever awaited him in those tunnels, she hoped the hegemons would protect him, for he would need it.
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Tunde raced through the empty tunnels, his body moving at blinding speed, fueled by the rift energy coursing through him. Every Corespawn he encountered was reduced to nothing but a smear of blood and bone, his momentum undiminished as he followed the trail of rift energy pouring from somewhere deeper within. His relic eagerly absorbed the energy as he pressed on.
He came to a stop before a group of large, muscular tier 1 Corespawns guarding the entrance to another level. Twenty of them turned toward him with bellows of rage. Tunde stepped forward, and to his surprise, they froze in place, trembling as they stared at him. Confused, he noticed something gray wafting off his body. It took him a moment to realize—it was his aura. He had unlocked his aura, but as soon as he recognized it, it abruptly cut off.
Sighing, Tunde readied himself as the Corespawns regained their composure and charged at him, some wielding crude weapons, others baring claws. The air resonated as Tunde blasted them apart one by one. As their bodies fell, cores appeared, something that hadn’t happened with the earlier spawns. He dodged an attack without effort, grabbing one Corespawn by the throat and snapping its neck with a quick twist. The others at the doors began roaring into the distance, and Tunde winced—an alarm had been raised.
*******************************************
Kurl Rock Scale froze at the sound of the roar, turning to Jath, who stood staring at the rift entrance with a mixture of rage and confusion. Their allies had failed to deliver the promised rift cores, and though the rift Ethra was empowering the two tier 2 Corespawns, it was also slowly killing them. The etchings carved into their bodies, following instructions from their allies, were supposed to stabilize the energy, but without the cores, they couldn’t cultivate the rift power they so desperately needed.
The wrath of the Verdan clan now loomed over them, and they had nothing to show for it.
"Check that roar," Jath ordered. "If it's our allies trying to sneak in, hold them down until I arrive. If it’s the clan, kill them."
"What if it’s the adept?" Kurl asked.
"No adept would sneak through tunnels. Their egos wouldn’t allow it," Jath replied.
Kurl nodded and set off at a run toward his base, leaving Jath to contemplate their failing plans.