“Psst, Adrian!” Ichni hissed urgently into my ear as Dullahan lunged forward. “We need to reach the bridge by the river! I’ve got another plan!”

“Again, Ichni—!” I snapped, struggling to maintain focus. Dullahan’s charge was shockingly fast despite his heavy armor. His free fist, wrapped in that ghostly aura, hurtled toward my chest. At the last possible instant, I twisted my torso and sprang one step aside, his knuckles whistling past my cuirass. The force of his missed blow stirred the dust at my feet. “Telling me sooner might’ve helped!” I added, voice strained as I regained my footing.

“Well, sorry, but I had a perfect moment—then I got sidetracked by that statue story!” she sputtered.

All the while, I had to keep moving. I may have had almost two decades of training in all manner of combat, but my body wasn’t about to spring into prime form from memory alone. Dullahan’s next strike swept low, his gauntlet cutting a vicious arc through the air. I jerked backward, knees bending to absorb my weight as I narrowly avoided his knuckles slamming into my ribs. He came so close that sparks danced where his aura grazed my breastplate, leaving a thin scratch on the metal. A chill ran through me, knowing how close that was to breaching my armor and my heart beneath it.

I flourished the Aether Blade at the next swing, stumbling into a retreat with less elegance than I’d have liked. Still, I managed to plant my heels and adopt the second Holy Stance—Defending Horizon—raising my blade high, held horizontally above my head. Dullahan’s laugh echoed like distant thunder.

“Oh ho, that stance?” he sneered. “Heroes have perished striking that very pose!”

He leapt again, this time angling his fist in a wicked diagonal uppercut. I caught the subtle shift of his shoulders a moment before his blow soared upward, allowing me to ready my blade’s edge to intercept his force.

Despite his heavy plating, Dullahan moved with a deceptive agility, each strike telegraphed by grand gestures but delivered with startling speed. As he dashed forward, I timed my defense carefully, pivoting my hips and guiding the flat of my blade against his incoming blow. The Aether Blade rang dully as it deflected his gauntlet away. Seeing a fleeting gap, I attempted a direct thrust at the head he cradled in his arm, hoping to end this madness in one fell swoop. But he snapped up a plated knee with impossible flexibility, batting aside my sword as though it were a bothersome fly.

For several tense moments, we circled and clashed—he pressed in, I yielded ground; I probed for an opening, he locked down every approach. Each time I tried for a joint or the vulnerable head, he interposed a shoulder plate, a forearm guard, or even angled his chest piece to deflect my strikes. It felt like fighting a fortress that knew every feint and counter in existence. I ground my teeth, realizing how effortlessly he controlled the battlefield and denied me any telling blow.

“Trying to read my pattern, Paladin?” Dullahan sneered, suddenly hooking my blade’s tip between the horns of his helmet. The sickening scrape of steel against bone-like horn rang in my ears as he pulled me closer. “Each swing drains you. Each graze I land saps your strength. I never tire, never falter. I could spar until the sun dies!”

With a violent twist of his head-helm contraption, he threw me off balance. Before I recovered, he slammed his free fist into the earth. The impact reverberated like a massive bell, a shockwave that sent me sprawling backward. I hit the ground hard, breath knocked out as dust rose in stinging clouds.

When he lifted his hand, I realized with horror that he’d dragged something from the soil—a corpse wrenched up as if plucked from a hidden mass grave. His pale aura soaked into its limbs, making them twitch and groan as life—an awful, unnatural life—flowed into dead flesh. He let it drop, and the newly risen zombie staggered upright, hungry growls escaping its twisted maw.

“I have a new ally, Adrian! A relative of yours, perhaps?” Dullahan taunted, watching the zombie sway between us. “No matter, their end will be—wait, what—?”

He noticed too late that I had seized the moment his attention wavered. Kicking off the ground, I sprang backward into the dust haze, pivoting on my heel and sprinting west. Following Ichni’s earlier suggestion, I aimed for the river bridge, hoping the terrain would give me some kind of advantage. Each step jarred my tired bones, but fear drove me faster than reason ever could.

As I fled, Ichni was wrapped around me and shooting webs like she was having a spitting contest, making web patterns and slapping them on the deeper cuts like duct tape on a battered box. Her efforts stung slightly where metal pressed into bruises, but I couldn’t afford to slow down.

“Adrian, zombo at six o’clock!” she warned, voice urgent.

“How far– WOOOOFGH!” I began, but never finished. Something fast and heavy slammed into my back, hooking an arm around my torso and driving me down. The ground rushed up to greet me, knocking the air from my lungs. The zombie proved disturbingly nimble, landing us both in a sprawl of dust and pain.

“He’s right here!” Ichni yelped, not exactly helpful but timely. I managed to twist onto my back, thrusting a boot into the creature’s gaping jaws. My foot connected with a wet crunch, snapping its head back and tumbling it off me. The thing was quick, yes, but didn’t seem built for endurance.

Seizing the moment, I scrambled upright and slashed horizontally with the Aether Blade, steel meeting rotten flesh in a sickening rip. The zombie’s torso split, dangling by strands of sinew. It tried to push itself up, but the strain broke it into two separate halves.

“Th-that should—” I began, but the severed top half sprang at me on its hands, an undead gymnast performing a macabre cartwheel. Shocked, I lunged forward and angled a decisive chop at its head, scattering bone shards and decayed brain matter. As I turned to finish off the lower half, it had already darted away blindly, skittering off into the distance like a headless puppet refusing stage directions. For now, I let it go—survival took precedence over chasing half a zombie across the fields.

I allowed myself a brief, blissful sigh of relief—exactly half a second’s worth—before I noticed Dullahan closing in again, now proudly accompanied by three fresh zombies like they were his personal undead entourage. With no shame, I took off in a flailing sprint.

“Get back here, boy!” he roared, voice resonating like a broken church organ. “Where is your honor, fleeing from our grand showdown?”

“Honor?!” I yelled over my shoulder, nearly tripping on a stray root. “It’s four against one! Two if you count Ichni, who’s basically a talking backpack saving my ass! How about you cut the haunted house act and fight me yourself?””

“YOU’RE THE ONE RUNNING AWAY FROM ME!” Dullahan thundered, picking up speed like a medieval freight train. Note to self: never taunt a headless knight who moonlights as a track star.

The three zombies rushed at me like rabid groupies, arms flailing, jaws slack. Gritting my teeth, I planted my feet, thrusting the gauntlet forward like a third-rate superhero striking a pose. A sharp twinge of pain in my chest told me this was risky, but I went for it anyway. My breath misted out, giving me that dramatic final-boss aura I definitely hadn’t earned yet.

“Obey!” I barked, voice unexpectedly echoing like I’d shouted into a bucket. The zombies halted mid-charge, their eyes flipping from eerie blue to shimmering gold as Command Undead took hold, and was now blinking at me as if waiting for dance instructions. Behind them, Dullahan slowed down, momentarily baffled, as if pondering whether I’d just glitched the game.

“WHAT.” Dullahan snarled, tone flat with exasperation. I still couldn’t figure out if I managed to seize him, but considering the effort it took last time just to unhinge his jaw, I was safe to assume he was standing of his own furious will.

“Kill the dreadknight,” I commanded, voice stern as if I were instructing well-trained puppies instead of zombie nightmares. At once, the zombies pivoted like synchronized swimmers, shuffling off to harass their former boss.

“KILL THE STUPID GHOUL!” Dullahan roared, voice cranked up to eleven. For a terrifying instant, I felt the pressure of his command; my stomach did a backflip, but since I wasn’t technically undead, I just grimaced. The zombies, meanwhile, turned around so abruptly one nearly fell over itself.

“No, kill him!” I yelled, trying to out-shout Dullahan. The poor undead minions hesitated, turning left, then right, like undead ping-pong balls. One made a brave leap at Dullahan—who swatted it into confetti with one contemptuous swing before somehow magically returning its splattered state back into a loosely humanoid form.

“NO, KILL HIM!” Dullahan bellowed again, pointing at me as if selecting a dinner entree he wanted well-done. The zombies sighed in undead frustration—if zombies could sigh—and pivoted like disgruntled soldiers whose drill instructor kept changing orders mid-march.

“Ignore his commands, kill him instead!” I insisted, voice cracking slightly. With each conflicting order, I felt like I’d run a mental marathon. Sweat trickled down my forehead, and though I wasn’t sure if Dullahan could actually tire, I could sense his patience fraying.

“HURRREGHHH~!” one zombie wailed, dropping to its knees as if experiencing an existential crisis. Another, fed up with this undead custody battle, grabbed its own skull and tore it off with a sound like wet celery snapping. The last one, the newly reconstituted zombie, tried a bizarre approach: it sprinted towards me backward, an undead moonwalking in fast-forward as it flailed into combat. I promptly ended its tap-dance audition with a quick slash, sending scraps of rotten flesh flying.

“Fine,” Dullahan growled, voice dripping with pure, unfiltered annoyance. He stomped the last kneeling zombie into the dirt with a horrid squelch, as if canceling this entire undead fiasco. “You want to play games? Let’s see what witty orders you babble when I yank out your intestines!”

I gave him my most dignified reply: “Nah, I’m good!” Then I spun on my heel and bolted again, kicking up dust as I fled. The only thing I felt was a faint hope that the bridge—and Ichni’s brilliant, still-unknown plan—might save me from a literal gut-wrenching fate.

As I continued my frantic dash across the open fields, I noticed Dullahan wasn’t going full speed like in the sewers—maybe he’d left his turbo setting behind.

“Hey, Dooly!” Ichni hollered, draped over my shoulder as if auditioning for a melodramatic opera. “Oh, save me! This filthy knight wants to do unspeakable things, oh woe is me! Where’s your valiant magic now, you stinky murakka?”

I nearly choked on my own confusion. Why provoke him now? I already had death nibbling at my heels like undead piranhas! But, surprisingly, Dullahan’s pace faltered as he tried to justify himself.

“It’s broad daylight!” he sputtered, voice strained. “My magic’s weaker, you know that, princess! Don’t make me stoop to poor tactics! And what do you mean ‘have his way’?!”

Perfect. Ichni’s trolling was causing him to trip over his own righteousness.

“He touches me at night!” Ichni sobbed theatrically. “The other day, he put his whole hand all over me!” Her face contorted into a horrific, shit-eating grin of fake despair. “He even puts it inside me!”

“Excuse me, you are literally inside a glove!” I hissed, dodging a stray rock. “Stop feeding gossip to the homicidal headless knight!” Ichni rewarded my plea with a flick to the head—lovely teamwork.

Peering over my shoulder, I saw Dullahan juggling curses and threats like a street performer with too many props. He was so busy shouting that his sprint slipped into a jog. His dramatic villain monologue was costing him precious meters. He was falling behind, and I suppressed a grin. This was working better than any weapon I’d tried.

“Awesome job, Ichni! Feel free to mention how I ‘fist you nightly’ if it slows him down!” I blurted, mentally smacking myself for that image. Desperate times, desperate measures.

Then I caught something huge looming overhead. A colossal shadow swallowed the sunlight, and I dove aside just as an enormous undead giant slammed into the earth. A shockwave of dust and pebbles rattled my armor.

This gargantuan corpse was not only huge, it was… stark naked. Perfect. My eyes flicked between the giant’s top head and, uh, the other head that definitely wasn’t for thinking. Ichni gagged loudly, and I silently prayed any future adaptation would blur this scene.

“Holy merdu, that’s… that’s too big!” Ichni croaked, half in horror, half in something else entirely.

Too exhausted to guess which specifically Ichni meant, I focused on breathing. The giant lifted a disturbingly thick arm and swung down—an attack I wanted no part of. I dodged early, flinging myself aside before any swinging anatomy could flatten or traumatize me further.

Rolling beneath its colossal “health bar”, I ended up face-to-butt-cheek and grimaced. With no time to complain, I adopted the fourth Holy Stance, Retribution. Jerky, awkward motions combined with the Aether Blade’s edge, this technique favored relentless strikes aimed at crippling large foes. Perfect.

The giant’s moves were ponderous and obvious, like a drunk trying to swat a mosquito. Each time it raised an arm, I slipped away, striking at its joints, gouging metal-shredding swipes into putrid flesh. It roared like a beast possessed, thrashing wildly and turning the field into a cratered mess. I bobbed and weaved, praying no “appendage” would hit me in the face.

Eventually, I managed one last cockblock as I hacked into a leg, dropping it to its knees with a bone-rattling thud. Seizing my chance, I swung the Aether Blade in a forceful arc, severing its head—and let’s be clear, the upper one. The giant toppled forward, mercifully belly-down.

Catching my breath, I glanced at the distant river, still maddeningly far. Wonderful.

Panting and sore, I dared to rest against a nearby tree, trying to steady my nerves and locate Dullahan. He was nowhere in sight—which was never a good sign.

Then something clamped onto my arm, the pressure sudden and brutal. The tree’s shadow seemed impossibly dark, and with a jolt of horror I realized why. I hadn’t been leaning on mere bark. I’d been leaning on Dullahan himself, lurking in the gloom like a predatory statue.

Well, shit.

“Boo,” Dullahan growled, voice low and menacing, his teeth gripping my normal glove. A sudden, crushing blow struck my abdomen before I could react, the force of it rattling my bones. I felt ribs give under the impact, pain lancing through my torso. The air expelled from my lungs as I was hurled several meters back, slamming into the earth and rolling to a stop in a cloud of dust and dry grass.

Dazed, I managed to shift my legs just in time to avoid a lethal mishap as my sword came plummeting down, embedding itself between them. I forced out a pained groan, each breath stirring fresh agony in my fractured ribs. Glancing down, I confirmed what the throbbing pain suggested: the chainmail held, but the flesh beneath had begun to blacken and shrivel. His aura carried a vile energy that spread decay through my body, a slow, rotting corruption that threatened to unravel me from within. From Dullahan’s fist, still clenched from the punch, his sickly blue aura had carved itself into a blade that had necrotically pierced me.

Ichni hovered near me, her eyes wide with silent despair. Even she could tell this wound was beyond a quick remedy. No makeshift web or hasty patch would undo the necrotic taint eating at my flesh.

“Do you hear it, Adrian?” Dullahan’s voice emerged soft and steady, yet laden with grim purpose. “The bells of Ner’gal ring when death is near. Those deemed worthy find peace, but those who hear only silence drift forever in emptiness.”

His words chilled me more than any threat. He spoke not as a conqueror, but as a herald of doom. With ragged breaths, I forced my trembling legs beneath me, relying on the Aether Blade’s hilt to stabilize myself. Pain roared in my bones, and nausea twisted in my gut, yet I refused to collapse. I stood, barely, confronted by the quiet certainty of my foe’s intent.

Raising my blade, I lifted it close enough to feel its subtle glow wash over my bruised features.

“The first Holy Stance,” I murmured, voice tight, “Lion’s Humility.”

Dullahan slowed, the hollow wind rattling through his ragged armor as he regarded this quiet defiance. In the blade’s gentle radiance, I found a fragile peace. I recalled why I fought—for Ichni, for the innocent lives who deserved better, and for the spark of goodness I once carried as a paladin. Though I’d fallen far from that path, the essence of it remained within me.

“I didn’t hear no bell,” I finally said, refusing to accept the fate he tried to script for me.

“Mmm, mm-hm-hm-hmm… I taste your fear,” Dullahan snarled, voice like distant thunder.

“I am afraid,” I admitted, steadying my stance. “But what I fear more is failing those I vowed to shield.” With a sharp breath, I transitioned into the second Holy Stance, calling forth its disciplined precision.

A sudden roar of flames cut through the tension. Without warning, fire engulfed Dullahan’s form, the heat searing the air, forcing him into a startled retreat. One moment he stood poised to finish me; the next, he thrashed amid hungry flames that danced along his armor’s edges.

“Thought ya might need a wee bit o’ help, Mr. Hero,” a voice rumbled from behind me. A strong gauntlet—with stubs of forest green and smoking with residual heat—clamped reassuringly onto my shoulder. Quen’s presence arrived like a bulwark against despair.

“Glad ta see yer still breathin’, lad,” Quen said, her grip steady and encouraging. I couldn’t muster a smile amid this chaos, but I offered her a grateful nod. Without her timely arrival, I doubted I’d still be standing.

No longer dressed in simple smithing attire, Quen now wore a heavy leather tunic reinforced with iron strips. These bands circled her shoulders and arms like forged ribs, a makeshift exoskeleton built to withstand crushing force. A broad belt, bristling with tools and pouches, testified to her craft and her cunning. Her knees were guarded by studded pads that looked capable of shrugging off a blade’s edge. Her boots bore iron soles that hissed against the scorched earth. At her side hung her warhammer—once a blacksmith’s companion, now a brutal instrument of war.

With each controlled breath Quen took, the iron plating along her arms shimmered, heating and cooling in a steady rhythm. She slammed her gauntleted fists together, summoning fire that burst forth in a molten spray, sparks scattering across charred grass. Her presence radiated confidence and the elemental fury of a smoldering forge.

“Qu-Quen! Y-you’re joining the team?!” Ichni asked, her voice trembling with a mixture of relief and awe.

The orc blacksmith gave a curt shake of her head. “Helpin’, aye, but dinnae mistake me fer joinin’ any ‘team.’ I’m here ta do what must be done,” she replied, voice firm and unyielding.

As the flames receded, Dullahan’s condition had visibly deteriorated. His cape hung in charred ribbons, and the acrid stench of scorched flesh clung to the air. As he regained his position, his head appeared from behind his crossed arms, a single eye peeking with absolute murder in it at Quen.

“Was it worth it, blacksmith?” he hissed, voice raw. “Your paltry life’s work sacrificed for a fleeting rush of courage?”

Quen met his glare without flinching. “Aye, Lieutenant. Ye’ve bullied and butchered fer too long. Today, ya learn humility.”

I steadied myself, keeping my voice low, “We need time. Ichni’s plan involves the river. If you can hold him here, Quen…”

She nodded once, without words, acknowledging the grim request. Her stance widened, boots grinding into the ash-laden ground.

“Piece o’ cake,” Quen finally snarled as she got into position, grinding her fists until sparks danced wildly between them. “Let’s see how ya handle a real brawler, Dullahan!”

The brand on her forearm flared, and her gauntlets responded in a surge of heat and light. I realized then they were forged of elementium, the same rare metal as the Aether Blade. Flames coiled around her hands, the roar of superheated air reminding me of bellows in an infernal forge. As the blaze receded, her simple gloves were replaced by massive, wickedly curved metal claws, their blackened steel edges gleaming red-hot. Twin vents in each palm exhaled scorching breath like miniature furnaces. They looked capable of tearing through plate and bone alike.

She looked hot as hell, figuratively and literally.

Dullahan’s previous arrogance melted into grim determination as he shifted to a guarded stance. He jammed his head onto his shoulders, and when the latches that held his helmet to his head made a click, he let go. His flopped to the side slightly, but it seemed like he locked it partially into place as he glowered at the new contender. His eye burned with a steady, lethal focus.

“Here we go,” Quen rumbled, her voice resonating with the heat. Without warning, her claws expelled a burst of compressed fire from their backs, launching her forward in a blur of sparks and molten ash.

If Dullahan was a unyielding sprinter, she was a charging train from hell, and she flew in with fire left in her scorching trail. Dullahan met her charge with raised arms, aura flickering at the edges like ghostly blades.

“Back her up,” Ichni urged, voice tight. “If he goes down, we run.” I offered a pained nod, lungs protesting each breath. Still, I forced myself to flank Dullahan.

Quen’s onslaught was relentless—thunderous blows, searing bursts of heat. Dullahan reacted with quick, precise blocks, careful never to let her claws snare him. Their exchange rattled the earth, each impact cratering soil and sending shockwaves through my battered body.

I seized a moment while Dullahan angled his defense toward Quen, spotting a vulnerable gap along the back of his leg’s armor plating. Darting in low, I aimed the Aether Blade’s tip for that kink. But as if sensing my move, Dullahan lashed out with a vicious roundhouse kick that caught me under the chin, hurling me aside and slamming me to the ground.

“Die!” he roared, raising a fist crackling with aura, ready to smash me flat.

I braced for the killing blow, but Quen intervened from behind him. She lunged, one claw snapping open and locking onto Dullahan’s forearm mid-swing. As I scuttled away, intense heat shimmered around her gauntlet, molten air distorting the view as she unleashed a searing brand of pain onto the demon’s limb. Dullahan’s scream tore through the battlefield.

Desperate to dislodge her, he swung her entire body overhead in a brutal arc. Quen struck the ground with a thunderous crash, earth rupturing beneath her. Her claw tore free, leaving scorched gouges in Dullahan’s armor. Getting to position to attack, I faltered when I saw the sight of Quen. Her shoulder was dislocated from the motion by the looks of it, and as she began to recover from her daze, Dullahan drove a savage stomp into her chest. The sickening crunch of armor and flesh giving way sent a chill down my spine, and blood sprayed from across the scorched soil.

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“BLUURGH!” She gasped, blood splattering out.

“Moths that dance too close to the flame burn out, orc.” He said ruefully, twisted his foot in. Quen howled in agony, her injured arm spasming. My eyes locked on the one thing I hated in that moment, cursing him with everything I held dear.

“KNEEL.” I ordered, and I felt a cough of blood follow as Command Undead forced him to jerkily shift his weight to the side.

“You-!” Dullahan began, before screaming in agony.

Quen, despite being battered and broken, refused to give up. Now free of her pin, she had wrenched her uninjured claw upward, seizing his kneeling leg by the thigh and twisting savagely. Harnessing raw fury, her gauntlet began jetting forward as they both started taking into the air. Twisting him around like a hammertoss, she heaved him overhead, hurling Dullahan through the distant landscape. He tore through hillocks and snapped trees like twigs before slamming down far away.

His fading roar echoed, then silence hung over the battlefield like a funeral shroud.

“You wanna see me dance, pretty-boy? I’ll show ye a dance,” Quen snarled, her voice low and strained. Her shoulder hung at a sickening angle, tendons twisted, but as Ichni approached to assist, Quen simply shook her head. Without hesitation, she snapped her shoulder back into its socket. A muffled girlish scream escaped her throat, and blood trickled from a cut along her jawline. The scent of iron and sweat filled the air. She stood there, wounded and trembling, yet still radiating raw determination. Her breathing came in ragged gulps, each one a struggle against her battered frame.

“We need to go, now.” I said pleadingly. “He’s bent out of shape, and once we escape him, Ichni can do her thing and recuperate. Quen,” I added. “I know you said you didn’t want to join us, but I can’t leave you here like this. Come with us for now and let Ichni patch you up, and you can figure it out from there.”

Quen’s eyes flicked over me, filled with a fierce intensity that made my spine prickle. For a heartbeat, I feared she might lash out at anyone nearby—ally or foe. But then her gaze softened to grim acceptance. She gave a curt nod, and we set off toward the river, leaving the ravaged battlefield and our monstrous pursuer behind us, if only for a precious moment.

The river’s dull roar guided us through scorched fields and toppled trees. Each step sent pain flaring through my battered bones. Eventually, a simple wooden bridge emerged from the gloom, its ropes creaking in the soft breeze. Not elegant, but stable enough to bear our escape. I exhaled shakily, daring to hope that Dullahan lagged behind, too weakened to continue his relentless chase.

I turned to Ichni, forcing steady words through cracked lips. “What’s the plan?”

She hesitated, then said, “Dullahan… he fears the river. I believed that drawing him close would force him back, give us a chance.”

“Water?” I asked, voice doubtful. Quen’s eyes narrowed, suspicious. Ichni had managed some rudimentary web-binding on Quen’s wounds, but the orc still trembled with fury and pain.

Ichni pressed on. “He flailed in the sewers. I thought if we approached real running water, like a river, he’d recoil.”

“I’m not so sure it works like that. Wouldn’t he be terrified of rain then, too?” I muttered, taking pain staking steps to continue the trek. Ichni had webbed me too, but it wasn’t working as well against the necrotic attack.

“Well, huh. I did see him standing in the rain!” She said thoughtfully. “He would glower over the castle walls and look hazily into the distance whenever it rained, like some kind of moody vigilante!”

“I don’t suppose then,” Quen said through a deep tremor of her voice. “That maybe yer idea is WRONG?!”

“Nah, it’s because rain is like tiny river babies!” Ichni said indignantly, although she notably put herself behind me. “Running water like the river or the sewage is like an angry mob! You can understand the difference, right, Addy?”

“When did you start to call me Addy?” I remarked, bothered by the nickname whenever she was trying to be sweet on me. “I’m not ‘Adamantine’, I’m Adrian.”

“Oh khippa, it’s just a nickname! Plus, it sounds good on you!” She chirped as though it’s been already decided.

I grunted in response, not having the willpower to argue, when a sudden spasm seized my gut. I doubled over and vomited violently, spraying half-digested scraps and bitter bile onto the dirt. My throat burned, raw and torn. As I wiped my mouth, I noticed stringy fragments of tissue—my own flesh dissolving from within, a gruesome reminder of Dullahan’s necrotic strike. My heart hammered in dread.

A suffocating dread settled over me. I wasn’t just failing physically—I sensed a deeper, darker threat closing in. Then it came: a monstrous peal, like a bell struck backward, bending the very air. Immediately after, a shrieking wail tore through reality, hitting me like a blade of raw agony.

“HEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGHHHHH~!”

The cry speared my mind. My joints locked, sinews snapping taut. My tongue swelled unbearably, suffocating my pleas. I toppled over, helpless. From the corner of my vision, Quen also crumpled, her proud stance reduced to twitching silence. We lay in the dirt, limbs rigid as if bound by invisible chains. Froth oozed from my lips. I could not command even a finger.

Overhead, birds fell lifeless, plummeting like dead leaves. Trees shriveled into ashen husks. Grass and flowers withered to brittle twigs beneath a deathly hush. We hovered between life and oblivion.

Questions rattled in my skull, but no words could form. I only heard measured footsteps crushing dead foliage. Dullahan stepped into view, half-burned flesh and exposed bone visible through gaps in his charred armor. Each ragged breath he drew released pale vapor into the tainted air. His gaze fixed upon us, cold and triumphant.

“Adrian… Quen!” Ichni’s voice trembled but carried. She alone seemed untouched by this crippling curse. “Focus! Resist him!”

“That won’t be necessary… princess.” Dullahan said softly, using the last word as a scathing insult. “My wail can kill all that hear it. Even though I held back, it seems they were still too weak to resist it. I merely hoped to paralyze them!” He chuckled, as though embarrassed that he had overdone it, and pulled out a piece of metal from his side.

“Worry not, Paladin, blacksmith. I acknowledge your strength and do not wish you a grueling, suffering despair.” I heard him say as I bit my tongue down to breathe.

“Use your last breaths to bear witness to what shall be your guillotine. Do not turn away, but revel in the sword that has carved the very annals of all demon history.” As he spoke, he lifted the piece of metal and realized it was a hilt; blackened steel from the pummel to the guard, a black diamond glittered ominously in the center. It felt as dark as the pit of a sealed grave, and I began jerking and twisting as I felt the strongest urge to run, to hide, to escape and live. It was the most carnal fear I’ve felt as he intoned the next words:

“Feast, Shattermourne.”

The world went dark, as though calling its name had stirred it to have eaten the sun, the stars, and the cosmo itself. The sickly blue aura that had once surrounded Dullahan shot out of the hilt, turning into a cosmic blue that writhed and waned. Energy gathered around the dreadknight as a massive spiked spine coiled from behind the remains of Dullahan’s cape, past his arm and up the hilt. The condensed energy shot to the aura and began forming broken pieces of black scrap, glued into place by the cosmic magic that had initially formed the blade.

When it had finished answering Dullahan’s call, the darkness had shifted to a low dusk sky. My eyes grew bloodshot at the fierce beauty of the blade. It was a greatsword that matched the fiery greatsword version of the Aether Blade, but it glowed a beautiful azure blue. Rather than a complete edge, the sword was a series of broken chunks and edges that formed a loose description of a blade, and a bone spine was, well, clinched as the literal backbone of it.

Dullahan tested it with a swift, savage swing. Shattermourne, a dangerous two meters in length already, unfurled like a metal scourge, biting deep into a distant hillside and carving out a jagged trench. Not a sword, but a massive bladed whip—lethal at impossible range.

“Now, do you understand your role?” He said, continuing his hoarse whisper. “You have failed, all of you. Do you see now why I held back? I pitied you. You struggled and flailed, cried and cursed, and I enjoyed it. You served as proof that Ichni should have chosen me. But I do not enjoy this, not anymore. I will not hold back this time. Your fate is to rot here, and your graves will serve to remind future generations what it means to challenge the crown.”

I forced my eyes toward Quen’s still form. Her chest barely rose—if at all. My limbs refused to obey, leaving me helpless and pinned to the earth like a broken doll. Despair gnawed at my mind.

Ichni’s scream wracked the air, a sound of pure heartbreak and horror. The memory of her voice when Onshi took her life’s last hope echoed in that cry. No cunning words, no desperate pleas would save us now. She knew, as I did, that this was our end.

“Ichni, don’t worry about us.” I muttered as I felt the executioner take patient steps towards us. “No matter what. You need to stay strong. I picked a fight we couldn’t win, but I don’t regret saving the townsfolk. I don’t regret saving you. And I don’t regret dying for you.”

Her tears fell on me, and though the wet stains never came, I felt the cold beads as they touched my skin. It was all it took to relax me. I closed my eyes in acceptance. This was the death I wished I had last time. I fought, against impossible odds, looked cool as hell, and then had someone weep that I did my best. This seems right.

But it felt more than tears. Rain began to fall, a cold, unexpected shower that drummed against the charred soil. I blinked in astonishment as a bolt of lightning struck dangerously close to Dullahan, forcing a snarl from his lips.

“You have some nerve interfering with demon affairs, old man.” Dullahan spat, recoiling as raindrops sizzled against his wounded flesh.

Ichni’s voice quavered, “What… what is this?” Quen stirred beside me, coughing weakly.

This is some deus ex machina shit if there’s a “Rain of Resurrection” spell happening. If the gods themselves wanted to spit in my mouth for a second chance though, I’d gladly have accepted it at this point.

As the gentle flow of water bathed me in its embrace, I felt my body crackle from the numbness, and back into the rattling pains I had accrued from the fight. I took a deep gasp, unsure if it would still be my last, and with sweet relief I realized that I could feel my fingers wiggling in the mud. The invisible pins that crucified me to the ground were viciously pulled out, leaving me wincing but mobile.

I realized the rain didn’t heal me fully, but it washed away the lingering paralysis of the wail’s curse. The necrotic rot’s savage bite eased into a tolerable agony. Not salvation, but a reprieve. I exhaled another trembling breath, relieved at even this small mercy. Ichni’s makeshift web patches finally began to make a difference.

Struggling upright, I noticed the rain’s effect on Dullahan—his damaged flesh blistered further, subtle burns marking his once invulnerable facade. He scowled, enraged at this unexpected setback. Another shriek erupted, and I assumed I was about to plop dead again.

But no, I instead flinched from the trauma of the bastard’s previous wail as a high pitched shout churned into a laugh.

“BRUAH-HA-HA-HA!” A girl’s voice shouted. “Hey Adrian, guess what! I killed more hoplops than you, nyeh nyeh!”

As I laid there, humiliated with the mud, an angel stood on a nearby stump that Dullahan had plowed through earlier. As my vision focused, I realized it wasn’t some celestial being, but that blonde haired brat with the bow!

“Serah! Run!” I shouted in panic, pulling myself up and struggling to get Quen to do the same. She lurched and tumbled, her own body hissing, though I realized it was from the heated metal meeting the rain. I saw the bridge, so close, and the river had built up from a peaceful flow to whitewater waves.

“You moron! I’m helping you!” Serah barked, her voice cutting and earnest. ”Gramps didn’t have the heart to let you march off to die, so we’re giving a lending hand as thanks for that money you lent us!” She shouted, as though she was exactly where she wanted to be. Her tone carried fierce resolve, as if risking her life here was no more than a fair exchange for a past debt.

I balked. Her grandpa and her were performing a fucking miracle over one silver coin? I wish I gave her everything I had!

Dullahan’s fury exploded. “You worthless bags of water! I’ll annihilate you so thoroughly your ancestors will weep!” He lashed Shattermourne at her, gouging into the mud. But a bolt of lightning answered him, forcing him back with a blinding flash. He snarled, cursing us all. The storm’s wrath and these unforeseen allies had momentarily halted his killing stroke. “Damn you. Damn all of you!”

I seized the moment, hauling Quen toward the bridge. Ichni hovered close, her face drawn and pale yet resolute. The river’s roar called to us, and we had no time for shock or questions. Only escape mattered now, before Dullahan recovered from his rage and struck again.

As I stepped away, however, the sound came again—an impossible toll of broken bronze. A bell’s echo twisted in reverse, each warped ring clinging to my skin like cold leeches. Before, it had unsettled me; now I realized it beckoned, as if holding out a dreadful gift. Then, without warning, all light vanished.

I found myself alone in a silent, sightless void. Quen’s weight had vanished from my grasp, Ichni’s presence gone as if never existed. Panic coiled in my gut. Where had everyone fled? The darkness pressed close, heavier than any fear I had known. Even the horror of Dullahan’s death-blade paled compared to this suffocating emptiness.

A voice, small and childish, drifted through the gloom: “Do you want to kill him?” It sounded like a younger version of myself, a ghost of innocence long lost. The words rattled me. My gaze darted into the ebony mist, but I saw nothing, only shifting shadows.

“Kill… Dullahan?” I croaked. “We don’t need to. We nearly escaped.” Yet my insistence felt weak and hollow.

“A hero shouldn’t have to flee.” A second voice, motherly and distant, like a lullaby strangled in its cradle. The void was rummaging through my past, dredging up old comfort and twisting it into accusation. “He will never stop hunting you or the princess. He will never grow weary of your suffering.”

“Make him understand your pain,” commanded an old man’s voice, stern and unyielding. “Make him feel it.”

“I’m not that strong,” I whispered, each word cracking with self-doubt.

Another presence spoke, harsh and steady as a seasoned soldier: “You are stronger than you know. We’ve seen it. All of us have.”

More voices joined in a grim chorus, layered echoes pushing into my mind, urging me forward. Their sentiments weighed like chains of iron on my chest. I remembered once standing proud as a hero, before fate ground me into dust. Now I was battered and cornered, made insignificant by monsters and tyrants.

“You are more than they will admit,” the voices insisted, harsh yet comforting. “They are weak for ever doubting you. He will steal all that you cherish. Will you let him?”

“No,” I said, voice a rasp of raw conviction. I refused to yield.

“Then give him reason to regret his blasphemy against the greatest Paladin who ever walked this earth,” they urged, voices weaving into an intoxicating, violent hymn.

A sudden, tearing agony erupted in my chest, as if hooked talons carved runes into my flesh. I bent double, airless lungs heaving soundlessly, nerves screaming in protest. The pain felt like ritualistic torture, each slash of invisible claws engraving fury and vengeance into my bones. A branding pain burnt into my back, leaving me to shriek in terror.

“Give him… retribution,” a voice commanded.

My arms contorted, bones snapping and resetting at cruel angles. I shuddered, lost in searing anguish.

“Give him… agony.”

I retched black bile—vile, stinking fluid pouring from a body I barely recognized.

“Give him… despair.”

My muscles tore and reknit, transforming under relentless, unseen force. Tightening beyond nature’s limit, they pulsed with savage intent.

“Give. Him. Death.”

I tried to scream again, but realized too late I had no mouth, no eyes—just raw awareness trapped in darkness. Smothered in despair, yet brimming with an infernal wrath, I sensed him clearly. Dullahan existed somewhere beyond this void, his cruelty a beacon I could trace without sight. To break him, to deliver every ounce of suffering he poured into me, would free me from this nightmare.

I owed him pain. I owed him every shattered piece of my soul that he dared to mock.

So I would give him everything.

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— Ichni —

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We were so close. I could almost feel the relief of crossing into safety. The ground beneath us had turned into a sodden path of churned soil and stagnant water, every step for Adrian a struggle through mud and debris. Ahead, the bridge stood as a faint promise of escape.

In the distance, that infuriating archer—Serah—loosed arrow after arrow of freezing ice. Each time, Dullahan swung that hideous segmented blade to shatter the projectiles. Frost clung to his weapon’s twisted segments, hindering its movement, if only slightly. Above, her old grandfather conjured lightning from some unknown vantage, each bolt forcing Dullahan to shift. It was a small advantage, but enough to buy us a moment to press forward.

“You can do it, Addy,” I said flatly, placing a trembling hand on Adrian’s back as he hauled Quen’s battered form behind us. Quen might be a volatile mess at times, but she was the first to charge to our aid when we were cornered. I owed her more than I could express in this hellish moment.

But then I noticed Quen slipping from Adrian’s hold, collapsing face-first into the filth. Rain pelted her broken armor, blood and muck smearing her wounds. She barely drew breath, yet Adrian let her drop as if discarding refuse.

My heart tightened with fury. “You murakka,” I hissed, spinning in front of Adrian to confront him. “You’re not leaving your ally behind, got it? Quen saved our sorry hides—” My words cut short when I truly looked at Adrian’s face. His eyes, once warm golden hues, were now red set against black sclera, darting in frantic patterns. I felt dread coil in my stomach.

Without warning, his upper body twisted at an impossible angle, bones cracking in a nauseating chorus. My stomach lurched at the sight of his knees bending unnaturally, his entire frame rearranging itself with bone-deep snaps. He moved like a grotesque puppet guided by a vile hand.

“Adrian, you’re hurting yourself! We have to—” I began, only for him to seize my throat. The shock of it wrenched a choked gasp from me. As a spirit, I was untouchable to most, but now I felt his hand crushing not just my form, but my soul. A black, crystalline ooze encased his arm, pressing into my essence, as if to obliterate me entirely. His face was no longer human, encased in dark, bark-like growth, leaving only those hate-filled, agonized eyes.

“A-Adrian,” I managed, voice rasping, “you’re… hurting me.” One of his feverish eyes snapped to focus on me.

“S…sorry,” a muffled voice emerged behind that black mask. In an instant, he released me, as well as my prized gemmed gauntlet sloughing off into the mud. As the black ichor returned to surround his hand, I saw it was bruised and broken, like a broken toy being wrapped as a sadistic gift. He then turned away, darting toward Dullahan with a jerking, spasmodic sprint.

“Adrian!” I screamed, voice trembling with shock and betrayal. He’d nearly crushed me, then discarded me the next second. I stood there, shaken to my core. What the hell had he become?

From where I stood, I saw the Aether Blade crackling near him, as if tainted by the horrors twisting his body. Adrian’s spine erupted into sickly green flames, the sword shifting into something furious and vile. An emerald rune glowed against his flesh, its searing radiance filled with malice. This was the fel Element—demonic essence made physical, a force I’d been warned about long ago. It turned heroic strength into predatory hate.

A charred black chain emerged from Adrian’s new demon flesh, barbed and vicious, topped by a spiked orb that radiated cruelty. He swung it, the effort shredding his own arm, blood spattering into the mire. He attacked Dullahan before the dreadknight could fully react. The chain-head punched a hole through Dullahan’s chest in a burst of gore, and Adrian wrenched it sideways, ripping out flesh and armor in a hideous display that even forced Serah into shocked silence.

I watched several of Adrian’s fingers tumble off, his own body paying the price for this savage power. Horror and heartbreak seized me. “ADRIAN, NO! STOP!” I howled, lurching forward to intervene. I tried to grab him, to restrain him, but with the gauntlet chaining my distance I stumbled uselessly into the mud, reliving that awful helplessness from the day of my own death. My efforts meant nothing against his monstrous fury.

In the background, Serah attempted to freeze Adrian’s foot to halt his frenzy. He simply mutilated himself further, hacking off his own limb to break free. The sight of him willingly dismembering himself to continue the slaughter twisted my stomach into knots.

My scream tore from my throat: “You fucking murakka, snap out of it! It’s not worth dying—” My voice cracked as I realized he was too far gone in this madness. Each wound he inflicted on himself only fueled his destructive rampage. He had become a nightmare given flesh.

Quen, wounded but unbroken, dragged herself closer. Her voice was low and rough with pain: “What in the bloody pit is that fool doin’? He’s lost ’is damn mind.” She scooped up my gauntlet, clenching it between her teeth as she tried to stand. I hovered near her, frantic and sick at what I witnessed. “He’s using the fel Element for the sword,” I groaned, tears burning at my eyes. “He’s channelin’ raw demon hatred, and it’s ripping him apart!”

Quen nodded, grim and determined. “Then we yank ’im back,” she said simply, voice trembling but resolute.

“C-can we?” I pleaded with uncertainty. “N-no, we can. We have to. We will!”

She forced herself into a stumbling run, ignoring her own agony. Together, we rushed Adrian as he and Dullahan tore into each other, flesh and metal, blood and sparks. Even Serah got clipped by their lethal dance.

A sudden bolt of lightning struck Adrian, coursing through his mangled frame. Instead of collapsing, he forged onward, stitched together by rage and foul magic, trailing pieces of himself across the field.

I wanted to vomit, to scream at him until my throat bled. I couldn’t do any of those things, of course, but I knew I could save him from doing this. He promised me that we’d see this through, together. I’m not letting his fucking ego break that oath!

Yet, I never imagined he’d become something so appalling, so lost in pain and wrath. He looked hideous before, sure, but it was all in jest. Here, he was the monster he hated so much in the mirror.

Quen lunged onto Adrian’s back, forcing him off balance. He twisted and flailed, limbs contorting anew, shrieking in wordless fury. She fought to strip him of that horrid mask. With a guttural snarl, she ripped it free, shards of black resin flying. At that instant, Adrian gasped, his body collapsing as if freed from a terrible weight. The fel-driven weapon slumped back into its normal sword form, the flames sputtering out. Those red-on-black eyes faded to his normal gaze, filled now with shock and torment.

Seeing his chance, Dullahan tried to rally for a killing blow, but Serah intervened with a barrage of ice, entombing part of the dreadknight’s armor. Her own face twisted with pain, blood trickling from a wound on her side. “Get that moron and run!” she yelled, voice ragged. “He owes me more than a silver for this crap!”

With Dullahan cursing us all, Quen and I dragged Adrian’s maimed body away. I shot a final glance at Dullahan’s face contorted in something akin to disgust and alarm. Let him remember this day. Let him remember who faced him down and survived. Quen stooped low, trembling hands gathering the fragments of Adrian’s body scattered in the sludge. Her face was contorted with rage and sorrow, her breath ragged. I gritted my teeth, trying to steady myself. I refused to accept that this broken creature before me was the same partner who once guarded me so fiercely.

“Adrian, you’re worth more than that! I can’t believe you!” I hissed through clenched teeth, voice cracking with despair. “You can’t be sacrificing everything just because it felt right! You don’t ever leave me behind like that, NEVER!” My voice wavered as I pressed my trembling fingers to what remained of his face, trying to anchor him to reality. His eyes were dull, unfocused, trapped in some private nightmare.

He murmured, voice distant and hollow: “Did he… feel my… pain…?”

A violent shudder passed through me. I tightened my grip, furious and heartbroken. “Not as much as I did, Addy. I felt every tremor of your agony. No more,” I managed, throat raw. “No more pain. Not today.”

I forced a pained frown, tears threatening but never falling, as we dragged what was left of my knight onward, step by agonizing step, fleeing a battlefield drenched in torment and cruel legacy. We carried his wounds and ours together, a grim burden toward uncertain refuge.

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— Adrian —

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Everything that followed fell like a twisted fever dream. I stumbled through a haze of memories as if I’d gone on a drunken bender of raw power, and now I was nursing the mother of all hangovers. My body felt hollowed out, stuffed full of regrets and half-remembered horrors. The aftermath of my rampage weighed heavily on me, but I could barely hold a coherent thought long enough to measure my remorse.

Ichni and Quen half-dragged, half-carried me across a sagging wooden bridge while Dullahan stood literally half frozen in the distance, hurling curses like rotten fruit at a festival. Quen took my sword—thankfully not a hellish death chain— and slashed at the bridge’s ropes. Meanwhile, Ichni offered Dullahan her own eloquent farewell: a double display of raised fingers that needed no translation. The bridge groaned as the last of the supports were cut apart, then succumbed to the river’s raging current, splitting away and leaving Dullahan stranded on the opposite bank. Good riddance, at least for now.

Out of breath and pale with fury, Quen shoved me against a tree trunk, safe-ish from the rain’s worst. She knelt beside me and began reassembling me like a butcher trying to reverse her trade. Each gooey lump of my flesh she pressed into place made my stomach churn. I didn’t dare look too closely at where body parts were meant to go. I’d had enough nightmares for one day, thanks.

Ichni set to work, spitting webs over my… pieces. Let’s just say I never imagined being mummified in sticky threads of healing. Still, I was grateful for her patchwork. Considering what I’d just done—nearly shredding myself along with Dullahan—I probably deserved to come out looking like some undead jigsaw puzzle. By now, the pain barely registered as pain. It was more like a distant alarm, one that had rung so long I’d grown used to it. Maybe that’s what kept me conscious, or maybe it was sheer stubbornness.

Eventually, Quen collapsed, too spent to manage another breath, her iron will finally hitting its limit. I wanted to thank her, but my mouth refused to form words. Ichni wove the final strands of webbing around me and the tree, securing me upright like a grotesque scarecrow. At least I wouldn’t topple over if I passed out.

From somewhere across the river, Serah’s voice called out, delivering some snarky message to Dullahan. Something about showers and rotten kingdoms. I tried to focus, but my vision swam. One second Serah was there, the next she vanished into the torrential waters. Typical. She came and went like a strange little thunderstorm, always making such a big fuss and then peacing out.

As I swayed in and out of consciousness, details blurred. The rain eased, sunlight poking through ragged clouds. Dullahan pried himself free from ice and exhaustion, slumping on his side of the bank, licking his wounds in silence. Quen dozed nearby, sinking partway into the muddy grass. And Ichni—Ichni perched on my lap, of all places, as if daring me to snap again. She watched me with narrowed eyes, equal parts wary and concerned. When I managed a faint, apologetic smile, she huffed, cheeks coloring in frustration. But she stayed put, not retreating into the gauntlet.

I caught snatches of her muttering. No doubt she planned a grand lecture for when I recovered. Strangely enough, I welcomed it. After everything, her anger and insults would be a comfort—a reminder that we were alive, that life went on. And with that fragile hope nudging me, I let darkness pull me under, surrendering to the promise of rest.