As the massive eagle-shaped ruin loomed ahead, casting long shadows over the desert sand, Silas set his eyes on the dilapidated structure. He unclasped his bow from his back, gently laying it on the ground along with his quiver of arrows. “I’ll do some aerial surveillance,” he said, calm but focused. “We need to get a view of the guards.”
Dean gave a nod, his sharp gaze lingering on the structure. “Alright, make sure to stay out of sight. No need to alert them before we’re ready.”
Silas turned to Breeze, the wind spirit forming beside him in a swirl of soft gusts. “Let’s go,” he whispered. The wind gathered beneath him in an instant, and he shot into the air, rising swiftly behind a large sand dune where it would be difficult to spot them. From there, he had a clear view of the ruins, but the guards stationed around it were barely visible from the ground.
As Breeze held him steady mid-air, Silas scanned the area with a careful eye. There were four guards in total, divided into two pairs. One pair lingered at the back of the ruin, lounging against the stone wall, chatting idly as if they didn’t expect any trouble. The other pair was posted at the front, similarly relaxed, their weapons resting lazily against the ruin’s stone facade.
Silas noted the positions and mentally mapped out the best approach. Satisfied with the intel, he directed Breeze to lower him back down behind the dunes, where the others waited.
As his feet touched the ground, Silas rejoined the group, relaying the information quickly. “Four guards—two in the back, two at the front. They’re not expecting an attack. They’re just sitting around, talking.”
Dean crossed his arms, contemplating for a moment. “It’d be best if we take them out quietly from a distance, all at once, to avoid raising any alarms. You up for that?”
Silas nodded, his hand brushing over his bow. Another Tier One Soulweaver, a man with dark hair and a grim expression who had also brought a bow, stepped forward. “We’ll handle it,” the Soulweaver said in agreement, his tone clipped and efficient.
Silas and the Soulweaver moved toward the back of the ruin without further delay, using the sand dunes for cover. Once they were in position, the Soulweaver placed his hand on Silas’s arm, channelling spirit energy into both of them. Silas felt a surge of power ripple through his muscles as the Spirit Infusion took hold, enhancing their physical strength and precision.
They crouched in the shadows, arrows nocked, eyes locked on the unsuspecting guards ahead. Silas whispered, “You take the one on the left; I’ll take the right.” The Soulweaver gave a slight nod in return.
With practised ease, they both drew their bows in perfect synchrony. Silas steadied his breathing, focusing on the guard’s neck beneath the helmet, where the flesh was exposed. He loosed his arrow at the exact moment the Soulweaver did. The two arrows flew silently through the night air, piercing their targets with lethal precision. The guards slumped to the ground, dead, without making a sound.
Silas lowered his bow and signalled to the Soulweaver to move. They repeated the process at the front of the ruin, positioning themselves carefully behind the cover of crumbling stone pillars. Once again, their arrows struck true, and the front guards fell with barely a whisper, their bodies crumpling into the sand.
With the area secure, the rest of the group regrouped with them at the front entrance of the ruin. Dean’s expression was stoic but approving. “Good. Now we split up,” he said, his tone commanding as he laid out the plan. “Danny and Cudgel, you guys stay here at the front. If anyone tries to escape, kill them.”
The two Soulweavers who had remained silent up to this point nodded and took up their positions, weapons ready.
Dean turned to Silas. “We’ll take the front. Keep your eyes peeled for anything that moves.”
Silas nodded in agreement. His senses were heightened, the adrenaline beginning to pulse through him as the real mission was about to begin. Dean then looked to Luther, who was already strapping his short sword to his back. “Luther, you go to the back with Krave take this guy as well," he pointed at the captured slaver. Keep anyone from slipping through. Rowan and Layla, you two are heading inside from the back.”
Rowan and Layla exchanged glances, a flicker of understanding passing between them. Layla adjusted the morningstar in her hands while Rowan readied his blade. “Understood,” Rowan said, his voice steady.
“Let’s move,” Dean ordered, his tone sharp and brisk.
With a silent nod from everyone, the team split up. Dean and Silas made their way through the ruin’s crumbling front entrance while Luther, Rowan, and Layla circled around to the back. Luther and his Soulweaver partner took their positions, guarding the exit in case anyone tried to flee.
Rowan and Layla stepped inside the ancient ruin, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. The air inside was thick and heavy, scenting dust and old stone. Darkness loomed ahead, but they pressed forward, weapons drawn and senses alert.
☪︎ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･❂
Rowan and Layla moved cautiously through the dimly lit corridors of the ruin, the oppressive air growing thicker as they ventured deeper. The stale scent of sand and blood clung to the ancient stone walls, and their footfalls echoed softly against the rough floor. Every muscle in Rowan’s body was tense, his senses alert, while Layla’s grip tightened on her morningstar, the weapon swinging slightly as they moved.
The further they went, the clearer the voices became. The faint, muffled sound of a woman screaming reached their ears, followed by a low conversation between two men. Rowan signalled Layla to slow down, their approach now even more deliberate as they strained to make out the words.
One of the voices, rough and nervous, spoke first, “Hey… are you sure about this? We shouldn’t… we could get in trouble.”
A deeper, more callous voice responded with a snort. “The soulweavers do it all the time. It doesn’t harm the products. You’re just too squeamish.”
The first man hesitated. “But…”
The second man laughed cruelly. “Relax. The boss breaks ’em completely before selling. He tastes every single one of them. What we do won’t make a difference.”
There was a brief silence, and then the first man muttered, “Fine. Let’s do it.”
Rowan felt his blood turn cold as he heard the sound of rustling clothing. His fingers clenched the hilt of his sword tighter. Layla’s eyes darkened, her expression set in brutal, cold fury. They continued to creep forward, following the voices until they peered around a corner and saw the men.
One had stripped off his trousers, his back to them, while the other had already begun pulling at the woman’s clothes, licking her face as she screamed into the gag, tears streaming down her cheeks. She writhed helplessly, her arms bound behind her back, her muffled screams laced with terror and pain.
The sight ignited something primal in Rowan and Layla. Without a word, they stepped out from the shadows, casting their Soulweaver techniques.
“Soul Bind,” they both whispered in unison.
The two guards froze in place instantly, their bodies locked by the invisible chains of spirit magic. Their eyes widened in panic as they realised they were completely immobilised. They couldn’t move or speak, only watch in horror as Rowan and Layla approached.
Layla knelt beside the woman, gently touching her shoulder. “We’re here to help,” she whispered. “Get her out, Rowan. This isn’t something you need to see.”
Rowan hesitated for a moment, his eyes meeting Layla’s. He understood the unspoken message in her gaze—the hatred burning inside her was something he wasn’t meant to witness. He gave a brief nod, then gently lifted the woman, untying her binds and leading her out of the room. She clung to him, sobbing quietly into his chest as they disappeared down the corridor.
Layla turned back to the paralyzed guards, her face void of expression as she drew her morningstar from her belt. Its spiked head gleamed in the dim light, and she stepped closer to the first man, who stood there frozen, his pants around his ankles, his eyes bulging in fear. The Soul Bind rendered him silent, but his face contorted in agony in anticipation of what was to come.
Layla’s breath hitched as her morningstar crashed between his legs, a mix of rage and satisfaction settling in her chest at the muffled squelch. She wanted him to feel every bit of pain, to understand the terror he’d inflicted.His body spasmed violently as he fell down, but no sound escaped his lips. Blood poured ceaselessly from his crotch, but his wide shot eyes and squirming body were the only indicators of his unbearable agony.
Layla’s voice was low, almost a whisper, as she crouched down beside him. “Can you feel it? The fear, the helplessness… everything your victims felt before you violated them?”
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
She moved to the second guard, who had tried stripping the woman, and repeated the brutal action. The man’s body convulsed, his mouth hanging open in a silent scream, his eyes rolling back in his head from the unbearable pain. Blood soaked the floor beneath their bodies as Layla methodically shattered their bones, her movements slow and deliberate, her breathing calm despite the carnage.
When the deed was done, Layla stood, breathing hard, her morningstar dripping with blood. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, leaving streaks of crimson across her cheek. She glanced down at the broken men, their faces frozen in silent, agonised expressions, even in death. Then she turned and walked out.
Outside, Rowan was waiting. He looked at her—at the blood staining her clothes and her hands, at the coldness in her eyes—and without a word, he pulled her into a hug. Layla stood stiffly for a moment, but then her body relaxed into his embrace. They didn’t speak. There was no need. Rowan could already tell what had happened inside.
They turned back to the woman, who had calmed down but still shook with fear. “Where are the others being held?” Layla asked gently.
The woman, still trembling, pointed deeper into the ruin. “They’re… they’re in a room further in… guarded by two men. Please… save them.”
Rowan and Layla exchanged glances, his grip tightening around his sword while she shifted her stance. He gave her a quick nod. “We’ll get them out,” he murmured, his voice steady but low. “You should slip out the back, and keep quiet.”
The woman nodded and quietly started walking towards the exit on the backside.
With a shared glance, they moved deeper into the ruin, their pace quickening. Faint echoes of a brutal struggle reached them—Silas and Dean’s battle raging on somewhere beyond the stone walls. The shouts, the clash of steel, and the thud of bodies hitting the ground could be heard.
At last, they reached a large chamber guarded by two men. One of them slapped a gagged woman who had been crying, telling her to shut up as she flinched away in terror.
The other one also glanced back saying, “What the fuck is happening tonight? Who is attacking us?” Their distraction was all Rowan and Layla needed.
In one fluid motion, they sprang from the shadows. Rowan’s blade sliced through the air, cleanly severing the first man’s throat before he even had time to react. Layla’s morningstar crashed into the second man’s skull with a wet crunch, his body crumpling instantly to the ground.
The captives—six women and a man, all bound and gagged—looked up in shock as Rowan and Layla began freeing them. They worked quickly, untying the ropes and pulling the gags away.
“Is this all of you?” Layla asked, her voice steady but still filled with urgency.
The captives nodded, their faces pale and exhausted. “Yes… this is all of us.”
Rowan and Layla helped them to their feet. “Go out through the back,” Rowan instructed. “There are friends of ours waiting for you there. You’ll be safe.”
Still trembling but desperate for freedom, the captives nodded and did as they were told, moving silently toward the exit.
Once the captives were safely on their way, Rowan and Layla exchanged a brief look, then pressed onward into the ruin. As they moved, the sound of combat grew louder. They could hear the unmistakable clash of steel and the shouts of men fighting for their lives. Somewhere ahead, Silas and Dean were in the thick of battle.
They rushed forward, the sounds of clashing steel and magic growing louder as they neared Silas and Dean’s battle. The stench of blood filled the air, mingling with the sharp tang of burnt flesh and stone. When they rounded the corner, they were met with a chaotic scene. Two guards lay dead, their armour crumpled and scorched. Silas and Dean were locked in combat with two more guards, both clad in heavy armour and wielding axes, while two Soulweavers in dark robes hovered behind, manipulating spiritual forces.
Ebonheart glowed faintly with fiery runes as Silas spun toward one of the guards, slashing through his chest plate and sending a burst of flame across his body. The guard screamed, stumbling back, but Silas pressed his advantage, delivering a swift thrust through the man’s throat.
Dean fought ruthlessly, his sword sliced through the guard’s defences. Each blow chipped away at the man’s strength until, with one final, brutal strike, he crumpled to the ground in a heap of blood and flesh.
The two Soulweavers opposing them were weaving their energy into defensive barriers and attacks. One of them, a short-haired woman, extended her hand and shouted, “Soul Bind!” Silas staggered as invisible chains wrapped around him, his movements sluggish, the weight of his own soul dragging him down. The second Soulweaver, a tall man wielding a mace, infused it with ethereal energy, the weapon glowing with the essence of a Spirit Infusion and charged forward.
Rowan didn’t hesitate. His muscles tensed, and his heart pounded in his ears. “I’ll create an opening for you.” he whispered to Layla, who nodded and cast a Spirit Infusion on herself.
Rowan surged into the fray, his body igniting with his own Soul Infusion, granting him greater physical strength. The woman Soulweaver turned just in time to see him coming, but Rowan was faster, driving his sword down toward her. She raised her hand again, “Soul Bind!” she cried, attempting to lock him in place as she had done to Silas.
But Rowan had anticipated it. The sensation of the Soul Bind’s chains wrapping around him was familiar now. Gritting his teeth, he pushed through, sheer will and the strength of his own soul breaking the hold enough to keep moving. His blade crashed against her hastily raised arm, forcing her to stagger back.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he growled as he pressed the attack, his sword clashing against her defences, the ethereal glow of her weapon weakening with each strike. He knew they had to end it before she could recover.
Layla’s eyes burned with fury at the mere fact that there was a woman involved in the slave trade, completely blind and deaf to the suffering the captured women were enduring. She swung her morningstar, the chain slinging through the air. The spiked ball crashed into the Soulweaver’s side with a sickening crunch, shattering her ribs under the impact.
Dean took this opportunity to stab her in her lower abdomen and end her misery along with her life.
The second Soulweaver, seeing his comrade fall, snarled and raised both hands. He summoned a swirling mass of energy and hurled it at Rowan. The air rippled as the attack flew forward, aiming to distort Rowan’s soul and disorient him. But Rowan moved swiftly, sidestepping the attack.
“Not today,” Rowan muttered under his breath, casting Minor Soul Disruption in return. The Soulweaver flinched, his concentration faltering as a sharp pain shot through his spirit.
Silas, now freed from the binding chains, lunged forward, Ebonheart gleaming as he drove it into the distracted Soulweaver’s gut. The man gasped, blood pouring from his mouth as Silas twisted the blade and yanked it free. The Soulweaver collapsed, clutching his stomach as his soul began to dissipate.
Layla glanced toward the dead Soulweavers, her face grim. “Is that all of them?” she asked, her voice steady despite the carnage around them.
Dean nodded, wiping his blade clean on the fallen guard’s cloak. “Looks like it.”
Silas couldn’t help but remark, “Looks like the information was correct, just two Tier One Soulweavers.”
Rowan said, “Let’s go, we’ve freed the captives and they’ve run out through the back.”
The group exited through the back of the ruin, the dim light of the moon casting long shadows on the slightly warm sand. Silas, Rowan, Layla, and Dean were met by Luther, leaning against the wall with a look of exaggerated boredom. His sword, though unsheathed, was free of blood, as was Krave standing quietly by his side. The captives, a ragged group of primarily young women, huddled nearby, their eyes filled with a mix of relief and fear. Some had makeshift weapons in their hands, while others clung to each other for support.
“Took you long enough,” Luther grumbled, sheathing his sword with a dramatic sigh. “You couldn’t leave a single one for me? Not even a straggler?” He glanced at Krave, standing beside him, who simply shrugged, indifferent to the complaint.
Rowan cracked a grin as he wiped the blood from his blade. “Sorry, brother. They were eager to meet us. Better luck next time.”
Luther groaned. “Not even a chase, huh? Guess I shouldn’t have expected much from this lot.”
Dean stepped forward, his gaze flicking to the captives. “Anyone try to escape?”
Luther shook his head. “No one. A bit of a letdown, really.” His eyes gleamed, betraying his eagerness for combat.
The group then brought the captives back to the caravan, which was a relatively safer spot than the ruin itself, as the scent of blood there could attract some unwanted beasts.
Dean walked toward the captives. “You’re safe now, but we don’t know what’s waiting for us at the slavers’ main base. Stay here, out of sight. We’ve left some food and water in the caravan, and we’ll be back once the main camp is taken care of.”
One of the captives, a young girl who looked barely out of her teens, stepped forward, clearly shaken. “What if they come back while you’re gone? We don’t have any weapons...”
Luther looked at Dean, who nodded. “We’ve thought of that. We brought extra weapons,” Dean said, pulling a bundle of swords and axes from the cart. He handed them out, one by one. “They might not be much, but you can defend yourselves if something happens.”
The captives exchanged uncertain glances before nodding, hands trembling as they accepted the weapons. Fear still lingered in their eyes, but a flicker of hope burned beneath the surface. Some clutched the blades awkwardly, while others held them with a determination that belied their exhaustion.
Layla added, her voice gentle but firm, “You just need to hold out until we return. Stay together, don’t take unnecessary risks, and you’ll be fine.”
Once the captives were armed, one of them couldn't help but turn to the bloodied slaver. His arms and legs were twisted at unnatural angles, broken from the earlier confrontation, and his body was a mess of dried blood and bruises. The woman recoiled, fear gripping her face as she saw him tied and writhing in pain.
“He won’t be causing any trouble,” Rowan said, stepping forward calmly but reassuringly. “We made sure of that.”
The captives’ gazes flickered between Rowan and the slaver, anxiety still evident but tempered by Rowan’s words. Slowly, they seemed to accept the reality of their situation, though the sight of the slaver’s twisted form lingered in their minds like a shadow.
Silas's voice broke the tension. He turned to the other slaver, who was still bound. The man winced under the intensity of Silas’s gaze. “You’re going to guide us to your main base. Any tricks, and we’ll know.”
The slaver, his face pale, nodded quickly. “I’ll do whatever you say, just… just don’t kill me.”
Rowan grabbed the slaver by the collar, snarling under his breath. “Lead the way, and don’t make me regret sparing you."
Sensing the weight of their gazes, the slaver swallowed hard and quickened his pace, leading them toward the heart of their operations.