Vigdis felt the weight of countless eyes on her as she trudged out of the raider king’s domain. The barren landscape stretched before her, broken only by jagged rock formations and patches of dead vegetation. Each step was a reminder of her victory, but the tension in her shoulders didn’t ease. The raiders might have promised her safe passage, but promises in this wasteland held little value.
She gripped her axe tightly, her muscles coiled as if ready for an ambush. The raider king had kept his word, but she knew better than to assume she wasn’t being watched. The feeling of unseen eyes burned into her back as she moved further into the untamed expanse.
When the terrain began to change, Vigdis allowed herself to relax—slightly. The dry, cracked earth gave way to patches of stubborn grass and low bushes. The air smelled faintly of dampness, a stark contrast to the acrid smoke and decay that clung to the raider camp. But the silhouettes of broken towers and skeletal trees on the horizon were a sobering reminder of the world’s state. It wasn’t safe—nowhere was—but it felt far enough.
She paused near a small cluster of bushes, scanning the area. The ground was uneven, dotted with scattered stones and tufts of grass that swayed gently in the faint breeze. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make camp for the night. Satisfied, she set her axe within arm’s reach and lowered herself to the ground.
Her breathing slowed as she leaned against a rock, the ache in her muscles finally catching up with her. The adrenaline that had carried her out of the raider lands drained away, leaving a dull exhaustion in its wake. She adjusted her position, her back to the wind, and allowed herself a brief moment of stillness.
The wasteland stretched out around her, quiet but alive in its own way. Somewhere far off, the faint howl of some creature echoed, but it didn’t faze her. She closed her eyes briefly, letting the cool breeze carry away the tension that had clung to her since the arena.
Tomorrow would bring more trials, more steps toward the unknown. For now, she was alone, the stars obscured by the murky haze of the sky above. And for now, that was enough.
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The night was calm, a deceptive stillness blanketing the wasteland as Vigdis dozed against a cluster of rocks. The faint rustling of bushes and the distant howl of a creature punctuated the otherwise quiet air. Her axe rested beside her, its edge glinting faintly in the dim moonlight.
“Wake up, lass,” a rich, lilting voice interrupted the quiet, its tone urgent but tinged with charm. “That murder-tree’s after us again.”
Vigdis jolted awake, her hand instinctively reaching for her weapon. The voice struck a chord of recognition in her mind—a voice she’d heard twice before, cutting through the chaos of battle. Her heart pounded as she scanned the darkness. “You,” she said sharply. “It’s you. The one who helped me.”
“Aye, that’d be me,” the voice replied, unbothered. “And you’re welcome, by the way.”
“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice low and sharp. “Where are you?”
“Behind you,” the voice replied, with a touch of exasperation.
Vigdis spun, gripping the axe tightly, her eyes darting to the shadows behind her. The barren landscape revealed nothing but the jagged silhouettes of rocks and bushes. Her grip tightened. “Show yourself.”
“I am,” the voice replied, with a hint of humor now. “In front of you.”
Her eyes narrowed as she turned back, her gaze sweeping the empty space ahead of her. “What kind of trick is this?”
“Not much of one, lass, if it’s fooling you this badly,” the voice quipped. “Lower. Aye, that’s it. A bit more. Aye, there.”
Her eyes fell to the axe in her hands. The voice chuckled warmly. “Ta-da!”
Vigdis blinked, staring at the weapon. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Not in the slightest,” the voice answered, clear now, as though emanating from the axe itself. “Sir Patrick O’Malley, at your service. Though I fear I’ve been reduced to a bit of an ornament these days.”
Her grip slackened slightly, her eyes narrowing as she examined the blade. “You’re... the axe?”
“The spirit in it,” Sir Patrick corrected. “Tied to it since my heroic demise, if you’ll pardon the boast. Yellow Ford, 1598. A glorious Irish victory, if I may say so.”
Vigdis snorted, a mix of disbelief and irritation creeping into her tone. “And now you’re what? My spirit guide?”
Patrick’s laugh was rich and unbothered. “Guide, guardian, companion. Take your pick. I’ve been a quiet observer of your fine work for some time, lass, and I must say, you’re quite the wielder. But now’s not the time for pleasantries.”
Her grip on the axe tightened again. “Why now? Why reveal yourself?”
“Because,” Patrick began, his tone light but with an edge of sincerity, “before you, this axe passed from hand to hand like a cursed coin. Owners came and went faster than a fox at a henhouse. There was no point in introductions.”
He paused, and his tone shifted to urgency. “But that bloody murder-tree’s coming now, and I’d rather not have my fate tied to its roots. So, shall we get moving?”
Vigdis exhaled sharply, a sardonic smile tugging at her lips. “This is just great.”
“Aye, that it is,” Patrick replied, his tone chipper. “Now, up you go. We’ve a tree to outrun.”
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Vigdis stood in the faint predawn light, the distant silhouettes of jagged ruins and skeletal trees just beginning to take shape against the horizon. The wind shifted, carrying a deep, resonant vibration that she felt in her chest before she heard it. A tremor rippled through the ground, faint but unmistakable.
Her muscles tensed, her grip on the axe tightening instinctively. “I know that sound,” she muttered under her breath, turning slowly to scan the horizon.
“Aye, you should,” Patrick’s voice chimed from the axe, his usual lightness tinged with wariness. “It’s got a fondness for you, lass. That murder-tree’s not one to let go of a grudge.”
The tremors grew louder, the ground beneath her boots shifting in uneven pulses. Dust rose in lazy plumes from the cracked earth, and distant trees swayed unnaturally, their skeletal branches creaking.
Vigdis took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing. “Where?”
“Patience,” Patrick said, his tone both warning and amused. “It’s in no rush. It knows you’ll see it soon enough.”
She braced herself as the vibrations crescendoed into a bone-rattling quake. Then she saw it.
The Hollow King emerged from the horizon with an almost deliberate slowness, its massive form towering over the ruined landscape. It moved unnaturally, its gnarled trunk and roots writhing like a nest of serpents. Massive limbs, twisted and blackened, cracked against the air as it dragged itself forward. The ground seemed to warp and crack beneath it, the creature’s sheer presence an affront to the world around it.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Roots or tentacles—Vigdis wasn’t sure what to call them—snaked along the ground ahead of it, searching. They were different now, armored with hardened bark and glistening with a slick, sap-like substance. The scars of their previous encounters were still visible on its twisted trunk, though they seemed to pulse faintly, as if healing.
“It’s changed,” Vigdis muttered, her eyes darting over its shifting form.
“Aye, lass,” Patrick replied, his tone grim but steady. “That’s what it does. It learns. You hack it, it hardens. You burn it, it thickens. Every fight, it gets harder to kill. A clever wee bastard, I’ll give it that.”
Vigdis smirked faintly, though her heart pounded in her chest. “Clever, huh? Let’s see how clever it is when I bury this axe in it.”
Patrick laughed, a rich, rolling sound that cut through the tension. “I like your spirit, lass. But you’ll need more than steel this time.”
She shifted her stance, rolling her shoulders as she adjusted her grip on the axe. “Then it’s a good thing I’m stubborn.”
The Hollow King loomed closer, its massive roots tearing into the ground with every step. The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of sap and decay. Vigdis felt the first raindrops hit her face, the storm that had been gathering on the horizon finally breaking. A low rumble of thunder echoed across the wasteland, almost mocking the tremors of the creature itself.
She grinned, the faintest spark of an idea forming in her mind. “You said it learns,” she called out to Patrick, her voice steady despite the tension in her muscles. “Let’s see if it can outthink the sky.”
Patrick chuckled darkly. “Now that’s the kind of thinking I can get behind.”
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The Hollow King loomed over Vigdis, its gnarled trunk twisting unnaturally as its roots coiled and writhed like serpents. The air was thick with the acrid scent of sap and decay, and the storm clouds above churned ominously. Lightning flashed in the distance, briefly illuminating the grotesque figure before her. Its glowing antlers and fungal growths pulsed faintly, as if mocking her.
Patrick’s voice broke the tension, a grim humor laced through his words. “This won’t be pretty, lass. It’s learned. Every swing you land, it’ll have an answer.”
“Then I just won’t miss,” Vigdis muttered, tightening her grip on the axe.
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The Hollow King struck first, its massive roots surging forward with terrifying speed. Vigdis barely dodged, the ground where she stood a second earlier erupting into splinters and soil. She swung her axe in a wide arc, severing one of the roots, only to watch in frustration as another root surged from the trunk to replace it.
“It heals faster now,” Patrick noted grimly. “And look at that bark. Hardened like armor. You’ll need to aim for the softer spots—fungal patches, joints, or cracks.”
Vigdis grunted, darting to the side as another root lashed toward her like a whip. The impact sent a spray of debris into the air, scratching her face and arms. She pushed forward, planting her boots firmly in the ground as she swung the axe with all her might. The blade bit into one of the Hollow King’s fungal growths, releasing a burst of sickly-green sap. The creature recoiled briefly, its roots flailing wildly.
The reprieve was short-lived. The Hollow King lashed out again, its roots converging toward her in a coordinated attack. One root clipped her side, sending her sprawling to the ground. Pain flared along her ribs, and she gasped as she rolled to her feet, clutching the axe tightly.
“Aye, that’ll leave a mark,” Patrick quipped. “But you’re still standing, lass. Keep moving.”
Vigdis growled, her vision narrowing as she focused on the creature’s movements. She ducked and weaved, her axe swinging in precise arcs to deflect and sever its relentless roots. But for every piece she cut, another took its place, stronger and harder than before.
Rain began to pour, the drops mixing with the blood on her skin and the sap staining the ground. Her breaths came raggedly, her strength waning as the Hollow King’s attacks became more erratic and forceful.
“Lass,” Patrick’s voice cut through the storm. “You’ve done all you can. Let the storm take its turn.”
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As if on cue, a deafening crack of thunder shook the ground, and a jagged bolt of lightning struck the Hollow King’s antlered crown. The impact lit up the wasteland, and the creature reared back with a shrill, inhuman screech. Flames erupted along its branches, licking hungrily at its bark and fungal growths.
Vigdis staggered back, shielding her eyes from the brilliant blaze. Patrick’s voice was triumphant. “That’s it! Fire, lass! That’s its weakness now!”
The Hollow King thrashed violently, its roots flailing as the flames consumed its upper half. Vigdis steadied herself, the pain in her side a dull roar as she gripped her axe and charged. She swung with renewed fury, the blade sinking deep into its now-charred bark. The creature’s hardened exterior had softened in the heat, its roots slower and less coordinated.
“You’re not so invincible now, are you?” Vigdis growled, hacking at the Hollow King’s burning form.
The creature’s movements became frantic, its roots retreating and flailing wildly in a desperate attempt to extinguish the flames. Vigdis pressed her advantage, targeting the weakened joints and fungal patches Patrick had pointed out earlier. Each swing of the axe sent chunks of burning bark flying, the flames spreading further with every strike.
With one final swing, she buried the axe into the center of its twisted trunk. The Hollow King let out a piercing wail, its roots convulsing before collapsing into a heap. The flames consumed its remains, the once-massive figure reduced to ash and embers.
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Vigdis stood amidst the smoldering remains, rain washing the blood and sap from her skin. She clutched her side, the pain a constant reminder of the fight. Patrick’s voice broke the silence, his tone laced with pride.
“Well fought, lass. You’ve bested it thrice now.”
She looked up at the darkened sky, the rain still falling in steady sheets. Steam rose from the smoldering remains of the Hollow King, the acrid scent of charred bark mixing with the fresh, clean smell of rain. Vigdis exhaled slowly, her grip tightening on the axe as a faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
“It’s done,” she muttered, her voice low but firm. “This time, it’s done.”
Patrick’s voice, usually quick with a quip, carried a rare note of respect. “Aye, lass. You’ve put it down for good. I’ll wager it’ll think twice before coming back—if it even can.”
Vigdis planted the axe firmly in the ground, leaning on it as she caught her breath. The storm began to ease, the clouds breaking just enough to reveal a faint glimmer of light on the horizon. The first rays of dawn stretched over the wasteland, illuminating the ruins in a softer, kinder glow.
For the first time in what felt like days, the oppressive weight in her chest lifted. She straightened, the ache in her side still there, but somehow less sharp. Her gaze lingered on the embers of the creature’s remains, and she nodded to herself.
“Let it come back,” she said quietly, her voice steady. “I’ll be ready.”
Vigdis exhaled heavily. “Next time,” she muttered, “I’ll burn the whole damn forest if I have to.”
Patrick chuckled. “I’ll hold you to that. But for now, lass, enjoy the victory. You’ve earned it.”
Vigdis shouldered the axe, her steps steady as she walked away from the charred battlefield. The storm clouds continued to break apart above her, revealing a pale blue sky. For the first time in a long while, the horizon didn’t feel so grim.
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The path stretched ahead, broken and uneven, but it was a path nonetheless. Vigdis walked with the steady rhythm of someone used to the weight of her axe and the solitude of her thoughts. The distant horizon held the promise of her goal—Bunker 4, or whatever waited for her there. Yet her mind kept circling back to the Hollow King.
She frowned, her grip tightening on the axe resting on her shoulder. It had started so simply. A group of desperate villagers had hired her to investigate disappearances in their region. Routine work, she’d thought at the time. But routine had turned to horror when she found the raiders—the cultists—feeding people to that… thing.
The Hollow King.
She’d killed it then, or so she’d thought. A clean victory. But it didn’t stay dead. It came back, hunting her, appearing in the shadows of her journey. Each encounter forced her to fight harder, push further, to learn its tricks and overcome its relentless evolution. The battles blurred together, a series of clashes etched into her body with scars and bruises.
But why? What was it? Vigdis sighed, her brow furrowing as her boots crunched against the gravel-strewn path. Was it sentient? Did it hunt her out of vengeance for defeating it the first time? Or was she just unlucky enough to have stumbled into the path of something that didn’t care who it devoured, so long as it fed?
Patrick’s voice echoed in her memory: “A clever wee bastard.” She snorted faintly. Clever, yes. And persistent. But was it more than that? She’d never know. The thing was ash now, its towering form reduced to embers on the ground she’d left behind.
She couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to it, though. Something bigger. Something she couldn’t quite grasp. But answers weren’t her domain. Survival was. And for now, survival meant leaving the Hollow King behind.
Vigdis exhaled, letting the tension in her shoulders ease slightly. Whatever it had been, it was over. The path to her goal was open again, free of that relentless shadow.
Her steps quickened, the ache in her side a dull reminder of her victory. She focused on the horizon, on the ruins ahead, and on the promise of what she’d find at Bunker 4. Whatever came next, she’d face it. The Hollow King, at least, was behind her.
For now.