Between a black scaled drake, and a red-furred wolf, Havoc stood, both creatures dwarfing him. At his rear, an ebony bell-tower loomed. Fractured slates, shattered rocks, and debris lay scattered around its base. Before him shone ravenous eyes—malicious in their innocence—devoid of reason. In the distance, countless more cradlefiend marched in waddled steps from every direction.

This was not the first, second, or third time he had faced these odds, but experience did nothing to slow the thundering beat of his heart. The gathering horde were insurmountable, but they could be resisted for sixty seconds.

Here we go, Havoc thought. Adrenaline surged, setting his nerves alight like a storm through his veins.

Lucia’s red wolf crept forward, shoulders rolled, its rippling muscles bulged beneath its fur as it growled its advance.

The Stone Guardsman shimmered from shoulder to head. Manifested in its full solidity, the boundaries of the Guardsman’s power settled. Within its domain, barriers of ethereal light were Havoc’s to command. But even the comforting surge of the Guardsman’s power could not counterbalance the weariness of his long and arduous journey.

Four days had passed since he stepped foot within the boundless city. From tower to tower, together with his companions, he had travelled, racing against the resurgence of the titans below, and the cradlefiend they would spawn.

Each bell-tower stood six hours of hard travel apart, demanding every ounce of his dwindling energy. Three hours of meditation followed by three of fitful rest barely restored his Harmony—just enough to deplete again in the next desperate struggle.

Focused meditation hastened the speed at which Harmony was restored, but it was an exhausting process. Heart pounding, sweat drenched, by the time his reserves were half full, his body would ache for rest, but the little sleep allotted was far from sufficient. Each cycle deepened the strain, leaving Havoc’s muscles wailing and his bones heavy with fatigue.

His legs trembled beneath him, his lungs burning from the final sprint toward the bell-tower. The ground rumbled as fleshy sacs, heavy with writhing cradlefiend, splattered from above. With no time to spare, he and his companions had scrambled to arrange their defences. Now, their resilience would be tested once more.

Despite the wear from their repeated battles, Havoc could not deny the gains. In the short time, the group’s coordination had increased by leaps and bounds. They moved as though parts of a whole. Communicating without words, a titled head was a directive; a sideward glance was sufficient for strategy. As their unity sharpened, Havoc found his own abilities evolving alongside the group. No longer needing to ration the mist within his Anchor, through trial, error, and experimentation, Havoc had gained a new understanding of the Midnight Urn. Not only did the mist within enhance his physical capabilities, it did the same for his Remnants. Through its powers, his barriers became harder, able to resist the heaviest blows, while the Scout’s Eye granted him an all-encompassing vision, piercing through walls and shadows alike.

He had a new appreciation for his Anchor; it was far more that the useless vessel he had lamented upon Inheriting. Yet he could not dispel the feeling he was still missing something…

Later, he thought, centring his thoughts on the present. His musing could wait, the cradlefiends would not.

Without herald or hesitation, the first of the gathered monsters bounded forward. Its arms swung loosely at its side as the creature giggled its war-cry. The others of its kin passed vacant looks between themselves, their clawed hands raked idly at distended stomachs. For a moment, their expressions remained blank—then apparent confusion gave way, twisted into sharpened-toothed grins.

Aaron leaped forward. A gust of wind thrashed the debris-laden ground, scattering gravelled stone in his wake, as his black leathery wings beat the air. Landing behind the charging cradlefiend, his draconic form crashed into its kin, offering them no opportunity to advance.

Violently halting the vanguard monster’s charge, Havoc thrust forward a hand, summoning a barrier of shimmering light in its path. It slammed into the barrier with a bone twisting crunch, rebounding onto the ground. No soon did it land before Lucia’s wolves—red and blue—tore viciously at its throat. Its flesh withered between crushing jaws, desperately remoulding its ravaged neck. But the wolves were unrelenting—biting, clawing, gouging—while Havoc formed barriers, to keep the monster pinned.

With a glance, Havoc directed Lucia to action. Passing by, she mouthed a snide acknowledgement before taking her place beside the cradlefiend. Golden threads pooled from the tips of her fingers. With a sharp motion, she drove the thread’s into the pinned creature’s flesh. They wormed deeper, burrowing through veins and sinew. The Cradlefiend’s pallid, grey skin bulged grotesquely as golden tendrils spread through its body, coiling around organs, nerves, and bone.

Savagely thrashing the ground, the monster screeched—its pitch, tortured and shrill. But as suddenly as it begun its anguished resistance, it went still—unnaturally still. Havoc watched as the monster rose, its movements stiff and alien. The embers of its nascent will had been extinguished, supplanted by the unmistakable imprint of Lucia’s control.

Hers was an insidious power. The sight pulled Havoc’s hairs to attention, and crept shivers down his spine. His mind briefly drifted to the inevitable future when that power would be turned against him, but he shoved the thought aside—one threat at a time was all he could manage.

In a flurry of movement, roars, and wails, Aaron held back the monsters ahead. With tooth, claw, and armoured tail, he slashed and swiped, battering back the horde. As he retreated, he doused them with plumes of rock-melting fire, scorching the ground with glowing scars, before hurtling forward to re-engage.

Begrudgingly, Havoc could admit Aaron’s efforts were valiant, but they were not enough. Cradlefiends were spawn of soldier rank. Aaron was unquestionably—and uncomfortably—formidable, but alone against the swarm, he could only pray his death would be swift.

A Cradlefiend latched onto Aaron’s wing with gnarled claws. Shrill giggles pierced the air, blending with Aaron’s stricken, guttural roar as the creature twisted the appendage with a sickening crunch, forcing it into an unnatural angle.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

For a moment, Havoc hesitated. Aaron posed a latent but all too real threat. With him gone—torn piece by bloodied piece—there would be one less thing to worry about.

It would be so easy… Havoc thought, his arm outstretched yet wavering. Ultimately, he dismissed the thought. True, Aaron’s early demise would bring about a certain relief; but it would be fleeting. He did not relish the thought, but the young noble was still too valuable. Once they escaped the endless city, he would reassess.

Flaring Harmony into the Guardsman, Havoc shaped a thin, gleaming blade of ethereal light. With two fingers pointed out, he flicked his wrist downward. Mirroring his motion, the blade descended, biting through bone and rotted marrow, severing the cradlefiend’s grip on Aaron’s wing. In a fluid motion, he fanned out his arm, conjuring a barrier that crashed into the wailing fiend, driving it back into its kin.

The bell began to toll, its rhythmic chime counting down the course of the battle. Bloodshed and struggle marked the following minute, each passing second tightening exhaustion’s grip around Havoc’s throat like a noose. Sweat stung his eyes, and his lungs burned as he dived, leaped, and hurled himself away from pulverising fists and disembowelling claws. More than once, he hit the ground hard, twisting just in time to avoid the flattening stomp of enraged fiends.As the bell struck one final time, a dense mist descended, smothering the chaos and drawing the battle to its end.

****

‘Better them than me,’ Ugly whispered under his breath, staring out from the open arch of the bell-tower below. He rested his hands on the jagged stone ledge, ignoring the slick and sting from the open cut across his palm. As far as he was concerned, he had the easy job.

Bloodied ‘and beats a flattened skull any day, he thought, muttering a half-remembered prayer to some god or another, not that he cared whether they were listening—it was not divine intervention keeping his bones from the cradlefiend’s jaws.

He doubted his employers kept him from the fighting from a place of charitable intent. More likely, they knew what he knew—he was not qualified to be on that battlefield. Truthfully, none of them were, but they were better suited to pretend. Two nobles and a prodigious bastard; those three would shake the world to its core—if any of them managed to survive.

Ugly watched the three drag themselves up from the dirt and limp toward the tower. He glanced at Aaron and Lucia, then sighed, settling his sights on Havoc—his best chance of getting out of this place alive. Over the past four days, he had tried to talk the kid—explaining they stood more of a chance together—but he would not listen. Finding any excuse to take off by himself, or sniff around that slave girl, water was less fluid in Ugly’s grip than Havoc’s attention.

The kid was not stupid; he had to know that whatever those nobles intended, it would not be good to either of them. They were dispensable; no one would miss them. And even if they could all leave the Dungeon Cell, he doubted they would tolerate any witnesses to what they had done. Ugly did not know much about high-society, but even those stuffy noses had to at least act like they cared about life.

‘Heh, prolly not, now I think ‘bout it,’ he muttered, chuckling to himself.

Even so, having an ally in dangerous times was clearly an advantage. Why the kid seemed so disinterested, though, was harder to figure out.

Ugly was not the strongest or most connected—he knew his limitations. But where he lacked in resources, he excelled in a wealth of experience. Knowledge of how the world worked was invaluable. He had seen it all—every dirty trick in the book—and could spot them long before they could make a mess of things. But when he tried to explain his value, for his trouble, all he got from the kid was a muted response, and a guilty expression.

Wot’s he got to be guilty ‘bout? He thought, scratching his chin as the kid’s silence prickled at his sense for danger.

‘We have reached the final stretch,’ Aaron announced as he crossed the stairwell into the belfry. ‘One last push and this will all be over.’

Ugly could have sworn the little bugger had glanced at him when he said that. But if he had, it had been too fleeting to rest on certainty.

‘Restore as much Harmony as you are able. I do not wish to remain in this godsforsaken place even one moment longer than necessary.

****

The ground began to rumble. Shattered rocks rattled against one another as, in the distance, the four cryptlords clawed their way from below. In moments, the city would once again be overrun by cradlefiends, but Havoc did not care—he would not remain in the city long enough for it to matter.

Just ahead, he saw it. Beyond the collapsed rows of houses lining the street, towering stone slabs stood, tightly packed, in a circle, forming a gateway to what he hoped was salvation. Beyond its narrow opening was his destination, and though his legs cried out, and his lungs screamed, he would not stop—not until he was safely inside.

Here they come, he thought, throwing himself to the side as a membranous egg smacked the ground where he had just stood. Jagged rocks scraped his skin through his tattered clothes as he slid across the floor. Pain flared, but he shoved it aside. Momentum carried him forward, and with a practised roll, he pushed himself to his feet, resuming his desperate race toward the gateway.

The first giggling cries of the newly spawned cradlefiends sounded from behind, but Havoc was close now. So close he could peer beyond the gap between the stones to see a raised platform in the centre, and the Stone Guardsman shimmering into being nearby.

Aaron was the first to cross the threshold, but Havoc passed through shortly thereafter, with Naereah clung to his back, having dragged her up from her fall. Once Lucia passed through the gap, the stones begun to glow, their engraved rune bursting into brilliance.

‘Wot’s goin’ on!’ Ugly shouted, having caught up with the group. Stood outside the threshold, he pressed his hands against the gap, a wall of shimmering light greeted him in return. He pushed against the wall—feet scrapping grooves into the ground but the barrier would not yield—Havoc would not allow it to yield.

‘This only works with you out there,’ Havoc said, looking into Ugly’s panic-stricken eyes.

‘Wot ya talkin ‘bout? Let me in!’ Ugly shouted, slamming his shoulder into the barrier, his voice cracking.

‘He can’t,’ Naereah whispered as she took to Havoc’s side. ‘You can’t stand on sacred ground… It’s heresy.’

‘Heresy? Ya not even makin’ sense!’ Ugly bellowed, his shoulder smashing into the barrier again.

‘The blood of the sacrifice, my dear,’ Lucia added with a smile, her tone devoid of sympathy. ‘It is a pity, but we will have to say goodbye. ’

‘I don’t know wot they’ve told ya, kid. But you can’t trust a damn thin’ they tells ya!’ Ugly roared as the fleshy sac of a Cradlefiend burst open nearby.

Havoc did not trust his remaining companions, but he did not need to. The instant he passed into the circle, the Dungeon’s will was undeniable—Ugly could go no further.

‘For what its worth, I’m sorry,’ Havoc said, holding Ugly’s gaze as the man bashed his fist into the ethereal wall, streaking blood across its surface.

Ugly slid down the barrier, crunching his knees into the ground as he looked up at Havoc with hollow, desperate eyes.

‘Kid… Please…’

Havoc’s stomach twisted, tying itself into knots as he looked down upon the desperate man.

If there was another way—,’he left the words unspoken. What good are they now? He sighed, steeling his heart as he turned his back on the mercenary, walking toward the raised platform.

‘I’ll kill ya,’ Ugly whispered, his voice barely audible. ‘I’ll kill ya!’ he shouted, his fists pounding the wall. ‘Mark my words, ya son of a bitch! I’ll kill ya!’

That was the last thing Havoc heard before the curtain of reality drew back, whisking him away from the cursed city.