Thorn moved with fluid precision, his footsteps barely whispering against the stone floor as he circled Finnian who stood near the centre of the room. The grotesque creature loomed before him, a twisted, hulking amalgamation of shadow and flesh, tentacles whipping through the air with lethal intent. Each appendage was a blur, tipped with razor-sharp spikes that sliced through the space where Thorn had stood moments before.

Ducking under a sweeping tentacle, Thorn rolled to the side, springing up just in time to evade another that lashed out from above. His movements were a seamless dance—jumping, weaving, swaying—as he navigated the storm of attacks. The air around them crackled with tension, the sharp scent of ozone mingling with the dampness that clung to the walls.

Finnian's multitude of eyes tracked Thorn's every move, frustration simmering beneath their malevolent glow. "Why won't you stand still?" he bellowed, his voice a guttural roar that rattled the very foundations of the hall. He slammed a tentacle into the ground, cracking the stone and sending shards flying.

Thorn landed lightly a few paces away, his breathing steady, eyes never leaving his foe. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Getting tired, Finnian?" he taunted softly.

"Insolent wretch!" Finnian spat, his many mouths twisting into snarls. His tentacles flailed wildly, creating a chaotic whirlwind of dark limbs that sought to ensnare Thorn from every angle.

But Thorn was a step ahead. He leapt over one tentacle, twisted mid-air to avoid another, then slid under a third as he touched down. Each movement was executed with inhuman agility, his body responding effortlessly to the relentless assault.

The frustration in Finnian's eyes ignited into rage. "Enough of these games!" he roared.

Sensing an opening, Thorn's expression grew serious. He planted his feet firmly, extending his left hand towards Finnian. Energy crackled at his fingertips as he swiftly traced a glowing rune in the air—complex lines and curves that formed a shape pulsing with raw power.

"Gale's Embrace!" he intoned, his voice a commanding resonance that cut through the cacophony of battle.

A powerful gust of wind erupted from his palm, spiralling forward like a released spring. The torrent slammed into Finnian's midriff with the force of a battering ram, the impact echoing like thunder within the enclosed space. Several of Finnian's tentacles were caught in the blast, severed cleanly by the razor-sharp winds. Dark, viscous ichor spattered onto the floor as the dismembered limbs writhed momentarily before falling still.

Finnian staggered backward, a look of shock flickering across his distorted features. But the surprise was fleeting. The stumps where his tentacles had been begun to bubble and churn, shadows coalescing as new limbs sprouted almost instantaneously. The regeneration was grotesque—a twisted ballet of flesh and darkness as the tentacles reformed, even longer and more barbed than before.

He laughed—a chilling, hollow sound that reverberated off the stone walls. "You cannot harm me, Thorn! I am invincible!" Yet, despite his bravado, there was a subtle tremor in his voice, a flicker of weariness in his eyes.

Thorn's gaze sharpened. "Invincible?" he echoed, his tone measured, almost contemplative. "Even the mightiest can fall."

Finnian's expression twisted into a snarl. "Then I'll crush you with sheer force!" He reared back, and all at once, a swarm of tentacles lunged toward Thorn from every direction. The air hummed with their speed, each one aiming to overwhelm him in a coordinated assault.

Time seemed to slow as Thorn assessed the incoming barrage. His grip tightened on Zephyr, the blade humming with anticipation. Swiftly, he began to trace runes along the blade’s edge, each symbol igniting with ethereal light.

“Silent Tempest,” he whispered.

In the shadows by the wall, Ada watched, her heart pounding as she saw the faint glow emanating from Thorn’s weapon. Realization struck her like a cold wave—this next move was about to unleash even more force into the already fractured room.

“Everyone, get back!” Ada shouted, her voice urgent, carrying through the chaos. Townsfolk huddled behind toppled benches and broken pillars; eyes wide with terror. They scrambled for cover, pressing themselves against the walls, faces pale as they clung to each other.

Near the edge of the hall, Serena gripped Ben’s arm tightly, her eyes darting toward the towering pillar closest to them. “Move, now!” she urged, guiding their small group—Ben, Selena, and Callen—away from the centre of the room and closer to the pillar’s shelter. The four pressed themselves against its base, crouching low as they watched Thorn and Finnian clash, the swirling winds whipping past them.

But Thorn was already moving.

He swung Zephyr through the air, each arc leaving trails of glowing energy in its wake. The air shifted, almost vibrating as it became his ally. Invisible blades radiated outward with each sweep, slicing through Finnian’s writhing tentacles before they could reach him.

The hall erupted with the sound of ripping flesh and a hissing that pierced the air as each severed limb dissolved into wisps of shadow. The force of Thorn’s strikes unleashed powerful gusts that whipped around the chamber, lifting shattered stone and splintered wood into a chaotic whirlwind.

A muffled scream echoed as a woman, caught off guard by the whirlwind, ducked down, pulling their cloak over their head as debris battered against the walls. Nearby, Ada shielded her face with her arm, the wind tearing at her hair as she braced herself against the onslaught.

Finnian staggered back, a hiss of pain escaping his many mouths. His tentacles lay scattered across the floor, writhing briefly before dissolving into oily pools.

Amid the frenzy, Thorn’s focus never wavered. His gaze remained locked on Finnian, even as the room roared with the echoes of his attacks, each strike driving his opponent further into retreat.

Finnian’s snarl reverberated through the hall, a furious and guttural sound. He lashed out again, but Thorn’s movements were fluid, precise, his blade cutting through each incoming threat with an unwavering determination.

The onlookers watched from their positions at the room’s edges, some clutching each other in fear, others transfixed by Thorn’s relentless power.

As the last tentacle fell to the ground, Finnian reeled, his monstrous form flickering, shadows rolling off him like smoke. In that moment, a stunned silence fell over the hall, broken only by the ragged breaths of those who had taken shelter.

"Your tricks won't save you!" Finnian growled, though the edge of desperation tainted his words.

Thorn stood amidst the remnants of the assault; his posture relaxed yet poised for the next move.

Finnian's eyes blazed with fury. His form flickered, shadows rippling erratically as he struggled to maintain cohesion. Despite his rapid regeneration, the strain was beginning to show—his movements a fraction slower, the edges of his form less defined.

Without wasting a heartbeat, Thorn surged forward. Zephyr became an extension of his will, slicing through the air in a blur.

Each swing unleashed blades of wind that tore through Finnian's tentacles, severing them mid-lunge. The force of his strikes extended beyond his immediate vicinity— chairs shattered, and even the water on the floor parted in jagged lines.

The sheer ferocity of Thorn's assault forced Finnian to stagger back. Across his myriad faces, a mixture of shock and fury twisted, his mouths pulling into snarls, releasing guttural growls that echoed through the hall. His severed limbs twitched and writhed as they attempted to reform.

"Enough of this!" Finnian bellowed, voice distorted, strained. He raised a tentacle, a frenzied glint flashing in his eyes as he began to trace complex runes midair, his claws glowing with a sickly dark light. The symbols pulsed, one after another, in a series of intricate patterns that formed barriers between him and Thorn, pressing outward like shields to buy himself time.

The dark water pooling around the hall responded, rising as if alive, twisting and swirling into towering columns on either side of him. With a final, forceful stroke of his fingers, Finnian completed a massive summoning rune that hovered in front of him, its form crackling with dark energy.

The columns began to shift and meld, water thickening and taking shape. Hulking figures emerged, their limbs elongated and clawed, faces void except for eyes that burned with a cold, malevolent light. Each construct loomed over Thorn, its form jerking and twitching with a grotesque, unnatural energy.

"Annihilate him!" Finnian commanded; his voice filled with a feral rage.

The constructs lurched forward with unnatural speed, closing in on Thorn from multiple angles, their claws slicing through the air with deadly intent.

Near the edge of the hall, townsfolk huddled together, watching in horror as the towering water-beasts advanced on Thorn. Some gasped, others clutched each other in fear, eyes darting between Thorn and the monstrous constructs, uncertain if anyone could withstand such an onslaught.

Ada’s eyes widened as she saw the constructs surge toward Thorn. "Thorn, look out!" she cried, her voice trembling with desperation.

But Thorn’s focus was unwavering. His gaze stayed locked on the constructs, reading their movements, assessing every jerking, unnatural lunge. In the brief lull as they approached, he shifted his stance, Zephyr held steady, its edge glinting as he prepared to face down the monstrous assault.

With a measured breath, he bent his knees and leapt high into the air, vaulting over the grasping claws. For a moment, he hung suspended, seemingly vulnerable, and unguarded against the onslaught below.

A sinister grin spread across Finnian's faces. "Foolish move!" he taunted. From beneath, the constructs reached upward, their arms elongating unnaturally to snatch at Thorn's feet. Simultaneously, Finnian unleashed a mass of clawed tentacles that shot upward like dark, writhing serpents, aiming to ensnare him from all sides.

The air grew thick, weighted with the oppressive certainty of his impending demise.

But Thorn’s gaze remained calm, unshaken. His eyes gleamed with fierce resolve as he raised Zephyr, extending the blade outward, while his other hand moved swiftly across his own chest and shoulders. He traced runes onto himself, his fingertips leaving trails of shimmering light in their wake as each symbol ignited, amplifying the energy coursing through him.

“Whisperwind’s Fury!” he called, his voice reverberating through the hall.

In a heartbeat, Thorn began to spin, Zephyr outstretched. His rotation quickened, becoming a blur, the runes on his body glowing brighter as they unleashed a surge of power. Blades of wind erupted around him, radiating in every direction, an unstoppable tempest. The cutting gales sliced through the tentacles with ruthless precision, reducing them to wisps of shadow that vanished in an instant. The constructs, hulking and relentless, were shredded, their watery forms exploding into droplets that scattered like rain.

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The whirlwind’s force extended outward, carving grooves into the stone walls and ceiling, sending shards and debris skittering across the floor.

People gasped, ducking as fragments of stone flew past them, their faces pale with a mix of awe and terror. Ada shielded herself, her eyes wide as she caught glimpses of Thorn’s form through the storm, his runes casting an ethereal glow in the chaos.

Finnian staggered back, throwing up a clawed arm to shield himself from the relentless winds. His monstrous form flickered and wavered, shadows peeling off him as if stripped away by the fury of Thorn’s attack. The edges of his being unravelled, revealing glimpses of raw darkness within.

As the storm subsided, Thorn slowed his spin and descended gracefully to the ground. He landed amidst the dissipating mist, the remnants of his foes dissolving around him.

The last remnants of debris settled, and the hall fell into an uneasy silence.

Finnian slid backward; his once-imposing form now diminished. His tentacles hung limply, and the shadows that composed his body wavered, parts of him fading in and out like a flickering flame. Desperation etched itself onto his distorted features.

"You... you cannot... defeat me!" he shouted, but his voice lacked its former conviction.

In a final, frantic move, Finnian raised his appendages once more, drawing into the air. The dark water on the floor surged upward, swirling around him in a protective vortex. It solidified into a thick, translucent barrier—a sphere of churning liquid that encased him entirely. The surface shimmered with an unnatural sheen, rippling as it absorbed the ambient light.

Thorn watched silently, his chest rising and falling steadily as he caught his breath. He observed the barrier, noting the instability—the way it quivered, the inconsistent opacity. It was a hasty defence, a sign of Finnian's waning power.

Inside his watery shield, Finnian's eyes darted around, searching for an escape, a new strategy. Fear flickered across his visage—a stark contrast to the overconfidence he had displayed moments before.

“No!” Finnian’s voice rang out, echoing through the hall. “This is not the end! You think you’ve won? Foolish, mortal worm! You know nothing of what I am!”

Thorn’s gaze never wavered. He stepped closer, his blade gleaming in the dim light, his expression calm, resolute.

“I am the darkness beneath the waves,” Finnian snarled, his voice a terrible, echoing cacophony. “I am the hunger in the deep, the abyss that swallows all light. And this—” He raised a clawed hand, tracing a rune in the air with slow, deliberate strokes.

The rune flared, glowing with a sinister, dark-blue light. Finnian’s many mouths twisted into a savage grin, his eyes blazing with malevolent triumph.

“Witness the true power of the Deep!” he roared, and with a vicious slash of his hand, he sent a massive, writhing ball of water crashing upward—straight into the skylight high above.

The glass shattered.

For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.

And then—

Water. A massive, churning wave of black water, roiling and writhing, poured through the shattered skylight. It crashed down into the hall with a deafening roar, slamming into the floor like a sledgehammer.

Chaos erupted as the cold; suffocating dread gripped them all—a collective, visceral terror clawing at their throats. There was no escape, no hope. They were trapped, entombed within the stone hall as the water rushed in, rising faster than anyone could react.

Thorn staggered, his boots skidding on the slick stone as the wave broke over him, its icy grip clawing at his legs. He gasped, struggling to breathe, but his gaze remained locked on Finnian, who stood behind his shimmering barrier, an expression of dark, twisted satisfaction on his face.

And then Finnian laughed.

The sound cut through the hall, low and guttural, as the water surged higher, swallowing the floor, rising far too fast. It crashed against the walls, swirling into a chaotic vortex, drowning the room in cold, relentless darkness.

“Help!” someone shrieked, a desperate, thin cry that was quickly silenced as another wave slammed over them, dragging them beneath the surface. One man lost his footing, clawing uselessly at the stone floor as he was swept into the churning centre of the room. His scream was cut off as his body crashed into a pillar with a sickening crunch, his pain drowned by the rising flood.

The townsfolk scrambled, trying to climb higher, clawing at the slick walls, clinging to ledges, to anything they could grasp. But the water was everywhere, flooding from the shattered skylight in an unrelenting torrent, swirling and frothing as it swallowed the chamber inch by inch. Hands slipped, fingers lost their grip, and with strangled cries, they fell, swept away by the current, tumbling helplessly in the dark, freezing water.

Amid the chaos, Ada, Marin, Orla, and Leora clung together, bracing themselves against the wall. Ada wrapped her arms around Marin’s waist, her fingers digging into his clothing as the freezing water surged up past their knees. Orla gripped Leora tightly, the two women huddled together, eyes wide with terror. They held on to each other, desperate and trembling, a fragile barrier against the rising tide.

By the southern pillar, Serena, Ben, Selena, and Callen gathered closer, their bodies pressed into a shallow recess in the wall. Ben held Selena against his chest, his arms encircling her protectively as the water climbed higher, soaking through their clothes, and numbing their limbs. Serena and Callen held on to each other’s hands, their faces pale, breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as they tried to stay above the relentless flood.

For others, there was no refuge. Bodies collided violently, limbs flailing as the torrent swept them through the hall, spinning and twisting in the murky depths. Some were thrown against the walls, the water slamming them into the unyielding stone with bone-cracking impact. Others were dragged down, their legs caught in the swirling currents, their heads dipping below the surface as they struggled, kicking, trying to keep from being sucked under.

The water was bitterly cold, sapping the strength from their muscles. It was thick, almost syrupy—a dark, inky blackness that filled every crevice, obscuring everything. It choked them, burning their throats, tasting of iron, salt, and decay.

Ada felt her grip slipping as the water continued to rise, now waist-deep and rising fast. She pulled Marin closer, her heart pounding as she glanced up at the skylight, the only faint glimmer of light in the darkness. “We have to hold on!” she shouted, but her voice was nearly drowned out by the roar of the water.

Thorn gritted his teeth as he fought against the torrent, his feet slipping as the water surged around him, icy tendrils coiling and twisting, pulling at his boots, trying to drag him down. He forced himself upright, each breath a battle, his muscles burning with the effort as he raised Zephyr, holding it steady above the roiling water. His heart pounded in his chest as he took in the chaos—the terrified faces, the desperate cries, the futile struggle of those who had not found shelter.

But it was useless.

The room felt like a giant glass bowl, a death trap filling rapidly with dark, freezing water. The sound of rushing currents filled the air, mingling with the frantic screams and cries of the townsfolk. The walls seemed to close in, the ceiling loomed lower, and the water climbed higher, pressing them all into a shrinking space with no escape.

His movements felt slow, each step weighted down as if he were wading through thick mud. His magic—so potent, so fierce only moments before—now felt dull and muted, smothered by the crushing weight of the water that surrounded him.

This—this was Finnian’s domain.

And Thorn… Thorn was helpless here.

The cold gnawed at his bones, the despair pressing in around the edges of his mind, whispering insidious thoughts of surrender.

And then, like the tolling of a death knell, Finnian’s laughter rang out once more.

The laughter was not just in the air.

It was in the water.

Finnian’s many mouths, scattered across his monstrous form, were laughing—each one emitting a gurgling, bubbling sound that reverberated through the liquid, sending ripples through the dark, murky depths. The sound surrounded Thorn, filling his ears, his lungs, his mind. It was everywhere, a chorus of madness that seemed to seep into his very soul.

Finnian stood at the centre of the room, his grotesque form towering over the chaos, unmoving, unblinking. The water rose around him, swirling and churning, but he remained unaffected. His eyes—those many, malevolent eyes—were fixed on Thorn, blazing with a terrible, triumphant light.

“Drown, Thorn,” he whispered, his voice a dark, twisted murmur that carried through the water, vibrating in Thorn’s skull. “Drown in despair.”

The world was collapsing around Ada, a maelstrom of darkness and icy water that swallowed screams and hopes alike. Yet amid the chaos, Ada clung to a single, unyielding beacon—Thorn.

Ada watched, eyes wide and heart pounding, as the water surged over Thorn’s head. He stood firm, unmovable—an ancient oak weathering the storm. The torrent crashed against him, fierce and unrelenting, but he did not waver. His gaze remained locked onto Finnian, unblinking, unbreaking, even as the dark waters rose past his shoulders, his chin, his lips. He did not flinch.

“Thorn…” Ada whispered; her voice lost in the roar of the flood. Awe and terror warred within her chest. He had fought with such power, such grace—like nothing she had ever seen. He had been unstoppable, a force of nature, cutting down monstrosities and standing toe-to-toe with the embodiment of darkness itself. For a moment, hope had bloomed within her, bright and fierce.

But now, the sickening reality pressed in.

The hall was nearly full now, the water climbing almost impossibly fast. Within moments, it had swallowed every dry patch on the floor and was lapping at the ceiling. The survivors gasped in final, desperate breaths, holding on as long as they could. Their faces contorted in panic as the space between them and the air diminished—then disappeared entirely.

Thorn floated near the centre of the room, his strength waning as the water filled his vision. His body was buoyant, drifting as the exhaustion of the fight claimed him, the pressure of the water closing in from every direction. His golden eyes glowed faintly, piercing through the murk, their intensity undimmed even as the last of his breath escaped him.

Finnian’s many eyes lingered on Thorn, his twisted form bobbing and shifting as he watched. A flicker of fear flashed in his gaze, the realization of Thorn’s indomitable spirit cutting through his confidence. With the room entirely submerged, Finnian turned toward the skylight, his coiled, monstrous form writhing and twisting. With a final contortion, he squeezed himself through the narrow opening like an octopus, pressing his form through the too-small gap, leaving only murky darkness in his wake.

Finnian was gone.

And they were still alive.

The silence under the water was absolute, punctuated only by the distant, muffled movements of those who had managed to hold on. Around Thorn, the debris from the hall floated in eerie suspension, chairs drifting aimlessly as the last traces of battle faded into the dark, cold depths.

Ada’s heart raced as she looked up, taking in the closed, suffocating space. The other survivors, wide-eyed, glanced at each other with grim understanding. Together, they began swimming toward the shattered skylight—the only chance for salvation gleaming faintly above.

Ada moved with them at first, her muscles straining, each kick and stroke carrying her higher, faster. The surface glimmered faintly above, the night sky beyond a beacon of hope. She could see the others struggling alongside her—faces pale, eyes wide, bubbles streaming from their noses and mouths as they fought against the suffocating weight of the water.

But something pulled at her. She glanced back, her heart stuttering in her chest.

Thorn wasn’t moving.

He hung alone, a solitary figure shrouded in shadows. His head tilted upward, eyes half-closed, but he didn't make a single move to follow the others. The once-bright glow of his eyes had faded to a dull, muted gold—barely visible against the darkness that surrounded him. His shoulders were slumped, his body heavy, the weight of exhaustion pulling him down.

No.

Ada’s throat tightened, her pulse pounding in her ears like a war drum. She twisted in the water, her gaze fixed on his still form. No, this can’t be it. He can't be giving up now.

Marin swam alongside her, his eyes wide with panic, his hand reaching for her as she hesitated. His face was pale, mouth open in a soundless plea. Keep going, he mouthed, his gaze darting frantically between her and the surface above. We must go!

But Ada shook her head fiercely, twisting away from his grasp.

For a fleeting moment, they hovered face to face amid the swirling currents. Ada reached out, her fingers grazing Marin's cheek, her touch gentle against the cold. Confusion flashed in his eyes, mingling with fear.

Before he could react, she leaned in and pressed her lips softly against his. The kiss was brief—a silent goodbye carrying all the words she couldn't say. Marin's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and anguish washing over his features.

As she pulled back, tears mingled with the water around them. Ada offered a small, resolute smile, her eyes conveying a depth of emotion that words could never capture. She placed a hand firmly on his chest, pushing him upward.

Marin grasped for her hand, desperation seizing him. No! his expression screamed, bubbles escaping his lips as he tried to call out. But Ada had already turned away.

He watched, helpless, as she kicked downward, her form becoming a blur that disappeared into the murky depths. For a moment, he hovered there, torn between chasing after her and the burning need for air tightening in his chest.

A sharp pain jolted through him, his lungs screaming for relief. Clenching his jaw, Marin cast one last glance into the darkness below before turning upward, forcing himself to swim toward the distant light and the surface beyond.

He'll be safe, Ada thought dimly, her vision narrowing as she plunged deeper. Marin will make it.

But she... she couldn't leave.

The cold bit into her, the pressure squeezing at her ribs, but she didn't stop. Didn't slow. Her lungs burned, every muscle screaming with the effort, but her gaze stayed locked on Thorn's still form—a faint silhouette sinking slowly into the darkness.

Please, hold on. Just a little longer.

All around her, the remnants of the hall drifted in ghostly silence. The bodies of those who hadn't survived floated like shadows, but Ada forced herself to ignore them, her entire being focused on reaching Thorn.

Her strokes became more laboured, the weight of the water pressing in. She willed herself onward. Just a little further.

The water thickened, darkening as she descended, her strokes slower, heavier. The world seemed to close in around her, narrowing to a single, suffocating tunnel that led straight to Thorn. His head drooped, his eyes closing as if in surrender, the last of the light flickering out like a dying ember.

No.

Ada stretched out her hand, her fingers trembling, the strain of every inch tearing through her muscles. No. Don’t you dare give up now.

She grasped his arm, her fingers digging into his sleeve, and for a heartbeat, everything stopped. The cold, the pain, the darkness—it all vanished, swallowed by the desperate, aching hope that burned in her chest.