The group hesitated only for a heartbeat, the weight of the moment pressing down on them. Then, as if sharing the same unspoken resolve, they nodded in unison, determination burning in their eyes.
“Seraph!” Caelus’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, slicing through the oppressive tension. “Amplify the next attack—give it everything you’ve got!” He turned sharply toward Magnus, his tone firm, a blade of authority. “Magnus, hold it down—don’t let it move!”
Magnus clenched his jaw, his muscles taut as he drove his staff into the corrupted ground with a forceful slam. A sharp pulse of green energy surged outward, causing the earth beneath their feet to tremble. Moments later, a massive tangle of roots exploded from the ashen soil, their ancient, gnarled forms twisting and coiling like serpents with a purpose.
The roots shot upward with a vengeance, thick and unyielding, snaking around the creature’s grotesque body. They bound its torso and limbs in an intricate web of natural force, tightening like a vice. The creature let out a guttural, piercing screech, thrashing violently as its shadowy tendrils lashed out in fury, striking the ground with deafening cracks.
Magnus’s arms trembled from the exertion, his knuckles white as he gripped his staff. The roots strained against the monster’s overwhelming strength, but Magnus poured every ounce of his will into holding them steady. Sweat dripped down his temple, but his focus didn’t waver.
On his shoulder, Pip clung desperately to him, its tiny claws digging into his armor. Its fur stood on end, bristling with tension, and its trembling form betrayed a raw, primal fear that even the fiery creature couldn’t suppress. Pip buried its face into Magnus’s neck, its usual playful courage replaced by an instinctive terror of the monster’s overwhelming presence.
Magnus glanced down briefly, his voice a low, strained murmur meant as much for himself as for Pip. “It’s all right, little one. We’ve got this. Stay with me.”
As he spoke, the roots flexed and tightened again, groaning under the strain but refusing to give way. The battle wasn’t over, and Magnus knew he couldn’t falter—not yet.
Now!” Darius roared, his voice echoing across the twisted battlefield like a war drum. His halberd ignited with searing flames, the fire spiraling up the shaft and licking the air with a feral intensity. Sparks danced along the blade, illuminating the battlefield in an orange glow that momentarily pushed back the oppressive shadows.
With a guttural cry that reverberated deep in his chest, Darius charged forward, each step shaking the brittle ground beneath him. His scaled armor gleamed in the firelight, his movements purposeful and powerful, like a predator closing in on its prey. The air around him crackled with the raw energy of his dragon’s bloodline, the flames on his halberd growing hotter, their edges burning white.
He lunged at the creature with explosive force, the sheer weight of his momentum slamming the halberd into its chest with a thunderous impact. The ground itself quaked under the strike, a deafening boom reverberating through the cursed forest as a shockwave rippled outward. Scorched roots and ash swirled around them in the fiery aftermath.
The blade struck true, burying itself deep into the glowing core at the creature’s center. For a moment, the red light dimmed and flickered, pulsating weakly as though the blow had disrupted its unnatural life force. The creature reeled back, its limbs thrashing wildly against Magnus’s entangling roots, and a distorted scream tore from its jagged maw. A significant chunk of its massive health bar suddenly vanished, the glowing crimson line dipping noticeably after their coordinated attack. The sight sparked a flicker of optimism among the group—proof that the creature wasn’t invincible, that their efforts could make a dent in its towering vitality. It wasn’t much compared to the vast expanse that remained, but it was enough to reignite their determination.
But as the seconds passed, the flickering light steadied, regaining its rhythm. The core pulsed brighter than before, its malevolent energy surging as the creature’s tendrils plunged into the corrupted earth, drawing power from the Withered Woods itself.
Darius’s eyes widened in disbelief, his halberd still buried in the monster’s chest. “Damn it!” he growled through gritted teeth, trying to pull the weapon free. The heat from the flames grew unbearable even for him, but the creature’s regeneration was faster than his strike had been devastating.
“It’s not enough!” he shouted, his voice filled with frustration and urgency as the creature’s unholy energy surged anew, its writhing tendrils snapping furiously toward the group.
“Lorian! Move! Please!” Seraph’s voice pierced the chaos, a desperate scream that carried a raw edge of panic. The purple gem embedded in her circlet flared to life, pulsating with an urgent, otherworldly glow—a clear sign she’d had a foresight. Her usually calm demeanor was gone, replaced by sheer terror.
Caelus’s head whipped around at the sound, his instincts screaming that something was terribly wrong. His sharp eyes locked onto Lorian, standing frozen in place, his expression a mix of fear and confusion. The spellbook clutched tightly in his trembling hands seemed like an anchor, holding him still.
“Lorian, MOVE!” Seraph yelled again, her voice cracking as she took a step forward, reaching out as though she could pull him to safety from across the battlefield.
Caelus didn’t wait for another warning. Heart pounding, he lunged toward Lorian, his hand outstretched. “Lorian! Grab my hand!” he barked, his voice firm and commanding, even as fear clawed at the edges of his resolve.
But time was merciless.
The creature struck back with blinding ferocity, its tendrils lashing out with a force that seemed to tear the air itself. Lorian’s barrier, once shimmering with arcane energy, shattered under the assault, bursting into a cascade of fractured light and shadow. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the battlefield, the sharp crack of breaking magic echoing in their ears as darkness surged forward, unchecked and unrelenting.
A massive tendril of shadow, thick and writhing with malevolent energy, lashed out with blinding speed. It coiled around Lorian like a serpent, lifting him off the ground before Caelus could reach him. The younger mage gasped, his spellbook slipping from his fingers as he clawed at the tendril encasing him. His legs kicked uselessly in the air, the glow from Seraph’s circlet reflecting in his wide, terrified eyes.
“LORIAN!” Caelus roared, his voice raw with desperation and fury. He surged forward, every muscle in his body straining as he called upon his abilities. Shadows writhed around him, responding to his rage as he activated Blood Fury. A crimson aura enveloped him, sharpening his focus and flooding his veins with unnatural speed. His feet barely touched the ground as he closed the distance in a blur of motion, his sword humming with dark energy.
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With a guttural cry, he channeled his anger into Dark Edge, his blade shimmering with an ominous, pulsing light. The weapon felt heavier in his grip, its power surging as he swung it in a brutal, downward arc. Every ounce of his strength and skill was behind the strike, aimed to sever the creature’s twisted hand and free Lorian from its grasp.
The blade sliced through the air with lethal precision, but just as it neared its target, the creature’s dark tendrils erupted in a defensive burst, twisting unnaturally to intercept the blow. Caelus’s sword struck true, carving deep into the writhing mass, but the creature’s resilience was monstrous. Its tendrils absorbed the worst of the attack, and though ichor sprayed from the wound, it wasn’t enough to stop it.
“No—no!” Caelus’s voice cracked as he swung again, frantic now, his strikes becoming more erratic. The creature didn’t flinch. With a final, terrible motion, its claws clenched tighter around Lorian.
And then, it was over.
The dark energy that engulfed the creature surged violently, consuming Lorian’s body in an instant. A wave of force rippled outward, sending Caelus staggering back, his sword nearly slipping from his grasp.
The creature’s dark power surged with a horrifying intensity, shadows spiraling and crackling as they consumed Lorian’s body. In an instant, he was gone—erased as though he had never existed. All that remained was the soft thud of his robes collapsing onto the scorched ground, his cherished spellbook landing beside them with a dull thump. The bag that had carried Cheese tipped over, its straps splayed like lifeless limbs, before it hit the earth with a sound that seemed to echo endlessly in the suffocating stillness.
No!” Seraph’s anguished scream tore through the oppressive silence of the Withered Woods, raw and unfiltered. Her glowing runes flickered violently, the light sputtering before fading entirely. She collapsed to her knees, clutching her circlet as though she could will the vision to change, her breath hitching in broken sobs.
Magnus stood frozen, his broad shoulders rigid and unmoving. His knuckles turned white as his hands gripped his staff with an almost desperate force, the deep emerald glow of his magic wavering. His lips parted slightly, but no words came, only the faint sound of his uneven breathing. His entire being seemed to tremble, not with fear, but with a quiet, consuming grief.
“L-Lorian…” Caelus whispered, his voice so faint it was barely audible. He took a staggering step forward, his sword trembling in his hand. His eyes were locked on the place where Lorian had stood moments ago, now reduced to shadows. The weight of the moment crashed over him like a tidal wave, a sickening concoction of guilt, helplessness, and fury surging through his veins. His chest tightened painfully, his heart pounding in uneven, staccato beats that echoed in his ears.
His legs felt like lead, every step an impossible effort. The sword in his grip, so steady in countless battles, now wavered as if it would slip through his fingers. The memories of every time he’d fought to protect his allies, his comrades, played in his mind—mocking him with cruel finality. For the first time in a long time, he felt powerless. His knees buckled slightly as he gritted his teeth, his body trembling under the unbearable weight of his failure.
And through it all, the forest seemed to hold its breath, the oppressive darkness pressing closer, as though revelling in their despair.
Cheese sat atop the remnants of the tattered bag, its tiny form trembling against the cold ground. Its usual vibrant sheen had dulled, as if the light within it had been snuffed out. It stared blankly at the empty space where Lorian had stood, its unblinking gaze fixed on the void left behind. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, the world around it fading into silence save for the faint quivering of its gelatinous body.
The realisation hit like a blade to its core. He’s gone. The thought echoed in its mind, reverberating with unbearable clarity. Lorian, its partner, its anchor in this strange and dangerous world—gone in an instant.
Cheese’s tiny hands reached out instinctively, grasping at the air as if it could somehow pull Lorian back. The movement was small, almost imperceptible, but it carried the weight of desperation. Its body shuddered violently, ripples coursing through its form, unable to comprehend the finality of what had happened. Its once playful and curious demeanour was stripped away, replaced by a hollow, aching emptiness.
The bag beneath it—a reminder of countless shared journeys, battles, and quiet moments—felt heavier than ever. Cheese leaned down, pressing against the fabric as if seeking Lorian’s warmth, but it was cold. Lifeless. A soft, pitiful sound escaped it, barely audible, a broken whimper that conveyed what words never could.
It wanted to cry, but it had no tears. It wanted to scream, but it had no voice. All it could do was sit there, frozen in a grief too vast for its small form to contain.
The creature’s burning eyes locked onto Caelus with a malevolent intensity, its monstrous arm lurching toward him like a shadowed deathblow. The air cracked with the sound of its movement, and Caelus barely had time to react. He threw himself to the side, narrowly dodging the strike, the air swirling with the creature’s dark aura as it slashed the space where he’d been just moments before.
His sword lashed out instinctively, meeting the creature’s tendril with a desperate swing. The impact rattled his arm, sending a jolt of pain through his body, but it wasn’t enough. The creature’s monstrous form recoiled, only to surge forward again, relentless and unyielding.
But Caelus felt something deep inside him fracture—an insatiable rage that tore through him like wildfire. He didn’t think. He didn’t care. All he could focus on was the creature. It was responsible for Lorian’s death. It had taken everything from him, everything that had ever mattered.
His breath came in ragged gasps, his pulse pounding in his ears as a storm of fury surged through him. He could feel his chest tightening with emotion, something primal and raw, something that demanded blood.
He wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. He wanted to scream, but all that escaped was a guttural, savage roar that tore through his throat, fueled by the anguish of loss.
And most of all—he wanted to kill it.
A surge of rage, fierce and unrelenting, exploded within Caelus, unlike anything he had ever known. It wasn’t merely anger—it was something darker, something primal, born of pain and loss. His body felt as though it were vibrating with the force of it, a boiling tide that surged from the depths of his soul, threatening to consume him entirely.
The air around him thickened with the weight of his fury, and his senses went haywire. His vision started to warp, the edges of reality bending like smoke. The world around him—the Withered Woods, the creature, his companions—all began to fade into the background, a mere blur. In their place, a new reality began to form. It was a battlefield, vast and unforgiving, drenched in blood and broken bodies. The stench of death clung to the air, thick and metallic, mingling with the cries of the fallen.
Caelus blinked in confusion, but there was no time to question. His surroundings had shifted completely—he was no longer in the Withered Woods.
Instead, he found himself in a battlefield drenched in blood. Vorrath’s battlefield.
The scent of iron filled the air, and the ground was littered with bodies. Vorrath’s hands, slick with blood, gripped his massive blade as he stood over a hulking, monstrous figure—a half-man, half-bull beast that bellowed in agony. Vorrath’s eyes burned with unrelenting fury as he plunged his blade into the creature’s chest again and again, his screams ripping through the air, primal and raw.
Caelus could feel it all: the blood splattering across his face, the metallic tang in the air, the weight of vengeance driving every strike. He didn’t know why Vorrath was killing this beast, but he could feel the all-consuming purpose behind it.
“ARRRGHHH!” The scream tore from Caelus’s throat—no, Vorrath’s throat—as the vision and reality blurred together. Back in the Withered Woods, Caelus staggered forward, his grip on his sword tightening. His body trembled, not from fear, but from something darker, something consuming.
This wasn’t just a fight anymore.
This was vengeance.