Heacrim’s arm slams down on Duncire’s tail with extreme force, forcing Duncire to withdraw it back.

Freed from the pinning force, Heacrim’s feet hit the ground. His eyes focused forwards, keeping account of Duncire in front of him, but focusing more so on the Miasma of dark energy. Miede healing was outside of expectations, but she didn't pose a threat to him, it was something he could overlook.

But the Miasma brought forth from the excess energy, the words of someone unknown, and the eyes of a predator were something that he couldn’t. The knife fell from his hand as the skin and muscle twisted again, becoming a refined claw. His other hand followed suit, making the same transformation.

Each finger of the claws had a streak of black energy coming from them, freely and wildly streaking off into the air. Heacrim’s body itself remained unchanged, but his face and head seemed to begin to distort, the golden eyes twisted were they were, moving across his skin until they were symmetrical in the center of his face, and dark roots began to grow out of his skin, covering his face in an organic mask. The two golden eyes shone from their opening, and his body took a ready position, feet planted into the ground and his arms by his sides.

He laughed. “See how my body begins to resemble yours?” The words were directed at Duncire. “What’s within us is the exact same, but I became one with it, I ascended with it at my side. You suppress it, and because of that you’re weak!” His voice was distorted and muffled, projecting from under the rooted mask.

“That’s why you’re stuck as a monster, and why I-” Heacrim’s vision heightened, his reflexes began to activate. In front of his face, a fist had appeared. Connected to that fist was a tall, lean, humanoid figure with a black exoskeleton covering it. Its golden antlers shone vibrantly.

Heacrim’s claws rose quickly, and the Shade’s fist reached its mark far quicker. It slammed into the mask of Heacrim, cracking it slightly, and lifting him off his feet, his back hitting the ground and his body rebounding upwards off the tile floor.

Before he can react, before he has time to consider his situation, he feels the Shade’s hands grip around one of his legs. Instinctually he commands the black energy he commands to rush out of his body and swarm onto the Shade, but it is unable to pierce through the exoskeleton that covers it.

The Shade tightens its grip, and pivots on its foot. Spinning in a circle, with Heacrim still in its grasp, the Shade gathers its force and momentum, and throws Heacrim through the entrance to the Ballroom. His body stays in the air, flipping about, unable to gather his bearings as he shoots through the ballroom hallway, and finally crashing into rubble in the main hall.

Duncire looks at the Shade, mouth agape and eyes shining with awe. “You’re really something!”

Bart looks on as well, a smile across his face, his fangs bearing in jubilation. “It worked well!” He turns back to Miede and Prose, and his face drops. The anguish on Miede’s face is palpable, and Prose looks forwards with a dull stoicism, the confidence he normally exudes absent.

“Yes, it did.” The exhaustion and fatigue still apparent in Prose’s voice, he takes a moment before continuing. “Perhaps too well.” He casually throws his hand up to the side of his face, looking towards the Shade. “How do you feel, having eaten your fill?”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The Shade turns back, for but a moment. Its eyes scanned them, and it turned its head back with no acknowledgement. It walked slowly, towards the Ballroom entrance.

Bart speaks up. “Too well, what do you mean?”

Prose shakes his head. “That creep, the techniques he’s using are based on the same source of energy that she uses. Only, he and she have taken diverting paths on how to utilize it. His use of it is wild and unbearing, he just pumps out more energy when he needs it, and twists it into the shape he wants it as when he wants it. Hers is different, it’s refined to the point where the exact amount she uses, the way she uses it, it’s down to a science.”

Bart nods, following the logic. “But, that doesn’t answer why you said it went too well.”

Prose sighs. “It was a perfect demonstration. The process was too flashy and showy, even if it was only partially, if he was paying attention at all, well…”

Prose lowered his head and look towards the entrance. “If he doesn’t have to worry about his output, and his control over it is strong enough… then all he has to do is follow the instructions to replicate it.”

Miede, upon hearing this, grew even paler. “So we just gave that Maniac a new tool, a weapon that makes him even more dangerous than before…”

Duncire listens in, and looks towards the direction the Shade threw Heacrim in. “Then we need to end it now, I’ll do it.”

Miede shook her head.. “NO!” The vocal outburst shocked even her, and she quickly recollected herself. “No, Duncire. With every moment his body was growing more lethal, and you’re his target. If he gets a hold… of what’s in you, then it may truly well be over. All we can do now is put our hope in… It.” She looks at the Shade. In their moment of connection where she funneled the lifeforce into it, she felt a hint of its true nature.

“Please, kind one, finish off that man so he may harm no one else.”

The Shade looked back as it stood in front of the entrance to the Ballroom. It simply nodded as it heard her words, and took off towards Heacrim.

Miede clenches her fist, her legs give way and she finds herself on the ground. Duncire quickly goes over to help her. There are noticeable tears in her eyes.

Prose looks over, having already taken a seat on the cloak and resting his chin on the palm of his hand. “It must feel awful, the full brunt of your spell's impact now making itself known to you. And on top of that, you have no agency to finish this out on your terms. All you’ve gotta do is sit, and hope.”

There was a clear antagonism in Prose’s words, a smug smile plastered on his face.

Miede looks back to him, her teeth clenched. “You seem to have no care in the world. I know you felt what I felt, and I know you saw what I saw.” She looks to the ground. “And after all that, we have to bet everything on a possibility of success, just a chance. It’s shameful.”

Prose laughed. “It is shameful. And I do care, I cared enough to consider doing it before the fact. I decided to help, and I did, and the damage we dealt to the wide world outside is a result of that, nothing more, nothing less. I won’t spend my time regretting it, and I certainly won’t spend my time ruing the steps that we took to get to this point. I, you, we, made a decision that the madman was a worse blight to the world than what we could be, that’s it.”

Now turning to her, Prose chuckles for a moment. “I must admit you confuse me. You said it yourself, we shared sight, we shared feeling. So how is it that you’re not confident? How is it possible that you doubt the obvious fact at hand?”

Miede’s eye twitched, looking up at him.

“My companions are very stubborn people, they’ll see things through to the end as best they can, with all the force they can. So, I say this with the utmost confidence. Do not lower your head, Miede. The Shade will win.” The confidence Prose has was reflected in his words, and his tone in a matter of fact way.

Bart lowered his head, wanting to be an optimist but feeling the weight of the situation. “And how do you know, for sure? I should go too, even if I can just make an opening-”

“Because it wants to. For you or I, such simple minded straightforwardness could never get us towards our goals. But, it has something far greater fueling its desire than we do. Now that the life of thousands runs through its veins, its dignity won’t allow it to lay down and die. That’s the kind of creature it is.”