Death has a way of lingering. I have seen it near myself many times, but when it came close to me for real, guiding me in its cold embrace, I wanted to embrace it. But someone else pulled it towards themselves with a smile, someone close to me. It was too different from what I thought it would be—too different indeed.

My body may have been conscious, but my mind has gone beyond that. I don’t know how much time has passed, and I don’t know how many ghouls were surrounding me. For a moment, I even forgot about my family and Valeria.

Until a crash that felt like thunder jolted me from my grief. Through tears that burned like acid, I saw Bjornulf charge into the square, his massive frame moving like an avalanche through the ghouls. His greatsword carved through their ranks in wide, devastating arcs that shook the very ground. Each swing sent limbs and heads flying, black blood painting the air in grotesque arcs.

"Einar, you fool!" A voice cut through the chaos with a familiar accent, sharp as a blade and twice as cold. "Get up before they make a corpse of you too!"

Ragna's shout pierced my grief like an ice-cold blade. Through the haze of tears and blood, I saw her across the square, her hands wreathed in blue flame as she held back a ghoul with a shimmering barrier. Her pale hair whipped around her face like a storm cloud, each spell she cast with her wand carrying the harsh bite of her northern tongue.

"She's gone, you sad bastard!" The words hit harder than any blade. "Move before you join her in the earth!"

Move. The command echoed in my skull like a death knell.

"Styrking!" Ragna's spell struck me like a hammer of ice. My torn flesh on side knitted together, though I could feel the wrongness of it—muscle and skin forced to seal before their time. The second spell cleared the fog from my mind, but left behind a clarity I didn't want. Every detail of Eliza's death played behind my eyes with brutal precision.

My fingers trembled as they closed around my sword's hilt. The power lurked beneath my skin, waiting, hungry. I let it take me, as the first spark of lightning claimed me—not the clean blue of Ragna's magic, but darker, crimson as fresh blood. Pain shot through my hand like hot needles as the power built, electricity biting into flesh, tearing it apart from within.

I watched, almost fascinated, as dark lines spread beneath my skin like the roots of a poisoned tree, following the paths of my veins. Each pulse of my heart pushed the corruption further, turning blood vessels black as pitch. The pain... gods, the pain felt real like nothing I'd felt before in real life. But I need it, I need to remind myself of the pain that Eliza felt when she chose to protect me instead of her.

"Blood and bone," Stigr cursed from somewhere distant. "That foul magic..."

The first ghoul died before it realized I'd moved. My blade took its head, trailing red lightning that crackled and hissed in the misty air. Blood began to seep from my knuckles as the power grew, each burst of lightning carving new channels through my flesh. I could smell my own burning skin, like pork left too long over the fire.

Stigr's voice carried across the square as he wove between two ghouls, his daggers catching what little light remained. "By the old gods, he's gone blood-mad!"

Another ghoul fell, then another. My arms shook with each strike, muscles spasming as the lightning ate through them like acid through cloth. The black lines had spread halfway to my elbows now, my veins clearly visible through skin that had gone pale as death. Blood ran freely, dripping from my fingertips to sizzle in the mud, each drop carrying small arcs of crimson lightning.

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Too much. The power was too much, too raw. My vision swam, dark spots dancing like carrion birds before my eyes. But I couldn't stop. Every time I tried, I saw Eliza's face in that final moment. Saw the acceptance in her eyes as death took her.

A revenant's roar shook the ground, bringing me back to the present. The monster loomed over Bjornulf and Stigr, its massive frame casting shadows like a mountain at dusk.

"Hel's frozen tits!" Bjornulf spat, his northern accent thick with strain. "This one's built like a frost giant's bigger brother!"

I charged forward, even as white-hot agony lanced up my arms. The lightning surrounding my blade intensified, tearing new channels through my flesh. Each step sent jolts of pain through my body, but I embraced it. Used it. Let it fuel the rage that kept me moving.

Stigr saw me coming. His hands flashed through the air, activating the runes carved into his daggers. Two arcs of pale light struck the revenant, forcing it to raise its arms in defense.

"Now, bear-brother!" Stigr's call carried the sharp edge of victory.

Bjornulf's greatsword came down like an axe on log, cleaving the revenant in two. The creature's death-shriek made the very air shudder, a sound that would haunt dreams for years to come.

When the last ghoul fell, I stood amidst the carnage, each breath feeling like knives in my chest. The lightning refused to die completely, dancing along my skin in fits and starts, each spark sending fresh waves of agony through my ruined flesh. Blood dripped steadily from my mangled hands, and the black corruption in my veins had spread past my elbows, turning the skin around it gray and lifeless.

"Einar!" Ragna rushed to my side, her face pale beneath her war-paint. Horror touched her features as she saw what was left of my arms. "By all the gods, what have you done to yourself?"

I tried to answer, but the words wouldn't come. The world tilted dangerously, and I stumbled, nearly falling. Every nerve ending screamed in protest, a chorus of agony that threatened to drag me into darkness. But I couldn't rest. Not yet. Mother. Alira. Their names beat in my head like a war drum.

"I have to..." The words came out slurred, thick with pain. "Have to find them..."

"You can barely stand!" Ragna reached for me, but I pulled away, leaving bloody handprints on her sleeve.

I forced my legs to move, though each step felt like walking on broken glass. The village blurred past in a haze of blood and smoke, punctuated by moments of horrifying clarity—a child's doll floating in a pool of blood, a hand reaching from beneath fallen timber, fingers forever frozen in a plea for help.

Ahead, I saw Bron standing near a collapsed building, his face streaked with soot and something darker. His eyes widened at my approach, horror and pity warring in his expression.

"Gods preserve us, Einar..." His voice cracked. "Your arms—"

"My mother," I cut him off, the words tasting of copper. "Alira. Where..."

The hope in his expression died like a candle in winter. His eyes drifted to what remained of my home, now nothing but smoking rubble and shattered dreams.

"There was an explosion," he said quietly, but I barely heard him over the roaring in my ears. "I heard it from—"

I stumbled forward, toward the ruins of everything I'd ever known. The lightning had finally faded, leaving only pain and the taste of ash in my mouth. Blood dripped from my ruined hands, marking my path like breadcrumbs as I moved through the wreckage of my world, each step carrying me closer to a truth I wasn't ready to face.

Behind me, I heard Ragna calling my name, her voice carrying notes of both command and plea. But I couldn't stop, not until I saw my family. The pain in my arms was nothing compared to the void growing in my chest, a hollow space where hope used to live.

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