The creature's heartbeat echoed through the air—a slow, thunderous pulse that resonated deep within Henry's chest. With each beat, waves of mist-creatures spilled forth from the horde, their forms vaguely human but distorted, limbs elongated and movements jerky like marionettes on tangled strings.

The first wave surged toward him, their hollow eyes fixated on his every move. Henry's grip tightened on the wand. As one of the creatures lunged, he sidestepped and slashed the wand through its form, siphoning it into the core. A sharp jolt shot up his arm, and he gasped at the cold energy that surged through him.

He barely had time to recover before two more mist-creatures advanced, their fingers clawing at the air. Henry swung again, absorbing them, but each success drained his strength further. The coldness seeped deeper into his bones, making him shiver.

"Careful, Henry," Elara sang mockingly throw popcorn. "You're playing right into their hands." She snickered.

He shot her a glare but said nothing, focusing instead on the relentless tide before him. The mist thickened, a suffocating presence pressing in on all sides. His breaths came shorter, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and something acrid beneath.

From the corner of his eye, he saw movement—three mist-creatures flanking him. They coordinated their attack, one feinting while the others struck. Henry ducked low, rolling across the ground as their claws sliced through the space he'd just occupied. He sprang up, thrusting the wand forward and catching one in the chest. As it dissipated, another slashed at his back, the chill of its touch searing through his jacket and into his skin.

A sharp pain blossomed, but he pushed it aside, pivoting to confront the next attacker. He summoned a burst of energy, channeling it through the wand. A ripple of force emanated outward, momentarily pushing the creatures back and giving him a precious second to breathe.

"Is that all you've got?" he shouted defiantly, though fatigue was gnawing at his limbs.

The Sorrow's Pulse responded with a deep, resonant throb, and the next wave emerged—larger mist-creatures with more defined features, their faces a haunting mirror of people he'd known. He faltered as one bore the likeness of his father, its eyes empty yet somehow accusing.

"Join us," it whispered in a chorus of echoes. "Embrace the end."

Henry shook his head violently. "You're not real!" he yelled, but doubt clawed at his mind. The mist seemed to seep into his thoughts, blurring the lines between reality and illusion.

Elara cackled, her voice bouncing like shattered glass against the oppressive hum of the mist. She perched atop a rock, dramatically dipping her hand into the oversized popcorn bucket cradled in her lap. "Henry, my sweet, brave idiot, look at you! Charging into doom like a knight with no armor. Or a spoon!"

In her other hand, she gripped a very ordinary, dented spoon—Edward, apparently. She tossed a popcorn kernel into her mouth with exaggerated flair. "This? This is the show of a lifetime! Five stars. No refunds." Her laughter rang out, nearly spilling the bucket balanced precariously on her knees. Edward seemed to be resting in the bucket like it was his personal throne.

Henry, chest heaving and blood dripping from fresh gashes, could barely spare her a glare. "What are you even doing?"

"Helping, obviously," Elara said brightly, shoving another handful of popcorn into her mouth as if this were an opening night premiere. "You're out here saving the world, and I'm here saving morale. Have you considered stabbing harder? Or screaming louder? Theatrics help!"

The Sorrow's Pulse throbbed menacingly, vines of mist weaving toward Henry again.

Elara gasped, nearly upsetting her bucket as she leapt onto a higher rock with all the grace of a deranged ballerina. "Oh no, oh no, my dearest Edward, our boy's losing his footing! Shall we send him...a blessing?" She tossed the spoon high into the air, where it spun like a glinting star. Henry instinctively ducked as it landed blade-side down, pointlessly, into the dirt near his feet.

"Really?" he snapped, yanking the spoon free and brandishing it like a weapon. "This is the best you’ve got?"

Elara nodded sagely, popcorn suspended midair between her hand and her mouth. Her face took on an uncharacteristically serious expression. "Spoons are underestimated. Trust Edward. He's fought fiercer monsters than you’ve ever dreamed. Now GO! Make Daddy Pulse over there regret existing!"

The Sorrow's Pulse sent out another wave of mist that nearly buckled Henry’s legs. Elara leaned forward eagerly, her hair wild as it caught an invisible wind. She whispered theatrically to Edward, who had somehow found his way back into the popcorn bucket, "This is the climax, Edward. If he flops, we’re taking the wand and doing this ourselves."

"Elara! Stop. Please. I am begging you," Henry barked, his frustration mounting.

"What?" She looked genuinely confused, a popcorn kernel balanced precariously on her lower lip. "Oh, right! Fight, fight, rah-rah-rah. Consider this my official cheerleading." She waved a popcorn handful like confetti, scattering kernels into the mist.

Henry groaned, clenching the wand tighter as he refocused on the pulsing mass of terror in front of him. "Just keep eating your stupid popcorn."he felt a sudden weight at his belt. he shook his head, and then he surged forward, Edward now strapped awkwardly to his belt as though it might actually come in handy.

Summoning all his remaining strength, Henry thrust the wand into the mist at his feet. A surge of energy pulsed outward, radiating through the oppressive fog. The mist trembled and swirled, drawn toward the wand like iron filings to a magnet.

The air grew thick, and Henry felt a deep hum reverberate through his body, as though the wand was calling to something hidden within the mist. Then, from the swirling mass, dark shapes began to form. At first, they were vague outlines, but soon leathery wings unfolded, and glowing green eyes pierced through the haze.

Ten bats emerged, their forms massive and otherworldly, their wings translucent with veins of shimmering light. They hung in the air for a moment, their collective presence radiating a fierce power. Henry’s grip tightened on the wand, unsure whether he had summoned allies or unleashed a new nightmare.

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One bat descended, landing lightly before him. Its eyes locked onto his, and he felt an eerie intelligence behind its gaze. The creature lowered its head briefly, as if bowing, before emitting a sharp screech. The sound reverberated through the clearing, and the other bats responded, circling above in formation.

Elara flitted to his side, her voice full of manic delight. “Oh-ho! Look at that! You’ve got your own creepy bat squad!”

The mist-creatures, sensing the shift in power, began to close in, their forms growing more jagged and feral. One lunged toward Henry, claws outstretched. Before it could strike, a bat swooped in, talons slashing through the creature and reducing it to a burst of mist. Another bat dived into the fray, emitting a piercing screech that disoriented the advancing creatures, causing them to falter.

Henry watched in awe as the bats coordinated their attacks. One bat flew low, creating gusts of wind that pushed the mist-creatures back, while another unleashed a shriek that shattered the encroaching tendrils. Each strike was precise, their movements fluid and instinctive, as though they had fought alongside him for years.

“Don’t just stand there gawking!” Elara shouted. “You’ve got backup—use it!”

Spurred into action, Henry raised the wand, directing the bats toward the Sorrow’s Pulse. “Go!” he commanded, his voice steadier than he felt.

The bats surged forward, their screeches echoing through the clearing as they tore through the mist. They attacked the towering barrier of mist-creatures with ruthless efficiency, clearing a path for Henry. One of the bats flew low, gesturing with a flick of its wing for him to follow.

Henry sprinted forward, the bats protecting him from every angle. Claws, screeches, and bursts of light filled the air as his summoned allies carved a way through the writhing mass. He could feel the oppressive force of the mist weakening with each step.

As he reached the Sorrow’s Pulse, the largest bat landed beside him, its glowing eyes fixed on the cursed artifact at the creature's core. The bat let out a long, guttural screech, and the others responded, diving toward the artifact with ferocious determination. Their attacks shattered the mist’s defenses, exposing the skeletal core.

Henry seized the moment. Summoning his remaining strength, he raised the wand high and thrust it into the artifact. The bats circled above, their screeches harmonizing with the wand’s pulsating energy. A brilliant light erupted, consuming the mist-creatures, and the core, and severing the grip of the Sorrow’s Pulse.

When the light faded, the bats hovered silently around Henry, their green eyes glowing softly in the dim clearing. One by one, they dipped their wings in acknowledgment before dissolving back into the mist, leaving Henry standing alone—but victorious.

Silence settled over the forest. The oppressive weight had lifted, replaced by a profound emptiness. Henry sat up slowly, every muscle protesting. His mind felt clearer, the burden of the mist's influence finally gone.

Elara twirled down beside him like a falling leaf, her wings flickering erratically. “Did you see that?” she exclaimed, her voice an octave too high. “Kaboom! Zzzzt! And then they were all like, poof!” She mimed an explosion with her hands, spinning dramatically before landing with a triumphant pose. “I mean, honestly, you’ve got to admit, that was a solid ten out of ten on the chaos scale. Bravo, Henry. Brav-ooo.”

Henry groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s over.”

Elara crouched in front of him, her face inches from his. Her eyes sparkled with manic glee. “Oh, sweet summer child, it’s never over. This is just the intermission before Act Two, where the stakes get higher, the screams get louder, and—ooh—maybe you get to bleed a little more. Excited? I’m excited.”

He shoved himself to his feet, ignoring her unsettling grin. “We need to keep moving.”

As if on cue, a rusty squeak pierced the quiet. Henry turned to see a wheelbarrow wobbling out of the mist, its single wheel protesting with every bump. In it lay Sarah, her small frame curled beneath a patchwork blanket, her face pale but peaceful.

“Behold!” Elara announced, throwing her arms wide. “The Wheelbarrow of Destiny! Complete with precious cargo and an aura of abject despair.”

Henry rushed to the wheelbarrow, dropping to his knees beside it. “Sarah…” His voice cracked as relief washed over him. She was alive. Her glasses—still missing a lens—were askew on her nose, and he gently adjusted them. Her breathing was steady, and she looked calm, as if dreaming of a world far from this nightmare.

Elara hovered over the wheelbarrow, tapping her chin. “Hmm. Fragile, breakable, but oddly determined. Yep, she’s your sister, all right.” She leaned down, poking Sarah’s cheek with one finger. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty, wake up! Your gallant steed is here!”

Henry swatted her hand away. “Stop it.”

Elara floated backward, hands raised in mock surrender. “Fine, fine! I’m just saying, she could at least pretend to appreciate the effort we went through to save her.”

“She’s been through enough,” Henry snapped, gripping the wheelbarrow’s handles. “Help me move her.”

Elara snorted. “What am I, your winged mule? That thing looks like it’s held together by wishes and spit. If it collapses, I’m not gluing it back together.”

Henry grunted as he hefted the wheelbarrow. The squeaky wheel wobbled dangerously as he pushed it forward, each bump jostling Sarah slightly. Elara flitted ahead, twirling in the air like a drunken moth.

“You know,” she said, her voice sing-song, “this whole noble, self-sacrificing act of yours is great and all, but I can’t help wondering—what if she wakes up and screams, ‘Put me back!’ Wouldn’t that be a twist?”

“Shut up, Elara.”

She spun around to face him, flying backward with a grin that was more teeth than joy. “Oh, but I live to entertain! The drama, the stakes, the heartbreak—so juicy! And now you’re dragging a wheelbarrow through the forest like some tragic hero in a bad folk tale. It’s perfect.”

Henry didn’t respond, focusing on navigating the uneven ground. The wheelbarrow bumped over a rock, and he winced as Sarah stirred briefly but didn’t wake.

Elara circled back, peering over his shoulder. “You know, if you die pushing this thing, I’ll tell everyone you went out in the least dignified way possible. ‘Here lies Henry, Slayer of Mists, crushed by his own noble stupidity.’ It’ll be hilarious.”

“Keep talking, and I’ll use this wheelbarrow for something worse than hauling her,” Henry muttered, sweat dripping down his brow.

“Ooooh, threats! My favorite!” Elara giggled, doing an unnecessary flip in the air. “Fine, fine, I’ll behave. For now.”

The trees began to thin, revealing a sky painted with hues of dusk. The first stars appeared, distant and cold, but Henry kept his eyes on Sarah, her fragile form a quiet reminder of why he couldn’t stop.

Elara floated beside him, her grin softening—slightly. “You’re really something, Henry. A stubborn, bleeding heart dragging his sister through hell. It’s almost admirable.”

Henry glanced at her, too tired to snap back. “Almost?”

She smirked, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Don’t let it go to your head, hero. We’ve still got miles to go, and I’ve got a front-row seat to your inevitable breakdown. Can’t wait.”