The black wall loomed, featureless and unyielding, a void within the fractured remnants of the psychic plane. Its surface seemed to absorb all light, giving nothing back in return. Jack had faced horrors before—creatures that defied reason, shadows that clawed at the edges of his mind—but this was different. The warmth in his chest, which had carried him through the battle, dimmed to a steady pulse, like a quiet whisper urging caution. It was not fear he felt, but a profound uncertainty that unsettled his very core.
He approached slowly, each step echoing against the glassy ground. The air near the wall was thick, heavy with an unnatural pressure that prickled at the edges of his awareness. Jack’s every instinct screamed at him to turn away, yet he pressed forward, compelled by an unseen force. The ground beneath his boots seemed to hum faintly, as though the plane itself were aware of his presence. The vibrations grew stronger the closer he got, until the air felt almost alive with tension.
He paused a few feet from the wall, letting his gaze trace its smooth, impenetrable surface. It seemed infinite, stretching upward and outward until it vanished into the formless expanse of the psychic plane. Jack raised a hand, hesitating for a moment before letting his fingers brush against it.
It was cold. Not the icy chill of the shadowy tendrils he had faced earlier, but a deeper, more oppressive cold—a void that seemed to tug at him, pulling him toward something he couldn’t quite grasp. The wall did not yield to his touch, nor did it react in any visible way. Yet, as he pressed his palm more firmly against it, he felt a faint tremor, like a heartbeat buried deep within its depths.
“What are you hiding?” Jack murmured, narrowing his eyes. He spoke the words not out of anger but curiosity. This wall was no ordinary barrier. It was alive in a way that defied comprehension.
The warmth in his chest pulsed, encouraging him to delve deeper. Jack closed his eyes, focusing his thoughts on the wall, letting his senses extend beyond the physical. At first, there was nothing—just the oppressive silence and the unyielding surface. But as he concentrated, threads of sensation began to emerge.
Fragments of sound and feeling brushed against his consciousness, fleeting and fragile. Laughter, sharp and brittle, echoed from some distant corner. The warmth of sunlight, familiar yet distant, teased his skin. A voice—his own—called out in desperation, though he couldn’t make out the words. The threads wove together, forming a tapestry of fragmented memories that danced just out of reach.
Jack clenched his fists, frustration boiling beneath his calm exterior. He pushed harder, pouring his will into the wall, demanding it to yield. The warmth in his chest flared in protest, and the wall seemed to push back, its surface rippling with a subtle energy.
“Not yet,” a voice whispered. It wasn’t the Herald’s guttural growl, nor the chilling tones of his past enemies. It was softer, almost maternal, echoing in the space around him. Jack recoiled, startled. “Who’s there?” he demanded, his voice firm despite the unease creeping into his chest.
The wall offered no answer, only the oppressive silence. But Jack understood. The wall wasn’t a barrier of malice or manipulation. It was protection, shielding him from something he wasn’t ready to confront. Memories—his memories—lay beyond it, waiting for a time when he had the strength to face them.
He exhaled slowly, letting his hand fall away from the cold surface. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll wait. But I’ll be back.”
The warmth in his chest pulsed in approval, a subtle reassurance that he wasn’t abandoning those memories, only delaying their return. It was a silent pact between him and the wall—a promise to return when the time was right.
Turning away, Jack took a moment to gather himself. His breathing steadied, and he closed his eyes, focusing on the faint tether that connected him to the physical plane. The psychic plane shimmered around him, its fractured edges dissolving as he let go of his connection to it. The golden energy that had sustained him began to wane, folding inward as he directed his consciousness back to where it belonged.
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The transition was smooth, like slipping beneath the surface of a still lake. The oppressive weight of the psychic plane gave way to more familiar sensations—the cool air brushing against his skin, the distant hum of life around him. Jack opened his eyes to find himself kneeling on the stone floor of a cavern, his armor dimmed but intact.
The world felt sharper, more vivid. Every sound, every breath of air seemed heightened, as if the battle on the psychic plane had attuned him to his surroundings in a way he hadn’t experienced before. The warmth in his chest remained, a steady presence that reminded him of what he had overcome—and what lay ahead.
He rose to his feet, his body aching but his spirit unbroken. The cavern around him was dark and unwelcoming, its jagged walls glistening with moisture. He could still feel the faint echo of the psychic plane, a subtle thrum that lingered in the back of his mind. Whatever the wall hid, Jack knew it would wait. For now, his focus had to return to the present. He had a mission, and the physical plane demanded his full attention.
Jack blinked, his vision adjusting to the dim light of the cavern. A notification flashed into existence in front of him. Apparently Empathic Shielding had evolved into something called Radiant Empath Armory. He resolved to look that over in more detail when he next had a chance but for now it was’nt relevant.It didn’t seem like much, if any, time had passed since the Herald first locked gazes with him. The air was thick with the tang of stone dust and the acrid scent of magic burned into the walls. The Sovereign still towered before him, a monument of raw power and will. Its form shimmered with radiant purple energy, rippling like a barely contained storm. The cavern walls groaned and cracked as massive hands of jagged stone protruded from them, gripping the Herald and restricting its movements.
Behind the Herald, the rift hung suspended in the air—a chaotic swirl of black and violet energy. It pulsed with a dissonant rhythm, its edges fraying and snapping like a torn wound in reality. The Herald’s retreat was slow but inevitable, the Sovereign pressing the stone walls inward, constricting its movements and leaving it fewer options to escape.
Jack’s companions moved in concert with the Sovereign, their efforts precise and determined. Lyla, her body glowing with a faint green aura of Nature magic, stood to Jack’s left. Her hands were raised, creating walls of greenery to further restrict the Herald.
The Herald’s grotesque body surged against its stone prison, the cracks spreading like spiderwebs across the surface. A deafening roar tore through the air, its malice and pain palpable. The ground trembled violently, threatening to unbalance even the most steadfast of warriors. Jack’s muscles tensed as he adjusted his footing, his eyes darting to his companions.
Cael, ever the opportunist, darted in and out of the fray, his blades flashing like twin streaks of light as they struck precise blows. His daggers glowed with a faint purple light now. Maybe some kind of enhancement the Sovereign had provided? Each stab disrupted the Herald’s grotesque regeneration, forcing its twisted sinews to repair anew.
The Sovereign—tall, skeletal, and battered—continued its relentless assault. Pillars of jagged stone erupted around the Herald, corralling it toward the yawning rift that pulsed ominously at the edge of the battlefield. The Herald’s malformed limbs thrashed against its confinement, shattering stone and sending debris flying in all directions.
“Jack!” Lyra’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding. She gestured toward the rift with her staff, her eyes locking onto his. “We’re so close! Keep the pressure on!”
Jack nodded, his grip tightening on his spear. His mind raced as he assessed the situation. They had made progress during his absence, but the Herald was far from defeated. Its body continued to writhe and reform, undeterred by their efforts. Each moment they delayed risked it regaining full strength.
He surged forward, his spear slicing through the air in a deadly arc. The weapon’s tip drove into one of the Herald’s thrashing limbs, severing it cleanly. The detached appendage convulsed on the ground before dissolving into a putrid sludge, only to be reabsorbed by the creature’s main body. Jack grimaced. The Herald’s regenerative abilities bordered on the absurd.
The wolves had finally finished their battle with the bear abomination and were racing towards them. It appeared none of the undead soldiers had survived but both Goldeyes and Monsson appeared to be in relatively good condition apart from a few minor injuries.
“Focus on containment!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the din of battle. “Drive it toward the rift!”