I feel tears sting my eyes—not for me, for my brother lost. For every promise broken. For every night I wished I could rewind, could return.
A low smile curls on my lips—grim, bitter. I do not let the beast see me tear up. I do not let it smell weakness.
“I stopped listening when it killed my blood,” I say, voice raw. The words echo louder than I expect, bouncing off geometric stone and fungus-slick walls.
The Vorfaluka flickers, its whispers faltering for a moment. Then laughs—two voices merging, crackling like broken glass. “Blood killed begets blood gifted. All you’ve done, all you’ve sacrificed—” it spits, “—you could have it back.”
Olivia steps forward, anger and love twisting. “It’s a lie. A trap. It uses your grief against you.”
My eyes narrow. The air pulses as if the creature breathes through the cave itself. Every fungus bulb overhead droops; their glow dims with dread. The stale, sickened air vibrates.
I take one step forward. The ground beneath me hums, heat radiating from fissures. I smell burned earth, feel sweat run down my back. My spear’s haft vibrates in my hands.
“I don’t want lies,” I say. “I want truth.”
The Vorfaluka’s voices murmur at once:Truth is mutable. Truth is pain. Truth is power.
I raise the blade. My heart feels like drumfire in my ribcage. My hands shake—not from fear, but from everything I’ve refused to let go of.
Olivia’s voice—steady, fierce—reaches me. “I believe the truth is you stand. Not kneel.”
I look at her: streaks of grease on her cheek, her eyes locked on mine, her hands trembling but holding. I swallow again.
The beast advances, tentacles of rot splashing on stone. It breathes ragged, a sound like wind through tombs. Dual faces shifting, whispering:Come. Accept. Return.
I draw forward a breath thick as smoke. The smell of loss is loud. I remember my brother’s laughter, my mother’s lullaby, the smell of pine and snow in the high passes. Memory burns.
I tighten my grip on Spiritslayer. The blade pulses—drawn to the corruption but resisting.
Then I step forward.
I charge into battle, spear in hand.
The battery wagon’s engine hums behind us like the heartbeat of a caged beast. Booger and Burnout scramble, rolling thick power cables across slick cave stone. Peggy Sue rigs up amps—ancient ones, pushing juice, molding light and electricity into sound. Olivia stands close to the speaker bank, her hand trembling as she twists the dials up. 12-bar blues chorus rips into the cavern: screaming guitars, heavy bass, drums that rattle my bones.
I steel myself. The Vorfaluka’s form is monstrous in the half-light—rotting sinew, dual faces writhing in shadows. Its whispers peter out, replaced by the roar of music.
“Load it louder!” I shout. The air vibrates; the fungus overhead quivers. Heat pulses underfoot. Rocks tremble.
The beast thrashes. Its arms—one face snarling, the other silent and glazed—raises a massive fist and hurls boulders. Theycrash down around us, rock dust spraying, the scream of stones overhead. The cave groans. Sparks from cables flicker.
“Aah—shit!” Booger dodges a rock, rolling against the wall. Burnout slaps a hand to his eardrum, pressing blood behind his teeth. Peggy Sue closes her eyes, shielding her face from the grit that flies. Olivia staggers.
I sprint toward her, ones and zeros of blues fighting decay in the air. The beat shakes me. Between chord crashes, I hear the entity scream:Pain, blood, power…
The creature summons spirits—shrieking, spectral forms that coil from darkness, moan in tongues older than orc-iron. They drift, claws and mouths, trying to pull at us. One spirit slams into Olivia’s shoulder; she drops, face white. Music falters when amp feedback surges, cables sizzle.
“No!” I roar, struck by fury and fear.
I jab the Spiritslayer, blade humming in my palm. I move with brutal precision: thrust, parry, lunge. I cut through spirit forms; slash into rot-soft flesh. Pain bursts: I taste iron when the beast’s claw glances across my side. My ribs flinch, but I press on. I see Olivia pinned beneath a falling rock slab, her scream raw, voice breaking.
“Olivia!” I cry, adrenaline tearing at my limbs.
I plunge forward, throwing off a speaker stand. Muscles burning. With one hand, I lift the rock—magical strength, desperation, love all mixed—and drag rock off her shoulder. Blood beads at her temple. She tastes of dust and fear.
“You okay?” I pant.
She blinks. “I—yes.”
