They barely made it to the edges of the ruin when the first creature lunged from the trees.
It was a veil terror but not like the others they’d faced.
This one had four legs, long and jointed like a stag’s, but bent backward and was covered in oily fur. Its maw stretched wide in a snarl that never closed, needle teeth dripping black rot. No eyes were to be held— only a churning void in its skull, like someone had scooped out its soul and filled it with shadow.
Behind it came more. Built for the hunt.
The first warrior was dead before he could scream.
The second was dragged into the trees.
Maris shouted, lunging forward, her new blade raised — as it connected with the creature’s neck, magic exploded from the steel. The cut was clean, almost effortless, and the spawn’s body disintegrated into ash mid-lunge.
The others creatures hesitated.
Just for a heartbeat.
Kael took the opening, shadows twisting around him like smoke given fang. He carved through a line of them, then another, the fury in his eyes far colder than fire. Alarik movedwith deadly precision, dream-magic trailing from his sword like moonlight warped to destroy.
Zairon and Riven fought back to back, a wall of steel and grit. Corin let out a war cry, slamming his axe into one creature’s spine. Serenya, bloody and limping from a blow to her thigh, still managed to run one through, roaring with effort.
Maris turned in time to see the third warrior, an Eryndoran man fall. Torn apart by two of the monsters before anyone could reach him.
Her mind raced.
No time to mourn.
Another lunged for her.
This one faster. Smarter. The leader.
She twisted, slashing across its chest but its claws raked across her ribs. Heat flared up her side. Blood spilled.
But her grip didn’t falter.
She buried the sword in its gut. Light burst out like a flare across the forest.
The thing shrieked as it misted.
With it every terrors evaporated, like they had been echoes of the one she just killed, and with its death, the others ceased to exist.
Silence fell in choking waves.
Only the wind remained.
And the breathless, blood-slick survivors of the battle.
Maris stumbled backward, pressing a hand to her side. Her leathers were torn, her skin scorched, but she was alive.
They all were, save the three warriors who lay motionless at the edge of the ruin.
Kael reached her first, steadying her by the shoulders. “Let me see.”
“I’m fine,” she gasped, even as blood soaked her palm.
"You're bleeding." The stillness in his tone, more dangerous than a shout.
Alarik remained still, the restraint in his posture betraying how badly he ached to be at her side.
