Auren sensed it—distant, yet unmistakable. Sharp and swift as a hawk's dive.
A moment later, it crystallized in his awareness, as vivid as everything else within his perception. The presence had breached the perimeter of his senses.
There was a boundary, he realized—an edge to the darkness he could peer through.
Now, he had to gamble. Whoever raced toward him could be ally or enemy. The uncertainty gnawed at him like a festering wound.
He was vulnerable. With eyes sealed shut, he relied on this crude, unfamiliar method of perception. Trusting a stranger was madness.
'...I don't have to…'
Whatever they did would trigger some reaction. He merely needed to remain vigilant enough to catch it and exploit it.
The Major Hollow Screamer closed in, its malevolent presence pressing against his skin like molten iron fresh from the forge.
Auren shifted back — slow, deliberate. He needed to appear as defenseless as he seemed, to make the creature fixate on him just a heartbeat longer — to create the opening they needed.
If fortune favored him, the newcomer was either the embodiment of stealth perfected or the Cursed abomination was too fixated on its meal to detect them.
A faint frown creased Auren's brow as he tracked the creature's movement—not just through the darkness, but in the subtle shifts of air currents around him.
It hurled something upward. The motion crystallized in his mind, the disturbance in the air as readable as footprints in fresh snow.
Meanwhile, the one rushing toward them had drawn perilously close. In mere seconds, they would either sprint past—momentarily diverting the monster—or strike it.
But their movement... Their steps resonated with silent, lethal promise.
Auren knew they would attack.
Just as the Hollow Screamer lunged for his head, Auren thrust his swords upward to block—
But the strike never connected.
The creature froze mid-attack, quivering like a plucked string.
Auren wasn't certain what had happened.
But he heard it.
A thunderous clash—a collision between the Cursed Creature and the unknown fighter.
His forehead pulsed, the dried blood fracturing slightly as his muscles tightened. Gritting his teeth, he forced his eyes open. The sting assaulted him immediately, his vision blurred, but this time, it receded faster—fading as he stubbornly kept them wide.
The Hollow Screamer wrenched out a distorted groan, a sound so unnatural it rattled Auren's spine like brittle autumn leaves. It wasn't merely a cry of agony.
It was an announcement.
A summon.
Auren felt it instantly—the sharp, rapid movements of several more creatures hurtling toward them like arrows loosed from darkness.
The figure standing before him yanked free a long, obsidian spear from the Hollow Screamer's flank, the blade gleaming with sinister sharpness.
Her silver hair cascaded like liquid moonlight against the darkness, an ethereal contrast that would have mesmerized if not for the looming danger.
Her movements were precise—a deadly ballet, fluid and effortless. But beyond that... she wielded the spear as if it were an extension of her very being.
A rigid, uncompromising weapon meant for thrusts and piercing strikes.
Yet in her grasp, it moved like a serpent—supple, flexible, undulating in waves that defied its nature.
Auren found himself captivated—not by her, but by the artistry with which she commanded her weapon. It was mesmerizing and... graceful...
Yet, her dance was anything but gentle.
It was devastating.
The Hollow Screamer recoiled, then unleashed a frenzied onslaught, its scythe-like arms slicing through the air in a maelstrom of malice.
She met it head-on.
Lithe and nimble, she wove through the tempest of blades, her spear twisting in perfect harmony with her footwork. With each calculated movement, she parried, deflected, and redirected, sending the creature's attacks spiraling into empty space.
Her gaze remained cold and impenetrable. Dense lilac flame smoldered in her eyes, an eerie blaze that never wavered.
She wasn't reckless. She never overextended.
It was her spear that charted her course, as if guiding her steps through the deadly storm.
The Hollow Screamer shrieked, whether from rage or desperation—Auren couldn't discern. But it fought with savage intent, desperate to sever her throat with its grotesque, serrated limbs.
Auren felt a surge of both astonishment and respect.
But he had no luxury to dwell on it.
The others were coming.
Even with her remarkable skill, she merely kept it at bay. The creature's terrifying velocity and frenzied assault left her no opening to counter. The issue wasn't her strength—it was the relentless barrage of blows.
She had drawn all its focus onto herself.
Auren's lips curled into a predatory grin, his fingers tightening around the hilt of the holy sword.
And then—just as she evaded another lethal swing—their eyes locked.
For a single heartbeat, a wordless communication sparked between them.
'Kill it.'
That command blazed in her cold, penetrating gaze.
She hadn't come to finish it. She understood that wasn't her purpose.
She had plunged into the fray to serve as bait.
Auren nearly laughed.
'Smart.'
No hesitation. No delay.
He struck.
At that moment, the distant howls and shrieks of approaching monsters faded to insignificance.
His form blurred, his body soaring through the frigid night air. Below him, in perfect formation, a wave of Cursed abominations surged toward them, summoned by the Hollow Screamer's wail.
But he focused on a single target.
His sword plunged downward—
Crashing onto the creature's spine.
He barely registered the sensation of jagged spikes puncturing his legs, but the pain was irrelevant.
The Hollow Screamer shrieked, thrashing violently to dislodge him—
But Auren's stance remained unshakable.
His bare feet drove into the razor-lined ridges of its back, anchoring him in place.
His sword was already arcing through the air.
One fluid strike—seamless, unbroken. His landing and the swing melded into a single motion.
The blade carved through flesh and bone like a hot knife through frost—
And the Hollow Screamer's head tore free from its shoulders, hurled violently skyward in a grotesque fountain of blackened blood.
[You have slain...]
[...]
Auren couldn't savor his triumph.
The silver-haired warrior was already in motion—darting forward to confront the next wave.
Her spear clashed against the first abomination, intercepting its powerful limb with the shaft. The raw force of the impact drove her backward, her boots leaving furrows in the earth. She grimaced at the pressure bearing down on her—then flicked a sharp glance behind.
Auren was already there.
His steps were swift, leaving crimson footprints in his wake. Without pause, he drove his sword into the exposed belly of the Cursed creature. These weren't like the Major—their flesh yielded more readily to his blade.
The moment he met resistance, he twisted savagely. The abomination convulsed before crumpling to the ground.
But neither fighter hesitated.
Auren pivoted right.
She veered left.
Two figures moving in perfect tandem—without words, without glances—both striking at precisely the same instant.
The air sang with the metallic whisper of their weapons, their movements fluid as quicksilver. Blades cleaved through flesh, wrenching dark ichor from the creatures in their path.
Their rhythm was terrifying.
An unspoken synchronization.
Even as they retreated, they moved in flawless unison, each stepping back just enough to gather momentum for a more devastating, finishing blow.
Even as they pivoted, weapons flashing in deadly arcs, carving through the abominations rushing toward them like a scythe through wheat.
They never looked at each other—
Yet they sensed each other's flow with uncanny precision.
Their eyes dilated, and matching glacial smiles stretched across their faces.
Their thoughts harmonized in dark glee.
'Amazing!'