The hunt for a rank 8 beast
The march into the Black Reach had bled into exhaustion.
Boots sank into soil too soft, too wet, though there had been no rain. The ground pulsed, faintly warm beneath their feet, as if the earth itself breathed — shallow, feverish breaths. Every inhalation tasted of copper and old rot.
The soldiers of the Frontline — veterans by every cruel measure — trudged in tight formation, armor scuffed, weapons nicked, eyes darting toward Solace and Lyra. They didn't speak aloud, but whispers coiled like smoke through the ranks:
"They've been here before."
"Two survived a crossing into the Black Reach."
"Impossible… they came back alive?"
Disbelief tangled with awe, and awe tangled with dread. The whispers clung to the damp air, unwilling to rise too high, lest they draw the Reach's attention. Solace kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, though the horizon rotted and withered before his eyes, curling like burned paper in the sky.
Beside him, Lyra walked in silence, her pale resolve an iron mask. But he noticed the tremors in her gauntleted hands, tiny shivers she tried to hide. He didn't speak of them. They both understood: names and questions had no place here. Only survival.
At the front, General Francis and Lieutenant Jane Flex moved like statues carved from cold steel. Their faces betrayed nothing, yet their sidelong glances at Solace and Lyra weighed heavy — the same unspoken question burning in every soldier's heart:
"How had they survived what no others had?"
The answer was silence. The answer was hunger.
And still, the Reach stretched before them, a ruin made flesh.
They marched until the light became a bruise along the horizon. Until the air turned thick and sweet with decay. And then the memories returned — unbidden, heavy, inescapable.
The battle.
The beast.
It had descended like thunder. Rank 8: the weakest of a rank 8, but monstrous beyond measure. A vast mass of scale and claw and simmering, hateful intelligence. It should not have been there — no warning, no herald. Only the storm of its arrival.
The army had formed lines without hesitation. General Francis and Jane advanced, blades gleaming, every strike measured and merciless.
Lyra unleashed shadows that lashed and snapped like serpents, arcs of violet light slicing through fetid air. But the beast shrugged them off like mist. Solace, desperate beyond panic, conjured darkness beneath its feet — a mire of clutching shadow, thick as tar, suffocating. The beast faltered. A breath. No more.
Hours bled away.
The soldiers fought along the periphery, cutting down lesser spawn — shrieking things that bled smoke and hissed curses as they died. But the beast stood unbowed. It bled, but sparingly.
Injuries piled among the ranks. Blood soaked into the black earth, vanishing into the soil as though the ground itself fed on suffering.
Solace remembered the moment the noise had faded.
Not around him — but within.
The screams of men, the clash of steel — all distant, all muffled. Only his heartbeat remained. He listened. He saw the pattern. The general's blade left shallow gashes, cracks too faint for most to notice. Small weaknesses. He buried his sword into those fractures, carving deeper. The beast recoiled.
The others followed. Every spearpoint, every trembling spell found those fractures and widened them. Slowly, impossibly, the beast faltered. Its breath grew ragged. Movements slowed.
General Francis did not hesitate. He struck again and again. Each blow a thunderclap, until the beast collapsed in ruin.
The killing blow lifted Francis beyond the mortal threshold — a Transcendent, Rank 6. Lyra and Solace, bloodied and hollow, found themselves promoted to major.
But the victory felt like ash.
From the beast's torn chest they pried crystalline fragments — cold, humming, heavy with fading power. But nothing the Reach gave ever came without cost.
Night fell heavy and absolute.
They made camp in the shadow of ancient stone — ruins older than memory, humming faintly with energies best left forgotten. Fires crackled, but they gave no comfort.
Whispers returned. No longer awe. Only fear.
Cass and Orion sat close, eyes wide, faces pale, staring at Solace and Lyra as if they were already ghosts.
Then came the scent.
A bitter, greasy stench that clung to the back of the throat.
"You're cooking that?" Cass's voice cracked, raw and disbelieving.
Solace did not look up. He turned the meat over the flame, the oily smoke curling around him, worming into his hair, his skin, his armor.
"It's not good," Lyra said. Her voice was flat, cold iron. "But it keeps you alive."
General Francis and Jane approached the fire, each taking a piece without complaint. Francis chewed with grim determination. Jane swallowed hard.
"How long did you both survive on eating this ?" Jane asked softly.
"Long enough," Solace murmured.
Some soldiers spat it out, retching. Others forced it down. Hunger had no pride. Survival had no taste.
"Beast meat," Orion whispered, trembling.
"It is," Lyra confirmed. Her eyes gleamed with something too hard to be steel. "But you'll never crave it."
The fire popped. Embers drifted upward, dancing for a breath before dying.
Solace sat unmoving, staring at his gloved hand. Beneath leather and cloth, the artifact pulsed — faint, steady. A second heartbeat. A whisper in his blood.
Not yet enough.
"You're close," Lyra murmured.
He didn't answer.
"You feel it, don't you?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "The border pulling thinner."
He nodded once. "Not yet."
The night settled heavy around them. The camp fell into uneasy sleep, but the Reach never slept.
It watched. It waited.
Solace sat awake until the fire burned to embers. The silence pressed down like iron. His body ached. His eyelids grew heavy.
A whisper in his ear.
Not a voice. Not language.
Ascend.
He clenched his fist, the artifact pulsing with eagerness beneath the glove. He could feel the strength there. Just out of reach.
Lyra placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't do it tonight," she said softly.
"I know."
She left him there, alone by the dying fire.
The darkness thickened.
But he did not close his eyes.
And the Reach waited.