Kylas walked through the forest, looking at the rose he left behind, promising he'll be back for it.
'I promise..'
They walked through the forest around them, and going out far enough, his happiness to be away from the garden touching his emotions. He came across a tree, its bark ashen white, a hollow in its trunk gaping like a wound. He looked at it, and thought it was pretty badass, and kept walking.
The road stretched endlessly beneath the golden light, the brilliance of Nyxhelm's eternal sun casting a surreal glow over the land. Marble streets gleamed like polished bone, their pristine surfaces never knowing the touch of true darkness. The air hummed—not with silence, not with wind, but with the distant, melodic murmurs of the people, their voices entwined in ceaseless hymns. The very breath of the city was a song, and to disrupt it with mere spoken words was an unforgivable sin.
Seraph walked ahead, her keen fox-kin eyes sweeping over the radiant spires and elaborate architecture, all sculpted in a manner that suggested worship itself had carved the city into existence. The absence of shadows, the way the people moved with unnatural grace, their faces alight with quiet reverence, as if anything less than devotion would unmake them.
Kylas, however, was too enraptured to care.
He dashed from place to place like a child unleashed upon a festival for the first time. One moment he was pressing his hands against a wall of smooth, alabaster stone of a nearby monastery, marveling at the coolness beneath the heat. The next, he was kneeling, running his fingers through the golden veins lacing the marble paths. "This is insane!" he exclaimed, his voice shattering the sacred silence of the street.
A ripple of dissonance passed through the air. The hymn wavered—a subtle, almost imperceptible break in the seamless chorus. Seraph stiffened. Even Gunthr and Zedlock, ever the silent knights, straightened their stances, their metallic forms rigid with caution.
Kylas, oblivious, continued his chaotic exploration. "This place is—Whoa, what's that?"
He had spotted a fountain—no, not water, not stone, but a construct of shifting light, golden liquid twisting into ever-changing shapes. It pulsed as if alive, and Kylas reached out for it. The moment his fingers brushed the radiant substance, a violent force repelled him. He was flung backward with such speed that he barely had time to yell before he crashed into the ground.
Gunthr and Zedlock reacted dramatically, flanking him like worried attendants, while Seraph merely pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Did you hear anything I just said?" she asked, her voice laced with exasperation. "You're not supposed to touch random things."
Kylas groaned, sitting up, rubbing his head. "You could've warned me that the sun-water or whatever would try to sling my ass."
"I did. You weren't listening."
"Oops."
Still, she sighed and helped him to his feet. "Listen. The streets are paved with white marble, and some of the most devoted people speak only in hymns—because blasphemy burns. Shadows are outlawed, and those who create them—" she paused, watching Kylas' reaction, "even by accident—are executed as heretics. Their bodies vanish into light."
Kylas blinked at her, then gave a slow nod of understanding. "Right. No talking, no touching, no shade-making unless it's a house or place of business. Got it."
Seraph narrowed her eyes. "You're going to immediately break all of those rules, aren't you?"
Before he could answer, something shifted in the air. A warmth—not from the sun, but from the land itself. The horizon shimmered, and from the distant dunes of golden sand emerged beings unlike any seen before.
They walked like men, yet their forms were molten silhouettes, their bodies a lattice of light held together by intricate runic etchings. The symbols burned across their arms and torsos, shifting like constellations in motion. Their heads were featureless save for the circular halos of white flame where eyes should have been.
Seraph inhaled sharply. Solaris-bound. She recognized them—guardians of the eternal sun, beings forged from law itself. In past worlds, she had seen their kind pass judgment on those who spoke against the light. Their hands, when raised, could unmake a person in an instant, reducing them to nothing but a faint golden mist.
Kylas, of course, had no such concerns.
"Shit," he whispered, stepping forward with the reckless curiosity of someone who had never been burned. "They're like walking stars—"
Seraph seized him by the collar and yanked him back before he could get himself obliterated. "Do not approach them."
Gunthr and Zedlock, perhaps wisely, took a few steps away from Kylas, as if subtly distancing themselves in case he was about to be incinerated.
The Solaris-bound walked past without acknowledging them, their hymn-like voices blending into the larger song of the city. As they moved, the very ground seemed to glow in their wake, leaving radiant footprints that shimmered before fading.
Kylas finally pulled himself free of Seraph's grip, rubbing his neck. "Alright, alright. No running up to the sun-people."
They continued onward, the streets eventually leading them to a vast body of water. But this was no ordinary lake or sea. It stretched impossibly far, reflecting the eternal sun with a radiance so intense it was almost blinding. The water itself was golden, thick yet fluid, swirling with runic symbols that pulsed beneath the surface.
Kylas crouched near the edge, squinting. "Is that—"
"The royal sigil," Seraph confirmed. "A sun with too many rays, curling inward like grasping fingers."
Kylas whistled. "Dramatic."
Upon the luminous waves, ships drifted—vessels unlike any known to mortal seas. Their hulls were carved from the same white marble as the city, yet their sails were woven from pure light, shifting hues between gold and ivory. Banners adorned with the kingdom's symbol fluttered despite the absence of wind.
The crewmen aboard them were no ordinary soldiers. Their armor was sculpted, intricate beyond human craftsmanship, each plate engraved with celestial runes that gleamed with a divine fire. Helms bore elongated, sunburst-like crests, and where their eyes should have been, only light shone through.
Kylas turned to Seraph, expression unreadable. "So, uh… they see us, right?"
"Oh, they see us," she murmured. "They just don't care. Yet."
Gunthr and Zedlock, silent as ever, seemed almost entranced by the spectacle before them. Kylas, though fascinated, was clearly battling the overwhelming urge to poke something—which, if Seraph had anything to say about it, he absolutely would not be doing.
The four of them stood there, watching as the ships drifted, as the golden sea whispered secrets only the devout could understand. And above it all, high in the sky, the large black sphere still loomed. Watching.
The marble streets stretched endlessly beneath the undying sun, their polished surfaces so pristine that they reflected the sky like a second firmament. The air was thick with hymns, the ceaseless voices of the people intertwining in layered harmonies that made silence feel like an intrusion. Every step through Nyxhelm felt measured, as though the very world was watching, waiting for missteps.
Seraph led the way, her fox-like gaze drifting over the faceless statues of sun-worshipers, the vast murals depicting Alzhaer in all his radiance, and the ever-present golden banners swaying in an absent wind. She had seen all this before, in different forms, across different shattered worlds. Places where the sun was not a star, but a mouth.
Kylas, Gunthr, and Zedlock followed, the former still rubbing his chin, digesting everything they had seen. He wasn't the type to sit around and philosophize, but even he was starting to notice something was… wrong. The people moved too smoothly, their motions choreographed as if unseen strings dictated their existence. The way they sang—not individually, but as a single, unified voice—made his stomach feel tight, like a wrong note in an otherwise perfect melody.
'It's weird as hell actually..'
They turned into a smaller alley between two massive temple structures, aiming to leave the main streets behind. But as they stepped into the shade of the towering sun-spires, a presence blocked their path.
Solaris-bound.
Four of them. Their silhouettes flickered like living mirages, their bodies forged from golden luminescence with intricate runes constantly shifting across their forms. Their faces were smooth, featureless disks of radiance, save for the glowing, ever-watching halos where their eyes should have been.
The hymns quieted. The city held its breath.
One of the Solaris-bound stepped forward, its voice layered with echoes of past voices, speaking not as an individual, but as a conduit of the sun's will.
"Pilgrims, speak. Do you know the Five Tenets of Alzhaer's Light?"
Kylas blinked. "Uh—"
'We're doomed. We're definitely doomed.'
Seraph swiftly placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing just enough for him to shut up. She stepped forward, bowing slightly. "Of course."
The Solaris-bound did not react. It was like speaking to a statue of molten gold. Then, another question.
"The First Tenet. What is the light?"
Seraph answered smoothly. "The light is the breath of Alzhaer, the gaze that grants life. To be unseen is to perish."
Kylas narrowed his eyes slightly. What the hell does that even mean?
"The Second Tenet. What is the shadow?"
"The rejection of his gaze. A falsehood. A defiance that must be purged."
Kylas glanced down at his own shadow—or the lack of it. This place is seriously fucked up.
'Seraph…she's so good at this..'
"The Third Tenet. What must be done with those who speak against the sun?"
Seraph didn't hesitate. "They must be offered. Their flesh must be returned to the great veil of radiance."
Kylas felt his stomach twist. He had already noticed something about this place was off, but hearing Seraph say it so smoothly, as if she had memorized these words from experience, made him realize just how deep this madness went.
"The Fourth Tenet. Why do we sing?"
Seraph's lips barely parted. "Because to be silent is to be forgotten."
Kylas felt a cold sweat on his back. He turned his head slightly, watching the city behind them, the people moving like waves, their songs flowing without beginning or end. The lack of individuality suddenly struck him like a hammer. There were no arguments, no shouts, no laughter—only this ceaseless hymn by the most devoted people. Though, he did see some who didn't follow the protocol, but it was a small few.
The Solaris-bound took a step closer. The final question.
"The Fifth Tenet. What is Alzhaer?"
Seraph's expression did not change. "He is light."
The Solaris-bound tilted its head, as if considering. Then, without another word, the four of them turned and walked past, vanishing into the radiant haze of the city.
Kylas let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair. "So, uh. You just knew all of that?"
Seraph glanced at him, expression unreadable. "If we're gonna survive here, we have to be knowledgeable. And I'll teach you. The Solaris-bound will easily try and question those they aren't familiar with. Those who have been here for a long time get some leeway, or they just avoid them."
Kylas shook his head, finally processing it all. "Okay, but… this place is really fucked up."
Seraph arched a brow. "You just now noticed?"
They kept moving, leaving the alley and re-entering the broader streets. The city was alive in its own eerie way. They passed by vendors selling golden fruits that shimmered like captured sunlight, robed priests carving intricate symbols into marble walls, and groups of children humming soft, rhythmic chants as they played a strange, circular game where their steps followed invisible patterns on the ground.
A woman bent over a basin of golden water, her reflection staring back at her without blinking, her lips moving in a silent, mirrored prayer.
A man sat cross-legged before a statue of Alzhaer, methodically pulling golden threads from his own fingertips, weaving them into the marble like strands of silk.
Above them, Gunthr and Zedlock both stiffened. Their helmeted visors turned upward, toward the sky.
There, circling high above, was an owl.
Its feathers were pristine white, its wings outstretched as it glided effortlessly through the air. But something was off. It wasn't flapping its wings. It wasn't moving—it was simply hanging in the sky, suspended like a painting against the too-bright heavens.
Watching.
Kylas followed their gaze, eyes narrowing. But before he could say anything, another thought struck him.
"Okay, hold on. What's the deal with this Alzhaer guy?"
Seraph's expression didn't change, but there was a pause before she spoke. "Alzhaer's true form is an entity of pure luminescence—but not divine. It feeds on perception. To be seen is to strengthen it. That is why its people must never look away. Those who have gazed upon its true body have no eyes left, their sockets filled with molten gold. This kingdom exists only to worship its image, because if it is unseen… it dies."
Kylas processed this. His stomach churned. "That's… probably the worst thing I've ever heard."
Seraph simply nodded.
Kylas opened his mouth to ask another question, but Seraph turned to him instead. "Is this what you expected?" Her tone was calm, but there was something behind her voice. "Being outside. Being away from the garden. Are you satisfied?"
Kylas didn't answer immediately. He walked a few steps ahead, climbing a small rise of broken stone, standing where the sun blazed fully upon him. He looked up into the never-ending sky, hands on his hips, shoulders square.
And he smiled.
"This place fucking sucks."
Seraph let out a small, sharp chuckle before quickly masking it. But the sound had already escaped.
A Solaris-bound heard it.
It turned, golden light flaring. "Pilgrim. What did you say?"
Kylas didn't hesitate. He immediately threw himself into an exaggerated bow. "Praise Alzhaer! Praise be to the glorious light!"
'I'm doomed now!'
Gunthr and Zedlock, without missing a beat, also bowed, their heavy metal bodies lowering in eerie synchronization, though neither of them spoke.
The Solaris-bound watched them for a long, tense moment. Then, without another word, it walked away.
Seraph grabbed Kylas by the arm. "We need to move. Now."
They walked, faster this time, leaving the crowded streets, moving toward the outskirts where the pale forests of Nyxhelm stretched like skeletal hands beneath the endless daylight.
Then—Kylas stopped.
His gaze locked onto a nearby tree, its bark ashen white, a hollow in its trunk gaping like a wound.
Seraph noticed his sudden stillness. "What?"
Kylas' mouth felt dry. His fingers twitched.
"We've been through here already, haven't we?"
The owl still hung in the sky.
But now—it was dead.
Hanging in the air.
Watching.
And Kylas saw it. And he was speechless. He never saw anything like this. And then going unnoticed, Kylas, Seraph, Gunthr, and Zedlock, noticed they were in the same forest they were in when they first left.
Seraph said, "What the hell…?"
Kylas looked to the left, seeing the same tree he saw before: It's bark ashen white, a hollow in its trunk gaping like a wound
Kylas said, "There's no way we're back where we were…."
The moment Kylas froze, the world seemed to hold its breath. His heart hammered violently in his chest, the sound deafening in his ears as his eyes remained locked on the dead owl hanging motionlessly in the air. The air grew cold, thick with a suffocating tension that coiled around them like a tightening vice.
Then, as though pulled from the depths of nightmare, Seraph's fingers twitched. Her pupils, once gleaming like sharp golden slivers, elongated, becoming thin, reptilian slits. The unmistakable sound of her breath, sharp and shallow, reverberated around them.
She turned to Kylas, her movements sharp, as if she could sense the imminent danger even before it fully took form.
"Kylas!"
Before he could react, she lunged forward in front of him, eyes wild.
A scream tore through the air—a massive black thorn shot from the earth, piercing Seraph's chest in an eruption of blood. The thorn was covered in rotting, black roses that bloomed and wilted at once, releasing a grotesque stench that made the air feel thick and nauseating. The force of it drove her back, the sharpness of the thorn pushing through her body, her blood staining the ground in dark pools.
Kylas gasped, his legs locking as his gaze followed the horrendous sight. Her blood soaked the earth, dripping between her fingers as she crumpled to the ground, her face pale, eyes half-lidded. Her breath came in ragged wheezes, like the dying breath of some ancient creature. Her body trembled as the black roses began to grow from her wounds, their twisted stems wrapping around her, even burrowing beneath her skin.
"No.." Kylas managed to croak, his voice hoarse with panic, his mind unable to comprehend the sheer violence unfolding before him. He stood frozen, paralyzed, his heart gripped by a terror so foreign to him that it was as if his own blood had turned to ice.
'….What's going on….?!'
Gunthr and Zedlock's bodies went taut in unison, sensing the threat that loomed around them. Gunthr's massive hand wrapped tightly around the chain of his wrecking ball, his expression unreadable beneath his helmet, but his movements deliberate. He swung the flaming sphere, the spikes of the weapon catching the light of the sun like molten daggers. The air hummed with the promise of destruction as he prepared for the worst.
Zedlock was already in motion. His three-sided, jagged sword gleamed in the sun, the edges catching the light as if the blade were alive, each curve rippling with dark, liquid gold that seemed to bend the very air around it. The blade shuddered with energy, reflecting the gravity of the situation.
But none of that could shake Kylas from his stupor. His hands, trembling, reached toward Seraph, only to stop short as he stared at his own palms. His fingers were slick with her blood, the red stains darkening against the pale white of his skin. His chest tightened, his breaths turning shallow. He could barely breathe, his vision wavering as anxiety and dread set in like a wave crashing over him.
He wiped his hands on his tunic, but the blood wouldn't come off. Her blood.
A low, guttural growl broke through the heavy silence, drawing Kylas' attention back to the darkening horizon. His eyes widened as grotesque, mutilated figures began to appear from the shadows of the forest, their bodies torn, twisted, and defiled in ways that defied the laws of nature. They were horrors, the stuff of twisted nightmares brought to life—monstrosities bound by an unimaginable, ancient curse.
One creature stepped into view, its limbs unnaturally long, the fingers ending in jagged claws that scraped against the earth with each step. Its face was a warped, distorted mask, its mouth agape in a permanent scream, half-melted skin hanging from its skull. Its eyes were hollow, yet black veins crawled beneath its skin, pulsing with every twisted movement.
Another crawled out from the undergrowth, its body a mass of contorted flesh and bone, its back split open like a grotesque flower with sinew and blackened flesh dripping from its ribs. It moved with unnatural grace, its neck snapping as it tilted its head, revealing rows of sharp, yellowed teeth that seemed far too large for its skull.
From the darkness of the trees, a third beast emerged—a hulking figure, its arms fused with the stumps of trees, bark and flesh growing from its back, a horrifying cross between man and nature. Its eyes were wide, crazed, reflecting a savage intelligence as it let out a guttural roar that shook the very earth beneath them.
The remaining beasts were just as monstrous, their bodies deformed and twisted, some with skin stretched thin like leather, others with limbs fused together in ways that defied reason. Each one looked as though it had once been human, but now they were little more than walking nightmares.
The creatures gathered around them in a circle, closing in on Kylas, Seraph, Gunthr, and Zedlock. Silent at first, they only moved in eerie synchrony, their movements too deliberate, too unnerving to be natural. They were like hunters, their eyes not looking but watching.
Then, as one, they spoke, their voices a single, haunting whisper. It was the voice of the All Mother, and it echoed in Kylas' mind like a chant, rattling his thoughts.
"I knew one day you would break the seal. I did not expect it to be so soon. You, Kylas, are a danger to this world—like the rest of the gods. Keeping you in the garden was mercy, not a prison. Your parents begged for you to be spared, to be kept alive, because they assumed we would manipulate you—use you against the gods."
Kylas' heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to make sense of it all, his body unable to move, unable to fight back. The tension was unbearable, each word from the All Mother sinking into him like an anchor, threatening to drag him under.
"But you are not yet ready, are you? Your power lies dormant—untapped, unfocused. A weapon waiting to be wielded. You are useless to us now, but unchecked, Kylas… unchecked, you will become a force. A monster—worse than the gods themselves."
The words echoed in Kylas' mind, clawing at his thoughts. His hands clenched into fists, his eyes narrowing, but he still couldn't move, his legs rooted to the spot.
"I'm not a monster… I'm… I'm fucking Kylas…" he muttered, his voice hoarse, the words scraping out of him like a broken record.
The beasts didn't respond. Instead, they moved closer, their twisted forms closing in like a nightmare tightening its grip. The air grew thick with the stench of rot, of death, and of something far older.
Seraph, still bleeding and weak, managed to lift her head, her fingers digging into the earth. She hated herself for being in this state—this vulnerable, pathetic state. Her pride, her strength, felt so far out of reach.
"Run, Kylas." She managed to gasp, her voice barely above a whisper. But it was too late.
Gunthr and Zedlock were poised, weapons at the ready, prepared for a fight that seemed impossible to win. But Kylas—he still couldn't move. His mind was frozen in place, the weight of everything around him pulling him down into an abyss of helplessness.
The world around him was closing in. He could feel the air growing thick with their presence. The black roses on Seraph's wounds bloomed, their petals curling like claws.
The air, once thick with tension, now felt suffocating—a stifling presence that weighed down on Kylas like the very weight of the world itself. The grotesque creatures that had first appeared seemed to pale in comparison as more horrors manifested from the shadows, twisting out of the darkness with sickening, otherworldly grace. These new arrivals were not like the others—they were worse. Each one was an aberration of nature, a twisted chimera, a living nightmare.
One of them, a hulking beast, was a grotesque combination of man and serpent. Its lower body was that of a massive snake, scales glistening in the light, while its upper body was human—except the arms were long, inhumanly so, ending in clawed hands that seemed to scratch and scrape the ground with every step. The creature's face was a contorted mask of madness, its mouth splitting open like a cavern, filled with rows of jagged teeth. As it roared, its voice echoed in a maddening pitch, a primal scream of rage and hunger.
Another, a beast of sinew and bone, had its ribs exposed, forming a jagged cage around its chest. The creature's skin was torn in places, revealing veins that pulsated with dark energy, while one of its arms was a grotesque amalgamation of blades, fused and twisted together like a deadly sculpture. Its eyes, sunken and wild, scanned the group with predatory hunger, but it was clear that it was not focused on them alone. A wild frenzy had taken over, and it lashed out violently, attacking anything in its path—including one of its own kind.
More joined the fray, each more horrific than the last—beings of berserk fury, with bodies that were not simply deformed but utterly warped, as if reality itself was bent and twisted to form them. Some had heads that seemed to have fused with animal skulls, others had limbs that extended unnaturally long, ending in claws or talons that scraped across the earth. The air vibrated with a sickening energy as these monstrous entities clashed with one another, tearing into each other with savage brutality. Blood and gore spilled across the ground, mixing with the earth, as they fought—beasts against beasts, torn and broken bodies creating a scene of utter chaos. The sickening sound of bone and flesh tearing echoed, adding to the unholy cacophony of battle.
And yet, amidst the chaos, the voice of the All Mother rang out once again, clear and unyielding. It was a voice that carried authority, but also something far darker—a deep, unsettling conviction.
"The powers from Hell, from the very prison of the Ethelen, guide us," Arnalla's voice echoed, twisting and stretching, like a thread weaving itself through the very fabric of reality. "The coven of witches—our sisters—bring ruin to this world through our rituals. We do this not for pleasure, but for the gods' fall. For the world's liberation. The world must be free, and we will be the ones to purge it."
Her words cut through the madness of the battle as if she were unbothered by the carnage around her.
"But you, Kylas, you must not interfere. Your power—untamed, uncontrolled—cannot be allowed to threaten us. You may have been sealed for a reason. Now, I offer you an option. Go back to the garden. We will mark you again, branded by the talisman, and you will return. You will not remember, but you will be safe. Or…"
The words hung in the air, heavy with finality, as the thick fog began to roll across the landscape, creeping in from every direction, thick and suffocating, as if the very sky itself had become tainted.
Kylas stood there, his heart racing. He could hardly breathe, his chest tight with a fear he had never known. His eyes darted from Seraph—still bleeding heavily, her breath shallow and ragged—and to the monstrous beings surrounding them, their grotesque forms circling like vultures. His legs trembled, unable to move, his mind struggling to comprehend the depths of the nightmare unfolding around him.
In the blink of an eye, it happened.
Seraph, her body crumpled, yet still clutching onto him with whatever strength she had left, felt the jarring motion as Kylas suddenly grabbed her, slinging her across his back in one swift movement.
"No..don't..leave me here..so I can fight…. I won't lose…' Her voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, as she gasped for air, blood dripping from her body, staining Kylas as he sprinted through the suffocating fog. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum, his mind consumed by a single, frantic thought: survive.
The world around them seemed to warp, the black fog rolling in with a malevolent energy, as if the very air was becoming an extension of the All Mother's will. The shadows around them danced, reaching for them, as if they too were trying to keep them trapped in this nightmare.
Seraph, clinging to him, felt herself slipping in and out of consciousness, her head dizzy, her vision blurred. She was reminded of a time when she was small, when a surviving fox-kin had carried her in much the same way. It was a memory—faint, fragile—but it filled her with an odd sense of comfort.
Her body trembled against Kylas as she gritted her teeth, trying to block out the pain, her thoughts a whirlwind. "I'm sorry, Mom." The words whispered in her mind, as the ache of her past, her people, filled her chest with sorrow.
But there was no time for that. They were in motion—Kylas' breathing fast, erratic. He stumbled over the uneven ground, the fog making it hard to see anything clearly. His mind was racing, his heart thundering in his chest.
And then, the All Mother's voice rang out again, clear as ever, its cold, unsettling tone weaving through the fog.
"Go, sisters. Join each other in the hunt."
Her command echoed, a chilling order that seemed to pierce the air itself. And in the instant that followed, Kylas could hear them—the creatures, the horrors—coming closer. The hunt was about to begin.
He ran faster, breath ragged, mind swirling in panic and confusion. Each step felt like it might be his last, the darkness closing in around him. He could feel Seraph's blood soaking through his clothing, her weight heavy on his back, but still, he ran.
The hunt was coming. The fog closed in.
The air was thick with tension, the forest alive with the dark murmurings of the coven's witching power, twisting and warping the very nature of the land. All around, the witches began their preparations—each one a grotesque embodiment of the All Mother's will, twisted by the dark magic that seeped into the very bones of the forest. They were preparing for the hunt.
One witch, Calyssia, stood atop a gnarled tree branch, her body unnaturally elongated, her fingers clawing at the bark like an arachnid's legs. Her face was a mask of stitched-together flesh, her eyes black pits of emptiness. She cackled softly to herself, her voice like the rustle of dead leaves. In her hands, she twirled a razor-sharp needle, its thread made of living sinew. She whispered ancient incantations, stitching invisible threads through the air, preparing her trap—an intricate web of magic that would ensnare any who passed beneath it. Her laugh echoed as she crouched low, her limbs bending at unnatural angles, ready to strike.
Further along the forest, Morveth, a witch clad in dark leathers that shimmered with the reflections of distant fires, cracked her knuckles. Her body was marked with runes of power that pulsed with each heartbeat. She was preparing to launch herself into the air—her form a blur of sinew and magic as she readied herself for a high-speed aerial strike. Morveth's eyes gleamed with feral anticipation, her mouth a twisted grin. She had always enjoyed the hunt.
Not far from her, Nerith, a witch whose flesh was stitched together from various parts of beasts, stood motionless. Her body was a patchwork of skin, fur, and bone, her face an ever-shifting mask of stitched-together faces. Each face was a fragment of the past, eyes that blinked and mouths that murmured words of old. She reached out with hands that were gnarled and sharp, brushing the soil of the earth, pulling the tendrils of dark magic from the roots of trees. Her power was subtle but deadly, weaving illusions in the air—shadows that danced and swirled to disorient and confuse.
Fera, a witch draped in robes of tattered feathers, bent low to the earth. Her long, bird-like legs bent and shifted, each one a calculated movement as she began to summon her familiar—a massive, raven-like beast that circled above, its eyes glowing with malevolent intelligence. She spoke in a low, guttural voice to the beast, binding it to her will. The air around her shimmered with the power of her incantations. She was the tracker, the one who would follow Kylas and Seraph's scent, picking apart their every move.
Finally, Lethira, a witch whose face was marked with a grotesque crown of thorns, stood at the heart of a decayed shrine. She raised her hands to the sky, her eyes glowing with ethereal, celestial energy as she began to chant. Dark clouds gathered above, swirling violently as the wind began to howl. Her power was that of the elements, the winds and the storms. The forest around her began to buckle, trees twisting as though being pulled by invisible strings, each branch a weapon, each root a potential trap. Her voice echoed in unison with the others, a perfect harmony of malevolent power.
The witching forest was ready for the hunt. The air buzzed with anticipation.
Meanwhile, Gunthr and Zedlock darted ahead, their movements a perfect counterbalance to the chaos of the forest. Gunthr swung his massive wrecking ball with terrifying ease, his chain rattling as it flew through the air. The molten spikes on the ball left a trail of destruction in their wake. With a roar, he slammed the ball into a grotesque abomination that attempted to pounce. The creature's flesh shattered like glass, its limbs ripped from its body as the force of the blow sent it sprawling into a heap of broken bones and blood.
Zedlock, his blade a shimmering weapon of deadly precision, danced around the fallen beast. His three-sided sword moved like a blur, carving through the air with surgical precision. He parried a blow from another monstrous creature, the strike clashing with his blade in a shower of sparks. In a fluid motion, he spun, his feet leaving the ground as he twisted into a mid-air somersault. With a ferocious strike, Zedlock cleaved through the neck of a creature that had been preparing to strike from behind.
The battle around them was a chaotic whirl of motion—beasts lunging, weapons slashing, blood spraying, and the ground itself shaking beneath the violence. Gunthr swung again, his massive weapon carving through another abomination's midsection, causing its entrails to spill out in a grotesque display. Zedlock was a whirlwind of steel, his movements calculated and precise, each strike a blur as he danced through the fray with unnatural grace, effortlessly cutting down any abomination that dared get too close.
Gunthr, roaring in fury, smote another creature with a devastating overhead strike, his weapon crashing into the ground with an explosion of dirt and bone. He pivoted, his chain wrapping around a beast's neck, lifting it into the air before hurling it across the clearing, where it collided with the twisted trunk of a nearby tree with a sickening thud.
The All Mother's voice echoed through the chaos, a chilling presence that reverberated through the entire forest.
"I created them as sentient pieces of armor. They were to watch over him, to supervise Kylas," she said with disbelief. "But now… they have taken a liking to him."
The air seemed to still for a moment as the weight of her words sank in.
Gunthr and Zedlock were more than mere instruments—they had evolved, taken on lives of their own, and now, they fought to protect Kylas. The All Mother's words were laced with contempt, but there was something else in her tone: shock. They were no longer just soldiers. They had become something else. Something dangerous.
The battle raged on—fluid, fast, and brutal. Gunthr's wrecking ball cleaved through another creature's ribs with a resounding crack, the force of the blow shattering its chest. Zedlock, ever the precision artist, parried a vicious strike, then lunged forward, his blade carving through the throat of an abomination. The beast crumpled like a ragdoll, blood spraying across the battlefield.
And yet, despite the chaos around them, Kylas continued to run. He didn't look back, his only focus on Seraph—her body heavy across his back, her breath shallow and pained.
Kylas ran through the forest, his mind spinning, his heart pounding. He couldn't stop. He couldn't breathe. His thoughts were a blur of fear and confusion, but there was one thing that kept him moving.
"Mom… Dad…"
His hands were shaking, his chest tight, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He wiped his hands on his shirt, trying to rid himself of the blood, the evidence of the horrors around him.
'I'm sorry for hating you.'
Kylas thought, guilt gnawing at him as the weight of the situation hit him full force.
The path ahead was dark, the fog thickening as the forest seemed to close in around them.
And then, just as he thought he might escape, he heard it. The whisper of movement. The hiss of creatures slithering through the darkness. The sound of whirring dark magic from the shadows. The All Mother's forces were closing in.