Night had barely fallen when the first tremor hit Dreadhold.
It wasn't an earthquake. It was a pulse. A wave of wrongness that made even the stone weep. From the ancient caverns beneath the fortress, something stirred—a beast, not born of this world, but carved from Kael's suffering and the cult's twisted rituals.
The warning bells rang only once before being swallowed by a scream.
Kael stood in the war room, sweat beading down his brow. The Eye had whispered all day—sickly sweet promises, names he didn't know, voices that sounded like his mother's laughter and his father's final breath. Now, it laughed.
He gripped the edge of the stone table as blood dripped from his fingertips.
"Your Highness!" cried Ardent, slamming into the room with his great shield drawn. "We're under attack. Something breached the catacombs."
Kael's head rose slowly. "Call the Thorns."
The ground cracked outside Dreadhold's walls as the creature emerged.
It was massive, hunched like a dying god, its flesh a patchwork of runes and rot. A dozen eyes blinked across its chest, none its own. Its arms dragged behind it like broken siege weapons. It moved like a beast—but its mouth spoke.
"I am hunger," it rasped. "I am the seed of ruin. The king will fall tonight."
Valdran was the first to meet it. Cloaked in dusksteel, his sword glowed with stored rage. He charged without hesitation, blade meeting corrupted flesh in a brilliant arc of force.
"By Kael's name!" he roared.
Behind him, the Thorns descended.
Eris, the Thorn of Chains, unleashed her serpents of steel, binding the beast's limbs and halting its advance. Riven, the wind-slicing Thorn, darted like a blade of air, severing tendons and blinking from shadow to shadow.
And then came Veyra, fire pouring from her palms like liquid fury. She rose into the sky, casting down a storm of flame.
But the beast did not fall.
It roared—and from the tunnels spilled its brood. Corrupted cultists, glassy-eyed and silent, raced into Dreadhold with blades and explosives strapped to their torsos.
The walls erupted into chaos.
Kael stumbled into the courtyard, his aura flaring like a dying star. He clutched his chest—where the Eye's inverted mark now burned like molten metal.
"I won't break," he whispered to himself. "I won't…"
The beast's many eyes turned toward him. "You already have."
Kael screamed. His power surged, tearing through the cobblestones. Shadows burst from him in violent waves, uncontrolled. A nearby Thorn—Tarin—was thrown across the courtyard and slammed into a wall.
The Eye surged in his mind, demanding release.
But then—
A gust of silver wind sliced the cultists in half before they could detonate.
Riven landed beside Kael, blood spattered across his face, his sword humming with psionic energy.
"I came to kill you," he said coldly. "But I'll kill them first."
He stood between Kael and the monster, sword raised. "Just try not to lose it while I do."
The battle raged for hours.
Eclipse and Luna arrived mid-fight, tearing through the cultists like predators unchained. Luna fought with her claws dipped in venomous void, while Eclipse whispered words that made men's blood boil.
Eris got knocked into rubble. She emerged laughing, hair wild, chains lashing like whips from her arms. "You ugly bastards picked the wrong garden to bloom in!"
Valdran faced the beast again, his body steaming from the heat of his own magic. "Stand," he growled. "Or I will cut the ground out from under you."
And he did.
With a slam of his blade, he shattered the stone beneath the monster, forcing it to stumble as the Thorns launched a full frontal assault. Riven streaked through the air, slashing at its knees. Veyra lit the sky with a phoenix-shaped inferno. Eris snapped her chains around its throat. Tarin, back from the wall with bloodied armor, hurled two spears of light straight into its chest.
Even Eclipse screamed—just once—and that scream made the creature twitch.
Kael, struggling to contain the Eye, knelt in the rubble. The mark on his arm glowed violently.
"You don't own me," he growled. "Not yet."
In a final act of will, he raised his arm—and shattered the corrupted beast's spine with a concentrated burst of his unstable power.
The battlefield went silent.
When dawn rose, Dreadhold still stood—but barely.
Dozens lay dead. The walls were scorched. The Thorns, bloodied and tired, regrouped.
Kael stood at the heart of it, pale and shaking.
Riven sheathed his blade and looked at him for a long moment.
"You're not what I expected," he said. "That's dangerous. But maybe… maybe not all danger should be destroyed."
He vanished before Kael could respond.
From the shadows beyond the battlefield, the high priest of the Eye watched.
"The seeds are blooming," he whispered. "Let the king believe he's won. The crown will fall when the soul cracks."
And beneath the ruins, something vast and ancient stirred once more.