Chapter 23

  Lucian's breath was ragged, his body aching from the force of the impact, but there was no time to recover. His vision cleared just in time to see Vraxxis moving.

  The monstrous Grellock strode forward, his abyssal form pulsing with dark energy. His gaze was locked on Fey, who lay sprawled in the dirt, struggling to push herself up. Her fingers trembled as they reached toward Gale Fang, her twin falchions lying mere feet away. But her body wasn’t responding fast enough—she was still recovering from the brutal hit Vraxxis had landed on her.

  Lucian turned to Renn, who was beside him, her breathing heavy. Blood stained her pants, and her leg was twisted at an unnatural angle—she couldn't stand, let alone move. His chest tightened. He had landed on her when Vraxxis struck him away. This was his fault.

  But there was no time for guilt.

  Lucian bent down, carefully shifting Renn into a seated position against the base of a nearby tree. She winced but said nothing, her focus locked on the battlefield.

  “I can’t move, but I can still shoot,” she muttered, gripping her bow. Then, her sharp golden eyes turned to him. “Listen. I’ll fire a barrage of arrows—each one coated in Ascen. They won’t kill him, but they’ll slow him down.”

  Lucian nodded, understanding instantly.

  “You need to get to Fey before he does,” Renn continued. “Support her until she’s back on her feet.”

  Lucian didn’t hesitate. He took a deep breath, feeling the energy within him surge. His dark blue Ascen aura flared to life, coiling around his legs like crackling tendrils of raw power.

  Then—he ran.

  The ground cracked beneath his feet as he launched forward, closing the distance in an instant.

  Vraxxis took another step toward Fey—

  THUNK.

  An arrow slammed into his shoulder, coated in Renn’s golden Ascen.

  Vraxxis barely flinched, but his movement halted.

  THUNK.

  Another arrow.

  Then another.

  And another.

  Five arrows, fired in rapid succession, each one striking true. The Ascen-infused energy within them crackled, restricting his movement for just a moment.

  It wasn’t much—but it was enough.

  Lucian clenched his teeth, pushing himself forward with everything he had.

  Fey was still reaching for her Relicarn.

  Lucian wasn’t going to let Vraxxis get to her first.

  Lucian didn’t slow as he neared Fey—he slid the last few feet, reaching out and snatching Gale Fang from the dirt. The twin falchions still pulsed with wind-aspected Ascen energy, their edges sharp and humming with unstable power.

  “Here,” Lucian said as he knelt beside her, gripping her arm and pulling her up.

  Fey let out a sharp breath, her body still weak, but she took Gale Fang back without hesitation. Her grip was firm despite her injuries.

  “You still with me?” Lucian asked, his voice steady but urgent.

  Fey gave a small chuckle, rolling her shoulders. “Barely.” She exhaled, her greenish-silver aura flickering around her as she steadied herself. “But I’ve got one more attack left in me.”

  Lucian’s eyes narrowed. “One?”

  Fey nodded, lifting her gaze toward Vraxxis, who was already shaking off Renn’s arrows. His void-infused aura pulsed violently, his patience wearing thin.

  “This is all I’ve got,” Fey admitted. She turned back to Lucian, her sharp eyes locking onto his. “After this, everything is in your hands.”

  Lucian swallowed hard but gave a firm nod. There was no room for doubt. No hesitation.

  “Then we make it count,” he said.

  Fey smirked. “Damn right we do.”

  She inhaled sharply, her aura surging—Gale Fang’s blades began to vibrate, the wind around them growing chaotic, spiraling into a violent storm of pure cutting force. The air itself trembled in response.

  Then, Fey whispered the name of her strongest technique—

  "Tempest Rend."

  The storm was unleashed.

  Fey’s Tempest Rend tore through Vraxxis’ abyssal flesh, carving deep, bleeding wounds into his monstrous body. The battlefield howled as the air split apart, the wind shrieking in violent chaos.

  For the first time since his evolution—Vraxxis staggered.

  And then—

  Fey collapsed.

  Her body crumpled onto the bloodstained dirt. The violent winds around her died instantly, her Relicarn—Gale Fang—shattering into thin air, vanishing like dissipating mist.

  She had nothing left.

  Lucian saw it—but his body moved on instinct.

  This was their opening.

  His sword flared with dark blue Ascen energy, crackling with barely contained force. He lunged forward, his eyes locked onto his target—

  Vraxxis’ throat.

  The final strike.

  So close.

  Then—

  CLANG.

  A deafening ring of steel against steel.

  Lucian’s breath caught.

  His blade had stopped.

  Vraxxis had blocked him.

  Their weapons locked in a crushing impact, and a shockwave ripped through the battlefield.

  Lucian’s hands shook. The pressure **shifted—**something was wrong.

  A single crack.

  Then another.

  His eyes widened.

  No—

  SHATTER.

  His sword exploded into fragments.

  Splintered steel rained through the battlefield.

  Lucian was defenseless.

  And in that moment—Vraxxis struck.

  A black blur.

  A fist like a war hammer slammed into Lucian’s chest.

  BOOM.

  The force was suffocating. Lucian’s ribs caved under the impact, air ripped from his lungs. The world twisted violently—his vision blurred as he was launched backward like a broken doll.

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  He was flying.

  The battlefield spun. The sky. The ground—

  Then—

  Tarek moved.

  The scout dashed across the battlefield with blinding speed, pushing his already battered body beyond its limits.

  He reached out.

  And caught Lucian.

  The impact nearly threw them both back, but Tarek dug his heels into the dirt, skidding across the battlefield with Lucian in his arms.

  “Tch—” Tarek grunted, feeling the weight of the boy slam into his chest.

  But before either could react—

  A shadow loomed.

  A massive chunk of stone, ripped from the battlefield, was already flying toward them.

  Lucian’s pulse spiked.

  Tarek saw it.

  And he moved first.

  With no time to dodge, he twisted his body—shoving Lucian down, covering him with his own.

  CRACK.

  The stone slammed into Tarek’s back with a sickening force that echoed through the battlefield.

  Lucian felt the way Tarek’s body convulsed, the sharp gasp of pain ripped from his throat.

  Then—they fell.

  They hit the dirt hard, rolling from the impact.

  Lucian gasped, pain exploding in his chest. He forced himself up, his vision blurred—his mind struggling to process what just happened.

  Tarek.

  The scout lay beside him, body trembling, breath ragged.

  Lucian’s chest tightened.

  “…Tarek?” His voice was hoarse.

  No response.

  Lucian’s fingers trembled as he reached for him.

  He was still breathing. But barely.

  Lucian felt something cold crawl through his spine.

  And then—

  He saw Vraxxis.

  The massive, abyssal figure walking toward Fey.

  Lucian’s blood ran cold.

  His hands dug into the dirt as he forced himself onto his elbows.

  No.

  His body screamed.

  No. No. No.

  Fey was still on the ground. She couldn’t move.

  And Vraxxis was already there.

  The massive Grellock loomed over her, his abyssal form radiating pure malice.

  Fey tried to move. Her fingers twitched. Pushing against the dirt. She was struggling—but she was too weak.

  Lucian saw her eyes widen in fear as Vraxxis’ claws wrapped around her throat.

  A scream ripped through the battlefield.

  Then—arrows from the shadows.

  Fast. Precise. Coated in Ascen.

  THUNK.

  The first struck his wrist.

  THUNK.

  The second buried itself into the sinew of his fingers.

  A third. A fourth.

  Renn.

  Even injured, even with her broken leg—she was still fighting.

  Hidden in the ruins, concealed in the darkness, she unleashed everything she had, aiming for his grip.

  Lucian saw it.

  She was trying to make him let go.

  But Vraxxis—

  He did not.

  The monster turned his abyssal gaze toward the shadows.

  He had had enough.

  Vraxxis lifted his void-tainted sword, black energy rippling along its jagged edge.

  The battlefield screamed. The very air itself warped, the pressure collapsing inward like the sky itself was folding. A deafening, distorted hum rippled outward, followed by an ear-shattering boom—and then, the world was ripped apart.

  The shockwave struck the ruins where Renn hid, the force not just blasting through the debris, but disintegrating it into dust and splinters.

  She barely had time to register the sound before—everything collapsed.

  Lucian’s world blurred.

  No.

  No. No. No.

  Vraxxis turned back toward Fey.

  A slow, deliberate motion.

  A twist of his clawed fingers, tightening his grip around her throat.

  Lucian felt sick.

  Vraxxis let out a deep, guttural chuckle.

  Then—he turned his gaze toward the others.

  He wanted them to watch.

  And then—he spoke.

  "Look at you all… so weak. So helpless. You have fought well—I'll grant you that."

  His blackened gaze flickered between the broken warriors.

  "But tell me, Captain… how does it feel?"

  He tightened his grip on Fey’s throat—her body shuddered as she gasped for air.

  "To watch your own die before your eyes?"

  Lucian couldn’t move.

  And then—

  The blade plunged into Fey’s stomach.

  A wet, sickening sound.

  Fey’s body convulsed.

  Lucian’s world collapsed.

  Vraxxis ripped the blade free.

  Blood poured from the wound as Fey’s eyes widened—then dimmed.

  Then—he threw her.

  Like discarded prey.

  Her body crashed into the ground, unmoving.

  Silence.

  A dead, suffocating silence.

  Something snapped in Elara.

  A dagger flashed through the air, coated in her weakened golden Ascen.

  It struck Vraxxis’ shoulder.

  Then another.

  And another.

  But they weren’t enough. Her power was fading.

  Still, she threw them.

  Desperate.

  Rage burned in her golden eyes as she turned to Isla.

  “GET TO FEY! NOW!”

  Isla, trembling, snapped into motion, running toward Fey’s fallen form.

  Elara’s head snapped toward Holt, her voice sharp.

  “HOLT! ON YOUR FEET! TEAR THAT MONSTER APART!”

  Holt, bleeding, battered, and barely standing, let out a guttural roar.

  His body shook, his grip on his axe tightening.

  The pain didn’t matter.

  Nothing mattered.

  Only vengeance.

  Holt charged.

  Holt roared, his axe raised high, the ground quaking beneath his furious charge.

  Vraxxis turned toward him, his abyssal form still looming, but something had shifted—he no longer carried that sickening, twisted amusement.

  The towering beast braced itself, lifting its void-tainted blade as Holt closed the distance—

  Then, a deafening clash.

  Steel met corrupted steel, a brutal impact sending a shockwave through the battlefield.

  Lucian barely registered it.

  His eyes were locked on Fey’s unmoving form.

  But Isla—she was already running.

  Her boots pounded against the bloodstained dirt, her breath sharp, chest tight, panic crawling through her veins.

  Fey.

  She had to get to Fey.

  She didn’t even think—her body just moved.

  Please, please, please—

  She slid to the ground, skidding beside Fey’s body.

  Her fingers trembled as they hovered over the wound—the gaping, bleeding hole in Fey’s stomach.

  Too much blood. Too much damage.

  Her hands were shaking.

  No. No. No.

  She pressed her palms down.

  A soft white glow pulsed from her fingers, spreading outward—trying to stitch the wound shut, trying to stop the bleeding.

  Her energy flared.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  The wound was too deep.

  The blood was too much.

  Fey’s lips parted, a weak breath escaping, her body twitching slightly.

  Isla saw her eyes—half-lidded, clouded with pain.

  “…Don’t…” Fey whispered weakly, her voice so faint.

  Don’t stop.

  Tears welled in Isla’s eyes.

  “Stay with me—please—just stay with me!” Isla’s voice cracked, desperation choking her.

  She pressed harder.

  Her white Ascen burned brighter, but it still wasn’t enough.

  It wasn’t working.

  Her fingers dug into Fey’s skin, her entire body trembling.

  Why?!

  Why wasn’t it enough?

  She could heal wounds. She had always healed wounds.

  She had trained for this. She had learned for this.

  But she couldn’t—

  No.

  Not again.

  She couldn’t lose another one.

  Her breath hitched, her mind spiraling.

  She had lost before.

  She had been too weak before.

  And they had died.

  Because she wasn’t strong enough.

  The memories surged forward—faces she tried to forget.

  Screams. Bloodied hands. Cold skin.

  She was always too late.

  No—not this time.

  Not Fey.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, her tears mixing with the blood on her hands.

  “No—NO! NOT THIS TIME!”

  Her Ascen flared violently.

  The glow around her hands intensified—no, it consumed her.

  A pulse of energy erupted from her core, the force shaking the very air.

  A BOOM.

  White light engulfed her.

  Her mind blanked.

  For a moment—there was nothing.

  Only warmth.

  And then—

  A whisper.

  Faint, but within her.

  “…Heal, Isla.”

  Her eyes snapped open.

  She could see it.

  The air itself had changed.

  The battlefield had disappeared.

  She was somewhere else.

  Somewhere brighter.

  Floating in an endless white abyss.

  Where…?

  Her body felt weightless, her limbs tingling with something foreign—something powerful.

  And in front of her—

  A shape.

  A presence.

  Familiar. Ancient.

  It wasn’t a voice, yet she could feel it speaking.

  "Your fear holds you back, child."

  She staggered, trying to move, but she couldn’t feel the ground beneath her.

  "You were meant for more."

  Her pulse raced.

  The white aura around her surged.

  Her own Ascen—it wasn’t just responding anymore.

  It was awakening.

  “…I don’t understand.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  The presence pulsed.

  "You do."

  The abyss around her shifted.

  The warmth turned into something greater.

  Something limitless.

  Something inside her began to unlock.

  Isla’s eyes widened.

  Her hands—they weren’t trembling anymore.

  Her energy—it wasn’t fading.

  It was expanding.

  Surging outward.

  Overflowing.

  Like a dam finally breaking.

  The realization struck her.

  This was always inside her.

  She had been holding back.

  Fear. Doubt. Hesitation.

  It had chained her.

  But no more.

  The presence whispered one last time.

  "Now… heal."

  The world snapped back into focus.

  The battlefield. The blood. The cold night air.

  Everything rushed back.

  Isla was still kneeling over Fey—but something was different.

  Her hands were covered in pure, blinding white light.

  The glow expanded outward, wrapping around Fey’s broken body.

  The ground trembled.

  Lucian, barely conscious, felt the energy surge.

  Elara’s breath hitched.

  Holt’s charge didn’t falter—but he saw it, too.

  Even Vraxxis hesitated.

  The monstrous beast stared, its abyssal eyes narrowing at the overwhelming pulse of power emanating from Isla.

  This wasn’t just Ascen anymore.

  This was something beyond.

  And then—

  The wound began to close.

  Not slowly. Instantly.

  The blood reversed.

  The torn flesh knitted back together.

  The damage—undone.

  Fey’s chest rose sharply as her lungs filled with air once more.

  But Isla—

  Something was wrong.

  The energy was still pouring out.

  Too much. Too fast.

  Her fingers were burning. Her vision blurred. Her body—

  It was breaking.

  A sharp gasp escaped her lips, but she didn’t stop.

  Fey gasped, her eyes fluttering open—

  And Isla screamed.

  A violent rupture of light exploded outward.

  She collapsed forward, her body convulsing violently, her veins burning with an unbearable white fire.

  Her skin paled, her breath shaky, her limbs weak.

  The backlash was brutal.

  A heavy cost.

  Her Ascen had been overdrawn.

  Something inside her had burned away.

  A price had been paid.

  Fey lived.

  But Isla—she could feel it.

  Something inside her was shattering. Not bones—not skin—something deeper. A searing, unbearable heat surged through her veins, like molten fire coursing where blood should be. She tried to breathe—but her lungs felt like they were filling with embers. And then—her chest caved inward. She gasped, her mouth parting as the first droplets of blood trickled down her lips. It hurt. It hurt too much. She wasn’t just healing—she was burning away

  ----------------------------------------

  A slow, weak inhale.

  Renn’s eyelids fluttered open.

  Pain. It was everywhere.

  Her body screamed. Her back throbbed from the impact.

  She could barely breathe.

  But she saw him.

  Lucian.

  Still on the ground.

  She saw his face.

  Wide eyes. Hollow.

  Unmoving.

  Breaking.

  Lucian barely registered the battlefield anymore. His breath was shallow. His body was frozen. But something else… was moving. The darkness wasn’t just creeping—it was crawling into his lungs, into his veins, into his bones. A heavy, suffocating weight pressed onto his shoulders, forcing him down. And then—he heard it. Not a voice. Not words. But a heartbeat. Slow. Steady. Not his. It pulsed in the back of his skull, rattling against his thoughts, digging into his mind like something knocking on a locked door.

  She saw it happen.

  Something inside him twisted.

  A dark aura creeping toward him.

  The battlefield shuddered.

  The air around Lucian changed.

  And then—

  Lucian closed his eyes.

  Something whispered back.

  The world turned black.