Beneath the canopy of the Palehollow, Zerin rested.
Although it was already clear that his Aspect Ability diminished after a certain duration, he soon discovered another drawback: the rejuvenating effect that once ridden him from exhaustion grew weaker with prolonged use. While his wounds still closed and his body surged with borrowed strength, the fatigue clung on, demanding greater amounts of blood to stave it off.
And the Palehollow wasn't helping much either—its natural lulling effect, though weaker than its alive counterpart, still drew him in as he leaned back against its trunk. Lifting his head, Zerin gazed up at the canopy where azure and white leaves shimmered softly in the moonlight.
The sturdy, soulless being was rooted deeply into the frozen ground, its twisted limbs forming an embracing ring that cradled the space where Serenity and Cain were.
They both lay motionless, her hand bound by rope to his forehead. To a random onlooker, the scene would be deemed peaceful—perhaps even the quiet rest of lovers.
But they would be horribly mistaken, for Cain was dying.
Impossible—or so Zerin thought. This was someone who claimed death could never touch him, and whose enduring body seemed well on its way to proving that absurd boast. Yet who could have imagined that such gifts would come at the cost of a weaker soul?
The Spell—the very construct that granted him near-physical invulnerability—was now becoming his undoing.
The thought only granted self-reflection.
In all truth, Zerin was one of the luckier ones. His Flaw carried little danger now—ultimately, with the Gods long dead, who was left of that fold to set their sights on him? More precisely, the attribute [Divine Initiate] marked him as a god, even if it wasn't rightfully earned, but this was also previously backed up by his True Name: [Twin God].
'How unfitting...' Zerin sighed, before Evan's voice rose to speak.
"Soul Diving." His tone, heavy, as he carved gouges into the snow with a stick.
"Can you believe her? Making it sound easy—and then slipping in that her soul was the damn wager!"
Zerin, listening to his frustrations, sat in silence. He wasn't exactly wrong to be angry, but what could they really do when they were faced with an issue only she could solve
Evan flung the stick blindly. It whipped past Howler's head, making the beast flinch before it turned back to the tree line.
He argued, attempting to dismantle Serenity's idea, but he lost to her unwavering certainty. And once that powerlessness settled in, this was how he reacted.
Evan slumped forward, elbows planted on his knees, hand covering his face. His voice came out muffled. "I really thought it would be easy surviving in the Dream Realm and all that..."
"Naive," Zerin commented.
"I know that," Evan snapped. "It only gets worse the longer we stay." He rose to his feet. "How did we even get here? Finding that damn gate was nearly impossible for a year!"
Technically—they still hadn't found it. Even with a map, they had never seen where it truly was; they only knew it lay somewhere among the mountains called the Fractured Peaks.
Zerin wondered if, by this time, Dex had already found his way out.
He had been vastly more competent than him in combat since the last time they met. It wouldn't' be surprising if he had grown even stronger, adversity tends to do that just as it had done for Zerin.
Then another thought struck Zerin: maybe it would be better to leave, to save his own skin.
'You two need to find each other and stick together...'
Jerika's words echoed in his mind, dispelling his previous notion and hardening his features.
"If they don't wake, then we keep moving without them."
Evan snapped his head toward Zerin, his expression twisting as if his words were blasphemy. "Move forward? Without her?"
Zerin sitting against the Palehollow tilted his head to the side, brushing the snow that clung to his pants.
'There are his priorities...' he thought to himself, before lifting his gaze to meet Evan's glare.
He couldn't blame him—ultimately, spending nearly a year with people and surviving alongside them would be hard to simply move on from. Zerin chose pragmatism: survive now, trust they'd come through in the end, and grieve only if they don't.
"Yes. What do you think she'd prefer?" Zerin pressed back, just a little.
Evan plopped back down on the stone.
"I am not built for this. I'm a simple person... I like sports and all that nonsense..." His voice cracked. "This place is going to drive me insane. Hell..." A bitter laugh slipped from him.
"I'm eighteen. I should be having my first drink. Can I at least have that much before this realm rips me apart?"
He turned to Zerin, as if expecting an answer—but was only met with a steel gaze. What could he say or do? Zerin wasn't some comforter; he wasn't skilled in handling others, but here he was, placing himself in situations that he was weak in.
A long yawn slipped out of him, his hand rising lazily to cover his mouth—until the Howler's low growl quickly rose, before snapping into a sudden bark.
Zerin jolted. That wasn't normal. Not at all.
The Veinborne's claws were poised as it fixed its gaze beyond the glade. The unease forced Zerin to draw his sword.
He followed that stare into the distance—and then, he saw it.
With one foot stepping from the forest into the glade, an antlered creature emerged. Its massive antlers crowned a pale mask, through whose narrow slits only the glow of its blue eyes were shown. The being paused briefly, then rose to its full height upon noticing them.
The Howler shot to full height, glowing sockets narrowing with anger. A frothy growl rumbled from its maw, its gaze fixed on the antlered being.
"Shit," Evan cursed under his breath, summoning his hammer. "Of all times!"
Zerin's eyes lingered on the Howler's reaction. It was strange—something he had only witnessed once before, back when he had first turned it into a Veinborne, when it was a [Vengeful Howler].
That bloodlust.
The Howler shifted restlessly.
Zerin then swept his gaze across the glade, his eyes widened, seeing the creatures revealing their hands.
There were eight of them. Six "lesser hags"—fodder the Howler had already proven it could easily dismantle, and then there were the ones who stood apart.
The first was the antlered being: gaunt and towering, antlers scraping the skies, with hooves anchoring it to the realm and a brown staff clutched tight in its gray hand.
The second notable creature was cloaked in white, tattered fabrics, its form shrouded by a constant mist that seeped from underneath.
From appearance alone, Zerin had assumed their class was Devil. So, with that being said—how would he strike
Zerin turned back towards both Serenity and Cain that were both unconscious.
'Three on eight... Not good...'
Zerin stepped forward, stopping beside the Howler. "There are eight of them. I need you to guard Serenity and Cain, I can't be certain they won't slip past us."
His grip tightened on his darkened blade. "The Howler and I will fight them head on."
"That's two against eight! And those two aren't normal Nightmare creatures!" Evan's voice rose in disbelief.
"I know."
Zerin understood the risk. But with Serenity still unconscious, neither she nor her Echo could lend their strength. That left him with only this choice.
The timing was cruel—but in a way it was perfect. Just as weariness began to settle in, the enemy appeared, giving Zerin every reason to unleash his Aspect Ability without restraint.
The creatures advanced across the glade, moving with patient, deliberate steps. They were steady, methodical, and unmistakably organized. Unlike most Nightmare beings, none of them gave in to sudden bursts of violence; their desire to kill was controlled, restrained. In this, they were entirely unlike what made Nightmare creatures… well, Nightmare creatures.
The Howler's feral body violently shuddered. Muscles rippled under its snow-white pelt, before it wrenched itself upright, its head facing the night sky.
A guttural roar tore free—a warped howl, that echoed and rattled Zerin's chest. Then, with an explosion of movement, the beast lunged into a full sprint.