The sword in Shun's hand shone.
It surged with raw ether, a current of heat flooding his veins, wrapping his bones in silver light. His back straightened as shattered ribs stitched themselves together. Torn muscles twisted, healed, and hardened beneath his skin. He gritted his teeth through the pain. It was never painless. The agony tore through him, a fire that seared every nerve, yet he stood taller, his body remade in the crucible of ether.
The glow burst around him, a blinding flare that threw back the smoke and ash surrounding his position. From that brilliance, he raised his hand and conjured another barrier. This one was thicker, denser, layered like fortress walls, each fold of ether etched with countless sigils written in haste yet perfected through instinct. The air shimmered as the barrier solidified, a radiant dome pulsing with defiance.
The tendrils met the new shield with a sickening hiss. They recoiled, struck again, and again. Each impact sent tremors through the barrier, the structure groaning like a ship caught in a storm. The tendrils were relentless, their surfaces glistening with an oily sheen, writhing as if alive, their tips splitting into jagged maws that snapped at the shield. Yet it held, unyielding against the onslaught.
Vision returned.
Beyond the fading dust, Shun saw his comrades. Toren was alive, collapsed on one knee, blood spilling down his temple. His twin blades remained clutched in his hands, their edges chipped but glowing faintly. His teeth clenched, his eyes burned with resolve. Beside him, Lira leaned against a broken slab of obsidian, half her armor torn away, skin torn and raw. Her breathing was ragged, each inhale a labored gasp, but her eyes blazed with unquenched hatred. She had escaped the tendrils' grasp, her survival a testament to her will.
Bahari and Habari, the beastmen twins, stood with blood-streaked faces and shredded tunics. Their fur bristled, matted with gore. Their weapons, massive spiked clubs shaped from ancient bones, dripped with black ichor that sizzled as it hit the ground. Their eyes glowed faintly, feral and unyielding, their massive forms radiating primal strength.
Shun counted quickly. Fourteen fighters remained. Perhaps fewer. The battlefield was a ruin of cratered stone and blood-soaked soil. Ether sparks drifted through the air like dying fireflies, casting fleeting glimmers across the desolation. The ground was littered with shattered weapons and broken bodies, the air thick with the coppery stench of blood and the acrid burn of ether. Nothing about this place felt real anymore. It was a graveyard, a wound in the world itself.
The shadow stood beside the monster.
A humanoid silhouette, tall and thin, its body layered in vibrating strands that bent light around it, rendering it a distortion in the air. Its hand moved, a single finger rising with deliberate slowness. The ground responded with a violent shudder. Tendrils erupted from every direction, winding like serpents, their surfaces pulsing with veins that glowed faintly green. They crashed toward the survivors with malevolent intent, cracking boulders, splitting trees, and screaming with a sound that clawed at the mind, a high-pitched wail that promised torment.
Shun's barrier buckled under the assault. His feet slid back across the scorched earth as he poured every ounce of will into reinforcing the shield. His fingers curled until his nails drew blood, his knuckles whitening. Ether leaked from his eyes and mouth, glowing rivulets that burned his skin as they fell. The air around him crackled, the pressure of his power warping the space itself.
Toren saw the opening. He launched forward, a blur of motion, his twin blades slashing across the writhing black cords. Sparks flew as steel met the unnatural surface, the tendrils' skin twisting as if woven from wire and cartilage. It was not flesh. It was not anything that belonged in this world. Each cut drew a spray of black ichor, but the wounds closed almost instantly, the tendrils regenerating with horrifying speed. Toren spun, his blades a whirlwind, carving shallow gashes that did little to slow the onslaught.
Bahari and Habari struck from the opposite side. Their clubs slammed into one of the tendrils with bone-shattering force, flattening it into the ground. A burst of black sludge erupted, splattering across their fur and sizzling against the earth. The tendril writhed for a moment before going still, its surface cracking like dried clay. The twins roared, their voices a guttural challenge that echoed across the battlefield.
Shun allowed himself a breath. A grin twitched at the edge of his face. The twins were loud, wild, and recklessly uncoordinated, yet their strength was undeniable. They had saved more lives than they would ever claim, their ferocity a beacon in the chaos.
He turned his attention to Lira. She was still leaning against the rock, barely holding herself up. Her face had gone pale, her lips cracked and bleeding. Her wounds wept openly, her armor hanging in tattered strips. Shun approached quickly, his hands glowing with healing ether as he pressed them against her injuries. Light seeped into her torn flesh, knitting the edges of her stomach wound, sealing the gash in her shoulder layer by layer. The process was slow, each pulse of ether drawing a wince from Lira as her body fought to mend itself. Thirty seconds passed, and the worst was undone. Some injuries remained, deep and stubborn, but Lira nodded, stepping forward with renewed strength. She raised her arm, ready to fight.
Together, they moved back into formation. The twins flanked Toren, their clubs raised like executioners' hammers. Lira slid beside Bahari, her scorched armor creaking with each step. Shun remained at the center, the anchor of their line. The remaining vanguards regrouped, battered but standing, their weapons gleaming with faint ether. The air was thick with the stench of decay, the ground slick with blood and ichor.
The tendrils were not finished. They writhed, slashed, and roared through the air, their movements chaotic yet purposeful. One lashed out, catching a vanguard by the leg. The man screamed as the tendril tightened, its jagged maw tearing through armor and flesh. Blood sprayed, and his screams cut off as another tendril wrapped around his chest, crushing him with a sickening crack. The survivors met the assault with steel and rage. Armor shattered under the force of the blows. Ether collided with unnameable power, sending shockwaves through the air. Another vanguard fell, her body torn in half by a tendril that moved with horrifying precision, its tip splitting into a dozen smaller cords that burrowed into her flesh.
The shadow entity did not move. It hovered near the monster like a priest beside a throne, its presence a cold weight in the air. The real threat remained.
Shun turned toward it. The monster. The thing that had birthed this nightmare, its defeat a step toward freedom. Its body rippled beneath a ragged cloak of tendrils, each one twitching with unnatural life. It stood still, yet the air around it was wrong. No shadows fell beneath its feet. The light refused to touch it. The world twisted where it stood, reality buckling under its presence. Its form was indistinct, a mass of writhing darkness that seemed to drink in the light, its edges fraying like smoke.
Shun's gaze fell to the blade in his hand. A silver Jian, smooth and elegant, forged from a material older than most languages. It vibrated faintly, not with power, but with calm. He stepped toward Lira and handed it to her. She took it without question, her eyes steady. They both knew. This sword had kept them sane, dulled their pain, steadied their breath. It kept their soldiers from screaming when their bones broke or when their minds slipped into madness. Its presence numbed fear. Now she held it, and Shun stepped away from that comfort.
Not to weaken himself. To awaken something else. The ether around him shifted, growing sharper, more volatile. His fingers cracked, veins bulging across his forearms. The light in his eyes narrowed to slits, glowing with a dark crimson. His heartbeat slowed, syncing with the pulse of the battlefield. His breath matched its rhythm.
He reached deep within himself, past the pain, past the fear, past the limits of safety. Power stirred, ancient and born in blood. It clawed at his insides, a primal force that threatened to unravel him. His skin crawled, his thoughts sharpened to a needlepoint. The creature's head turned slowly toward him, its featureless face radiating awareness. It recognized what was about to happen.
The battlefield fell quiet, a fleeting silence amid the screams, the howls, the crashes, and the burn of ether through stone. A silence between two beings that would not last.
Shun took a deep breath. The creature stepped forward, its tendrils stretching wide, curling, twitching, alive. Shun did not flinch. He stepped forward, his feet leaving trails of glowing dust. The light of his ether dimmed to a dark crimson, heavy with intent.
He spoke once. "Now it's you and I."