Chapter 29: The Tyrant's Gate.
The heart of the rift-tower roared, a cacophony of violet fury that trembled through the stone. At its center, the rift-gate spiraled—an unstable vortex of shadow-threads twisting like serpents in the void, its edges fractured and tearing open as smaller rifts merged into a gaping, hungering maw. From within, clawing silhouettes emerged—legion shadows pouring into the material world. And beyond them all, the prison stirred.
"Now…"
The word threaded the air like a blade, a deafening whisper that did not come from a voice, but from the very bones of the reality they stood within. The Tyrant. Its presence was no longer slumbering—it breathed behind the veil.
Kael stood at the epicenter of chaos, amidst the ashen remains of ten fallen soldiers—their forms unrecognizable, unraveled by the storm he had conjured. His threads pulsed faintly around him, frayed from overuse, his runes dim with exhaustion. Nightmare Lash had scorched through his very marrow; the toll was evident in the tremor of his arm and the crusted blood along his cheek. But he stood—he endured.
At his sides stood those who had not fallen—Gavyn, blood-smeared and unwavering, spear gripped tightly in blistered hands; Lysa, her signature coins gleaming with residual power as they floated in orbit around her fingers; and Maraen, the anchor of their flame, her locket a beacon of silver light amidst the storm, casting radiant pulses against the shadows.
The four of them—what remained of Moonfall's defiance. Forged together not by fate, but by survival. In the Ashen Wastes, they were unyielding.
"Bloody hells…" Gavyn muttered, low and sharp. He glared at the rift-gate as it pulsed with ever-brighter light. Each surge sounded like a drum, shaking the very walls of the chamber. "The Forge itself would crack from this. Is this it, storm-god? Is this the reckoning?"
Kael's eyes flicked to him, the fire behind them still alight despite the toll.
"Yeah," he breathed. "This is it."
Lysa snapped a coin into the air, its golden glint slicing through the encroaching dark like a promise of mischief and vengeance. Her smirk was razor-thin. "Then I expect repayment, thread-weaver. You owe me a fortune for following you through this gods-damned storm. Finish it."
Maraen's voice was the only one that steadied, the only one that softened the chaos. "For Moonfall, Kael." Her silver hair danced in the rising wind as her locket flared in harmony with the gate. "It has to be now."
Kael looked forward, runes flaring in a slow, painful glow. Threads coiled around his form, preparing for the battle to come. The gate pulsed harder. Ashka's gate—her prison—loomed like a gaping wound in the weave of reality.
"She's coming," Kael rasped, drawing his dagger. The Tyrant's "Now…" echoed again, louder this time, closer. And then the gate exploded.
From its center, she descended.
Ashka.
The Hollowborn Weaver. A tyrant in her own right, forged from the warped remains of forbidden threadwork and pure shadow. She emerged tall and terrifying, her scythe-curved form clothed in armor woven from shadow-threads, violet flames dancing across her limbs. Her presence twisted the space around her. Her voice—
"Kael," she hissed, her voice both a command and a curse. "Unshackled… Die…"
Kael's grip tightened.
"She's big," Gavyn growled, stepping forward, spear raised. "And she's all yours, storm-god. Shall I pin her down?"
"Bankrupt her!" Lysa shouted, laughter in her throat and vengeance in her eyes. "I want a cut of that scythe!"
"For us!" Maraen called out, locket blazing like a second moon. "End it, Kael!"
Kael raised his hand high—his runes exploded into violet fire.
"Together—cut the gate!"
Ashka struck.
Her scythe blurred in motion—Rift-Scythe Storm! A whirlwind of shadow-flame blades erupted from her, spinning outward in a devastating spiral. The chamber shrieked as stone was shredded and flame trailed like comet-tails, incinerating the air.
"Scatter!" Kael shouted, already moving.
Thread Step: Phantom Blitz!
He became a blur—teleporting left, right, vanishing mid-step as blades screamed past. Ash erupted where he had stood a heartbeat before. Gavyn dove to the side—
"Bloody tides!"
—and lunged, his spear flashing forward—Tide's Fang!—shattering one of the scythe-blades midair.
Lysa somersaulted backwards, flinging her coins like daggers—
"Cheap storm!"
—Merchant's Reckoning! The coins burst into radiant light, slicing through spinning blades.
Maraen stood firm—
"Hold fast!"
—her locket expanded its glow, casting a shimmering shield that softened the edge of the storm.
Kael landed hard, runes pulsing with fury.
Thread Dance: Tempest Cascade!
A dozen radiant threads lashed out, glowing like starlight, whipping into Ashka's shroud. Her body jolted as shadow bled from her armor.
"You're too slow!" she snarled, spinning her scythe—
Shadow-Thread Slash!
Violet threads shot forward, jagged and fast—Kael barely raised his hand in time—
Thread Wall: Reflecting Tempest!
A spinning disc of thread blocked the blow. It shattered on impact, shards of light piercing her side—her scythe staggered, flickering.
"Back off!" Kael shouted.
Phantom Blitz! He vanished again, appearing behind her.
Rune Thread: Echo Blade!
His dagger glowed with layered threads—he struck deep into her back. A burst of ash erupted, her roar shaking the gate.
"Stronger!" she screamed, her threads twisting—
Rift-Ash Barrage!
Dozens of orbs exploded from her armor, raining down like falling stars.
"Incoming!" Lysa warned, flinging coins—
"Pay up!"
—coins shattered orbs mid-air, but one snuck through.
Kael gasped and rewound—
Rune Reset: Blink Strike!
Five seconds peeled back. He dodged the hidden lash just in time—
Shadow-Thread Bind!
Chains lashed out from the gate, trying to snag him.
"Close call," Kael growled, launching upward—
Thread Step: Sky Fang!
Violet threads hurled him high—Gavyn took the cue, his spear flaring—
"Take that!"
His weapon pinned Ashka's leg, anchoring her in place.
Maraen's locket glowed once more—
"Stay strong!"
—a wave of calming magic dispersed some of the incoming ash.
Kael crashed down—
Rune Pulse: Weaver's Wrath!
His threads doubled—
Tempest Cascade!
An upgraded storm of threads tore into Ashka's chest.
"Break!"
Shadow ripped free—her hiss broke in her throat.
But she wasn't done. She howled—
Rift-Flame Crescent!
A massive arc of violet flame slashed wide—Kael reacted instantly—
Reflecting Tempest!
The barrier caught it, but half the energy burst through, slamming her chest. She screamed—but gritted her teeth.
"Not enough!" she cried—
Shadow-Thread Vortex!
A colossal spiral of threads erupted, warping the very air. Spikes of stone jutted from the walls.
Kael vanished—Phantom Blitz!
"Hold it!" Gavyn shouted, planting his spear—
"Tide's end!"
The ground cracked under his strength as he absorbed the blow.
Lysa's coins burst again—
"Cheap trick!"
—disintegrating the edge of the vortex.
Maraen's shimmer held—
"For us!"
Kael's body burned with threads—runes glowing violently.
Thread Dance: Nightmare Lash!
Spectral strands erupted around him, slashing toward Ashka and draining her essence.
"Feel it!" he roared. Her body shook as her scythe faltered, her movements sluggish.
"Strong…" she hissed, summoning another wave—
Rift-Ash Barrage!
But Kael didn't relent.
"Together!" he bellowed.
Weaver's Wrath!—threads doubled again.
Nightmare Lash!—spectral storm slashed even wider.
Gavyn charged—
"Down you go!"
Lysa flung coins with a savage grin—
"Pay the price!"
Maraen's shimmer soothed the backlash—
"Rest now!"
Ashka staggered, threads unraveling, her scythe losing form. But with a last breath of rage, she screamed—
Rift-Flame Tempest!
A final wave of shadow-flame, her death-stroke.
"End her!" Kael cried.
His runes flared beyond mortal limits.
Thread Ascension: Fate's Requiem!
His entire form became light—a whirlwind of rune-threaded blades exploded outward, twenty meters wide, a spinning storm of violet-white power.
Ashka's body was caught in the heart of it.
Her scythe shattered. Her armor cracked. Her threads unraveled into screaming light.
"NOOOOOO—"
The rift-gate collapsed behind her, fraying like torn silk. Shadows evaporated.
Silence fell.
Kael collapsed to one knee, chest heaving, blood dripping from his cheek and arm. Fate's Requiem had nearly broken him.
"The strongest…" he muttered, barely audible.
Gavyn strode over and gripped his shoulder.
"Storm-god's a bloody legend," he said with a proud grin.
Lysa chuckled, flipping a scorched coin into her pouch. "Bankrupt and buried. That was a good cut."
Maraen knelt beside Kael, her silver eyes warm, locket pulsing gently.
"Moonfall's free," she whispered. "Thank you."
Kael looked at them—his friends, his family forged in battle. His runes flared faintly one last time.
But the Tyrant's whisper returned.
"Now…"
"Gate's down," he said. "But she's not the end."
Ashka's ash lay scattered. Her scythe was a ruin. And beyond, still unseen, the Tyrant stirred.
Gavyn narrowed his eyes, steadying his spear. "Then the next fight's ours."
Lysa smirked. "Debt's split, thread-weaver. Don't go dying before you repay."
Maraen nodded, her voice like a prayer.
"For all of us… you're our king, Kael."
Kael stood, pain seared into every limb, but his fire alive. Gavyn's spear. Lysa's coin. Maraen's locket.
Together.
"The Tyrant's next."
Beyond the shattered chamber, the Ashen Wastes stretched—still, but never silent. The rifts pulsed in the distance, waiting.
Kael burned.
Forged in this stand. Unbroken.
Ready for the last thread to be cut.