Chapter 31: The Veiled Descent.
The Rift-Veiled Labyrinth sprawled north of the Ashen Wastes—a ruinous sprawl of shattered grandeur, its black-stone spires warped by time and taint. What once may have been a city of scholars or sovereigns now stood twisted, veined with violet fissures that pulsed like wounds refusing to close. Threads of shadow coursed through the cracks, writhing like living veins feeding an ancient corpse.
Kael trudged across its threshold in silence, his figure cloaked in dust and the bruises of survival. His cloak hung in ragged strips, the once-stitched runes scorched, his boots heavy with caked grit from the Wastes. Ashka's fall still haunted the wind behind him. The Rift-Flame Apocalypse she unleashed had become little more than a fading roar, a ghostly echo swallowed by shifting dust. Her city had burned, her ambition devoured by her own fire. What remained of her now clung to Kael's memory as a smudge of ash on the wind.
He walked alone.
No Gavyn, with his hawk-eyed vigilance.
No Lysa, tossing sly jabs and sharper knives.
No Maraen, warm voice grounding them all.
Just Kael—and the whispers.
His dagger rested cold and ready at his side, its hilt worn smooth beneath his grip. The weapon felt heavier these days, as though mourning those it hadn't saved. Weeks had passed since the tower fell, and his runes had begun to fade—Gifted-tier power flickering in and out like a dying flame. His every step was shadowed by a whisper that gnawed behind his eyes.
"Now…"
The Tyrant's voice. It wasn't a shout or a scream, but a breath on the back of his mind, threading through the edges of thought. Here, in the Labyrinth's reach, it grew sharper, clearer. The veil between thought and command thinned. The rift-called city responded in kind—its siren hum thickening the air, its jagged skyline promising pain, or perhaps a trial.
This was no chance expedition. This was descent.
Kael stopped at the edge of a wide plateau, where the Labyrinth began in earnest. The sky above was streaked with threads of violet light—flashes of warped moonlight piercing through torn clouds. The ground trembled faintly beneath his boots, resonating with distant pulses of power. Each step carried the weight of purpose and dread.
Ahead loomed a rift—massive, yawning wide like the gate of Moonfall, only jagged and volatile. Violet flames licked at its edges, its spiral threads rotating like the iris of a watching god. The threads spun with relentless intensity, forming a spiral that promised violence. A whisper passed through the void.
"Enter… or be unmade."
His hands flexed. His pack carried only the barest of supplies—his waterskin, the fisherman's coin Lysa had flicked to him with a smirk before their last mission. Gavyn's spear had been left behind, shattered. Maraen's locket still hung around his neck, tucked against his skin like a heartbeat he refused to forget. Their voices lingered like fading echoes.
"Come back…"
"Stay sharp…"
"For us…"
Kael drew his dagger slowly. Its blade shimmered with rune-light, lines of ancient design pulsing weakly. He felt the hunger in the metal—a quiet yearning to cut, to answer. The rift pulsed once more.
Then the ground split.
Three beasts emerged, shadows fused with flame—Thread-Wolves, towering over Kael by twice his height, their bodies knitted from strands of corrupted shadow, their hides pulsing with rift-light. Ash fell from their snarling maws, their claws glowing with flickers of violet fire. Their eyes glowed—bright, wrong—and when they opened their mouths, it wasn't a growl that came, but a hissed name.
"Kael…"
A chorus. The Tyrant's whisper returned, now woven through each guttural tone.
Kael muttered under his breath, raising his dagger in a low guard. "Big bastards…"
Runes along the blade ignited—lines of glowing violet flaring bright enough to cut the dusk.
"Stronger than hers," he added, voice dry. These weren't like Ashka's mutated scouts or even her elite legion. These were higher—pushing Gifted-tier to its brink, dipping their claws into Initiate-tier shadow. This was a trial. A test.
The wolves didn't wait.
The first lunged with speed that broke sound—its claws flashing forward in a flurry of shadow-fire arcs.
Rift-Claw Barrage!
The world lit with violent crescents. Trails of burning flame carved the earth, the impact kicking up ash like tidal waves. Kael's instincts screamed.
"Too slow—"
Thread Step: Phantom Blitz!
In a blur, Kael vanished—threads snapping beneath his boots, his form flickering left, then right in a chaotic sequence of dashes. Each dodge was a phantom imprint, a mirage of motion. The arcs scorched behind him, one claw grazing the edge of his already-ruined cloak.
He landed hard and spun, eyes flaring.
Thread Dance: Tempest Cascade!
A dozen threads of light burst from his blade, whipping outward in a spiraling storm. They struck the first wolf across its flank. Shadow bled from the wound as it roared, stumbling backward with smoke trailing from the cut.
But the second wolf was already moving—its claws glowing, threads lashing forward in snapping chains.
Shadow-Thread Lash!
The whips came fast—thicker, more refined than anything Ashka had mustered.
"Damn it—" Kael spun, raising his off-hand.
Thread Wall: Reflecting Tempest!
A spinning barrier surged up, runes humming as it caught the whips mid-strike. The clash sent bursts of light rocketing outward. Half of the shards lodged into the wolf's chest, cracking its armored hide. It staggered, but did not fall.
Kael didn't wait. He vanished—
Phantom Blitz!
Reappearing behind it, he slashed low and quick—
Thread Dance: Razor Weave!
The glowing strands carved deep into its back, releasing another scream of violet steam and shattered shadow.
The third wolf leapt then, mouth agape, chest glowing.
Rift-Ash Breath!
A tide of ash and flame poured forward, scorching wide. Kael's eyes narrowed—this was stronger than the one he'd faced in the Ashen Wastes.
"Stronger—!"
He threw his hand up.
Reflecting Tempest!
The shield of spinning threads took the brunt, but the sheer pressure cracked it. Sparks and embers burst in all directions. The ash tore at Kael's exposed skin, stinging the fresh cuts on his cheek, his arms. His legs trembled under the strain.
"Hold—"
The barrier shattered. He rewound—
Rune Reset: Blink Strike!
Five seconds snapped back—time unwound. He dodged clean, reappearing far to the left, rolling out of the path of the ash-flame just as it annihilated the earth behind him.
"Too close…"
He rose to a crouch. His mind sharpened.
"Cut smarter."
The first wolf charged again, claws wide.
Rift-Claw Barrage!
Kael pushed off—
Thread Step: Sky Fang!
The threads lifted him high into the air, his body flipping as the ground cratered below. He hovered briefly—dagger ready, runes flaring bright.
"Now—!"
Rune Pulse: Weaver's Wrath!
Threads doubled in number, energy crackling along each strand. He released—
Tempest Cascade!
The barrage hit the wolf's chest dead-on. Its body staggered, shadow unspooling like torn silk.
Phantom Blitz!
He dashed underneath and—
Crescent Slash!
A radiant arc cleaved through its core. The beast convulsed, then burst into ash and violet sparks, howling his name as it died.
The second came again.
Shadow-Thread Lash!
The whips twisted through the air. Kael dodged—flicker left, flicker right—but one lashed his arm. Blood ran down his sleeve.
"Damn—"
He countered—
Nightmare Lash!
Spectral threads snapped outward, wrapping the wolf in a grip that wasn't physical—it drained will, leeched spirit. The beast staggered, whimpering like a beast in a storm.
"Feel it."
Kael leapt.
Sky Fang!
Rising above, he twisted midair—
Razor Weave!
The dagger carved its neck, threads biting deep. The wolf fell in a waterfall of ash.
One remained. The largest.
It opened its mouth.
Rift-Ash Breath!
Flame roared, brighter, hotter.
Kael didn't flinch. His runes surged—burning like a second heart.
Thread Ascension: Fate's Requiem!
Light erupted.
Twenty meters of glowing blades spiraled around him, forming a cyclone of divine ruin. The torrent collided with the flame, slicing through it like water. The cyclone struck the wolf's chest, core, head.
It howled once—"Kael…"—then ruptured, exploding into ash that spread across the plateau like falling snow.
Silence fell. The rift dimmed. The spiraling threads stilled.
Kael stood amidst the ash, chest heaving, dagger still humming with residual heat. Blood slipped from his arm, down to his fingertips. A line of crimson trickled from a cut on his cheek. Fate's Requiem had drained him more than he'd expected.
"The strongest yet…" he whispered.
He sheathed the dagger slowly. Around him, the land was scorched, cratered, marked with his passing.
"Gifted's not enough," he murmured, gaze turning to the deeper spires. "Not anymore."
These creatures had surpassed Ashka's elite. Their threads had been thicker, their flame hotter, their will nearer to that of Initiates. The Tyrant's touch was deep here. The Labyrinth wasn't merely a ruin. It was a crucible. And he had only cracked the surface.
Northward, the spires rose even taller, their peaks lost in a storm of shadow and flame. The threads weaving through the air were brighter now—thicker, more alive. Kael flexed his fingers, drawing a pulse from his runes. They flared—dim, but sharper.
"A hunter's start," he muttered.
And in the back of his skull—
"Now…"
The Tyrant's whisper beat like a drum.
Kael took his first step forward, alone in the dark, his storm growing.