The corridor pulsed. A heartbeat from the stone itself.
Ashrunner hovered just inches above the ground, his shadow stretching wider than it should. The broken sword in his hand hummed with something dark — not rage, not hatred.
Resignation.
Like a man breaking bones not out of anger, but because it was just another task.
Ren stepped forward instinctively, hands clenched, jaw tight.
Ren:
"You've got that whole 'melancholy murder hobo' energy. But I've dealt with worse."
From within him, a voice echoed — sterile, cold, and decisive.
Gravity:
"If you seek the truth of the Aetherium Core, your path will stay locked here.
But if you abandon that goal in this dimension, we will not assist you in this conflict."
Ren (muttering):
"Really? Now you pull the emotional plug?"
No answer.
He glanced over at Thenaia, her robes flickering with silent power.
And Elsera, still cursed, still standing like her blood wasn't ice.
Ashrunner raised his blade lazily.
Ashrunner:
"This feels familiar."
Then he struck.
The Battle
Ashrunner blurred.
Not speed — displacement. One step forward became a slash at Thenaia's side. She barely twisted away, but his broken sword nicked her robe — the fabric screamed, then crumbled into glowing ash.
Thenaia responded instantly, sigils lashing out from her hands like lightning threads — latching onto the corridor walls, trying to lock him in space.
Ashrunner vanished again.
Reappeared behind Elsera, blade already moving.
She turned and unleashed a burst of curse-light, her hand glowing with fractured symbols. His robe caught fire at the edge — a shimmer of black curling off — but he didn't flinch.
He caught her arm mid-spell. Just held it.
And spoke, low.
Ashrunner:
"This hurts less when you don't resist."
He flung her like a doll. Her body slammed into the stone hard enough to fracture the wall.
Ren roared, charging with a glowing fist — Sigil-cracks blooming up his arm — and threw a punch meant to cave in a god's face.
Ashrunner didn't dodge.
The punch landed — direct hit.
But the robe didn't tear. Ashrunner didn't move.
Instead, he looked bored.
Then his broken sword whipped out, slashing across Ren's chest in a wide, sharp arc.
Burning pain. Ren staggered, coughing blood.
Ren (panting):
"Oh good... it's a Thursday."
They regrouped. Barely.
Thenaia bleeding from her side.
Elsera limping, one arm shattered with cursed backlash.
Ren's coat torn open and blood soaking through his shirt.
Ashrunner floated above them, expressionless.
Ashrunner:
"You don't understand. I don't want this. But I'm tired of repeating the same choices."
He hovered closer to Thenaia, voice lower.
Ashrunner:
"Give me the Crestflare.
Please."
Thenaia (voice thin but steady):
"No."
He looked at Elsera.
Ashrunner:
"You?"
She didn't speak. Just stood.
Ashrunner sighed.
Almost sadly.
Then he turned back to Thenaia — and drove his broken sword through her chest.
No flare. No shout. Just a sound like glass and breath breaking at once.
She fell.
Ren moved.
Too slow.
Elsera screamed.
Too late.
Thenaia hit the stone, blood blooming beneath her like a dying sun.
Ashrunner (calmly):
"This is the cycle. I ask. They say no. I kill. I ask again."
He looked at Elsera.
Ashrunner:
"Now. One more time. Please."
The air behind them shattered.
A burst of crimson shadow rippled through the corridor like a slash made of lightning and vengeance.
Veyrix Kuron stepped forward, cape torn, eyes burning like a god who'd had just enough of everyone's bullshit.
Veyrix (cold):
"Touch her, and I will flay your soul off its bones."
Ashrunner turned.
And for the first time — paused.