The Xylen didn't stop after Dylan fell.
With the boy's blood still warm on its fangs, the beast turned to Khaos. Its eyes, glowing red like coals in a furnace, locked onto him with maddening hunger.
Khaos couldn't move.
Not because of fear—though he was afraid—but because his limbs simply refused to obey. His heart pounded against his ribs like a drum. The weight of Dylan's death, the violence of it, the betrayal, all crashed into him at once.
And still, the Xylen lunged.
The world blurred.
Then came light.
A sword flashed through the rain—a horizontal arc of silver flame—and split the Xylen's head open with a brutal crack.
Its body hit the ground a second later, lifeless.
The beast fell at Rothan's feet, its skull split down the middle by the knight's blade. The rain hissed as it met the creature's corpse—smoke rising from its blood.
Khaos stood still, shoulders hunched, soaked in mud and silence.
Rothan didn't sheath his sword. He turned to Khaos, breath heavy but sharp as his words.
"Look at me, boy."
Khaos didn't move.
"I said look at me."
The boy finally raised his head, violet eyes hollow and rimmed with rage and tears.
"You gonna sit there in the blood of a boy who spat on your name, who tried to kill you," Rothan growled, "or are you going to stand the hell up and live like you've got a right to breathe?"
Khaos's lips trembled. "I didn't want him dead…"
"No," Rothan said, stepping closer, sword lowered but not softening his voice. "But the world doesn't care what you want. It'll burn, curse, and devour you all the same."
Lightning flashed. Thunder followed.
"I've seen men like you die on their knees because they waited for the world to forgive them," Rothan said. "You don't need their forgiveness. You need to survive."
Khaos stared down at the broken sword of Dylan.
Then he spoke, voice quieter but sharp with urgency.
"The breach," he said. "He came from the forest. From the north line. There's something wrong with the barrier there. That's how they're getting in."
Rothan stiffened.
"You're sure?"
Khaos nodded. "I saw it before. A shimmer in the trees. Flickering. Like the barrier was fighting to stay closed."
Rothan wiped the rain from his brow, calculating.
"Then we don't have much time."
"What do we do?" Khaos asked.
"We get to the main tower. If we can reach the control seal and reset the magic weave, we might be able to reinforce it. At least long enough to warn the capital."
Khaos nodded, eyes sharpened now—not with despair, but purpose.
But as they turned to move, the night roared again.
Another Xylen burst from the ruins, charging like a shadow given muscle and flame. Its screech echoed off the broken walls.
Rothan spun—but too slow. The beast's claws raked across his leg and hip, tearing through steel and flesh.
"Argh—!" Rothan collapsed, blood pouring down his side.
Khaos leapt in front of him, blade shaking in his grip.
The Xylen bared its fangs, pacing left and right, studying him.
"Khaos—" Rothan growled, trying to stand, but he collapsed again. "My leg's done. I can't fight. You've got to move—"
"No," Khaos said, stepping forward.
He glanced down at Rothan, eyes fierce. "I'm not running again."
He raised Dylan's broken sword—useless for defense, but sharp enough to cut.
The Xylen lunged.
Khaos rolled to the side, slashing at its leg. The blade caught, tearing into flesh. The beast shrieked and slammed its tail into a wall, missing Khaos by inches.
He dove forward, burying the sword into its shoulder—but the hilt snapped in his grip.
The beast howled and flung him back. Khaos hit the mud hard, breath knocked from his lungs.
The Xylen reared up, preparing to finish him.
Then a dagger flew—Rothan's.
It pierced the creature's throat just enough to give Khaos time to grab a broken spear from the ground.
The boy pushed forward, screaming as he drove it through the beast's eye.
The Xylen convulsed—then stilled.
Blood soaked the mud. Khaos gasped, shaking from pain and cold.
Rothan pulled himself up with a groan.
"You… you fought like a damned knight," he muttered, face pale.
"I fought because I had to," Khaos said quietly, then turned his gaze northward. "They're still coming."
Rothan collapsed to one knee, clutching his bleeding leg.
"We need to hide," he muttered. "I can't walk right now."
They ducked into a collapsed cellar, stone and darkness shielding them from wandering beasts. Rothan leaned against the wall, pale from pain.
"If I fight again like this… I'll die," he admitted. "And you're not skilled enough to go alone."
Khaos looked down, fingers tightening on the hilt of the sword.
"Then what?"
"We go to the central shelter," Rothan said. "Get backup. That's our only chance."
"They won't help me," Khaos said bitterly. "They think I'm the reason this happened. They'll throw me to the wolves."
"They think a lot of things," Rothan snapped. "But they're facing death now. When the abyss stares back, even the arrogant remember they bleed."
Khaos didn't respond, but he offered Rothan his arm. "Fine. Let's try."
They moved quietly, sticking to alleyways and shadows, slipping past Xylens feasting on the dead or tearing into broken walls.
The storm continued its assault, rain drenching everything in sight. The village lay in ruin, smoke curling from shattered homes, the air thick with the scent of blood and destruction. Khaos helped Rothan stumble toward the shelter, his own body trembling from exhaustion. The knight's leg had been torn open by the Xylen's claws, and his steps were slow, labored. But they couldn't stop. Not yet.
As they neared the shelter, the distant flicker of torchlight grew clearer. A dozen figures emerged from the shadows, their eyes searching the rain for any sign of movement. When they saw Rothan, bloodied and limping, they rushed forward.
"Sir Rothan!" one of the knights shouted. "Get him inside!"
But then, they saw Khaos. A collective gasp spread across the crowd, and the tension in the air grew palpable.
"He's here," one villager hissed. "The one who let them in."
"Don't let him in!" another shouted, pointing a trembling finger at Khaos. "He's the one who brought the Xylens to us!"
Khaos felt the words strike him like blows, but he remained still, his gaze unwavering as the villagers' voices grew louder.
"That cursed child—he's the reason we lost everything!"
"He killed them all! He deserves to die!"
Tears welled up in Khaos's eyes, but he wiped them away, forcing himself to stay calm. The pain of their words cut deeper than any sword. His chest tightened, a storm of anger and helplessness swirling inside him.
"Enough!" Rothan's voice rang out, cutting through the noise. He pushed through the crowd, his stance fierce despite his injuries. "This boy saved your lives. He killed the Xylen that slaughtered your children."
"They don't want to hear it, Rothan," Khaos murmured, voice hoarse.
The villagers were unmoved. A rock sailed past Khaos, striking him in the arm. He flinched, but didn't move.
"I know you're afraid," Rothan said to the crowd, his voice a growl. "But we don't have time for this. We need to fix the barrier, or more will come."
"You're lying!" a woman shrieked. "He brought the beasts here! He's the cause of it all!"
"They'll never help us," Khaos muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "They'll always see me as the villain."
But Rothan didn't respond. He just turned to face Khaos, his face hardening.
"Khaos," he said softly, "We've done all we can. Now we need to focus on survival. Go inside. Get to safety."
"No," Khaos replied, his voice firm. He stepped forward, placing a hand on Rothan's shoulder. "I won't leave you. You've taught me how to fight. I'll fight with you."
Rothan shook his head, his expression softening for a moment. "You've already done more than anyone ever could. Now it's time to go."
But Khaos didn't wait. With a sudden, forceful push, he shoved Rothan toward the open shelter.
"No!" Rothan shouted, stumbling as the guard caught him. "Khaos, don't!"
But Khaos wasn't listening. He felt the weight of his decision as his hands gripped the sword tightly, and his legs burned with exhaustion.
"You have to survive," Khaos said, his voice quieter now. "I'll deal with this."
He turned toward the gates of the village, toward the shadows of the forest where the Xylens prowled. His eyes hardened, a fierce resolve setting in.
Rothan struggled to turn around, but the guards were already pushing him into the shelter. "Khaos—!"
Khaos didn't look back. His grip tightened on the sword, and with one last glance at the villagers—who were still murmuring, pointing, whispering curses—he turned and ran into the darkness.