The basin was closing.
Roots arched inward from above, tangling into a cage of living wood. The gaps between them shrank with every groan of the forest, and the air grew heavy, humid—thick enough to feel in the lungs.
Ezra still stood under the silver-green shaft of light, staff raised, breath coming fast. Around her, the four dark elves moved in a slow spiral, their weapons tracing the same runic patterns in the air again and again, as if the fight was only half the point.
Eliakim knew the other half.And they were running out of time.
"Straight through!" he shouted, kicking aside an elf's spear haft. "Center is the only way out!"
Gideon didn't answer with words. He answered with his axe.
The golden twin-blades blurred as he spun it in a full arc, cleaving through two converging root-pillars like they were made of wax. The strike sent a spray of splinters and a shockwave that staggered the elves closing on Caleb's flank. The weapon sang—low, resonant, heavy with momentum—and Gideon used the recoil to pivot, chopping a downward blow that bit deep into an elf's bark-armor. The dark elf hit the ground with a muffled grunt, armor split from shoulder to waist.
Malachi locked blades with another attacker, twisting until he wrenched the weapon free, then drove a boot into the elf's chest to send them tumbling into a root wall.
Eliakim's dagger—already chipped, the edge dulled by the Canopy's cursed humidity—caught on a reinforced parry. The blade snapped with a metallic crack, leaving only the hilt in his hand.
He didn't hesitate.
The Codex slid back into its harness as he flexed his fingers, letting the black, rust-edged chains slither from under his sleeve.
"Beelzebub…" His voice was low, but the word carried over the fight.
The chains unfurled with a hiss, links dripping with a faint, oily vapor. They coiled around his arm like living serpents, the tips sharpening into hooks that gleamed sickly green.
"Decay."
The first lash split the air like a whip-crack, slamming into an elf's shield. The wood bubbled and sagged under the touch, rotting in seconds until the metal frame beneath twisted and collapsed into rust. A second strike caught another elf's spear mid-thrust; the shaft turned soft and black, collapsing into powder before the point even reached him.
Wherever the chains landed, moss shriveled, runes guttered out, and the air filled with a scent like rain on scorched earth.
Caleb, seizing the opening, flared a wall of light between Ezra and the elves, forcing them to break formation.
"Now!" Malachi barked, driving forward.
The group surged toward the center. Gideon hacked through the last blocking root, his axe biting so deep the root shuddered and cracked apart. Eliakim's chains lashed in wide arcs, clearing a path in seconds that would've taken minutes to carve by blade.
But the forest didn't simply let them pass.
The root-floor buckled, warping into ridges that tried to throw them off balance. Overhead, vine-tendrils dropped like nooses, forcing Malachi to slash them away. The hum returned—louder now, vibrating in the ribs—and Ezra flinched as if every note was hooked into her chest.
"Ezra!" Eliakim called, pushing forward.
Her gaze met his—and in it, he saw something that froze his breath.
Recognition.
Not of him.
Of the voice in the hum.
An elf lunged for her flank, blade aimed low. Gideon roared, bringing his axe around in a full overhand strike. The golden blades hit with such force that the elf's weapon shattered outright, fragments spinning into the air. The blow didn't just fell the opponent—it drove deep enough into the root beneath that a shockwave rippled through the basin floor, knocking two more elves off their feet.
"Move!" Gideon bellowed, wrenching the axe free.
Eliakim's chains wrapped a root-pillar in front of Ezra, the wood hissing and curling away until it snapped under its own rot. He reached her, catching her arm.
"We're going—"
"I know who it is." Her voice was barely a whisper.
Eliakim froze, even as the chains writhed, deflecting another blow. "Who?"
Her eyes, lit by the silver-green beam, flicked past him—toward someone else in their group.
And the forest, as if hearing her unspoken thought, howled.
The cage slammed fully shut.
Roots erupted from the basin walls, weaving into a dome around them. The silver-green light flared, turning everything inside sharp-edged and strange. The elves, instead of pressing their attack, dropped to one knee again—this time all four—heads bowed toward Ezra.
Caleb's voice was tight. "She's the one."
Malachi didn't answer.
Eliakim's grip on her arm tightened, his mind already racing—not just with the truth, but with the knowledge that the forest knew it too.
And the kill-zone had only just begun.