Flames of Desperation
The Riftborn beast's claws slammed down like falling towers, shaking the square to its foundation. Cobblestones split apart, jagged cracks snaking outward from the impact. The shockwave hurled villagers from their feet, scattering them like straw in a storm. Screams echoed, rising with the thunder of crumbling walls.
Ryven staggered under the blast, clutching his staff to stay upright. His ribs screamed with every breath, his shoulder still slick with blood from earlier wounds. The shard pulsed violently inside him, each beat hot enough to sear his chest. His staff vibrated in his hands, fire swirling madly along its length, begging for release.
The beast raised its claws again. Its size defied reason, a mountain of shadow and jagged bone-like armor, glowing eyes fixed solely on him. Every movement radiated malice. It didn't see him as prey. It saw him as a rival.
Nova's voice cut through the chaos. "Ryven, NOW!"
He swung upward with all his strength. Fire erupted, not as a controlled arc, but as a blazing torrent. It slammed into the beast's chest, engulfing it in molten flame. The square lit up like dawn—buildings casting monstrous shadows as the firestorm roared.
But when the flames died, the Riftborn still stood.
Its armor smoked faintly. Its crimson eyes burned brighter, mocking. Not a single wound marred its body.
Ryven's heart stopped. No… no, that should have—
The beast lunged, claws sweeping horizontally. Nova shoved Ryven hard to the ground as the attack carved through the air above, slicing clean through two buildings. Roofs collapsed in showers of sparks and rubble.
"Get up!" Nova snarled, her voice raw. She slashed at a smaller Riftborn lunging from the side, cutting it down even as its ichor sprayed across her arm. She was slowing—her foot slipped, her breath wheezing. Blood loss was catching up, her strength fading.
Ryven forced himself upright, staff trembling in his grip. Dozens of smaller Riftborn circled them, their claws scraping stone, their eyes glimmering like coals in the dark. The villagers were cornered at the far end of the square, clutching one another in terror, trapped behind collapsed walls. If Ryven and Nova fell, there would be no one left to hold the monsters back.
The shard inside him pulsed again—harder, sharper. His veins lit up with searing crimson, fire creeping higher along his arms, licking at his skin. He gritted his teeth as pain shot through him, but with it came a flood of strength, power overflowing like a broken dam.
Nova's voice reached him, strained but fierce. "If you're holding back, stop. NOW. Or we all die."
Her words sliced through the haze. Ryven's fear, his hesitation, all burned away. He thrust his staff into the ground with a roar.
The shard answered.
Flames exploded outward in a ring, incinerating the swarm in an instant. Their screams filled the night as their bodies dissolved into smoke, leaving only scorch marks burned into the cobblestones. The heat was unbearable—villagers shielded their faces, the air itself shimmering.
Ryven's eyes blazed, glowing with the shard's fire. His veins crawled with molten light, his skin burning hot to the touch. The staff pulsed in his grip, no longer resisting but resonating with him, every strike fueled by the shard's hunger.
The beast roared in response, its guttural voice shaking windows and hearts alike. It stomped forward, unfazed by the flames. Its claws rose high, black and jagged, gleaming under the firelight.
Ryven didn't retreat.
He surged forward, fire trailing in his wake, each step leaving scorched footprints on the stone. He swung his staff in a blazing arc. The impact met the beast's claw, sparks scattering like stars as fire and shadow collided. The shockwave blasted through the square, knocking smaller Riftborn flat, tearing the torches from their posts.
The clash became a rhythm. Strike. Block. Roar. Flame.
Ryven fought like a man possessed, his every swing heavier, faster, sharper than before. Fire carved through the night sky, lashing against the Riftborn's body. Cracks finally began to form along its armored chest, glowing faintly where flames licked into the seams.
But each attack took its toll. His muscles tore under the strain, his skin blistered from the heat of his own power. Blood ran down his arms, mixing with glowing fire veins. His breath came ragged, yet the shard forced him forward, relentless.
The beast staggered for the first time, its roar carrying pain. Smoke rose from its chest where Ryven's fire had burrowed deep. Its claw lashed out wildly, slamming into Ryven's side.
The impact shattered his world. His body smashed through a wall, splinters driving into his flesh. Pain flared so sharp he almost blacked out. Blood filled his mouth as he gasped, vision dimming.
"RYVEN!" Nova screamed, her voice breaking.
He tried to move, but his body wouldn't obey. The shard burned inside him like a furnace, demanding more, screaming for release. If I let it go… if I stop holding back completely…
He saw the villagers cowering, Nova staggering as she fought three Riftborn at once, her blades trembling in her hands.
There was no choice.
Ryven gripped the staff with both hands, dragging himself upright. He staggered forward, every step agony, but the shard within him pulsed brighter—no longer resisting, no longer mocking. It fused with him, flooding his veins with living fire.
The beast roared, raising its claws for the killing blow.
Ryven thrust his staff forward and screamed.
The shard erupted.
A torrent of fire unlike anything he had ever summoned blasted outward, a searing column of molten light that swallowed the Riftborn whole. The night turned into day, brighter than the sun, shadows fleeing before the blaze. The air split with the sound of the beast's scream, a monstrous howl of agony as fire tore through its armor, ripping its form apart piece by piece.
The flames consumed it utterly. Its body cracked, splintered, and finally exploded into fragments of ash and smoke.
When the light faded, the square was a ruin of fire and stone. The beast was gone.
Ryven dropped to one knee, the staff slipping from his hand. His arms shook violently, his body scorched and bleeding. His vision blurred. The shard's glow dimmed, though its heat lingered in his chest like an ember refusing to die.
He had done it. He had killed the beast.
But the night was not over.
From the edge of the square, the ground split. The largest Riftborn yet emerged, its shadow dwarfing the homes around it. Crimson eyes like burning coals fixed on Ryven, and this time, there was no patience in them—only hunger.
Ryven tried to rise, but his legs buckled. Nova stumbled to his side, her face pale, her arm still bleeding. Together they faced the monster, battered, broken, barely able to stand.
The Riftborn raised its massive form, claws blotting out the stars.
And then—just as it struck—
A silhouette appeared between them and the beast.
The figure moved faster than Ryven's eyes could follow. A blade flashed once.
The Riftborn froze, crimson eyes flickering. Then its body split, collapsing into smoke and ash without a sound.
The villagers gasped, whispering in awe and terror.
Ryven, dazed and on the brink of collapse, tried to see who stood before him. The silhouette was tall, cloaked in shadow, their weapon gleaming faintly under the blood-red sky.
A familiar presence lingered in the air.
Grandfather.
Ryven's lips parted, but no words came. His vision dimmed, and the last thing he saw was the mysterious figure lowering their blade as silence fell over the ruined square.
The night was over—but the war had only begun.
---
Ashes and Shadows
Silence fell over the square.
The Riftborn beast's massive body, once towering like a mountain of shadow and bone, now lay scattered as drifting ash. The flames Ryven had summoned still clung to the ruins, dull orange embers glowing faintly against the blackened ground. Smoke curled upward in slow, languid spirals, carrying with it the bitter stench of charred wood, burnt flesh, and iron blood.
The village, their village, looked like a battlefield.
Broken homes gaped open with shattered beams and collapsed roofs. The once-familiar square was scarred, cobblestones cracked and scorched. Torches lay toppled and smoldering in the dirt, their light weak against the oppressive night. Every corner whispered of ruin.
For a long moment, no one moved. No one breathed.
The Riftborn's death had been too sudden, too absolute. The silence it left behind was heavier than the monster's roar.
Ryven staggered, his legs trembling violently. His chest rose and fell in jagged bursts, every muscle screaming. Blood trickled down his arms, dripping from torn flesh and blistered hands. His grip failed at last—the staff slipped from his fingers and clattered against the stone.
The shard pulsed inside him, faint but insistent. Not the wild roar it had been during battle, but a low, steady thrum. A predator's purr. A beast not yet satisfied.
He swayed, his vision spinning.
"Ryven!"
Nova caught him before his body could crumple to the ground. She pulled his weight against her, though her own strength was nearly spent. Her face was pale, slick with sweat, and her arm still bled freely from the Riftborn's claw. But she held him, as if sheer defiance could keep him from falling.
"You're alive," she whispered. Her voice cracked, breaking under the weight of relief and dread. "Barely… but alive."
Ryven wanted to answer, but his throat only burned.
The villagers began to creep from the wreckage—emerging from shattered doorways, from behind broken carts, from beneath splintered beams. Their faces were pale, streaked with soot and tears. They looked at Ryven not with celebration, but with confusion, fear, and awe.
A child's voice broke the silence. Small, trembling, yet clear.
"He… he killed it."
The words spread like ripples through the crowd.
"He saved us."
"No… did you see what he became?"
"That wasn't human fire. That was… something else."
"The boy's cursed. The shard is inside him."
The whispers stung worse than wounds.
Ryven's chest tightened. He could hear every word, each syllable piercing into him like a blade. His hands curled weakly against Nova's grip. He had bled, fought, nearly died to protect them—and still their eyes saw him as a monster.
The murmurs grew, low at first, then sharper. Fear fed suspicion. Suspicion fed dread. Mothers pulled their children closer, clutching them as though Ryven's mere presence might burn them. Men narrowed their eyes, their jaws set in grim suspicion.
Nova's expression hardened. She pulled Ryven tighter against her, glaring at the crowd with fire enough to shame them all.
"He bled for you," she spat, her voice rising sharp and furious. "He nearly died for you. Don't you dare look at him like that!"
Her defiance cut through the air, but it didn't stop the whispers. It only made them quieter, more venomous.
And then—
A shift in the air silenced everything.
The embers still burning in the streets guttered as if choked. The smoke curling into the sky seemed to hesitate, drawn downward by an unseen weight. Even the villagers' breaths stilled, their fear swallowed by something deeper, older.
From the smoke and ruin, a figure emerged.
At first, only a silhouette—tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in a heavy, dark cloak. His movements were slow, deliberate, carrying a quiet gravity that pressed down on the square like a suffocating blanket. In one hand, a blade glimmered faintly, its edge wet with Riftborn ichor that hissed when it struck the scorched ground.
No words were spoken, yet the air trembled with his presence.
The villagers froze. Some instinctively bowed their heads, not in respect, but in fear. Others stumbled backward, clutching their children without daring to speak. The bravest among them whispered only fragments:
"Who… who is that?"
"A shadow… walking."
"No man could carry such weight."
"Not a Guardian… something else."
Ryven forced his eyes to focus. The world blurred and swam from exhaustion, but he saw enough—the shape of the blade, the cold aura of command, the silent way the figure's gaze swept over the ruins.
It wasn't human warmth he felt. It was judgment. Quiet, merciless judgment.
The figure stopped only a few paces from Ryven and Nova. Smoke swirled around his form, obscuring features, revealing only that dark outline. A face half-shrouded, eyes like faint glints of steel in the glow of the dying flames.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then, finally, he spoke. His voice was low, measured, steady enough to chill bone.
"You survived."
No praise. No relief. No anger. Only a verdict.
Ryven's lips parted, his body trembling, but no words came. His strength broke. His vision dimmed, collapsing into shadow.
The last thing he saw was the silhouette standing against the backdrop of ruin, immovable, impenetrable. Neither ally nor enemy. Only mystery.
And then—
Darkness claimed him.