The Hollow Hunger lurched forward.
The thing's bulk scraped the ceiling, its elongated limbs dragging against the walls with a screech that set Elian's teeth on edge. Every motion looked wrong, as though its joints bent in defiance of natural law. Black ichor leaked from the wounds Lyra had carved, but the liquid seemed less like blood and more like oil mixed with molten tar—alive, writhing, already knitting its flesh together.
Elian stumbled back, his boot crunching through brittle bone littering the floor. He didn't want to know whether it had belonged to a man or some other poor beast that had wandered too far into the undercity. His breath came ragged, shallow. The void inside him pressed harder now, pounding against his ribs like a creature desperate to claw its way free.
Let me out, it whispered. I will feed it to silence. I will drink it dry.
"No," Elian rasped.
Lyra didn't even glance at him. Her focus was fixed entirely on the monster. Her stance was measured, daggers poised low. Her lips were pulled tight, but her eyes… her eyes were alive with a strange brightness, part fury, part exhilaration.
"Keep moving, scholar," she said, her tone clipped. "If it picks one of us off, we're both corpses."
The Hunger shrieked—a sound so sharp it rattled the stone, a vibration that made Elian's vision blur. Pebbles quivered on the ground.
Then it struck.
An elongated arm swept forward, claws like shards of obsidian slicing through the air. Lyra ducked, rolling under the blow, coming up with a slash that opened the creature's side from hip to chest. Black ichor sprayed, sizzling against her leather bracers. She hissed at the sting but didn't falter.
"Elian! Move!"
He staggered into the branching tunnel, nearly tripping on uneven stone. Behind him, the fight erupted in a storm of motion—Lyra darting, weaving, carving shallow wounds, the Hollow Hunger answering with monstrous swipes that smashed against walls and floor, cracking stone.
The creature moved faster than it should have. Each strike was a blur, limbs bending unnaturally to follow her even when she seemed to have escaped its arc. The sound of its maw sucking air was constant, pulling dust, pebbles, even droplets of Lyra's spilled blood toward the void of its face.
Elian's heart hammered. He couldn't look away. The monster was a nightmare given form, but what horrified him most wasn't its size or speed. It was the pull he felt inside himself. The way the void in him reached toward it, yearning like a starving thing.
Kin, it whispered again. It knows you. Call to it. Let me answer.
Elian pressed his palm against the stone, trying to anchor himself. He wanted to scream back shut up, shut up, but he feared the words would spill out in a language not his own.
Lyra's cry snapped his attention back. She staggered, her shoulder grazed by a claw. Blood bloomed, dark and hot, down her sleeve. The Hollow Hunger pressed, relentless, its maw opening wider, the suction now tugging at Elian's cloak, at Lyra's hair.
For the first time, fear cracked through her mask.
"Elian!" she shouted. "Do something!"
His body locked. What could he do? He had no weapon, no training, only the abyss clawing at his insides. If he let it free, what would happen? Would it slay the monster—or consume them both?
The creature lunged. Lyra twisted away, but too slow—its claw snagged her side, tearing leather, biting flesh. She fell, breath knocked from her, blood spattering the stones.
Something inside Elian broke.
"No!"
The word tore from him, raw and jagged. And with it, the void burst.
Black fire licked from his outstretched hand, spilling like liquid shadow, twisting into tendrils that struck the Hollow Hunger full in the chest. The creature reeled back, shrieking, its hollow maw imploding as if choking on the sudden surge. The air itself rippled where the darkness touched, as though the world resented its presence.
The stone beneath Elian's feet cracked. His skin burned cold, veins throbbing black. His vision blurred with constellations that weren't Aetheria's skies—alien stars that pulsed, hungry, watching.
The void laughed. Yes. More. Tear it apart.
The Hunger stumbled, ichor boiling where the darkness clung. For the first time, it looked wounded, truly wounded, its body trembling under the assault.
But Lyra's voice cut through the haze.
"Elian! Stop! You'll kill yourself!"
Her words hit him harder than the monster's shrieks. He looked down—his fingers were unraveling at the edges, skin turning translucent, threads of his being stretching like smoke. He was becoming like it.
Panic surged. He clenched his will, dragging the void back, sealing it inside his ribs with sheer desperation. The black tendrils shriveled, vanishing into his skin. The Hunger staggered, pieces of its flesh sloughing off like wax, but still it lived. Still it stalked.
And now its hollow head turned—toward him.
Lyra pushed herself to her feet, blood soaking her side. She spat crimson and raised her daggers again. "You drew its attention. Good. Now let's finish it."
The creature lunged, faster than before, fury fueling its strength. Elian threw himself aside, the claw slamming into the wall where he'd stood, spraying shards of stone. Lyra seized the moment, leaping onto its back, plunging both daggers deep into the base of its hollow maw.
The scream that followed was indescribable. Not sound, but vibration—pure anguish, rattling the marrow in Elian's bones. The suction reversed, expelling a wave of hot, fetid air that reeked of rot and blood.
Lyra held fast as the creature bucked, slamming itself into walls, trying to dislodge her. She drove her blades deeper, twisting, ripping. Black ichor cascaded down its chest, sizzling against the ground.
"Elian!" she cried. "Do it now! Whatever you did before—again!"
He hesitated, fear choking him. The void coiled, eager, whispering promises of victory. If he unleashed it fully, he doubted he would return.
But Lyra was bleeding. And the Hunger would not stop.
He pressed his palms together, closed his eyes, and begged—not to the stars, not to gods, but to himself. Just enough. No more.
The darkness flared, a small eruption this time, a lance of shadow that struck the creature's chest where Lyra's blades pinned it. The void-fire didn't spread, but it ate. It drilled inward, devouring flesh, hollowing it from the inside.
The Hollow Hunger convulsed. Its limbs thrashed, claws gouging the floor, walls, ceiling. Then it collapsed, body folding in on itself, shriveling as though starved of substance. With a final shriek, its form imploded, leaving only a slick pool of ichor that smoked against the stone.
Silence.
Lyra slid from its corpse, landing hard on her knees. She coughed, spat more blood, then dragged herself upright with one dagger still in hand. Her face was pale but unbowed.
Elian leaned against the wall, his chest heaving, sweat dripping cold down his face. His hands trembled, veins still throbbing black before fading to normal. He stared at the steaming remains of the creature, then at Lyra.
She looked at him for a long moment. No mocking quip, no smirk. Only a raw, measured gaze.
"You're dangerous," she said finally, voice hoarse. "More dangerous than that thing."
Elian swallowed hard, throat dry. "I didn't want—"
"I know." Her tone softened a fraction. "But you'll have to learn. Because that—" she gestured to the melted remains of the Hollow Hunger "—wasn't the worst thing lurking down here."
Her words lingered like frost. Elian sank to the floor, his body screaming with exhaustion. The void still whispered faintly, but weaker now, sated for the moment.
Lyra lowered herself beside him, wincing as she pressed a cloth to her wound. For the first time since he'd met her, she looked fragile. Not broken—but mortal.
They sat there, side by side, the silence thick with exhaustion and unspoken truths.
And just as Elian's eyes began to close, his heartbeat slowing—
Bootsteps echoed down the corridor. Armored. Measured. Inescapable.
Lyra's eyes snapped open. She cursed under her breath, pushing herself to her feet, blades in hand.
Elian's stomach dropped. He knew that cadence. The sound of discipline. Of oath-bound pursuit.
Kaelen had found them.