Roptadi was a village in name only. In reality, it was a graveyard—an open wound in the world of Rivens, festering and rotting under the eerie orange-purple glow of the three moons.
It looked like a place where hope had died long ago, where the last remnants of humanity clung to survival like insects crawling in the dirt. The wooden houses were broken and sagging, their once proud beams warped and blackened by fire and rot. Doors hung from rusted hinges, barely attached, swinging with the wind that carried the stench of decay.
Every step through the village streets was met with the squelch of mud and filth underfoot. Long-abandoned carts were half-buried in the sludge, their contents spilled and forgotten. The ground was littered with bones—some animal, some human—and the air was thick with the acrid smell of burning, as if the world itself was smoldering in a slow, painful death. The wind blew through the shattered windows of buildings, carrying faint, ghostly whispers from the past, but no one remained to listen.
Children who once played in these streets were long gone, their laughter replaced by silence, and the few villagers that remained huddled in the shadows, faces gaunt and hollow-eyed, like specters of the people they had once been. Their clothes hung from emaciated frames, torn and filthy, clinging to life by sheer will alone. They didn't speak to the hero party, didn't ask for help, didn't even look up as they passed. It was as if they had accepted their fate, resigned to the cruelty of a world overrun by demons.
Roptadi was no quaint fantasy world village with cobbled streets and cozy inns. This was a war zone—a place where the people had been left behind, forgotten by both gods and men. The streets were lined with debris, twisted metal, and the charred remains of what must have once been homes, shops, and taverns. Now, it was just a wasteland. It looked like something torn from a nightmare—or worse, something pulled from the horrors of 1940 France during the German invasion. The weight of occupation, of being prey in your own home, hung heavy in the air.
At the far end of the village, one building still stood, though barely. It was the only inn that hadn't collapsed under the weight of neglect, though the term "inn" was generous. Its roof sagged under years of disrepair, and the sign that once proudly hung above the door was now a piece of cracked, rotten wood, the words worn away by time and smoke. Inside, the smell was worse—mildew, smoke, and blood mingled in the air, making it almost unbreathable.
The hero party of Eulacyda—a group of five battle-hardened women—had taken shelter there, retreating from the bleakness of the streets after their long journey from the kingdom's capital, Cleonic. They weren't strangers to horror or hardship, but even they had been unsettled by the state of Roptadi. There were places in Rivens where the light of hope had died, and this village was one of them.
Upstairs, the five women settled into a cramped, dingy room that could barely hold them. The beds, if they could be called that, were little more than straw-stuffed sacks draped with ragged blankets. The floorboards creaked with every step, threatening to give way, and the damp air made everything feel heavy, oppressive.
Ava of the Kalderino family, the leader of the group, sat by the window, sharpening her sword with a whetstone, her jaw set in a grim line. She had the look of a warrior—muscles coiled with tension, her armor scuffed and scratched from countless battles. The fire in her eyes was tempered with caution, and something else—doubt. She hadn't felt right about this mission since they left Cleonic. Now, sitting in this wretched village, her instincts were screaming at her that something was off.
Behind her, the others were trying to make themselves comfortable, but it was a losing battle. Sliminac Dorda, the group's magic caster, sat cross-legged on one of the beds, her eyes closed as she focused on a detection spell. Her hands traced glowing runes in the air, her voice barely a whisper as she chanted, sending her consciousness soaring through the Dohmara Darkwoods like a wisp, searching for the two champions their goddess had spoken of—Krista and Olivia.
Orva Nimish, the elven ranger, was perched on the edge of her bed, cleaning her arrows and fletching them with the precision of someone who had done it a thousand times before. Her sharp eyes flicked between Sliminac and Ava, curiosity evident in her expression. She had been fascinated by the idea of champions summoned from another world since they first heard about them. Now, they were only a few hours away from meeting them.
Hilda Astava, the cleric, was kneeling by her bedside, her lips moving in silent prayer. Her hands, though weathered from the rigors of battle, still held a gentle grace as she clutched the pendant of her goddess. But even her prayers couldn't chase away the fear that gnawed at her.
Tertorrela Sairren, the rogue, leaned against the door, her arms crossed and a smirk playing at her lips. She had always been the cynical one, always quick to laugh in the face of danger, but even she couldn't shake the tension that had been building since they entered the village.
Sliminac's spell ended with a faint pulse of energy, her eyes snapping open. Ava looked up from her sword, her tone sharp. "Did you find them?"
Sliminac nodded, though her face betrayed her concern. "Yes. They're still in the Dohmara Darkwoods, near the edge. Less than a day's walk from here."
Orva's head snapped up, her interest piqued. "Less than a day? That's close. What are they doing out there?"
"Surviving, I'd imagine," Sliminac said softly. "They've been in the woods since they arrived, but… they're not safe. The forest is crawling with demons."
Hilda, still on her knees, looked up, her brow furrowed. "Do you think they'll be able to handle themselves?"
Orva was the first to respond, her voice laced with hope. "They were summoned by the goddess herself. Surely they have some kind of power—something that'll help them fight."
Sliminac, however, wasn't so sure. "They come from a world without magic," she said, her voice tinged with worry. "If they don't know how to use it, they won't be able to cast spells like we do. That puts them at a serious disadvantage."
Ava's lip curled in distaste. "The goddess said Krista was her last champion—the one who will change this world." She paused, setting her sword aside and looking around at her comrades. "But I don't trust it. You all heard what the High Priest Eobard said. Krista's an organ harvester—a killer from another world. How are we supposed to put our faith in someone like that?"
Tertorrela chuckled darkly from her spot by the door. "Maybe that's what we need. This world's gone to shit. Maybe it takes someone ruthless to fix it."
Ava shot her a sharp look. "You think a killer is what we need right now? Someone who's willing to butcher people to get what she wants?"
"I didn't say I liked it," Tertorrela said, shrugging. "I'm just saying, maybe she'll get the job done."
Hilda shifted uncomfortably, casting a glance at Ava. "But if she's really that dangerous… what if she turns on us?"
Sliminac nodded in agreement, her voice thoughtful. "She's not like us. She didn't grow up in this world. She might not care about our people, our cause."
Ava sighed, her hands curling into fists. "That's what worries me. Krista… she'll be clever, creative, and ruthless, just like the goddess said. But I don't think she'll care about anyone but her sister. She'll see the battlefield as a chessboard, and anyone she deems 'dead weight'—she'll sacrifice them without hesitation."
Orva's face paled. "You really think she's that cold?"
Ava's jaw tightened. "Yes. And I'm not sure we can trust her."
An uneasy silence fell over the room. The thought of meeting someone like Krista—a woman who was more than willing to carve out organs and kill to survive—was unsettling, even for warriors as seasoned as they were.
Hilda, ever the voice of reason, broke the silence. "What should we do, then? If they're only less than a day away, we can't just leave them there. The forest is infested with demons, and without magic, even the weakest of them could kill Krista and Olivia."
Tertorrela pushed off the door, pacing slowly around the room. "We can't go to them now. It's the middle of the night. If we show up unannounced, they'll think we're hostile. Hell, they might attack us on sight."
"Are you suggesting we just leave them there?" Orva asked, her voice rising with concern. "We don't have time to wait!"
"I'm saying we need to be smart about this," Tertorrela snapped, glaring at her. "Rushing in could get us all killed."
The tension in the room spiked. Orva looked ready to argue, but Ava held up a hand, silencing her.
"Tertorrela's right," Ava said, though the words tasted bitter. "If we approach them now, in the dead of night, they might mistake us for demons. And Krista… she won't hesitate to kill us if she thinks we're a threat."
Orva slumped back on the bed, frustrated but unable to argue. "So what do we do? We can't just sit here while they're out there, defenseless."
Sliminac spoke up, her voice calm but cautious. "It's not like we have another option. The pearl the goddess gave us? We only have one of them."
Ava's eyes narrowed. "The pearl? You mean the one with space magic?"
Sliminac nodded. "Yes. It's imbued with enough power to take us—and Krista and Olivia—directly back to Cleonic—or anywhere we want. Too bad we only have one. It would be a completely different story if we had two. Hell, this whole argument wouldn't even happen. The plan was we introduced ourselves to them, telling them everything they needed to know and have them willingly agree to jump with us back to Cleonic. But there's no guarantee they'll trust us. If Krista and Olivia see us as a threat, they could fight back, and there's a chance that we would be interrupted by some wandering demons roaming the woods. If I'm disrupted during the chant… that pearl is as good as wasted."
"They'll kill us," Tertorrela finished grimly. "Let's say that by some miracle, the champion Krista managed to survive in the demon-infested woodland that is Dohmara, what sense would it make for her to suddenly listen and trust some random humans in a forest only populated by demons? No, she'll see all of us the same—like those demons."
Ava stared at the floor, her fingers drumming against the hilt of her sword. She hated being trapped like this, hated the feeling of being out of control. Her instincts screamed at her to act, to move, but she knew Sliminac and Tertorrela were right. Rushing in blind would be a mistake, and they couldn't afford any more mistakes.
Finally, Ava made her decision.
"We'll go to them, but not tonight. Tomorrow, at dawn. We approach slowly, no sudden moves, no threats. We explain who we are and why we're here." She glanced around the room, meeting each of their eyes. "Krista might be dangerous, but we can't afford to make her our enemy."
The others nodded, though the unease was still thick in the air. They knew what was at stake—knew the risk they were taking by approaching Krista and Olivia. But they also knew they didn't have a choice.
As the wind howled outside, and the dim light of the moons filtered through the cracks in the walls, the hero party of Eulacyda settled in for a restless night, their thoughts plagued by doubts about the champions they were about to meet.
The journey to the Dohmara Darkwoods was nothing short of grueling. The land they traversed was no longer the fertile, enchanted marshlands the Eulacydan hero party had once known in the distant past. Now, it was a wretched expanse of twisted vegetation, festering with rot and decay. The ground beneath their boots squelched with every step, thick with a sickening goo that clung like tar. Swamps had become slow, suffocating mires, and a stench of death pervaded the air, almost calcified, like the earth itself was dying.
Ava gritted her teeth as she pressed forward, her steel-plated boots sinking slightly with each step. Her shield was strapped to her back, the edges gleaming faintly in the dim light of pre-dawn. Her hand hovered over the hilt of her sword, her sharp eyes scanning the darkness ahead.
Behind her, Sliminac moved cautiously, her face twisted in concentration as she muttered under her breath, casting spells that warded off the smaller demonic creatures lurking at the edges of the swamp. Her hands glowed faintly, shimmering with arcane power, but the weight of the marsh slowed her movements, and the clinging goo stuck to her robes like a second skin. The oppressive atmosphere pressed down on them all.
Tertorrela was the only one seemingly unaffected by the terrain. With a skill honed from years of navigating treacherous paths, she glided silently across the marsh, her sharp eyes darting from shadow to shadow, always vigilant, always prepared. Her twin daggers were strapped tightly to her waist, their polished hilts reflecting the faintest gleams of moonlight from Rivens' strange skies.
Bringing up the rear was Orva, her bow loosely slung across her back, a bundle of arrows rattling in their quiver. Every now and then, she would stop, crouching low to the ground, her fingers brushing the soil as she whispered to it, as if seeking guidance from the earth itself. But even the land refused to speak to her in this forsaken place.
By the time the first faint glimmers of dawn light began to breach the horizon, they reached a small clearing, a flat patch of land just east of the entrance to the Darkwoods. Ava raised her hand, signaling for the party to halt. The clearing was silent, deathly still, but something felt wrong.
Then they saw it.
Amid the damp, twisted underbrush lay a black chariot, flipped upside down, its once-glossy body now battered and broken, the windows shattered into glimmering shards strewn across the ground.
The Subaru WRX STI looked alien in this world, its four wheels—made of what appeared to be soft, strange black material—were unlike anything they had seen. The bodies of the vehicle were dented, some parts flattened from impact, while a dark stain of dried blood clung to the metallic surface like a sinister omen. The blood was at least two days old, hardened in the chill of Rivens' air.
Ava furrowed her brow, cautiously stepping forward. The others followed closely behind, their eyes wide with curiosity and wariness. Tertorrela knelt beside one of the shattered windows, running her gloved fingers over the glass.
"What… is this?" Orva muttered, her voice low and filled with confusion. "It's like nothing I've ever seen. Some kind of… chariot?"
Tertorrela snorted. "A beastless chariot, perhaps?" She traced her fingers over the strange rubber material that made up the wheels, then squinted at the metal objects securing the wheels to the body—six hexagram-shaped bolts. "No beast could pull this thing. It's… made of things I can't even describe."
Ava crossed her arms, her sharp gaze sweeping over the wreckage. "It's from another world. The same world the sisters came from, no doubt." She turned to Sliminac. "Can you see anything? What happened here?"
Sliminac stepped forward, pressing her hand against the cold, dented door of the Subaru. Her expression darkened as she closed her eyes, her lips parting as she whispered a soft incantation. Her magic flared to life, and the world around her faded. The marshland, the trees, the darkness—all of it fell away as her soul was pulled into a vision.
She saw Krista and Olivia—two young women, desperate, terrified. The Subaru roared through the streets of a place Sliminac had never seen before, a strange, sprawling city of metal and stone. The sky was a dull gray, and the roar of other chariots filled the air as they sped past flashing lights and buildings towering over the road.
Sliminac's soul settled into the backseat of the Subaru, an invisible observer to the chaos unfolding before her. Krista's knuckles were white as she gripped the wheel, her eyes focused and frantic. Olivia, smaller and younger, clutched her seatbelt, her face pale with fear.
The scene was pure chaos. Sirens wailed in the distance, and bright red and blue lights flashed in their rearview mirror. The word LAPD was emblazoned on the side of a larger, brutish vehicle—another chariot, this one more menacing than their own, giving chase. A collision—Krista's Subaru was hit from the side by this other beast, sending their car spiraling, flipping, crashing into a barrier.
Sliminac felt the impact. The world around her spun violently, glass shattering, metal twisting. Her heart lurched as the sisters were thrown about inside the chariot, the sound of their screams mixing with the screech of metal.
And then, suddenly, the world shifted.
The wrecked Subaru tumbled through space and time, violently yanked from the streets of this strange world and deposited in the Dohmara Darkwoods in Rivens. The summoning spell completed its work. The sisters lay unconscious, broken and bloodied. Sliminac's soul watched as the vision faded, leaving her with the final image of the upside-down Subaru nestled in the woods, surrounded by trees and under a sky far different from the one they had fled.
Sliminac gasped as she pulled her hand away from the car, her eyes wide with the truth. "It's them," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "The goddess' ritual—it worked. Krista and Olivia were summoned to Rivens. Their arrival was violent—they crashed, were knocked unconscious."
Tertorrela nodded, taking in Sliminac's words with a serious expression. She crouched by the wreckage, inspecting the site. Her sharp eyes noticed something—a cut seatbelt, along with drag marks leading away from the vehicle, and the disengaged seat belt mechanism.
"Krista was the first to wake up," Tertorrela said quietly, her mind racing through the possibilities. "She must've cut the seatbelt, dragged Olivia out. Look here," she pointed to the drag marks. "Her sister couldn't walk—Krista had to pull her free."
Orva, standing nearby, was also investigating. She knelt by the torn empty fuel tank of the Subaru, her nose wrinkling as she sniffed the air. "This scent," she murmured, her voice curious. "It's like the flammable oil we use for lighting torches and arrows. They must have run out of whatever substance fuels this… chariot."
"She dragged Olivia away because she feared the chariot would catch fire," Ava added grimly, glancing around the clearing. "A smart move. They must have been desperate."
Tertorrela stood, brushing dirt from her hands. "One thing's for sure—they didn't stay here long. The cuts are precise, and Krista's movements were deliberate. She's resourceful."
"Resourceful or not," Sliminac added, her tone dark, "they're strangers in a world filled with dangers they cannot possibly comprehend. Demons roam these woods, and even if they have weapons, they're no match for the horrors lurking within the Darkwoods."
Ava's jaw clenched, the weight of the situation settling heavily on her. She cast one last glance at the wrecked Subaru before turning to the others. "We need to find them. If they've survived this long, they won't last much longer. Time is not on our side."
Tertorrela grinned, though her tone was edged with grim humor. "If they're still alive, they've probably had the fight of their lives already."
Ava let out a short, humorless laugh, nodding as she shouldered her shield. "Let's hope they survive long enough for us to find them." She turned toward the Dohmara Darkwoods, where the sisters had undoubtedly vanished. "We move quickly. There's no telling what's found them since."
With that, the party pressed on, their pace quickening as the eerie shadows of the Darkwoods loomed ahead.
The early light of the orange-purple dawn barely filtered through the twisted branches of the Dohmara Darkwoods, casting an eerie glow on the landscape ahead. The air was thick with moisture and decay, a pungent stench that clung to their clothes and filled their lungs with each breath. After traveling for several more hours, the Eulacydan hero party finally came to a halt again.
The spot they stopped at was a haunting sight—a demon graveyard. The ground was littered with the corpses of two dozen demon knights, their massive, armored forms sprawled lifelessly across the clearing.
Even though the bodies were already in the early stages of decomposition, the acrid stench of death still hung in the air, mingling with the sulfuric odor of demon blood. Black ichor seeped from their wounds, staining the earth and turning the once-green grass into a charred, fetid mess.
Ava was the first to notice something odd about the scene. She narrowed her eyes and drew her sword, gesturing for the others to fan out and inspect the area.
"Spread out," she ordered, her voice low and authoritative. "I want to know what happened here."
Sliminac was already at her side, her sharp eyes scanning the bodies with suspicion.
Orva knelt beside a cluster of corpses, her elven senses on high alert as she reached out to touch the earth. Hilda moved cautiously, her holy staff held firmly in one hand as she whispered prayers to ward off the dark magic lingering in the area.
Tertorrela was already darting from corpse to corpse, her quick fingers searching for anything unusual.
It didn't take long for the party to notice the strange, identical wounds on each of the demon knights.
"Ava," Sliminac called, her voice laced with confusion. She was crouched beside one of the dead knights, her hand hovering over the creature's face. "Look at this."
Ava approached, her eyes immediately locking onto the small holes dotting the demon knight's forehead and upper body. The holes were almost perfectly round, much too small to be a spear or javelin wound. But they were much larger than a needle's prick, the size of a meathook's tip.
Ava crouched down, her fingers tracing the edges of the wounds. "Too big for a spear… too clean for a blade."
Sliminac nodded slowly, her brow furrowed in concentration. "These aren't natural wounds. Whatever caused them… it's something we're unfamiliar with. A weapon perhaps."
Ava stood and looked over at the other corpses. The same puncture wounds were present on nearly every demon knight—small holes clustered on their heads and torsos.
"A piercing weapon," Ava muttered, her mind racing as she tried to make sense of it. "But not like anything we've ever seen."
At that moment, Hilda called out from a few paces away. "Ava, Sliminac—over here!" Her voice was tinged with urgency.
They moved quickly to where Hilda stood, near a fallen tree about 100 feet away from the demon corpses. Scattered around the base of the tree were small brass casings, cylindrical and clearly out of place in this world. Hilda knelt down, carefully gathering a handful of the brass canisters and holding them up for Ava and Sliminac to see.
"These… are all over the ground here," Hilda explained, turning one of the casings over in her hand. "Made of brass. They don't belong here."
Sliminac took one of the casings from Hilda, examining it closely. Her fingers traced the smooth surface, noting its strange construction. "These must be related to the weapon Krista used," she said softly. "They're too well-crafted to be anything else."
Orva, who had been sniffing the air near the casings, straightened up, her nose wrinkling slightly. "The smell..." she muttered, bringing the casing closer to her face. "It's reminiscent of the powder used to fire cannons. You know, the ones on the Cleonic walls and other fortress defenses. There's a residue of something—some kind of combustion."
Ava's eyes widened in understanding. "A small, handheld artillery?" she mused aloud, glancing at Sliminac. "Could Krista have some kind of weapon that uses this powder to fire projectiles? Something small enough to carry, but strong enough to pierce through demon armor?"
Sliminac nodded thoughtfully. "It's possible. If the casings are any indication, Krista is using powder-based weapons—perhaps some kind of firearm. It would explain why the wounds on the demons are so precise, why the holes are perfectly round and uniform."
Tertorrela, who had been inspecting a particularly large demon corpse off to the side, suddenly called out. "Ava, you might want to see this."
Ava and Sliminac moved toward her, their eyes immediately falling on the body of a demon knight that looked different from the others. Its legs were slashed near the ankles, and there was a deep slit across its throat, the wound gaping and ragged. Unlike the precise bullet holes in the other demons, this one had clearly been killed by a blade.
"She ran out of ammunition," Tertorrela said grimly, standing over the body. "Or maybe the demons closed in too quickly for her to use her ranged weapon. Either way, this one didn't go down from a distance. Krista must've switched to a blade. She slashed its ankles to bring it down and then slit its throat."
Ava crouched down, studying the wound. "And from the looks of it, she acted on pure instinct," she murmured. "She must have been running on adrenaline. The cut is clean, but not precise. It's not the work of a trained swordsman—more like someone fighting for their life."
Sliminac knelt beside the demon, her gaze darkening as she studied the bloody wound. "Poor girl," she whispered. "She didn't know. Rivens demons have boiling hot blood. If she slit its throat, she must've been burned. The blood would have blistered her hand in seconds."
Ava clenched her jaw, her mind flashing with concern. "She's not just fighting enemies she doesn't understand—she's fighting them blind, without knowledge of what they're capable of." She stood up, her eyes narrowing. "We need to find them, and fast."
Orva approached, her expression serious as she spoke. "Ava, I can try to track them using these brass casings. If there's more of them further ahead, I can sense them through the earth."
Ava nodded. "Do it."
Orva knelt down and pressed her hand to the ground, her fingers digging into the soft, damp soil. She muttered an ancient incantation in her elven tongue, her voice low and melodic as she chanted. The air around her seemed to vibrate slightly, and after about half a minute, her eyes snapped open.
"I can feel them," Orva said, her voice steady. "More brass casings… about 20 kilometers southeast of here. There are a lot more."
Ava's expression hardened with determination. "That's where we'll find them," she said, adjusting her grip on her sword. "Let's move."
The party set off again, their pace quick and unrelenting as they followed the trail of brass casings, their minds focused on one singular goal: finding Krista and Olivia before it was too late.
Each step brought them closer to the heart of the Darkwoods, and with every passing moment, the shadows around them seemed to deepen, as if the forest itself knew they were getting closer to something dangerous—something that had already claimed too many lives.
The twisted trees of the Dohmara Darkwoods thickened, branches gnarled like claws, scraping the sky as the Eulacydan hero party trudged uphill. The air was stagnant, humid, and oppressive, pressing in on them like the weight of a cursed shroud. The eerie silence was deafening—no birds, no insects, not even the usual rustle of small creatures in the underbrush. It was as though the forest itself was holding its breath, waiting for something inevitable and dark.
They had been moving for hours, their pace relentless, but now the urgency was palpable.
"We're close," Orva whispered from the front of the group, crouching low to the ground, her elven senses picking up on subtle signs in the earth. "A couple hundred meters, no more."
Ava's gaze swept the area ahead. Every shadow seemed to loom larger, every rustle in the undergrowth set her nerves on edge. She felt the weight of their mission like a heavy mantle across her shoulders. Krista and Olivia, the two sisters from another world, were close—closer than they had ever been. And so, too, was the danger that surrounded them.
"Hold up," Ava said, raising her hand. The party stopped immediately, their collective breaths hanging in the air, taut with anticipation.
She turned to Sliminac. "We need to know exactly what's ahead of us. Can you cast a detection spell?"
Sliminac nodded, stepping forward with purpose. She knelt beside a tree, her hands glowing with faint blue light as she called upon her arcane power. The incantation she whispered was soft but clear, and the air around them rippled with energy as her magic expanded outward, invisible tendrils of power reaching into the forest.
Moments passed in tense silence as Sliminac concentrated, her eyes closed, her breath slow and steady. The rest of the party stood frozen, waiting for her response. And then her eyes snapped open, and a deep frown creased her face.
"Two humans," she said, her voice hushed but filled with urgency. "It has to be Krista and Olivia. They're just ahead, about 300 meters. But..." She hesitated, her brow furrowing deeper. "They're not alone."
Ava's stomach clenched. "How many?"
"Four dozen lower-class demons," Sliminac whispered, her voice taut with tension. "And... one middle-class demon—stronger, more dangerous. They're closing in, less than 300 meters from where Krista and Olivia are."
The words hung in the air like the tolling of a death bell. For a moment, no one spoke, the gravity of the situation sinking in.
Hilda was the first to break the silence, her voice rising in a near panic. "We can't wait! We have to move now! If those demons reach them—"
"Hilda, wait," Tertorrela interjected sharply, her eyes flashing with a warning. "We can't just rush in! Krista has a ranged weapon. We don't know what kind of artillery she's using, but we've seen the damage it can do. If we get too close without announcing ourselves, we risk being on the receiving end of it."
"We don't have time for this!" Hilda shot back, her voice trembling. "Olivia can't fight! She's a paraplegic! Krista is alone, facing four dozen demons by herself! Do you really think we have time to argue about tactics when their lives are on the line?"
Tertorrela's jaw clenched. "If we rush in blindly, we risk all of us getting killed. And then who will be left to help them?"
"Enough," Orva snapped, her tone colder than usual, her elven patience stretched to the limit. "We're wasting precious time. If we don't act now, the demons will reach Krista and Olivia before we do. And then it won't matter how careful we were because they'll both be dead."
The ranger's words sliced through the argument like a blade, and for a moment, there was only silence. Ava stood at the center, her eyes darting between her comrades as she weighed their words. Tertorrela had a point—charging in recklessly could get them killed if Krista mistook them for enemies. But Hilda and Orva were right, too—the demons were too close for them to afford caution. Time was slipping through their fingers like sand in an hourglass, and with every moment they delayed, Krista and Olivia's chances of survival dwindled.
Ava took a deep breath, her decision already made, though she hated it. She turned to the group, her voice steady but resolute. "As much as I dislike the idea of getting close to Krista and risking getting shot, Orva and Hilda are right. The good of many comes first. We have our orders. The goddess, the king, and the queen all commanded us to retrieve these sisters alive. We cannot fail."
She glanced at Tertorrela, her eyes softening slightly. "I know the risks. But if we wait any longer, Krista and Olivia will be overrun by those demons, and Rivens will lose its best hope. We move now, and if we get shot, so be it. Their survival is paramount."
Tertorrela's lips thinned, but she nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."
Ava turned to Orva, her expression hardening. "Take the high ground. Climb the trees, find a vantage point, and be ready for anything. We need your bow in case things go south."
Orva nodded, her face set in determination. She slipped her bow from her back, notched an arrow, and within moments, she disappeared into the thick canopy above, her movements so fluid and silent it was as though she had become one with the trees.
"Hilda," Ava continued, "find cover in that thicket over there. You're our healer—we'll need you ready if anything goes wrong."
Hilda's face was pale, but her resolve was strong. She nodded and quickly ducked into the nearby brush, her staff gripped tightly in her hands.
Sliminac stood beside Ava, her face calm but alert. Her hands glowed faintly with protective magic, ready to shield them if necessary. Tertorrela lingered at Ava's other side, her daggers gleaming in the faint light filtering through the trees.
"Let's go," Ava said softly, her heart hammering in her chest. "Stay low, stay silent. We approach together. No sudden movements."
They moved forward, creeping through the underbrush with the precision and silence of seasoned warriors. Every step felt like a gamble, every rustle of leaves or crack of a twig sending a jolt of tension through their nerves. Ava's senses were heightened to the point of pain, every sound, every shift in the shadows setting her on edge.
The further they went, the darker the woods seemed to become. The oppressive atmosphere pressed in on them, and the stench of sulfur and rot grew stronger with every step. It was the scent of demons, and it clung to the air like a tangible, malignant force.
Ava's mind raced. Four dozen demons were closing in on the sisters, along with a middle-class demon. The lower-class demons were dangerous enough, but a middle-class demon was a whole other threat. Stronger, smarter, more vicious. It could lead the others in an organized assault, and if Krista and Olivia were caught off guard…
Ava forced the thought away. They couldn't afford to think about failure. They had to reach them first.
As they neared the location Sliminac had detected, the sounds of the forest began to change. Ava could hear the faintest hints of movement—shuffling, growling. The demons were close. Too close.
She raised her hand, signaling for the group to halt. Her eyes scanned the area ahead, trying to catch a glimpse of the sisters. There, just beyond the trees, she saw a faint shimmer of light—something reflective. It had to be Krista and Olivia.
Her heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of relief and dread washing over her. They were so close. But so were the demons.
Ava motioned for the others to stay low. They crouched in the shadows, waiting, watching. The tension was suffocating, every second feeling like an eternity.
Then, through the trees, Ava spotted a flash of movement—something big, something dark. Her blood ran cold. The demons were almost upon them.
Her voice was a harsh whisper, barely audible. "Get ready."
The party tensed, their weapons at the ready, their eyes locked on the shadows ahead. Krista and Olivia were just within reach, but so were the demons, and in a matter of moments, chaos would erupt.
Ava clenched her sword, her knuckles white. She prayed that they wouldn't be too late.