The air in the desolate canyon tasted of ozone and decay—a metallic tang that coated the tongue and clung to the back of the throat. Jagged obsidian spires clawed at a bruised purple sky where no sun shone, only the sickly luminescence of fungal growths clinging to canyon walls. The ground beneath their feet was a mosaic of cracked shale and phosphorescent moss that pulsed with a faint, arrhythmic light, like the dying heartbeat of some buried leviathan.
Summer was the first to sense the approaching threat.
It wasn't a sound that alerted her, not at first. It was a shift in the pressure, a subtle thinning of the ambient mana that made the fine hairs on her arms stand erect. Her eyes—normally a warm, earthy brown—narrowed, then ignited with a viridian fire so intense it cast emerald shadows across her high cheekbones. The light didn't just shine from her irises; it seeped from them, a tangible manifestation of the Path of Life thrumming through her veins.
"Contact. Rear," she breathed, the words barely a whisper yet carrying the weight of a tombstone.
Her left hand moved in a blur of practiced motion, dipping to the quiver at her hip that wasn't truly there. From the shimmering air, she drew a longbow of living wood, its curves etched with spiraling patterns that seemed to writhe and grow as she touched it. Her right hand closed on empty space, and where her fingers met, reality condensed, wept, and solidified into an arrow shaft of pure, condensed vitality. She didn't aim. She *felt*. Her body pivoted in a fluid, almost dance-like motion, the bowstring singing a note of taut potential before releasing with a sound like a cracking whip.
The arrow, a streak of jade lightning, screamed into the gloom behind them.
For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then—
***BOOM.***
The arrow detonated not with fire, but with life run rampant. A cloud of shimmering, iridescent spores erupted in a twenty-yard radius, filling the air with a golden-green haze that smelled overwhelmingly of damp soil, crushed petals, and something unsettlingly sweet. They drifted lazily on non-existent breezes, beautiful and deadly.
The enemy showed no hesitation.
From the swirling darkness of a side crevasse, they came. The *Kongmo*—Terror-Fiends. They were a blasphemy against form, a seething tide of chitin, leathery wing, and gnashing maw. Their bodies were patchworks of stolen anatomy: insectoid limbs grafted to mammalian torsos, too many eyes blinking in chaotic unison, mouths that split vertically to reveal rows of needle-teeth dripping acidic saliva. They moved with a horrifying, single-minded purpose, a wave of claws and wings that darkened what passed for sky in the canyon.
They charged directly into the spore cloud.
The moment the first spore made contact with exposed flesh, the beautiful haze revealed its true nature. Each microscopic particle erupted into a whip-thin, phosphorescent tendril. Not one or two, but hundreds from a single spore, lashing out with predatory intelligence. They were not vines, but something more sinister—parasitic filaments that burrowed microscopically before erupting outward, weaving a cocoon of pulsating green light around their victims.
*Thwip. Thwip-thwip-thwip.*
The sound was like a thousand silk sheets being torn simultaneously. The leading edge of the Terror-Fiend swarm, a dozen strong, was instantly ensnared. Wings bound tight against bodies, limbs tangled in a glowing web, they became grotesque, struggling chrysalises. Their furious shrieks were muffled by the thickening biomass. Deprived of lift, they plummeted from the air like rotten fruit, impacting the canyon floor with wet, crunching thuds.
***Crunch. Thud. Crunch.***
But Hunter's preparation went deeper. The ground where they fell was no ordinary stone. Scattered almost invisibly amongst the gravel were **[Seeds of Genesis]**, palm-sized nodules the color of dried blood that Hunter had planted during their frantic retreat. As the bound Terror-Fiends writhed upon them, the seeds activated.
The fiends' abdomens began to swell. Not with bloat, but with violent, internal movement. Something was growing inside them, feeding on their chaotic essence with terrifying speed. In mere seconds, their chitinous plates distended, stretched taut and glossy. Muffled, wet tearing sounds came from within as the parasites fought to be born. It was control layered upon control: binding from without, consumption from within.
Hunter's combo was executed with the cold, seamless precision of a master trapper. The dual-layered defense halted the vanguard's charge dead, buying precious seconds. A lesser team might have felt a surge of hope.
Summer felt only the draining exhaustion in her soul and the cold calculus of numbers. Even as she drew and fired again, another three arrows becoming three more blooming fields of entangling death, she knew it was a holding action. Her arrows were finite. Her energy, channeled from the deep well of Life, was not limitless. Each shot cost her a piece of her own vitality, leaving a hollow, aching cold behind her sternum.
And the enemy was endless.
They poured from every shadowed crevice, a living tsunami of malice. They clambered over the twitching, cocooned bodies of their predecessors without a glance. The beautiful spore clouds were overwhelmed, the filaments exhausted, dissolved under the sheer corrosive mass of the horde. The shadow of their wings, a darkness that swallowed the canyon's faint light, crept forward once more, closer, always closer.
"It's not enough!" Hunter's voice, usually a steady rumble, was sharp with urgency. "Assassins, defensive protocols! Everyone else, on me! Now!"
His movements were a study in controlled violence. He reached over his shoulder, grabbed the collar of Three's simple tunic—the man was still pale, his eyes glassy from mental exertion—and with a grunt, hurled him toward Nangong. There was no gentleness in the act, only brutal efficiency. "Catch!"
Nangong, her expression serene despite the chaos, shifted her stance and caught the flung Believer with a surprising strength, lowering him gently to the ground behind her.
Freed of his burden, Hunter turned to face the coming tide. From his back, he unlatched his shield. It was not merely a piece of metal; it was a slab of sanctified mythril, taller than he was and half again as wide, its surface engraved with a complex, interlocking geometric pattern that glowed with a soft, platinum light. He didn't hold it. He *committed* to it.
With a roar that echoed off the canyon walls, he drove the bottom, spear-like point of the greatshield down into the shale at his feet.
***SHUNK.***
The sound was final, an anchor dropped in reality itself.
"ORDER ENDURES!"
The invocation was not a shout, but a declaration. A law spoken into being.
The shield's gentle glow exploded.
A torrent of pure, blinding sanctity erupted from the engraved lines, shooting upward like a reverse waterfall of molten sunlight. It climbed fifty feet into the air before arcing over with a majestic, terrible grace, like a rainbow forged from judgment. Then it cascaded down on the other side, the light spreading laterally with impossible speed, extending to both sides of the huddled group.
Where the light passed, it left a shimmering, semi-opaque wall of solidified radiance. It hummed with a deep, resonant frequency that vibrated in the teeth and bones. It was not a barrier of force, but of *concept*—a declaration that *this side* was Order, and *that side* was not permitted.
The **[Aegis of the Eternal City]** had been raised.
***SCREEEEE—SKRAAAA!***
***THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD!***
The Terror-Fiend swarm hit the light-wall. The lead creatures, moving at suicidal speed, didn't so much crash as *vaporize* upon impact, their forms dissolving into wisks of black smoke and ash against the holy radiance. Those behind piled into the barrier with mindless fury, beating against it with claws and spitting acid that sizzled and evaporated before touching the light. The sound was a continuous, deafening barrage of heavy impacts, like a hailstorm of flesh against a cathedral window.
Inside the dome of light, there was sudden, shocking quiet. The roar of the horde was muted to a distant, angry buzz. The air was still, warm, and smelled of ozone and warm stone. The frantic panic of moments before condensed into a hard, cold knot of dread in everyone's stomach.
Hunter's face was a mask of strain. The muscles in his neck and arms stood out like cables, veins throbbing at his temples. He leaned into the shield, his entire body a living buttress. He did not tremble, but the effort was absolute.
"There are too many," he ground out, each word costing him. "The Aegis… will hold for five minutes. With dual Cleric support channeling into me… maybe fifteen. Fifteen minutes. Think! Unless someone has a miracle in their pocket, we're not surviving fifteen minutes, let alone twenty-four hours!"
The desperation in his voice was a new, terrifying element. Hunter was their rock, their immovable object. To hear it cracking was more frightening than the monsters outside.
Beside him, Nangong was already at work. She knelt by Three, her hands hovering over his head. A soft, silver-white light, cool and gentle compared to the Aegis's fury, emanated from her palms. It was the light of focused will, of mended psyche. Her **[Psychic Suture]** technique was subtle, weaving frayed mental threads back together. Color returned to Three's cheeks. The glassy sheen left his eyes, replaced by a familiar, grim intelligence.
"The Scion-Pastor's healing output is substantial," Three said, his voice still rough but coherent. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, eyeing the seething darkness beyond the light. "If we manage the 'Newborns' on you carefully, Hunter, we can extend the duration. We just need to stabilize, find a choke point…"
He was talking strategy, projecting confidence for the team. But internally, his mind was a frozen lake.
*This isn't right.* The thought was a shard of ice in his gut. *The engagement pace… it's all wrong. Even in the 2000-point Trials, they give you time to breathe, to scout, to understand the rules of the game. This… this is a slaughterhouse ambush.*
He glanced at his teammates, their faces illuminated by the holy light. Fiona, the rogue, was a statue of coiled tension, two long, needle-like daggers gleaming in her hands. Misty, the other assassin, was a blur of faint shadows at the edge of the dome, her form flickering as she assessed the barrier's integrity. Summer was breathing deeply, drawing in the dense mana within the Aegis, her bow held loosely but ready.
*The highest score here is mine,* Three thought, a wave of cold despair washing over him. *1900. Fiona's around 1750. Hunter, maybe 1700. The others… lower. Much lower. There's a 1400-point Believer here, for Entity's sake. What did we do to warrant this? A swarm this size, this aggressive… this is a cleansing force. This is what The Entities send for a team that's broken a fundamental rule. Or for a 2100-point Trial.*
The mismatch was terrifying. In the Faith Game, points on the Leaderboard weren't just bragging rights; they were a rough measure of accumulated power, skill, and survival instinct. Facing challenges calibrated far above your weight class wasn't difficulty—it was an execution.
Nangong, her delicate features pale from the sustained healing, glanced at Summer. A flicker of something—concern? Calculation?—passed through her eyes. Without a word, she shifted one hand, directing a thread of her silvery healing light away from Three and toward Summer.
A pulse of warm, soothing energy washed through the archer. Summer's shoulders, which had been hunched with fatigue, relaxed a fraction. She looked at Nangong, surprise in her glowing green eyes, and gave a short, respectful nod. The energy wasn't much, but it was precisely targeted, easing the soul-deep chill left by her life-force arrows. She flexed her hand, and three more spores condensed at her fingertips, slotting themselves onto her bowstring.
Then there was Chen.
While the others prepared, fought, or strategized, Chen simply sat cross-legged on the cold stone near the center of their glowing refuge. He wasn't meditating. He wasn't praying. He was… looking. His head swiveled slowly, taking in the dome of light, the straining form of Hunter, the terrified yet determined faces of his companions, and the endless, clawing horror beyond.
To the others, he looked like a deadweight. A rookie frozen by fear, a useless Cleric who didn't know his role. Fiona shot him a look of pure contempt before turning her attention back to the barrier. Misty's flickering shadow paused near him for a second, as if considering whether he was worth the effort to protect, before moving on.
Chen ignored them. Internally, his mind was a whirlwind, but it was a cold, analytical whirlwind.
*This is inconvenient,* he mused, the thought utterly detached from the panic around him. *A classic overwhelming swarm scenario in a confined space. Standard countermeasures: aerial denial, area denial, sustained barrier, and a high-damage core to burn through the mass. We have the first three, barely. We lack the fourth catastrophically.*
He'd seen this before. Many times. But never with a team whose collective power level was so… modest. In the high-stakes games, the 2200+ point Trials he was accustomed to, every Believer was a force of nature. A Path of Annihilation specialist could have cleared a quarter of this canyon with a single well-placed **[Oblivion Pulse]**. A master of the Path of Deception could have turned the swarm against itself with illusions so potent they became real. A true avatar of Order, like Hunter aspired to be, could have solidified the very air into a fortress.
Here, they had a novice Order shield, a Life archer operating on fumes, two assassins with no room to maneuver, a Psychic healer, a Scion-Pastor, and himself.
*Myself.* The corner of his mouth twitched. *The wild card. The variable they've all underestimated.*
The problem was one of economy. His true capabilities were a currency he was extremely reluctant to spend, especially so early, with so many watching eyes. The Faith Game was as much about information control as it was about survival. To reveal his hand here would define him for the rest of this Trial, and likely beyond.
But the alternative was death.
*Hunter is the key,* Chen decided, his gaze settling on the massive warrior. *The Aegis is the only thing keeping us alive. Strengthen the cornerstone, and the wall holds longer. But pouring raw healing into him is inefficient. It's like trying to fill a cracked vase by dumping water on the outside. The strain is systemic, soul-deep. It's not just his body holding the shield; it's his conviction, his connection to the Path of Order.*
He needed a more elegant solution. A surgical strike, not a blanket fix. He began mentally reviewing the tenets of his own Path, not the shallow, surface-level abilities he'd shown so far, but the deeper, more esoteric principles. The principles of balance, of cost, of… transference.
Outside, the assault intensified. The Terror-Fiends had begun to cluster at the base of the light-wall, piling upon each other in a screeching, heaping mound. Their combined mass and the constant, corrosive aura of their Chaos was putting a different kind of strain on the Aegis. The light didn't flicker, but the deep hum began to develop a stressed, wavering pitch.
"They're trying to overwhelm it by weight and corruption!" Hunter snarled, sweat now pouring down his face. "The Chaos… it's eating at the edges! I can feel it!"
"Time?" Fiona asked, her voice clipped.
"Twelve minutes. Maybe less," Hunter gasped.
"We need to move," Misty's voice came from everywhere and nowhere, a whisper on the edge of hearing. "The barrier is a static defense. We are not. There is a narrower fissure to the east, forty yards. It is defensible."
"Forty yards through that?" Summer gestured with her chin at the sea of claws and teeth.
"It's that or wait to be buried," Three said, standing up fully now. His eyes were hard. "Nangong, conserve your energy for mobility and critical heals. Summer, I need you to switch to rapid-fire, low-yield shots—clear a path, not a field. Fiona, Misty, you're on point defense. Anything that gets through the Aegis when we drop it, or through the suppression fire, you kill it before it reaches the Clerics or me. Hunter, you're the rearguard. The moment we move, you become a mobile bunker."
It was a good plan. A desperate, risky, but coherent plan born of experience. It acknowledged their limitations and played to their immediate strengths.
Chen finally moved.
He stood up, brushing non-existent dust from his simple robes. All eyes turned to him, most filled with impatience.
"Pastor," Three said, the title polite but the tone implying '*finally*.' "You will walk between Hunter and me. Your job is to keep Hunter on his feet. Channel everything you have into reinforcing his Path. Do you understand?"
Chen looked at him, then at Hunter. He saw the immense strain, the spiritual cracks forming under the pressure. He saw the way the Chaos from the swarm was seeping into the edges of Hunter's own aura, a black tarnish on his silver resolve.
"I understand the objective," Chen said, his voice calm, almost placid. "But direct channeling is inefficient. The corruption is already present. Adding more pure energy is like shouting over a cacophony. You must first… silence the noise."
He stepped toward Hunter, ignoring the confused and suspicious looks. He raised his hand, not in a gesture of blessing, but almost like a sculptor assessing a block of marble. His fingers traced the air a foot from Hunter's heaving side.
"What are you doing?" Hunter grunted, not daring to move his head.
"A minor adjustment," Chen murmured. "The Path of Life is about growth and nurturing. The Path of Order is about structure and law. But all things exist in a balance. For every action, a cost. For every strain, a counter-strain."
His fingers stopped. He focused, not on pouring energy *into* Hunter, but on creating a subtle, localized *vacuum* around the points where the Chaos corruption was thickest. He invoked a principle not of healing, but of **nullification through balanced erasure**. It was a technique so fine, so delicate, that it required no grand display, no glowing hands or chanting. It was the metaphysical equivalent of applying a precise suction to a poisoned wound.
To Hunter, the effect was immediate and shocking. A deep, cold ache in his spirit that he hadn't even fully registered suddenly *lifted*. It wasn't replaced by warmth or strength, but by a pure, clean absence. The spiritual weight on his shoulders lightened, just by a fraction. The wavering hum of the Aegis steadied.
Hunter's eyes widened. He glanced at Chen, true shock in his gaze for the first time. "You… what did you…?"
"The corruption was adding disproportionate load," Chen said simply, as if explaining that a rock was heavy. "I removed some. You should have a slightly better efficiency ratio now. Perhaps an extra ninety seconds on the clock."
He said it so casually, while performing a feat of spiritual triage that should have been far beyond a low-point Cleric. Three stared, his analytical mind racing. *That wasn't standard Pastoral technique. That was… surgical. That was high-level Path manipulation.*
Before anyone could question him further, Chen turned to Three. "Your 'Newborns.' The parasitic lifeforms you spawn. They feed on the host's energy and the enemy's essence, correct?"
Three nodded, wary. "Yes. They're a double-edged sword. They damage the enemy from within but drain the host—me or whoever I place them on. In this case, Hunter."
"And you control their growth rate?"
"To a degree. Faster growth means faster damage but greater drain."
"Interesting," Chen said, a spark of genuine curiosity in his eyes that seemed utterly out of place. "So it's a conduit. A transfer mechanism." He looked back at the seething swarm beyond the light. "Tell me, Scion-Pastor… have you ever tried feeding them pure Chaos?"
The question hung in the warm, ozone-scented air of the dome, absurd and brilliant.
Three's breath caught. The idea was heretical to his Path's standard doctrine. The Newborns were creatures of Life, however twisted. Feeding them pure Chaos was like feeding fire to water. It could annihilate them… or it could create something monstrously new.
But it would also… redirect the energy. Instead of the Newborns draining Hunter to grow and attack, they could be turned into sinks, drawing the corrosive Chaos *away* from Hunter and the Aegis and consuming it themselves.
It was a gamble of catastrophic proportions.
The hum of the Aegis dipped again. A hairline fracture of darkness spiderwebbed across the light-wall for a second before healing.
"We're out of time," Hunter growled. "Nine minutes. Maybe."
Three looked at Chen, then at the fracture in their only defense. He saw no fear in Chen's eyes, only a calm, waiting calculation. In that moment, Three didn't see a deadweight rookie. He saw something far more unsettling: a man playing a different game entirely.
"Do it," Three said, the words tasting of ashes and potential. "Hunter, brace yourself. This will feel… strange."
Chen allowed a small, almost invisible smile to touch his lips. The first move had been made. The cornerstone had been subtly reinforced. Now, it was time to see if they could turn the enemy's greatest weapon into their own salvation.
He focused, ready to observe, to learn, and to intervene again when the balance inevitably tipped too far. The game within the Faith Game was just beginning.