The soil darkened further with every step.
Blaine left Vael's clearing behind and walked into a landscape that felt less like a territory and more like a wound. The ground was cracked, split by deep fissures that glowed faintly red at their depths. The air was hot and dry, carrying a faint metallic tang that clung to the back of his throat. The pulse beneath his feet had grown erratic—not weaker, but less predictable. Something ahead was disrupting the rhythm.
The bloodline was quiet. Still present, still warm, but subdued. The exposure to Vael had cost it something—not strength, exactly, but energy. The kind that didn't recover quickly. He could still feel it behind his ribs, a steady ember rather than a flame, patient and watchful.
It showed her something it rarely shows. That has weight. Until it recovers, I fight alone.
The fissures widened as he walked, forcing him to navigate narrow bridges of black stone that crumbled at the edges. The red haze thickened, reducing visibility to a few dozen meters. He moved carefully, testing each step before committing his weight. One mistake here would drop him into a depth he couldn't see and didn't want to discover.
A shape emerged from the haze ahead. Humanoid. Broad. Waiting exactly where the next boundary should be—positioned at the center of a wide stone platform that spanned a particularly deep fissure. Unlike Vael, this figure wasn't still. It shifted its weight from foot to foot, rolling its shoulders, cracking its knuckles. Impatient. Eager.
This one wants a fight. Not a conversation.
Blaine stopped at the edge of the platform. The figure was shorter than Vael but thicker—built like a brawler, all dense muscle and scarred skin. Its face was rough, angular, marked by a long scar that ran from temple to jaw. It wore no armor, but its body looked like it had absorbed enough punishment to make armor redundant. Its eyes were a bright, unnatural yellow, and they locked onto Blaine with immediate, undisguised interest.
"You're the one Vael let through." The voice was rough, graveled. Not hostile—enthusiastic. "She said you're different. Said you don't fight like the others."
"I don't fight unless I have to."
The figure grinned. "Then you're about to be disappointed." It cracked its neck. "Name's Renn. I hold the second boundary. Every hunter who wants to cross has to give me something. Most give me a fight. Some give me a good one. You—" It looked Blaine up and down. "You look like you could give me a great one."
He wants a fight for its own sake. Not a test. Not a filter. Just entertainment. "And if I refuse?"
"Then you don't cross. Simple." Renn shrugged. "No hard feelings. You can turn around, find another path, maybe wait a few decades until someone else holds this boundary. But you don't have decades, do you? I can feel the markers in your pocket. Three stones. The last one who left those came through here like a ghost—cold, silent, wouldn't even look at me. Wouldn't fight either. Just walked past like I didn't exist. That stung." He cracked his knuckles again. "You're following him. That means you're on a clock. So you'll fight me. Or you'll go back. Those are the options."
Blaine assessed. The bloodline was still recovering. His ribs were still sore from the armored predator. His pipe was worn and dented. Renn was fresh, eager, and had held this boundary for what sounded like years. The gap in experience was real. But the gap in motivation was bigger. Renn wanted a good fight. Blaine needed to cross.
Then I give him what he wants—just not the way he expects.
He stepped onto the platform. The pipe came up. "Rules?"
Renn's grin widened. "No killing. Everything else is fair. First one to yield or fall off the platform loses. I lose, you cross. You lose, you go back and we do this again when I'm bored." He rolled his shoulders one last time and settled into a stance that was low, grounded, built for power. "Ready?"
Blaine didn't answer. He moved.
Renn was fast—faster than his bulk suggested—and met the first strike with a forearm block that rang like stone. The second strike was a counter, a heavy fist aimed at Blaine's ribs. Blaine twisted, let it graze his side, and used the momentum to pivot around Renn's flank. The pipe cracked against his opponent's shoulder. Renn grunted—not pain, acknowledgment—and swung a backhand that forced Blaine to duck.
He hits hard. He absorbs harder. Prolonged fight favors him. Win fast or lose slow.
Blaine changed tactics. He stopped aiming for impact and started aiming for balance. The next exchange, he didn't block—he redirected. Renn's punch sailed past his head and Blaine hooked his foot behind Renn's ankle. A sharp pull. Renn stumbled. Blaine drove his shoulder into his chest. The combination wasn't flashy, but it was precise. Renn staggered backward, one foot slipping over the edge of the platform.
He caught himself. Grinned. "Good. You're not just strong. You're smart."
The fight escalated. Renn pressed harder, faster, throwing combinations that forced Blaine onto the defensive. His ribs screamed with every twist. His grip on the pipe grew slick with sweat. But he didn't reach for the bloodline. The ember behind his ribs pulsed once—offering—and he let it rest. This fight was his. Not the partnership's. His alone.
If I can't win without it, I don't deserve to cross.
He found the opening on Renn's twelfth combination. A slight drop of the left shoulder before the right cross. A tell. Blaine slipped the cross, stepped inside Renn's reach, and drove the pipe into his solar plexus—not hard enough to injure, but hard enough to steal breath. Renn doubled over. Blaine hooked his leg again and shoved. Renn hit the platform hard, one arm dangling over the edge, chest heaving.
Silence.
Renn stared up at the red sky. Then he laughed—a deep, rolling sound that echoed across the fissures. "Alright. Alright. You got me." He pushed himself up slowly, rubbing his chest. "Been a while since someone put me down without trying to kill me. You fight like a tactician. Every move has a reason."
Blaine lowered the pipe. His breath was ragged. His body ached. But he was still standing. Still crossing.
"You know the rival," Blaine said. "The one who walked past like you didn't exist."
Renn's expression shifted. The enthusiasm dimmed. "Yeah. I know him. Not his name—he never gave one. But I felt his energy. Cold. Controlled. Like a blade that doesn't need to cut to be dangerous." He met Blaine's eyes. "He wasn't interested in me. Wasn't interested in any of the territory holders. He just walked through. All four boundaries. Straight to the Forbidden Zone. And when he came back—" Renn shook his head. "He was different. Quieter. Heavier. Like whatever the Forbidden Zone had taken from him was the part that made him human."
The fragment. The piece of the Forbidden Zone he claimed. "What did he take from it?"
"I don't know. Nobody knows. But I know what it cost him." Renn's yellow eyes were serious for the first time. "I've held this boundary for twelve cycles. I've seen a lot of hunters pass through. The ones who survive the Forbidden Zone always come back missing something. Not strength. Not memory. Something deeper. Something that made them who they were before. He came back whole in body but hollow in spirit. Like he'd traded his soul for power."
Whole. Vael said he wasn't whole. Renn says he's hollow. Different words for the same truth. "He broke something essential."
"He broke himself." Renn stepped aside, clearing the path. "Go. Cross. You've earned it. But when you reach the Forbidden Zone—when you feel that energy pressing against your chest—remember this: you can claim power without losing yourself. He didn't. That doesn't mean you have to make the same trade."
Blaine nodded once. He walked past Renn and toward the far edge of the platform. The fissure beneath widened into a chasm that dropped out of sight. Beyond it, the terrain shifted again—darker, sharper, the stone rising into jagged spires that clawed at the red sky. A distant pressure radiated from somewhere beyond those spires, a constant, low thrum that made the bloodline stir weakly in his chest.
The Forbidden Zone. I can feel it from here.
He crossed the bridge of stone that connected the platform to the next territory. The air grew colder. The red haze thinned, revealing a sky that was darker than before—almost black at the edges. The spires loomed ahead, silent and ancient.
Somewhere among them, the next boundary waited. And beyond that, the final one. Then the Forbidden Zone. And the rival who had made the wrong trade.
I won't make the same mistake.
He walked forward.