The clash was thunder and nightmare.
Swords met claw, shield met flame. Mud churned beneath thrashing limbs and staggering bodies. The knights fought with desperation, each movement born of training, pain, and the bitter knowledge that this might be the end. The Xylens were too many, too fast. For every one they cut down, two more took its place, their blue fire raking through the ranks like death given form.
Khaos ducked beneath a swiping talon, his blade lashing upward in a flash of steel. He caught the Xylen's underjaw, slicing through thick muscle before leaping back as its head crashed into the dirt. Another came, snarling, jaws wide but a lance of fire erupted from its side, and it screeched, toppling into the mud.
"Keep moving!" Rane roared. His shoulder was bleeding freely now, armor blackened from flame, but he stood firm, carving a path toward the tower with blade and rage.
One knight screamed behind them his leg trapped beneath a fallen beast, its final breath a gout of fire that caught his cloak and set it ablaze. He writhed, then stilled. The others didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
They pushed forward.
Toward the gate.
Then...
A thunderous roar split the air.
From the trees behind them, it emerged towering, broad-shouldered, and crawling on all fours like a thing born from nightmares. A Xylen, larger than the rest. Its horns curled back like blackened blades, and its breath steamed blue in the cold rain. The ground shook beneath its weight.
The two knights closest to it Torven and Elias held their ground, swords raised, drenched in blood and fear. Torven shouted something, a word lost beneath the crash of thunder and the Xylen's snarl as it lunged.
Elias was the first to strike, blade flashing through rain. It barely left a mark.
The Xylen swiped with a massive claw, knocking him aside like driftwood. He slammed into a tree with a sickening crack, sliding to the mud unmoving.
Torven screamed and charged, but the beast caught him mid-swing. Claws sank into his chest, lifted him off the ground. He kicked and thrashed, eyes wild, rain mixing with the blood pouring down his armor.
Khaos froze, breath caught in his throat. His legs wanted to move but not forward.
Rane grabbed his arm. "We can't fight that."
"But they're "
"They're good as dead!" Rane shouted, eyes wild with fury and something darker fear. "That thing will kill us too! If we try to fight it"
Another scream split the night—Torven's voice cut short in a wet, gurgling sound as the Xylen slammed his body into the ground, bones snapping beneath the impact. The beast didn't even pause. It turned its glowing red eyes toward them.
Rane didn't wait.
He pulled Khaos hard, and screamed "Head to tower"
Mud splashed beneath their boots, flames lit the sky behind them, and screams chased them like ghosts. They didn't look back. Not when another knight shouted their names. Not when the ground shook with the charge of that colossal beast. Not even when a hand reached out bloody, desperate from the mire beside them.
They just ran.
The base of the tower loomed ahead like salvation, its dark stone face slick with rain. The old wooden door was still ajar. They slipped inside.
The heavy wooden door groaned as Rane shoved it shut behind them, throwing the rusted bolt into place. For a moment, all that existed was the sound of their breathing ragged, sharp, desperate. Khaos collapsed against the wall, his legs finally giving out, and let himself slide down to the cold, wet floor.
The inside of the tower was dark and narrow, lit only by thin shafts of moonlight through cracks in the stone. Old crates and torn banners were scattered across the floor, remnants of a forgotten outpost. The air was thick with dust and mildew but it was quiet.
Safe.
"I… why didn't we help them " Drail said (one of the knights that survived) after a long pause. He was standing near the door, sword still in hand, but his grip had loosened. His voice was low and hollow. "They were one of us."
"No one survives that," Rane replied without looking at him. His hands trembled in his lap, stained with black Xylen blood. "Not that thing. Not with the others around."
Drail turned toward him. "We could've tried."
"Then we'd be dead too."
The silence after that was heavier than any roar outside.
A voice broke through the silence, sharp and bitter.
"How come he's the one still breathing?"
Khaos looked up slowly.
It was Brevin another one of the four who survived, standing with his back to the door, eyes dark under the flickering torchlight. He wasn't yelling. That almost made it worse.
"We all saw what happened," Brevin continued, stepping closer, his boots echoing on the stone. "Torven fought like hell. Elias too. They died facing that monster. And you " He jabbed a finger at Khaos, voice trembling now, "you just stood there."
Rane stood. "Brevin, enough."
"No," Brevin snapped. "Not this time. I've held my tongue long enough. Every time death comes close, he's at the center of it. Velmira? He survived. The noble brats? Survived. Moments before now where three died? Him again."
Khaos opened his mouth but no words came.
Not one.
"You're not a soldier," Brevin spat. "You're a curse. We should have killed a long time ago"
Drail said nothing. His face was unreadable.
Even Rane had gone quiet.
Khaos slowly stood, legs shaky, water dripping from his soaked clothes. His hand rested on the hilt of his bladenot in threat, just out of habit.
He didn't deny it.
He didn't say he'd tried to help Torven. That he wanted too or go back to fight.
Because it didn't matter.
The truth hung in the air like smoke: He had survived, and the others hadn't.
Even when they fought together… even when they'd bled for each other deep down, they still saw him as other.
As wrong.
He turned his back on them and walked to the far wall, where the stone was damp and moss-covered. He sat again, curling his knees to his chest.
It didn't matter what he said. It never had.
Even when he fought like one of them he wasn't.