The skyrunner's engines whined as it touched down, its massive metal body screeching against the dirt as the team quickly spilled out into the streets. The air was thick with tension, the smell of smoke and ash clinging to everything. As they made their way through the eerie silence of the abandoned civilian district, Shakes felt a sickening weight settle in his chest.
The streets were empty, too quiet. The usual hum of life, the chatter of marketplace vendors, and the distant sounds of children playing had all vanished. The world felt suffocatingly still, as if it too was holding its breath.
Then, they reached it: the rift.
It hung in the air like a jagged scar, pulsing and writhing with dark energy. The Den Dwellers had already poured out in waves, scattered and rampaging. Their grotesque, molten forms and the guttural sounds of their violence were enough to make even seasoned soldiers hesitate. But it wasn't just their appearance that struck Shakes. It was the unnatural order of it all. These weren't mindless creatures. They were being led.
And then, through the haze, he saw him.
The figure stood at the heart of the rift. Cloaked in darkness, his presence radiated an unnatural weight, a chill that made Shakes' pulse quicken. The hooded figure was tall, thin, his posture unnaturally still. A human-like silhouette, but something was deeply wrong—something devilish twisted in the way he stood. He didn't move, but his aura was suffocating, oppressive, as if every inch of the world was tuned to his existence.
He wasn't like the Den Dwellers—they weren't his equal. They were his tools.
Shakes' grip tightened on Severflame, its ember glow brightening in response to the fire coursing through his veins. He stepped forward, but Zera's hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"Hold on," she warned, her voice tight with concern. "Let's not rush into this. We don't know what we're dealing with yet."
Shakes barely acknowledged her, his gaze locked on the hooded figure. The Den Dwellers continued to swarm around them, but none of them dared to approach the man at the center of the rift.
The figure's head tilted, as though he could sense Shakes' gaze. A low chuckle escaped his lips, a sound like gravel scraping against bone.
"Ah, the famous Burnedead," he spoke, his voice smooth but edged with something ancient, something cruel. "I've heard much about you."
Shakes clenched his fists, the fire within him flickering to life. "You've been pulling the strings all along, haven't you?"
The figure's lips curled into a mocking smile, his eyes glinting with a darkness deeper than malice. "Of course. You didn't think the Den Dwellers were just… accidents, did you? No, no. They're my creations, my children. You've been hunting my family, Burnedead. And now it's time for you to face the consequences of that."
The air around them crackled with power, and Shakes felt the temperature rise. The Den Dwellers at the man's feet growled, shifting uneasily but never daring to move toward their master.
"You've caused me a great deal of inconvenience," the hooded figure continued, his voice cold and unyielding. "But all things must come to an end."
Before Shakes could react, the man raised his hand. The very rift seemed to pulse and stretch, and a surge of energy tore through it. The ground trembled beneath them, shaking the air with a low rumble. A thousand shrieks erupted as Den Dwellers poured forth—too many to count, their forms shifting and writhing like living nightmares. The streets were flooded.
Shakes' heart hammered in his chest. "We'll have to fight our way through," he said, his voice steady despite the rising tension in the air.
"No, we will destroy them," Zera corrected, her tone sharp as she readied her crossbow. "We fight together."
The battlefield became chaos. The Den Dwellers surged forward, their grotesque bodies slamming against the Hunters and soldiers who fought back with everything they had. Blades flashed, arrows flew, and the unmistakable crack of bone and burning flesh filled the air. But despite their best efforts, the Den Dwellers were unyielding. They kept coming, their bodies reforming from the earth like twisted soldiers rising from the dead. It was like fighting a tide of flame and ash that never stopped.
Shakes' eyes flicked from the battlefield to the figure standing at the rift. He hadn't moved—just watched. His smile remained frozen, cold and mocking as he observed the carnage below. He didn't need to fight. He was already in control.
A sharp pang of rage hit Shakes' chest, his fury building. His hands clenched around the hilt of Severflame. He could feel the heat in his veins, the fire threatening to consume him from the inside out. I can end this, he thought. I have to end it.
There was no more time to think. No more time for caution. With a roar, Shakes surged forward, leaving the others behind. His movements were a blur, his flames burning brighter than ever. His feet barely touched the ground as he sprinted toward the rift, toward the hooded figure.
The team shouted behind him, but Shakes was already past them, too focused to hear their calls. The tension was palpable; Zera's voice echoed through his mind, a faint cry to be careful, but he couldn't stop now. His rage was his only guide.
He leapt into the air, propelled by an eruption of fire. The heat blasted around him, the wind roaring in his ears as Severflame arced down toward the hooded figure.
But the figure was already gone.
In an instant, Shakes' vision blurred. His chest tightened as a cold chill slithered up his spine. The next thing he knew, the figure was behind him—silent, swift as a shadow.
Before Shakes could react, the hooded man drove a blade through his back, the cold metal sinking deep into his lungs. Shakes gasped, the fire within him sputtering as his body recoiled in shock. His legs gave way beneath him, his knees hitting the ground as his vision swam. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body fighting to stay upright.
"Do you really think you can stop me?" the figure's voice was low, calm, dripping with disdain. "I'm not here to kill you, Burnedead. Not yet."
Shakes' vision blurred further as his comrades rushed toward him, their shouts lost in the distant, ringing noise in his ears. Zera's voice cut through the haze. "Shakes! No!" Lucen was beside her, trying to hold the line, but it was clear they were losing ground. Soldiers and Hunters alike were being overwhelmed, their bodies falling to the tide of Den Dwellers. The battlefield was collapsing around them.
Shakes fell, his chest burning, the world fading. He felt his body hit the ground, his blood soaking into the earth. But still, the voice of the hooded figure echoed in his mind.
"Don't worry," the figure whispered, leaning down to his ear. "You won't die. Not yet. But I will be watching… and I will decide the right moment to kill you."
The last thing Shakes saw was the hooded figure stepping back, vanishing into the rift, the world around him spinning and crumbling.
The battlefield stilled for a brief moment, a suspended heartbeat where nothing moved. The Den Dwellers continued to surge, but for one fleeting instant, it felt as if everything was caught in a frozen silence.
And then, the world collapsed around them.
Shakes' vision dimmed as the darkness closed in, his body heavy and unresponsive. The battle raged on in the distance, but his senses were failing him. His heart hammered, but it felt so far away, so distant. His lungs burned, but no air came. His body was shutting down.
And then—silence.
The last thing he heard was the desperate cries of his comrades, the last shred of his strength fading as the world around him disappeared.
To be continued...