Chapter 33


    Skeletal Limbs


    The metallic trees twist and bend as I push deeper into the forest, following the echoes of panic ahead. Each step brings new impossibilities—branches that fold into themselves, trunks that stretch toward a ceiling I can no longer see. The geometry makes my eyes hurt, but I force myself to keep moving.


    A clash of metal rings out, followed by shouts.


    The young Armigers are close.


    The Skathrith pulses above me, its white point of light casting strange shadows through the warped forest. Each beat matches my own heart, a rhythm that grows stronger as we near the sounds of conflict.


    Eat. Kill. Feed.


    The words slice through my thoughts like ice-cold needles. My jaw clenches against the familiar hunger, the urge to let its power flow unchecked.


    Not now.


    I push back against its whispers, though my fingers itch with the need to reach for its power. The weapon’s presence feels heavier with each step, its hunger a constant pressure against my resolve.


    Binah walks beside me, her footsteps making no sound on the metallic ground. I glance at her, but her face reveals nothing—just that same otherworldly calm that both steadies and unnerves me. Her silence wraps around us like a cloak, familiar now after all we have endured together.


    The forest continues its impossible dance around us. A branch above splits into fractals, each segment folding into itself before stretching toward some unseen point. Another tree simply vanishes, leaving behind a void that hurts to look at directly.


    But Binah’s presence remains constant, unchanged by the chaos around us. I say nothing, letting her silence anchor me as we move forward. In this twisted place, her unchanging nature feels like the only real thing left.


    We burst into a clearing just as a bone-blade whistles through the air. A Xal’rith, all gleaming obsidian limbs and bone-growths, has cornered the youngest of the five armored fighters—he is trembling, spear in hand, terror plain on his face.


    “Left flank—now!” a voice commands, sharp with urgency. “And you,” he barks at a second warrior, “cover him!”


    The speaker, clearly their leader, wields a bright spear that glows like a beacon in the half-light. Under his command, the squad surges into motion.


    A tall, swift fighter—left flank—darts in a blur between the Xal’rith, unleashing an alternating fury of quick spear-thrusts and searing beams of light. Meanwhile, the “cover him!” fighter charges forward with reckless abandon, drawing a blade from his forearm with a cocky grin. “Come on, freak! I am right here!” he bellows, mouth twisting with bravado.


    A fourth member, built like a mountain, lumbers to shield the trembling boy. But even his broad, solid defense cracks under the rain of obsidian blades and claws. The five of them hold formation with practiced ease, but the Xal’rith press in from all sides, bone-blades clacking with relentless hunger.


    My body moves before I can think.


    I see a Xal’rith’s four arms raised to kill the youngest fighter. The Skathrith hums into a fever pitch, silver light pouring into my arm until it becomes a gleaming weapon. I slash, a trail of radiance following the arc of my strike as I sever one of the creature’s bone-arms.


    “Hold the line!” the squad leader shouts again, his pale gray eyes flicking toward me. His voice is rough, edged with both command and caution.


    The brash warrior who taunted a Xal’rith spits blood as he parries a strike. “Demon’s here to show off,” he growls.


    The quick, darting fighter glances at me between thrusts, muttering, “Optimate pricks float now? That is new.”


    The Xal’rith I struck collapses, obsidian skin peeling away. Its essence draws up toward the Skathrith in thin, crimson threads of blood and gore.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Feed. Feed.


    I freeze, my own breath faltering, as the weapon drinks the creature dry. Bones and steaming viscera clatter to the ground. The surviving Armigers stare, awe and horror mingling on their faces.


    The youngest, voice shaking, looks at me. “Wh-what is that thing?” he manages.


    “Focus on the fight,” I snap, more gruffly than intended, forcing down the Skathrith’s hunger. The group returns to their battle-stance, though I see their eyes dart nervously my way.


    Their leader’s glowing spear rips through the nearest Xal’rith, carving a line of white-hot light that leaves the creature’s armor smoking. “You!” he calls to the tall, nimble one, “Flank right! Torch them—now!”


    The tall fighter pivots, jamming something on his spear’s hilt. A radiant beam bursts forth, boring holes in chitinous plating. The Xal’rith shriek, black ichor bubbling where the light touches.


    The brash one hurls himself between two snapping bone-blades, flipping a forearm knife free. In a single, well-placed blow, he drives it under a creature’s jaw, black fluid spraying across his face.


    “Watch the reach!” bellows the mountain of a youth. He yanks the youngest backward just as a scything claw nearly takes the boy’s head. In one fluid motion, the huge fighter draws a short blade from his thigh and shatters the claw at the joint.


    All around, the clearing crackles with the clash of bone and metal. The Skathrith’s pulse echoes in my ears. I surrender to it for a moment, letting silver light lift me off the ground. When I drop, my arm is once again a blade of pure radiance, slicing through obsidian limbs like paper.


    Kill. Kill. Eat.


    It gnaws at my mind, that insatiable hunger. Every drop of blood that splashes on the metallic ground seems to intensify it. My skull feels like it is splitting in two, but I force it down. The silver glow dims as I wrest control back from the Skathrith.


    A heartbeat later, one of the Xal’rith slips past the spear-wielding leader’s guard. Obsidian bone slams toward his exposed flank. His spear drops a fraction—just enough for the blade to connect.


    No.


    The Skathrith flares white-hot, seizing my body faster than thought. I blur across the clearing, arm molten with power. The Xal’rith’s flesh tears under my strike, dissolving mid-scream. Strips of muscle and cords of sinew spiral upward, drawn into the Skathrith as dark blood turns to crimson light. All that is left is a pile of bones and steaming offal.


    A sudden lance of white-hot pain pierces my mind. My knees threaten to buckle. I taste metal on my tongue as burning glyphs scorch themselves across my consciousness, each word etched with cold precision:


    Victorious.


    Opponents: Xal’rith Abominations.


    Conquered: Blood Claimed. Flesh Claimed.


    Energy Assimilated: +6 Units.


    The glyphs vanish as quickly as they appear, their imprint lingering in my thoughts. I lower my trembling hand, forcing my gaze away from the gruesome remains.


    The Armigers recoil. The brash one stares at the remains, blade clutched in white-knuckled hands. I hear him rasp, “He is… a demon.”


    “Stay in formation!” the leader growls, though I can see the wariness in his eyes.


    The tall fighter’s voice is low, uncertain. “What… is he?”


    I do not reply. My gaze remains locked on the wet, scattered bones—on the Skathrith’s glow as it recedes, sated. But not for long.


    More.


    The whisper slithers through me. My fingers twitch with the urge to feed. I force it back, voice ragged. “Enough!”


    Our harsh breathing is all that breaks the stillness. Metallic trees groan softly around us, shifting in that impossible dance. At our feet, the Xal’rith bones lie stripped of flesh.


    The leader exhales, adjusting his spear. “All right,” he murmurs, voice firm again. “Raven Five, form up.”


    They circle up, the five of them moving with discipline, but their eyes never leave me. The brash warrior does not sheath his forearm blade; I can still see the tension in his stance.


    Suddenly, the youngest steps forward—his face still pale, but resolve shining through. He bows his head. “Thank you… for saving me.”


    Before I can respond, the leader nods curtly at him, then looks to me with guarded respect. “We are moving out. And you… Optimate—” he hesitates as though weighing whether to trust me, “—stay close if you can.”


    I finally hear his name when the tall, nimble fighter calls out: “Flint! The forest is shifting again. We have to go!”


    So Flint is the leader. The mountain of a boy turns at the call, placing a steadying hand on the youngest’s shoulder. “You good, Stagger? Let us move.”


    Stagger. The boy nods. Next to him, the tall one checks his spear’s mechanism. Flint addresses him, “Wren, watch our flank.”


    Wren. Meanwhile, the brash warrior wipes black blood from his face. “You heard him, Edge,” Flint says. “Do not lag behind.”


    Edge. That leaves only the broad-shouldered mountain, who unlatches the battered shield from his back. “Ash, keep the perimeter tight,” Flint orders.


    Ash. So they are Flint, Stagger, Wren, Edge, and Ash. Raven Five.


    I feel Binah’s presence before I see her—she stands at the clearing’s edge, violet eyes locked on me. Her silence is a heavy weight I cannot read: is it judgment, understanding, or both? I look away, the Skathrith humming overhead in restless hunger.


    “I can hold it back,” I whisper, as though to convince myself. My eyes roam over the carnage. Every scrap of blood and flesh we leave behind fuels the Skathrith’s dark desire. The urge to feed simmers in the recesses of my mind.


    I turn away from the scattered bones and join Binah, forging on into the ever-shifting metallic trees. Raven Five falls in behind us, uncertain but ready. Together, we press deeper, the Skathrith’s pulse throbbing in time with my own.


    More, it whispers.


    Not now, I answer inwardly.


    And so we move onward, each of us haunted by the hunger we have seen—and by what might happen if it is ever unleashed again.