Chapter 35


    What Hell Have Wrought


    The spears ignite in unison, five beams of concentrated energy slicing through the darkness. Metal trees reflect the light in fractured patterns, turning shadows into writhing things. The air fills with the high-pitched whine of weapons discharge.


    Flint''s shot connects first, boring through a Xal''rith warrior''s chest plate. Black ichor sprays in an arc, sizzling where it hits the ground. But before the creature falls, it simply... blinks out of existence.


    "What in the Autarch''s crack?" Edge''s voice cracks as his beam passes through empty space where another thrall stood a heartbeat before. The creature materializes three steps closer, bone-blades raised.


    My Skathrith pulses with recognition.


    These are not normal Xal''rith—something has changed them, twisted their very nature.


    Stagger''s panicked shots go wide, energy dissipating against twisted metal and glass. His hands shake so badly I can hear his spear rattling. "They''re everywhere! They''re—"


    "Focus!" Flint snaps, but uncertainty edges his voice. Another shot, another hit—this time taking a thrall''s arm clean off. But the creature phases out before hitting the ground, reappearing whole and unharmed meters closer.


    Wren tracks one through the darkness, his movements quick but controlled. "How are we supposed to hit what doesn''t stay real?" His next shot passes through empty air.


    Ash says nothing, methodically placing shots while positioning himself between Stagger and the advancing thralls. His calm seems almost unnatural against the chaos.


    "Hold the line!" Flint''s voice cuts through the darkness. "Focus on what you can see!"


    But what we see keeps shifting, reality bending around these transformed warriors. Their bone-white forms flicker in and out of existence, each phase bringing them closer to our defensive circle. The air crackles with discharged energy and the metallic taste of fear.


    I stand motionless, arms crossed, watching Raven Five''s desperate battle. Their laser-spears paint streaks of light through the darkness, but something feels wrong. The squad''s movements grow more frantic with each failed hit, each phasing enemy.


    The Skathrith pulses against my consciousness. Its rhythm matches neither my heartbeat nor the forest''s usual song. Instead, it beats in time with the thralls'' phases—a manufactured pattern. Clinical. Too perfect.


    Metal trees twist around us, their surfaces catching and fragmenting the weapon discharge. But even their placement feels calculated, as though arranged to create specific shadows, specific angles of reflection.


    "Look at their patterns," I whisper to myself. The thralls phase in precise intervals, maintaining exact distances from the squad. They never press their advantage, never capitalize on openings. "They''re not even trying to land killing blows."


    Binah steps beside me, her white hair ghostly in the scattered light. Her violet eyes track each thrall''s movement with predatory focus. She turns her head slightly toward me, waiting. The set of her shoulders, the angle of her chin—she expects me to understand something crucial.


    I narrow my eyes as another thrall phases through Wren''s attack. "This isn''t right." The words taste metallic on my tongue. "They''re not attacking—they''re stalling."


    The Skathrith''s pulse grows stronger, confirming my suspicion. Each beat reveals more of the artificial nature surrounding us. The forest, the thralls, even the very ground beneath our feet—it all serves some hidden purpose.


    Binah shifts her weight, a subtle movement that draws my attention. Her stance mirrors my own crossed arms, but her fingers tap against her elbow in perfect time with the thralls'' phases. She knows. She''s known since we entered this section of the forest.


    The Skathrith''s energy courses through my body, a current of raw power that lifts me from the ground. Metal trees shrink beneath my feet as I rise above the battlefield, their twisted forms casting fragmented shadows in the wake of my ascent. The weapon''s resonance creates a pale luminescence around me, turning the air itself into a ghostly mirror.


    Below, laser-spears continue their futile dance against phasing enemies. But I have seen enough of this farce.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    "Enough." My voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and controlled.


    The battlefield stills for a heartbeat. Even the thralls pause their endless pattern, frozen between phases like caught frames of motion.


    "I know you''re out there. Watching. Controlling." The words taste like iron on my tongue. "Whatever game you''re playing, it ends now."


    Wind whips through the metallic branches as I hover, my gaze sweeping across the twisted landscape. "Surrender. Show yourself, and maybe I''ll spare you the humiliation of dragging you back in pieces."


    Edge''s voice carries up from below. "Did he just call them out?"


    "Stay focused," Flint barks at his squad, but I catch the uncertainty in his tone. His spear remains raised, though his eyes keep darting between the thralls and my suspended form.


    Silence answers my challenge. The thralls resume their mechanical dance, phasing in and out with mathematical precision. Their bone-white forms flicker through reality like broken holograms, maintaining their meaningless pattern.


    Frustration burns in my chest as I descend slightly, turning toward Binah''s ethereal presence. "Where are they?"


    Her violet eyes meet mine, reflecting the pale light of my power, but she offers no response to my question.


    Binah''s violet eyes flash with an intensity that pierces the gloom. Her pale hand rises, fingers extending toward a section of dark forest where the metal trees grow impossibly dense. The gesture holds such certainty that I know she''s found our hidden opponent.


    I launch myself from my hovering position, the Skathrith''s energy propelling me forward. "Hold the line," I call back to Flint and his squad. The metallic maze swallows me whole as I dive between twisted trunks that reflect fragments of my weapon''s pale light.


    The forest shifts around me, branches scraping against each other with sounds like knife blades. My feet barely touch the ground as I follow Binah''s direction, letting the Skathrith''s pulse guide me through the darkness. Each beat grows stronger, more insistent, until—


    I break through into a small clearing. The sight stops me cold. Lias crouches among a cluster of other young Armigers, his thin frame illuminated by the soft blue glow that spills from his eyes. The air pulses with energy, creating a web of light that matches the thralls'' phasing pattern perfectly.


    Lias stands at the center of it all, his hand rubbing his temples. As he shifts his fingers, I watch a corresponding movement ripple through the thralls in the distance. His face holds none of the nervousness I remember from our encounter in the dining hall—only cold calculation as he orchestrates this elaborate deception.


    The other Armigers tense at my arrival, hands moving to weapons, but Lias remains focused on his work—an obvious use of his Semblance. Each subtle gesture of his fingers sends new commands to his phantom army, proving without doubt that he''s the puppet master behind this entire charade.


    The cold satisfaction in Lias''s eyes makes my blood freeze. He stands there among his Armigers, no trace of the nervous child who approached me in the dining hall. Like mine, his hands have been washed in rivers of blood.


    "Ah, Eata. I wondered when you''d show up." His lips curl into a smirk. "Tell me, how does it feel to be one step behind?"


    "What did you just call me?" I ask. Silver light erupts along my skin, the blade''s edge humming with lethal intent.


    Lias grins. "Eata. Isn''t that what you said you did to the ones that attacked you during the First Baptism."


    I blink the sudden heat from my eyes, lower my gaze to the ground.


    Eata. Eata. Eata.


    I cross the clearing in two steps.


    The first Armiger raises his weapon. I slice through it before he registers my movement. The second tries to flank—a textbook maneuver that ends with him sprawled unconscious. The third and fourth attack together. The Skathrith flows through me, around me, an extension of pure will. Their coordination means nothing against its power. Bodies hit the ground with dull thuds.


    Lias’s smirk cracks. His eyes glow a deeper blue, radiating an unnatural light that pulses in time with the danger emanating from him. He exhales sharply, drawing strength from the very air, his voice dropping an octave.


    “You don’t scare me, Eata,” he says, his grin widening despite the strain on his features.


    The word lingers in the clearing, sharp as a blade. Eata. My breath catches, heat surging behind my eyes. The glow of the Skathrith intensifies, its light spilling across the ground like molten silver.


    The ground beneath us begins to tremble, subtle at first but growing in strength. The air vibrates with a low, resonant hum that fills my chest, heavy and inescapable.


    Then they appear.


    Warriors rise from the ground itself, their forms coalescing from the pale light spilling from Lias’s eyes. They emerge unnaturally, their shapes twisting and snapping into place as though reality struggles to contain them. Their bone-blades extend grotesquely, serrated and curved, their chitinous armor jagged like shards of broken glass. The same eerie blue light burns in their hollow eyes.


    At first, they stand motionless, their forms flickering between worlds. Then, one by one, they step forward. Slow. Deliberate. Their movements exude a suffocating grace, pressing against my chest like a vice.


    “Do you see now, Janus?” Lias’s voice trembles slightly, but the satisfaction in it is undeniable. “This is what I am. This is what you can’t fight.”


    I take a single step forward. The Skathrith’s hum grows louder, its rhythm matching the monstrous pulse of the clearing. “More.”


    Lias blinks, his grin faltering. “What?”


    “Summon more.” The words fall from my lips, quiet and cold, but they do not feel like mine. “This is not enough.”


    For the first time, Lias’s composure cracks. He stumbles, his heel catching on a root. He sprawls backward, panic flickering in his glowing eyes. His warriors hesitate, their flickering forms twitching in response to his faltering will.


    Behind me, I feel Binah’s presence, coiled and eager. Her snarl carries through the clearing, low and primal, as though she senses the hunt. Her shadows writhe around me, feeding the same insatiable need that builds in my chest.


    “Hurry.” My voice deepens, resonant and strange. It does not sound like me. My face remains impassive, but something feral sharpens the edges of my words, something that is not fully human.


    “I’m hungry,” the voice says through my mouth.