Chapter 36


    Triumphant Return


    I emerge from the twisted paths of the metallic forest, each step precise and measured. Behind me, Lias floats through the air like a broken toy, suspended by invisible threads that bite into his flesh. His fellow Armigers trudge after us, their weapons pointed at the ground, eyes downcast. Whatever fight they had has drained from them completely.


    Binah glides beside me, her white hair catching the fractured light filtering through the metallic canopy. Her movements make no sound—a ghost walking among the living. Her presence amplifies the unnatural silence that follows in our wake.


    The Xal''rith village rises ahead, its alien architecture looming like jagged teeth in a predator''s maw. The spires twist toward the false sky above, their obsidian surfaces catching and fracturing the light into shards of shadow. Half-organic growths bulge from the structures, their surfaces pulsing faintly with a sickly, amber light. The air feels heavier here, each breath tinged with the metallic tang of latent energy.


    Walkways spiral at impossible angles, some twisting upward into the void, others disappearing into jagged terrain below. They are unnervingly precise, the geometry so unnatural it makes my head ache if I look too long. The walls of the structures pulse faintly with glyphs—etched stories of the Xal’rith’s lost glory or perhaps their warnings to trespassers.


    The air hums with a resonance that seems to seep into my bones, a sound that aligns with the Skathrith’s pulse. The weapon hums faintly, feeding off the latent energy around us, as though this place recognizes its presence. It feels like the village itself is alive, watching, judging.


    Raven Five stands just beyond the clearing, their formation tight, weapons raised against the oppressive darkness. The jagged altar from before looms at the center, its deep grooves running like veins across its surface. The faint stains along its channels seem darker now, the air around it shimmering faintly.


    Flint spots us first, his spear lifting slightly before freezing mid-air. His grip tightens, his knuckles pale against the weapon’s dark haft. The others notice soon after, their reactions rippling like a stone dropped into water. Stagger’s mouth falls open at the sight of Lias suspended in the air, his limbs bent unnaturally. Wren takes a half-step forward, his voice barely above a whisper.


    “What in the Autarch’s name…”


    Edge, usually the loudest, retreats slightly, his bravado crumbling as he takes in the scene. Even Ash shifts uncomfortably, his shield trembling faintly in his massive hands.


    Flint maintains his stance, but I catch the slight tremor in his spear hand. “What…” His voice cracks, and he swallows hard before continuing. “What did you do?”


    I scan their faces—these children playing at being warriors. The Skathrith pulses above me, a steady rhythm of hunger, still yearning. My voice comes out steady, cold as the frost clinging to the edges of the clearing’s shadows.


    “I brought order.”


    I stride into the center of the clearing, the metallic trees casting fractured shadows across my face. The twisted spire behind me looms larger now, its tumor-like growths shimmering faintly as if reacting to my presence. The glyphs flicker faintly, aligning with the Skathrith’s resonance, as though the village itself acknowledges the power it holds.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    With a slight nod to Binah, I watch her release her hold on Lias. The threads unravel like spider silk catching moonlight, and he crumples to the ground. His chest heaves with desperate breaths, the glow in his eyes flickering and dying—a candle guttering in the wind.


    Titus’s words echo faintly in my mind: Manhood is not given. It is earned, blood by blood, step by agonizing step.


    The Skathrith hums louder, its resonance aligning with the village’s pulse. The spires seem to lean closer, their shadows stretching unnaturally across the clearing. The faint glow of the glyphs reflects in the Skathrith’s light, pulsating in rhythm with its power.


    “Strip him.”


    My voice cuts through the oppressive silence, sharp and commanding. The words fall heavy, final.


    Flint steps forward, his face tight with concern. “Janus, what are you—”


    I turn my gaze on him. The Skathrith pulses stronger, its hunger bleeding into my voice. “This isn’t a negotiation. If you want to survive, you’ll follow my lead.”


    Something in my eyes makes him flinch. The resistance drains from his posture, replaced by a cold understanding. He gestures to Ash, who moves forward with mechanical precision to grab Lias’s trembling form.


    Binah glides across the clearing, her movements liquid and precise. The faint glow of the glyphs reflects in her eyes, turning them into twin flames against the darkness. Silver light pools around her fingers, weaving into cruel, shimmering strands. The makeshift whip catches what little light filters through the canopy, its edges sharp enough to slice shadow.


    She raises her arm.


    The whip cracks.


    Lias’s scream tears through the clearing, raw and animal. It reverberates off the spires, the sound warping unnaturally as it bounces back, amplified by the village’s strange acoustics. The glyphs along the structures flicker in time with his cries, their sickly light pulsing faster, as if feeding on his agony.


    I stand motionless, letting the sound wash over me. The Skathrith drinks in the moment, its resonance humming through my bones. The village seems to hum with it, the alien energy syncing with the weapon’s pulse.


    For a moment, I recall the oppressive weight of Titus’s gaze as he spoke of the Mere. You will rise, Janus, or you will break.


    Around us, Raven Five fractures. Stagger turns away, his shoulders hunched. “This is madness,” Wren whispers, but Edge’s face splits into a savage grin. He nods, understanding blooming in his eyes.


    Flint remains still as stone, his expression carved from marble. His eyes never leave my face as he weighs his choices, measuring the cost of defiance against the price of submission.


    I turn from Lias’s broken form to face his squad. Their knees hit the ground before I speak, bodies trembling like leaves in a storm. The Skathrith hums deeper, pleased by their submission.


    “You’re mine now.” My voice slices through the metallic forest’s silence. “You’ve followed a coward. That ends today.”


    I move to the first—a thin boy with calculating eyes that dart between my face and the shadows. “Caine,” I name him. His shoulders straighten at the word, as if accepting a mantle.


    The next keeps his hands steady despite his fear, fingers wrapped in healing thread. “Lark.” He nods once, precise and careful.


    A mountain of muscle towers even on his knees, face blank but arms corded with tension. “Torren.” His eyes fix on the ground, accepting his place.


    The fourth melts into the darkness despite kneeling in plain sight. “Shade.” A flash of understanding crosses her features—the first girl I have seen among the Armigers here.


    The last meets my gaze with defiance burning behind his fear, a bow strapped across his back. “Vex.” His jaw clenches, but he does not look away.


    Binah circles them like smoke, her unseen presence making them shiver. The metallic trees cast broken shadows across their faces as I speak again.


    “From this moment, you are the Bound Blades.” The name falls heavy as judgment. “Rise and take your place.”


    The village’s structures seem to loom closer as they stand, their shadows crawling like fingers across the ground. Behind me, the spire hums faintly, its glyphs still flickering with the rhythm of the Skathrith’s pulse. The forest feels alive, a predator watching its prey submit.


    This is its domain, and now, so is it mine.