Alyra's knees were sunken in the mud, her hands muddy and clasped in prayer. Marcus and the younger apprentices stood around her. Their lips chanted a hymn Alyra had known since she was little.

  It told the tale of the Cashnar, his bravery and sacrifice. For years, she’d heard it like a nursery rhyme, never paying attention to the actual meaning. But now, that meaning was suddenly very clear.

  “Oh Cashnar, who walked through fire not for glory, but for love.

  Shield of the weak, hammer of the wicked.

  Grant us the strength to stand,

  Even when the world falls.”

  All eyes were wide open, staring at the titanic battle before them. The Cashnar—Derek—was fighting a monstrous demon, a towering abomination made from the people of Ebonshade. People who had lived and died in this very place, now reduced to little more than undead puppets, fused together into that grotesque mass.

  Alyra silently thanked Orbisar for sparing her one last cruelty. None of the faces in that thing were familiar. What would she have done if she’d seen her parents? Her grandmother? She could see it in Marcus’s face, and in the others. It was harder for them.

  This wasn’t her village.

  She’d gotten lucky this time.

  If this could even be called luck.

  Derek leapt alongside the monster, soaring to a height no normal human could ever reach. Only an Orbisar Ascendant—or a demon—could pull off something like that. The creature barely missed him with one of its massive limbs.

  Alyra held her breath.

  Flames erupted from Derek’s arm, blasting straight into the abomination’s face. She’d never seen him do that before. Maybe Orbisar had granted him new powers.

  The creature swung a grotesque, tumor-covered arm to grab him.

  A flash of light from Derek’s blade and the arm dropped to the ground.

  Alyra let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. He was going toe-to-toe with something far stronger than he was. This was exactly why Sierelith had kidnapped her. Exactly why she’d dragged them all to this cursed place. So where was the heretic now? Why wasn’t she watching with her own eyes?

  Maybe she’d finally run off. If so, Alyra wouldn’t blame her. She would’ve done the same, if she could. She’d never seen a monster like that before. Her grandmother had once told her that in other parts of the world, where more powerful spheres had fallen, there were creatures even larger than this.

  Marcus stirred and gripped the smithing hammer beside him. He muttered through clenched teeth, “The Cashnar is in trouble.”

  Alyra stopped praying and turned to him. “He’s fighting a terrible monster. He’s doing his best.”

  Marcus planted the hammer into the soil and used it to push himself to his feet. “Then we should do the same.”

  He started walking, slow, deliberate steps toward that hellish battle.

  Alyra’s eyes widened. “Marcus, where are you going?”

  He paused, glanced back over his shoulder, and cracked a half-smile. “Today, I saw a little girl punch an undead three times her size with her bare hands. Sure, she didn’t do much damage, but as for courage and faith... well...” He scratched his head. “I can only hope to live up to that.”

  Her cheeks flushed with heat. Alyra brought her hands to her face. “I didn’t do anything. You were outnumbered. Someone had to help. And you saved me in the crypt. I couldn’t just leave you.”

  Marcus shook his head. “I’m just an old blacksmith. You didn’t owe me anything. You could’ve run while I held them off. But instead, you stayed. You fought.” He nodded toward Derek. “Now it’s my turn to choose.”

  Alyra watched him disappear into the moonlight. She couldn’t let him go alone. And he was right, Derek was in trouble. That creature felt like evil made flesh. She had to do something.

  She swallowed hard and stood.

  “You’re leaving?” asked the boy with the eye patch, his voice tight with worry.

  Alyra turned back to him and offered a faint, shaky smile. “Stay here. There’s something I have to do.”

  The massive undead creature growled, snorted, and tore at the earth beneath it.

  Beside Derek, Tunga stood his ground, gripping his staff like it was the only thing keeping him upright. He looked exhausted but not defeated. A savage grin stretched across his face, wild and unflinching, as if he were the true monster here.

  Inside NOVA’s armored gauntlet, Derek held a small red cylinder. One of his last micromissiles.

  “Derek,” Vanda said, her voice dry. “You do realize missiles are supposed to be launched, right? Throwing them by hand isn’t exactly standard protocol.”

  He activated the plasma blade on his free hand. “I’m going to ignore your sarcasm and instead offer you a riddle. If you need to blow up a comet, where do you place the photonic warhead?”

  Vanda paused. “Let’s see. Maximum damage is achieved if the payload detonates inside the comet. If it explodes on the surface, too much energy would dissipate into space.”

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  He nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Derek, there are no comets around here. Did you suffer neurological damage I somehow missed?”

  Before Derek could answer, the abomination lunged at him like an overweight cat pouncing on a toy mouse.

  He rolled aside and landed hard on one shoulder. Mud splattered across the display. His body shuddered, and his heart nearly stopped. He clenched the cylinder tighter. Still there. Losing it in the mud would be a disaster. Especially for whatever poor fool happened to step on it.

  He scrambled to his feet, raised one hand, and hurled a burst of magical flames at the creature. He aimed for the pair of dark holes above its gaping mouth, hoping those were its eyes. Hard to say, really, in that mashup of heads and cadaver parts.

  The fire consumed the monster’s upper body. Derek didn’t wait. The plasma blade hissed to life.

  The creature swung one of its massive, deformed limbs, flailing blindly through the fire.

  Derek ducked under the blow and brought the blade up. It carved through rotting flesh like air. Sparks and black blood erupted in a smoking arc.

  The severed limb hit the ground with a wet thud.

  Tunga rushed in, waving his staff and hopping from foot to foot.

  That lunatic was trying to draw the thing’s attention again. Was he determined to get himself killed?

  The monster roared and turned toward him, torn between targets.

  Tunga raised his staff. A flame orb flared at the tip. He launched it like a fire-arrow, straight into the abomination’s chest.

  The creature howled and barreled toward the shaman.

  What the hell was he thinking? No time to ask. The madman had just bought him an opening and Derek was going to use it. He grabbed the severed arm. It writhed in his grip, trying to break free. Almost slipped.

  He juiced the arm actuators to hold it steady.

  “Derek,” Vanda asked, “what are you doing?”

  He grimaced. “Let’s see how well this bastard regenerates.”

  He jabbed a finger into the severed limb, carving out a deep cavity in the decayed flesh. Then shoved the metal cylinder inside. The arm spasmed violently. Derek let go and stepped back.

  The monster, halfway through charging Tunga, halted. Then it turned.

  Derek raised his cannons and grinned. “Forget something, asshole? Come get your arm back.” He fired. Two bursts exploded into fiery blooms, charring the creature and blowing off more bits.

  The severed arm twitched, then scuttled across the mud toward the main body.

  “Vanda, lock tracking on the missile. I want constant visual overlay.”

  “Confirmed.”

  The abomination grabbed the limb and mashed it back into place like wet clay. Seconds later, it flexed the joint as if nothing had happened.

  “Perfect,” Derek muttered with a smirk.

  A blue square blinked onto his display, locking onto the arm’s reattachment point. That was where the micromissile was now. Buried deep in the creature’s rotting flesh.

  Derek raised his plasma cannons.

  “Oh,” said Vanda. “The comet is the monster.”

  Derek’s grin stretched wider.

  He fired straight at the buried missile.

  Isabelle was running. Or at least, she told her legs to run. In reality, her steps were sluggish. Awkward. Each footfall sank deep into the mud. Lifting her boots for the next step took more effort than she had.

  Her limbs felt like lead. The sword in her hand weighed as much as an anvil. If anything attacked her now, it was over. But there was no time to worry. She had to reach Derek. Before it was too late.

  The Death sphere was draining her. Slowly, mercilessly. That cursed power would stop her heart if she didn’t let it go soon.

  She tried to push harder.

  Her foot refused to lift.

  And the mud swallowed her whole.

  She hit the ground face-first. No time to brace. Filthy water rushed into her mouth and stung her eyes. It tasted of metal and rotting flowers.

  She gagged. Spat. Coughed. “Damn it!”

  She pushed herself up, just enough to see and breathe. “Derek...” she tried to call out. But her voice broke into a rasp.

  She squinted.

  The creature fighting Derek and Tunga was massive. Not just in size. Its presence radiated raw, overwhelming power. The kind none of them could match. Not even together.

  Elias had summoned something far beyond his station. How had he even done it?

  No one here could stop it. Maybe not even Uriela. And it wouldn’t stop at Ebonshade. The nearby villages—maybe even Rothmere—were next.

  She clenched the sphere tighter. Whether Derek knew it or not, this was their only chance.

  She tried to push herself forward. “Orbisar, grant me strength,” she whispered.

  But nothing answered.

  Her body wouldn’t move. The sphere slipped from her fingers. She wasn’t strong enough. The fight with Elias had drained her, and carrying the sphere had become an unbearable burden. No matter how hard she tried.

  She had failed. In every possible way. She had betrayed her faith, her god, her friends… and herself. And now she would lie here, barely strong enough to watch her companions be slaughtered before her eyes. Until it was her turn.

  Two small feet stepped into view. Child-sized.

  “Isabelle!” a voice cried out.

  Her heart lurched. She turned her head slowly. “A... Alyra?”

  The girl dropped to her knees beside her. Her black hair brushed Isabelle’s face. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  With a grunt, Alyra rolled her onto her back.

  Isabelle didn’t have the strength for explanations. Only enough for a few words. She knew what had to be done. What only she could decide.

  The Death sphere pulsed in her hand, a weight far heavier than metal. A bronze-rank sphere could break even an Ascendant. In Alyra’s hands, it might kill her outright.

  Her gut twisted. Derek would never forgive this. He’d see it as betrayal, maybe worse. He’d rage at her for risking the girl, and deep down he’d be right.

  But without the sphere, Derek would fall, and with him all of them. Then Alyra wouldn’t live long enough for forgiveness to matter.

  The girl’s wide eyes met hers, brimming with fear yet waiting for direction. Too young for this burden. Too young to carry Death.

  Isabelle’s jaw clenched. She wasn’t a priest to whisper prayers. She was a Warden. And a Warden made the choices no one else could bear.

  Her lips parted, each word scraping out like broken glass. “Take the sphere to Derek.”

  The explosion tore the abomination apart from the inside. Jets of flame burst in every direction. The limb where Derek had hidden the missile vanished in a flash of fire.

  The creature’s body split down the middle like a rotten fruit. The two halves hit the ground with a sickening slap, connected only by a strip of torn flesh.

  No twitch. No movement.

  Derek exhaled and lowered his weapons. “Vanda. Anything?”

  “Nothing. But I wasn’t getting anything earlier either. You just didn’t notice. It was already dead.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I meant energy spikes. Anything weird. You know what I meant.”

  “Oh. That. Nope. All clear.”

  Derek retracted the plasma cannons and exhaled slowly. It had been rough, but he’d made it.

  The creature’s corpse slumped to one side, leaking foul sludge into the dirt.

  He swallowed hard and looked away.

  “Derek?”

  “Yeah, Vanda?”

  “I’m detecting a fast-approaching mass.”

  He frowned. “Again? More of the herd?”

  “This one’s... very fast.”

  The ground shook like a star cruiser was taking off nearby. His mini-map lit up red.

  Derek turned toward the alert.

  The herd he’d scattered earlier was charging back, a wave of water, branches, and shattered debris in their wake.

  What the hell had brought them back? Elias? Or maybe Isabelle hadn’t been able to throw them off.

  “Tunga!” Derek shouted. “You got any fire left?”

  The shaman groaned and collapsed.

  Shit.

  He clenched his fists. That micro-missile had been his last fire-enhanced round.

  He needed a new plan. Fast.

  “Would lightning work as well?”

  “Derek!” Vanda’s voice spiked. “I’m detecting energy lines radiating from the creature’s body.”

  He spun around. “It’s alive?!”

  “No. But the energy is drawing the undead herd toward it.”

  His stomach dropped. He opened his mouth but no words came. The monster was calling them. Drawing power. Regenerating. “How do I stop it?”

  “Run. My projections show no viable path to prevent fusion. Once the herd reaches it, the creature will come back stronger.”

  The roar of hooves grew into a world-consuming thunder.

  The horde burst from the jungle like a tidal wave of black fur, curved horns, and gleaming fangs.

  Vanda was right. He couldn’t stop them. Trying would be like standing in front of a tsunami with a stick.

  He needed to retreat. Find Alyra. Get off this cursed planet. He’d track down another Kolaar Node somewhere else. The galaxy was big enough.

  The undead stampede rushed past, ignoring him completely.

  Not surprising. They weren’t here for him.

  They flooded the creature’s corpse like animals to a watering hole, except this one stank of rot and dried blood.

  One by one, the undead cattle hurled themselves into the corpse and fused with it.

  The meat pulsed. Shifted. Twitched.

  Just like it had when Elias first summoned the thing—

  Only now it was far larger.

  It was already the size of a four-story building. And still growing.

  Derek’s chest tightened. There was no stopping it now.

  Not before it reached the next village.

  Not before it killed hundreds. Maybe thousands.

  And with every new death, it would grow stronger.

  “Vanda...” Derek’s voice came out too calm. Even to him.

  “I’m here.”

  He swallowed. “That thing can’t leave Ebonshade. No matter what.”

  “Understood.”

  “Think a nuke would do it?”

  There was a pause.

  “It’s... possible, Derek. But no guarantees. And if you’re considering overloading NOVA’s reactor—”

  “I am.”

  “Then you should know. You won’t get far enough. Not from the blast radius. Not you, not anyone still in Ebonshade.”

  Derek closed his eyes for a second. Of course. Vanda never had good news.

  “It’s still the best shot I’ve got. Prep the core for overload.”