SONG VIBE: Not Today - BTS

  _________

  NOCTURNE

  Golgog’s Spawnpit, The Shadowlands

  Nocturne’s armour was battered, his shield coated in 'spawn blood, and every muscle in his body ached. The battle now reached the second day, and every man was beyond the point of exhaustion.

  Around him, the fleshy tunnel walls pulsed with a sickening heartbeat. Black ichor wept from where human flesh met living rock, the walls slowly consuming the victims of the spawnpit. Nocturne had learned long ago to ignore the faces—both human and Eldritch—melding with the tissue. He had the six mountain knights—his friends, his brothers—with him, and they moved as one down the tunnel.

  Nocturne and Rell held the front of the formation, clearing the path ahead, while Valentino and Felix protected the rear from endless nightspawn attacks. In between the protection of their shields, August and Lysander fired endless arrows and spells.

  In the very middle of their formation stood Lucian, the golden Dreamweaver mask attached to his face. He gripped his halberd, though he no longer wielded it. Instead, he concentrated on moving at the pace of the group. Despite the heat in the tunnels, a cold sweat formed on his skin, and he trembled more with every step closer to Golgog.

  It's because of Lucian's mask that we've managed to get this far, Nocturne thought grimly, swiping a dead nightspawn aside with his buckler, blood splashing across his solid armour. How much longer can Lucian suppress Golgog in his dreams? I don't envy him for what he sees.

  “Lucian, you holding out?” Nocturne shouted, his voice raw and aching after two days of yelling commands.

  “He’s okay—barely,” Lysander replied hoarsely. His slender hands trembled with fatigue as he volleyed another wave of deadly arrows over Nocturne’s head. Like all cursed weapons, Lysander’s bow sucked energy from living flesh to form limitless arrows—and the walls of this spawnpit provided endless amounts of material. Each arrow struck with a sickening squelch, tearing through flesh and breaking bones.

  Rell stuck a nightspawn with his halberd, and Nocturne swiped the dead nightspawn aside with his buckler. As a group, they pressed forward, descending deep into the pit.

  The air grew thick with the unmistakable stench of a spawnlord's breeding chambers—rotting flesh, blood, and the raw scent of evil. Nocturne's voice cut through the din of battle. “Golgog's in there! Forty paces!" His voice faltered, aching for a moment. "August! Prepare the spell.”

  “Mind shield’s coming down.” August warned as he fired another spell over Felix’s head, exploding the wave of charging nightspawn into red mist. The cursed staff fired waves of destructive energy, and as he did, he mumbled under his breath, preparing the spell that would break Golgog’s barrier.

  Like ice thawing under fire, Nocturne felt the dissolution of August’s mental shield. Steeling his mind and body, he raised his buckler, deflecting a savage claw aimed at Rell. His gaze flicked to the bracelet of pale purple hair around his wrist—Saphira’s gift. From it, he felt the gentle warmth of her trust in him. Perhaps it is enough to blunt Golgog’s mental onslaught.

  Shadowrend plunged into the creature’s chest. Black, rancid blood sprayed across his cheek, but he did not flinch.

  Come at me, he challenged, gripping his sword tighter. Your voice can’t destroy me.

  Above: "Come at me."

  Then, it slithered into his mind, like a parasite burrowing into his skull, thick with amusement and venom. It had been whispering for months, a constant, gnawing presence, but now it spoke with piercing clarity, coiling around his memories, his fears, his doubts.

  We meet again, Nocturne. The voice laughed, a sickening, maddening voice. And you've found yourself a pretty wife—traded like a broodmare, violated. A cruel laugh echoed as Nocturne saw her vacant, purple eyes fill with tears as he held her down. I've seen her thoughts, Nocturne. She thinks you are no different from the monsters inside her castle.

  Nocturne's breath sharpened, his body moving instinctively even as his mind recoiled. He focused on the warmth coming from the purple bracelet, forcing it to anchor him to reality, locking his thoughts behind iron gates of discipline as he kept swinging his sword. Not real. Not my thoughts, my memories. It’s Golgog, reaching inside, twisting, digging.

  The voice did not relent.

  After all that, you still think she waits loyally for you? The voice oozed malice. She's on her back for a better man while you bleed. A vile image seared into his mind—his wife beneath another man, hands gripping her thighs, a Ducal signet ring glinting—her soft moans of pleasure. He's given her what you can never—a child in her belly. An heir. A future. While you die for nothing. Impotent.

  Beside him, Rell braced behind his shield, thrusting his halberd forward as they drove deeper—and by hard lines on his forehead, Nocturne could tell Golgog’s voice tormented him too.

  The walls pressed in around them, a writhing mass of corrupted flesh. They carved through the tunnel, slain nightspawn collapsing underfoot, their brittle bones and gelatinous flesh turning to rancid mush beneath their boots. Undeterred by the slaughter, more nightspawn attacked in endless, frenzied waves.

  The voice returned, a sickness in his brain, shadows curling around his thoughts. A billion gold coins, a noble title, and still, you're just a bastard orphan with a whore for a mother. A vision twisted into his mind—a tarnished woman with her womb cut open, a baby being ripped out. You can dress yourself in the finest armour, but the filth of your birth never washes off, does it?

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  A cold spike of rage lanced through Nocturne's chest, but he crushed it down. Ignore it. Keep moving. He exhaled sharply, fortifying his mental defences. His grip tightened on Shadowrend. The only answer I give is my steel.

  Around him, his friends’ faces twitched with horrors of their own.

  “Focus,” Nocturne called out, his sword arm nearly faltering as he stabbed a nightspawn through its horrible, pulsating head.

  "Keep fighting!" Valentino steeled himself, his longsword swinging confidently.

  The band of purple hair around Nocturne's wrist caught his eye, sending a thread of hope through his body. “Twenty paces!”

  I can feel you getting close, Nocturne. And when we finally meet, I'll kill you last. I'll make you watch—helpless—as I tear your friends apart from the inside. Another vision coiled through his mind, so vile it threatened to unravel him: the broken bodies of his six brothers, lifeless eyes staring in accusation, their blood pooling. From their ruined corpses, I will build an unstoppable army, and they will call me master.

  Nocturne's grip tightened, his breath coming in desperate gasps as the weight of the vision crushed him. He fought it, and pushed it back, but the ache in his chest made focus nearly impossible.

  “Ten paces! Ready yourselves!” he forced out, voice ragged, body trembling as fear for his friends gnawed at his soul.

  As they neared the chamber entrance, Nocturne inhaled past the stench of blood and rot. The real fight begins now, he thought grimly.

  They stepped through the fleshy entrance into Golgog's spawnchamber. Nocturne's trained eyes ignored the walls around him—tissue writhing as it consumed its victims, a slender hand reaching out from the flesh beside him, still fresh enough to twitch. No, Nocturne numbed his mind to the horrors and only saw what mattered—a high ceiling with enough space to manoeuvre, the honour guard standing in front of Golgog's throne of flesh, the faint shimmer of the magical barrier protecting the spawnlord as he slumbered, and of course, Golgog himself, the largest spawnlord Nocturne had ever seen. Even seated and sleeping on his throne of flesh, the creature towered over the room, its grotesque form a writhing mass of sinew, scales, and jagged bone. Its many eyes remained shut, though its maw yawned, stretching wide to reveal rows of fang-like teeth.

  Every knight knew their role, but Nocturne still yelled the orders, his authoritative voice having a calming effect on their group. “Val, Felix—hold that entrance!” he commanded, his voice cutting through the wet, ambient sounds of the chamber.

  Felix took his position, flashing a reassuring yet resolute smile. From the tunnel's gaping maw, nightspawn swelled, pressing closer, drawn to their master's lair by some unseen call. Ditching his halberd and shield, Felix drew his hooked swords, ready to carve through the oncoming horde.

  The voice slithered through Nocturne's skull, no longer a whisper but a shadowed presence, thick and suffocating. Felix, ever-loyal, ever-smiling. Tell me, Nocturne—do you ever wonder why? The words coiled tighter, dripping with dark amusement. He's laughing at you. He knows you'll die here, and when you do, Firestone will finally have the leader it deserves.

  Nocturne's breath hitched—just for a moment. His grip tightened around Shadowrend, sweat slicking his palm. A chill crawled up his spine, rage and doubt warring inside him.

  “Nothing gets through!” Nocturne’s voice rang out, sharper than he intended.

  “Count on it.” Felix did not flinch. He only grinned, twirling a sword with professional confidence.

  Beside him, Valentino's longsword flickered like quicksilver, each strike precise and lethal as he dispatched their enemy, his shield protecting him and Felix.

  Valentino, the noble prince. The voice, slick with contempt, seemed to laugh at Nocturne while it spoke. He only pretends to respect you. He's the one they all really listen to. He sees you for what you are—a pretend lord, a cave rat, playing knight, commanding men far greater than you.

  Nocturne's grip on his buckler tightened until his knuckles ached. His heart pounded against his ribs. A sharp crack of bone snapped him back to reality as Valentino's blade wrenched a nightspawn's head clean from its shoulders. Their eyes locked for a moment; the other knight only nodded, then slashed another enemy down with elegant ease.

  With a growl, Nocturne dropped his buckler and took Shadowrend in both hands. The sword felt heavier than usual, as if Golgog's taunts had sunk into his limbs, into his bones. With a savage strike, he cleaved a charging guardspawn in two, black blood spraying across the walls.

  “Lye, protect Felix and Val's back," Nocturne ordered. "Watch Lucian. Don’t let him lose himself to the mask.”

  Lysander nodded, already moving to stand beside Lucian. He loosed a cursed arrow into the dark—a wet gurgle confirmed its mark.

  Above: Lysander's arrow finds its mark.

  Behind him, Lucian barely stood, the mask draining the life from him, its dark power leeching all vitality with each passing second. He clutched his forehead tightly, his body wracked with agony while his knees trembled, barely holding him upright.

  “Hang in there, Luce,” Nocturne said.

  “I’ll protect him,” Lysander swore, “Go get that bastard.”

  Lysander's arrow was nocked, its tip aimed past Nocturne's head. Lysander, the golden one, the voice twisted tighter. Dazzling, effortless. He never had to earn their love—but you? Nocturne swung his blade, cleaving through a nightspawn, but the slick voice pressed deeper. He drifts from heart to heart, always wanted. Poor, brooding Nocturne. They follow you out of routine, not devotion.

  The arrow hissed past Nocturne's cheek, striking through the corpse he had just felled—impaling the nightspawn lurking behind it. Nocturne gave a sharp nod of thanks, then turned to his mage. “August, get that barrier down.”

  “Fye. Already on it,” Augustus hissed, his voice low and filled with dark power.

  The air around August crackled with energy that gathered at the tip of his cursed staff. Near them, the fleshy walls of the cavern shrivelled, wilting and turning an ashen black as life was siphoned from them. August yelled, “I'll shield our minds as soon as the barrier comes down!”

  “Good! I'm sick of this bastard’s voice!” Nocturne turned to Felix. “Call the shots!”

  Nocturne's eyes locked with Rell's as he gripped Shadowrend with both hands, the dark steel of the longsword gleaming in the faint light.

  "Water?" Rell asked.

  "Gone," Nocturne replied, his throat dry. "This is it." His voice was sharp, unwavering and full of purpose as he said, “Let's go kill the little spawnrot.”

  Above: "Rell, let's go kill the little spawnrot."

  Discarding his halberd, Rell drew his bastard sword, Ignis Solaris, the blade shimmering like molten fire as he gave a sharp nod. His wide, focused eyes met Nocturne's, full of trust—and a cold, unyielding determination.

  Do you think you control Rell? The voice pierced his mind like venom. He will turn on you the moment he realises his own strength—just another master he's outgrown. Nocturne clenched his jaw, but he could not break his mind free from the voice. How long do you think it will take before he rips you apart for holding him back? You're not his leader, Nocturne, you're his cage.

  “Ignore it!” Felix's voice broke through the darkness, cutting through the barrage of taunts. “Focus! Will we fall?”

  “Not today!” They all yelled back, the fire igniting in their tired bodies.

  Nocturne's grip tightened, his focus shifting back to the battle ahead. Felix's command was not just for him—it was for all of them. The moment of hesitation passed, and he surged forward, cutting through the nightspawn with ruthless precision, his eyes never leaving his target.

  Before him loomed Golgog, the spawnlord—a nightmare made flesh.