Captain Rhen Moss had fought in twelve battles before today.
He'd killed bandits. Fought rogue Essence wielders. Defended the capital from demon raids.
He'd seen men die. He'd seen blood. He'd seen horror.
But he'd never faced anything like Scylla.
She moved first.
One moment, she was twenty feet away. Next, her blade was an inch from his throat.
Rhen twisted. His training saved him. Her sword cut air where his neck had been.
He counterattacked. His golden blade swept toward her side.
She didn't block.
She didn't need to.
His sword hit her crimson armor and bounced off like he'd struck solid steel. The impact sent shock waves up his arm.
Scylla smiled. "Good instincts. Again."
She attacked. Five strikes in two seconds. Each one faster than the last.
Rhen blocked. One. Two. Three.
The fourth broke through his guard. Her blade slammed into his shoulder plate. The metal dented inward. Rhen flew backward twenty feet and crashed into the well.
Stone cracked. Water sprayed everywhere.
Rhen forced himself up. His shoulder screamed with pain. Probably broken.
Scylla walked toward him slowly. She wasn't even breathing hard.
"You're strong for a human," she said. "Maybe the top five percent. Your Essence is refined. Your technique is excellent. In another five years, you might have been truly dangerous."
She raised her sword.
"But you don't have five years."
Rhen's golden aura exploded outward. Authority Essence. The power that made men follow. The power that commanded respect. The power that said: I will not fall.
"IRONCLAD FORM!" he roared.
His entire body glowed gold. His broken shoulder snapped back into place. His muscles swelled. His sword grew brighter.
This was his trump card. The technique that had made him a captain at thirty. The power that let him fight demon commanders and win.
He charged.
His blade came down like lightning. Scylla raised one sword to block.
The impact shook the entire square. Windows shattered. The ground cracked in a spiderweb pattern spreading out from where they stood.
For one second, they were locked together. Blade against blade. Strength against strength.
Rhen pushed with everything he had.
Scylla wasn't even using both hands.
"Better," she said. "Much better. You're making me use actual effort now."
She pushed.
Rhen flew backward again. This time, he rolled and came up running. He had to keep moving. Standing still meant death.
He attacked from the side. His blade blazed with golden light. "AUTHORITY SLASH!"
A wave of cutting force erupted from his sword. It tore through the air. It could cut stone. It could cut steel.
Scylla caught it with her bare hand.
The cutting wave dissolved in her grip like smoke.
"My turn," she said.
Her Essence awakened.
Crimson light exploded around her body. It was so bright that Rhen had to shield his eyes. So powerful that the air itself screamed.
This wasn't just Essence.
This was something beyond. Something that shouldn't exist in the mortal realm.
"This is Dominion," Scylla said. Her voice echoed like she was speaking from everywhere at once. "The power that transcends mere Essence. The power that rewrites reality. Watch closely, Captain. Let me show you the difference between us."
She swung both swords.
Rhen saw the attack coming. He raised his blade to block.
It didn't matter.
Her strike hit him like a mountain falling. His sword shattered. The golden blade that had served him for ten years broke into pieces.
The force continued through his block. It hit his chest. His armor caved in. Ribs cracked.
Rhen flew across the entire square. He crashed through the side of a building. Wood exploded. Walls collapsed.
He lay in the rubble. Coughing blood. His Ironclad Form flickered and died. He couldn't hold it anymore.
Everything hurt. Everything was broken.
But he was still alive.
Why?
He looked up through the destroyed wall.
Scylla stood in the center of the square. She could have killed him. That last attack could have taken his head off.
But she held back. Just enough to break him without killing him.
She wanted him to suffer first.
No.
That wasn't it.
Rhen looked into her eyes. Those crimson eyes that saw everything.
She was testing him.
She wanted to see if he would stay down. If he would surrender. If he would beg.
Rhen spat blood. He grabbed a broken piece of wood. Used it to push himself up.
His legs shook. His body screamed at him to stop. To lie down. To rest.
He stood anyway.
"Not... done yet," he gasped.
Scylla's smile grew wider. "Excellent. You pass."
"Pass what?"
"The test. To see if you deserved an honorable death." She raised one sword in salute. "Most humans break when they see true power. They beg. They cry. They piss themselves and call for their mothers. But you? You stand. Even knowing you'll lose. Even knowing death is certain. You stand."
She lowered her sword. Her crimson aura faded slightly.
"I was human once, you know. Long ago. Before Lord Vorath showed me the truth. Before I evolved beyond weakness." She looked at her hands. At the power flowing through them. "I remember what it was like. The fear. The fragility. The knowledge that any day could be your last."
"Then why?" Rhen forced the words out. "Why serve him? Why spread this corruption?"
"Because I'm free now." Scylla's eyes burned with conviction. "Free from aging. Free from disease. Free from the weakness that killed my family. My children. My husband. I watched them all die while I could do nothing. I was powerless then."
She looked at him. Really looked at him.
"But I'm not powerless anymore. And neither are these villagers. They've been freed from mortality. Freed from pain. Yes, they've lost their humanity. But they've gained so much more."
"They lost everything that mattered," Rhen said. "Love. Choice. Hope. They're monsters now."
"No, Captain. They're perfect. And soon, everyone will be like them. That's Lord Vorath's gift to the world. Evolution. Ascension. Perfection."
"That's not evolution. That's extinction."
"Then we disagree." Scylla raised both swords. "And only one of us will live to see who's right."
She moved.
Faster than before. Impossibly fast.
Rhen had no sword. No armor. No trump card left.
He had only his fists.
He punched.
His golden Essence flared one last time. His fist connected with her blade.
For one impossible moment, he pushed it back an inch.
Then Scylla's other sword came from the side.
It went through his stomach.
Clean through.
Rhen looked down. Saw the blade sticking out of his body. Saw his blood dripping from the edge.
No pain yet. Shock was too strong.
Scylla pulled the blade out. Blood poured from the wound.
Rhen fell to his knees.
"You fought well," Scylla said softly. "Better than most. Your name was Rhen Moss. I will remember it."
Rhen tried to speak. Blood filled his mouth. He coughed. Spat it out.
"Others... will come," he gasped. "Stronger than me. They'll... stop you."
"I'm counting on it." Scylla cleaned her blade with a cloth. "Fighting the strong is what makes life interesting. I hope they're as brave as you."
Rhen's vision was fading. Getting dark around the edges.
He thought of his knights. His squad. The people he'd trained with. Laughed with. Fought beside.
He thought of Serra. Of Deron. Of all the others who'd died today.
At least he'd bought them time. At least the survivors might escape.
That was something. That was enough.
His last thought was a prayer. Not for himself. He was done. But for the people running through the forest. For the kingdom he'd served. For the world that would have to face what was coming.
Please, he thought. Please let someone stop this.
Then the darkness took him.
Captain Rhen Moss died kneeling. Sword broken. Body shattered. But spirit unbroken.
Scylla looked at his body for a long moment. Then she turned away.
"Morne," she called. "How many survivors escaped?"
The alchemist appeared from behind a building. Still writing in his journal. Still smiling.
"Approximately fifteen villagers plus eight knights made it to the forest," he said. "Should I send the Hollows after them?"
"No." Scylla sheathed her swords. "Let them run. Let them spread word of what happened here. Fear is a weapon, Morne. The more they fear us, the less they'll resist when the Grand Harvest truly begins."
"Wise as always, Lady Scylla." Morne gestured to the transformed villagers. They stood in neat rows now. Waiting for commands like soldiers. "What about these? We have over one hundred stable Hollows. My best batch yet."
"Add them to the army. We march to the next village at dawn."
"Three villages in one week. Lord Vorath will be pleased."
"Lord Vorath is always three steps ahead." Scylla looked toward the horizon. Toward the south. Toward the Scorched Reach where her master waited. "The timeline is accelerating. The kingdoms are growing suspicious. We need to corrupt as many regions as possible before they can organize a real defense."
She pulled out a small crystal from her belt. It glowed with dark purple light.
Communication Essence. A direct line to Vorath himself.
She channeled her power into it. The crystal brightened. A voice emerged. Calm. Elegant. Educated.
Male.
"Scylla. Report."
Even through the crystal, even as just a voice, the power was undeniable. This was a being that commanded Demon Lords. That bent reality to his will.
This was Vorath.
"Ashvale is complete, my lord," Scylla said. She bowed even though he couldn't see her. Over two hundred converted. Fifteen survivors were allowed to escape. Captain Rhen Moss of Ironhold's Third Regiment has been eliminated. Morne's newest formula shows ninety-seven percent stability. We're ready to proceed to the next phase."
Silence for a moment. Then:
"Excellent work. Both of you. Morne, your refinements are progressing faster than anticipated. How long until we can weaponize the airborne variant?"
Morne's face lit up like a child being praised. "Two months, my lord. Perhaps less. The infection vectors are stabilizing beautifully. Soon, we won't need to poison wells. We can simply release the corruption into the wind and watch entire cities fall in hours."
"Magnificent. This will change everything. The Grand Harvest was planned for six months from now, but we may be able to accelerate."
Scylla's eyes widened slightly. "Accelerate, my lord? To when?"
"Three months. Perhaps four. The other Lords are growing impatient. Serath wants to move on to the northern kingdoms. Ashmar is preparing her forces in the Cinder Chain. Even Kavros stirs in his jungle. The time for subtlety is ending, Scylla. Soon, the world will know that the Age of Demons has returned."
"And the resistance? Ironhold will send forces when they learn what happened here."
"Let them come." Vorath's voice held dark amusement. "The stronger they send, the better specimens they'll make. In fact, I'm counting on the kingdoms to send their best. Their heroes. Their champions. Their Essence masters. Each one will become a commander in our army. Each one will help us harvest their former friends."
Scylla smiled. She understood perfectly. "You want them to fight back."
"Of course. A harvest is no fun if the wheat doesn't struggle. Besides..." His voice dropped lower. More serious. "There's a rumor. A whisper. Something about chains of silver and eyes that see through corruption. If the rumors are true, he's begun moving again after six years of hiding."
Scylla's smile vanished. Her hand went to her sword. "You think he's real? The one from the old reports? The Shadow of Ironhold?"
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. But if he is... if Dain Arlow has finally stopped running... then this will become very interesting indeed."
"Should I hunt him?"
"No. Let him come to us. Let him gather his little crew. Let him think he has a chance. The higher they climb, the farther they fall. And when he does fall, when I finally break that stubborn spirit of his, he'll make the perfect general for our army."
"As you command, my lord."
"Proceed to villages Twelve and Fifteen. Thresh is already moving on village Nine. I want the entire borderland corrupted within two weeks. Scylla, this is our moment. Don't waste it."
"I won't fail you, my lord."
"You never do. Vorath out."
The crystal's light died.
Scylla looked at Morne. "You heard him. We move at dawn. Get those Hollows organized. I want them combat-ready."
"Already done, my lady. They're remarkably stable. I've even managed to preserve some of their combat training from when they were human. That blacksmith, for instance, still remembers how to forge. Fascinating how muscle memory persists even after transformation."
"Save the science lessons, Morne. Just make sure they're ready to kill."
"Of course, my lady."
Scylla walked through the destroyed village one last time. Bodies everywhere. Blood on the streets. Buildings burning.
This was her work. Her art. Her purpose.
Some might call it evil. Might call her a monster.
But she'd been called worse. By better people.
She didn't care. Because she'd found something more important than morality.
Power.
Purpose.
A reason to exist beyond just surviving day to day.
Lord Vorath had given her that. Had taken a broken woman and forged her into something magnificent.
She would repay that gift a thousand times over.
Even if it meant drowning the world in blood.
MEANWHILE - THE FOREST
Anna crashed through the undergrowth. Branches whipped her face. Roots tried to trip her. But she didn't slow down.
Lily was heavy in her arms. The little girl had stopped crying. She just stared with wide, empty eyes.
Shock. Anna knew shock. She was probably in shock, too.
Around her, the other survivors ran. Most of them were crying. Some were wounded. Blood soaked through makeshift bandages.
The eight remaining knights led them deeper into the forest. Away from the village. Away from the screaming. Away from death.
Thom was at the front. His face was pale. His hands shook on his sword.
Kev brought up the rear. He kept looking over his shoulder. Waiting for the pursuit that hadn't come yet.
They ran for what felt like hours. Maybe it was only minutes. Time was broken now. Nothing made sense.
Finally, Thom raised his hand. "Stop. We stop here."
Everyone collapsed. Gasping. Exhausted. Terrified.
Anna set Lily down gently. She checked her daughter for injuries. No blood. No wounds. Thank the gods.
"Mama," Lily whispered. "Where's Papa?"
Anna's throat closed up. She couldn't answer. Couldn't say the words.
"He's not coming, baby," she finally managed. "Papa's... Papa's gone."
Lily's face crumpled. She started crying. Not loud wails. Quiet tears that broke Anna's heart worse than any scream.
Anna held her. Rocked her. Whispered lies about how everything would be okay.
Because what else could she do?
Around them, the other survivors dealt with their own grief. An old woman prayed. A teenage boy punched a tree until his knuckles bled. A mother held her two children and sang a lullaby with a voice that wouldn't stop shaking.
Thom sat down heavily. He was staring at nothing. His eyes were dead.
"Captain Rhen is gone," he said to no one in particular. "Serra's gone. Deron's gone. Half our squad... just gone."
Kev sat beside him. "We need to keep moving. Head for Ironhold. Warn the capital."
"Warn them about what? Are demons real? Can they turn entire villages with poison? That they have warriors strong enough to kill a captain in single combat?" Thom laughed. It was an ugly sound. "They'll think we're mad. They'll think we ran away. They'll"
"They'll listen," a woman's voice interrupted. "Because I'll make them listen."
Everyone looked up.
One of the knights stood. Her armor was bloodstained. Her left arm hung uselessly. But her eyes were fierce.
Her name was Mira. She was the youngest of the knights. Only nineteen. But she'd killed six Hollows today before the retreat.
"I watched Captain Rhen die," she said. Her voice didn't shake. "I watched Serra sacrifice herself. I watched an entire village get corrupted by a madman with poison and a demon who talked about evolution. I'm not going to let that be for nothing."
She looked at each survivor. Each knight.
"We're going to Ironhold. We're going to report everything. Every detail. Every death. And then we're going to come back with an army and make those monsters pay."
Silence.
Then Kev stood. "She's right. Captain Rhen bought us time to escape. We can't waste that gift crying in the forest."
Thom looked at them. Then at the survivors. Then at his own shaking hands.
Slowly, he stood too.
"Okay," he said. "Okay. We move at first light. Rest now. Two-hour watches. Kev, you take first. I'll take second. Mira, you're third if your arm can hold a sword."
"It can," Mira said. She flexed her injured arm. Winced. But it moved.
Anna watched this exchange. Watched these broken people pull themselves back together.
She needed to be like them. For Lily. For herself.
She needed to survive. To warn others. To make sure Ashvale wasn't forgotten.
The village was gone. Thomas was gone. Her old life was gone.
But she was still here.
And that meant something.
It had to mean something.
She looked up at the sky. Dark clouds still covered everything. The cold still pressed down.
Somewhere out there, a demon walked free. Planning more massacres. More death.
But somewhere out there, someone had to be able to stop them.
Someone had to be stronger.
Anna closed her eyes and prayed one more time.
Please, she thought. Please let there be heroes left in this world.
Please let there be hope.
Because we have nothing else.
SOMEWHERE ELSE - DEEPER IN THE FOREST
A man sat alone by a small fire.
He was young. Maybe twenty-three. Black hair that hung to his shoulders. Eyes that were strange, silver, like moonlight on water. His face was handsome but scarred. A line across his jaw. Another through his eyebrow. A third on his neck.
These were killing scars. Fighting scars. The marks of someone who'd survived things that should have killed him.
He wore simple clothes. Dark and worn. No armor. No visible weapons.
But around his wrists, faint lines glowed in the firelight. Like chains made of silver light. They appeared for a moment, then faded.
The man was staring at his hands. At those fading chains.
He'd felt it. Hours ago. A massive surge of Essence. Multiple surges. All from the direction of the village.
A battle. A big one.
And then... nothing. Silence. Death.
He'd stayed away. Stayed hidden. Like he'd been doing for six years.
Because getting involved meant people died. Everyone he'd ever tried to protect had died or worse.
His mother. His father. His teacher. His friends.
His sister.
The memory hit him like a knife. A little girl's face. Smiling. Calling his name. "Brother! Watch this!"
Then her scream. The black veins. The red eyes. The corruption is taking her.
And him. Powerless to stop it. Too weak. Too slow. Too useless.
He'd tried to cure her. Spent two years hunting for a way to reverse corruption.
He'd failed.
She was gone. Lost to Vorath's power. One of countless victims.
So, he'd run. Hidden. Tried to forget. Tried to let the world handle its own problems.
Six years of running. Six years of surviving. Six years of being a coward.
But tonight.
Tonight, he'd felt something different in that Essence surge.
Desperation. Honor. Sacrifice.
Someone had died well. Died fighting. Died protecting others.
The man, Dain, clenched his fists. The chains flickered brighter for a moment.
"Not your problem," he whispered to himself. "Stay out of it. Survive. Like always."
But his hands wouldn't stop shaking.
And in his heart, a small voice whispered back:
How long are you going to run?
Dain stood up abruptly. He kicked dirt over his fire. Grabbed his pack.
He'd move camps. Go deeper into the mountains. Farther from civilization. Farther from temptation.
He took one step.
Then heard it.
Voices. Coming through the forest. Getting closer.
People. Multiple people. Some crying. Some wounded.
Survivors.
Dain froze. His every instinct screamed at him to leave. To run. To hide.
But he didn't move.
The voices got closer. He could hear words now. A child crying for her father. A woman saying "it's okay, baby" over and over like a prayer.
Dain closed his eyes.
Saw his sister's face again. Her smile. Her trust. She believed that her big brother would always protect her.
He'd failed her.
Could he live with failing others, too?
The survivors stumbled into his camp clearing. About twenty people. Most looked dead on their feet.
They saw him. Froze.
For a long moment, nobody moved.
Then the woman holding the little girl stepped forward. She was exhausted. Terrified. Desperate.
But her eyes were fierce. Determined.
"Please," she said. "Please help us."
Dain looked at her. At the little girl in her arms. At the other survivors. The knights are trying to protect them with broken bodies and shattered spirits.
He looked at his own hands. At the chains flickering around his wrists.
Six years. Six years of running. Of hiding. Of being useless.
Maybe it was time for that to end.
"How many are hurt?" he asked. His voice was rough from disuse. He hadn't spoken to anyone in weeks.
The woman's eyes widened. "You'll help us?"
"I asked how many are hurt."
"Three badly. Five more with minor injuries. We were. There was an attack. Our village. Everyone died. We barely escaped and"
"Stop." Dain held up a hand. "I don't need the story. Just the facts. Hurt people need treatment now. Talk later."
He grabbed his pack and pulled out medical supplies. He'd learned field medicine years ago. When he was still trying to be a hero.
Before he learned that heroes just get people killed.
But tonight.
Tonight, he'd make an exception.
Just this once.
Then he'd go back to running.
That's what he told himself.
But deep down, in a place he'd tried to bury for six years, he knew the truth.
The running was over.
The war had found him anyway.
And Dain Arlow was about to stop being a ghost and become something far more dangerous.
A man with nothing left to lose.