Watching the three of them fight, one thing became immediately clear.
Everything was easier with Trace here.
The Knight held the line with steady, deliberate movements. Sare flowed around it, precise and lethal. And Trace—every time her light flared, even briefly—it shifted the rhythm of the fight. Openings appeared where there shouldn't have been any. Timing snapped into place. The pressure eased just enough to breathe.
And yet—
My unease only deepened.
The Venomclasps weren't fighting the way I'd seen before.
Their attacks were frantic. Erratic. Sloppy in a way that didn't match their nature. Normally, even when aggressive, they moved with a kind of brutal coordination—measured strikes, controlled advances unless driven into a frenzy.
This wasn't that.
This felt… rushed.
As if they were buying time.
The thought crawled up my spine just as Sare's opponent overextended, its movements wide and unfocused. I didn't wait for her to call it.
I moved.
The moment I lunged forward, pain detonated through me. White-hot shock raced along every nerve, stealing my breath and nearly buckling my legs. My vision blurred violently, and I gritted my teeth hard enough to taste blood.
Ignore it.
I drove Midnight forward, slicing across the Venomclasp's chest. The blade didn't bite deep enough to break through its armor—but it didn't need to.
It reacted instantly.
The creature screeched and turned toward me, all of its attention snapping away from Sare in a burst of blind aggression.
That was all she needed.
Sare moved without hesitation. Her spear pierced cleanly into the paralysis point, the Venomclasp locking up mid-motion. She didn't pause. She followed through immediately, driving the spear up into its throat.
The creature collapsed in a lifeless heap at her feet.
I staggered back a step, lungs burning, my body screaming at me for pushing too far again.
One down.
But the feeling didn't ease.
If anything, it grew heavier.
Because as I pulled my eyes off the fallen Venomclasp and scanned the rib again, the same thought kept circling in my mind—louder now, harder to ignore.
You're not fighting to win.
You're stalling.
And whatever the Venomclasps were waiting for…
…it wasn't here yet.
"Asher—rest," Sare said sharply without looking back. "We'll take care of the rest. Keep watch. Something's wrong."
Yeah. I know.
The thought barely formed before pain crushed it flat.
I dropped to one knee, bracing myself against the bone as my breath came in short, uneven pulls. Every inhale felt shallow, unfinished. My head throbbed violently, pressure pounding behind my eyes like something trying to break out. I wanted to think—to understand why it felt off, what we were missing—but the moment I tried, the pain spiked.
Thinking made it worse.
So I stopped.
I stayed kneeling, staring through the blur as the fight continued without me. Steel rang. Light flared. Sare moved with ruthless efficiency, and my Knight pressed the advantage mercilessly. With it there, the battle didn't drag. It didn't turn desperate.
It ended in moments.
Watching them fight without me felt wrong in a different way. Not fear—something quieter. The unsettling realization that I was no longer essential in the middle of it. That I'd become… fragile.
Still, the Knight gave us an edge. Having an ally that followed me without hesitation—one I could trust absolutely—mattered more than I'd expected. Even through the haze, that thought steadied me.
Footsteps rushed toward me.
"Asher."
Trace was there suddenly, urgency sharp in her voice. She crouched and reached for me, pressing her hand gently to my forehead. I barely reacted.
Her expression tightened.
"You're burning up," she said. "And your wounds—they haven't healed properly."
I tried to straighten, tried to wave it off, but the effort sent another wave of dizziness through me.
"We should rest," she continued. "A couple of days. At least."
I opened my mouth to argue.
Nothing came out.
I knew she was right.
One more fight—one more push like that—and I wouldn't just slow them down.
I'd die.
The realization settled heavily, stripping away whatever resistance I had left. I closed my eyes for a moment, jaw tight, then gave a faint nod.
"…Okay," I said quietly.
It wasn't surrender.
It was survival—whether I liked it or not.
And somewhere beneath the pain, beneath the fever and the pounding in my skull, the unease still lingered.
Whatever was wrong…
…it hadn't shown itself yet.
We stayed there for a few minutes, just long enough for my breathing to even out. My chest still burned, but the worst of the shaking passed.
"What's the plan?" I asked quietly. "Are we staying on this rib?"
Part of me already knew the answer. The longer we lingered, the more wrong it felt—like the ground beneath us wasn't meant to hold.
Sare stood, scanning the surrounding forest and the bone beneath our feet. "No," she said after a moment. "We should go back. As fast as possible. We can return tomorrow and scout properly."
Relief flickered through me, thin but real.
"I agree," Trace added, turning her head as she listened over the edge of the rib. "Let's get down."
I pushed myself upright with a low grunt, every movement stiff and protesting. We turned together and started back—
Then I heard it.
Not heavy footfalls.
Not the thunderous charge of something large.
Quick. Light. Wrong.
I turned instinctively toward the sound—
And my Knight moved first.
It leapt in front of me just as something struck. Steel rang sharply as it deflected the blow, but the force behind it was immense. The Knight was driven backward—
Straight into me.
I hit the ground hard, the air tearing from my lungs as pain exploded through my side. Bone, breath, and thought scattered all at once.
"Asher!"
Trace was on me instantly, hands grabbing my arm, hauling me upright before I could even orient myself. My head spun, vision blurring—
"Run!" Sare shouted. "Now!"
I stumbled, dragged forward by Trace—
And that's when I saw it.
The Hollow creature stood ahead of us, half-emerged from the trees, its form wrong in a way that made my skin crawl. Too smooth in places. Too sharp in others. Moving with a speed that didn't match its size, like it had already decided where we'd fall.
The unease that had been gnawing at me all morning finally snapped into clarity.
This was what the Venomclasps had been waiting for.
And we were already too close.
The Hollow creature's features were wrong.
Not unfamiliar—wrong.
Its head was that of a hellhound. I knew it immediately. I'd fought one during my Vigil, remembered the shape of its skull, the way its jaws snapped, the way its presence pressed down on your instincts.
But this—
This was something else.
Its fangs were longer. Sharper. They jutted past its closed mouth, uneven and cruel, slick with drool that seeped through its lips and dripped onto the bone below like it couldn't quite contain itself. The sound of its breathing was wet and eager, more like a starving animal than a thinking creature.
It stood on two legs.
That alone sent a cold spike through me.
It was taller than my Knight—broader too—its posture relaxed in a way that suggested it didn't need to rush. Like it already knew how this ended. One arm hung loose at its side, and in the other—
A weapon.
A sickle.
The blade curved wickedly, its edge dark and nicked, thick enough to catch bone without slowing. It wasn't crude. It wasn't random.
It was made to kill.
What the hell… I thought, confusion giving way to something heavier.
Its body was wrapped in something that looked like chitinous armor—but it wasn't armor at all. It was part of it. Layered plates flexed and shifted as it moved, protecting vital points without restricting its motion in the slightest. Every step it took was smooth. Controlled. Fast.
Too fast.
Too agile.
This wasn't a monster that flailed or charged blindly.
This was a predator that knew how to fight.
I didn't need Sare to say it. Didn't need Trace to react.
Running wasn't a choice.
It was the only option.
Because if it reached us—
There would be no second strike.
No recovery.
No clever solution.
Just death, swift and deliberate, wielded by something that had already decided we were prey.