A tremor ran through the Spiritum as Valens watched tumultuous waves rise from the great ocean of the fog, churning tides of it drawing back from the streams feeding from it. In just a second, a thousand streams dried out in the ever-stretching web of the Endless Mist as the Dread finally found its way to the surface.

Forcing the outside away proved impossibly difficult. There was a rattling, shaking feeling in the pit of his stomach, sending shivers down his spine. The reek of it seeped into the Spiritum even as Valens focused on the multiple dimensions of it with all his worth.

A part of his mind went silent at the sight. Death wasn’t something he was a stranger to. Death was everywhere in the Empire, and here it had a much stronger presence across the air. The other part, though, screamed at him.

Run away. Don’t do it.

It was past time to mull over what-ifs and whatnots. Past time now that he was deep in the fog.

His Lifesurges poured forth in crashing tides. The mist churned and twisted about in response, trying to wrap itself around the lively surges and choke them dry. More mana fed into them to keep them alive, keep them drilling further into the unknown.

He caught sight of the souls being held in those streams. Bound together in the deep craters, covered with insidious tendrils of the Endless Mist, struggling instinctively against their hold, failing desperately as it strangled them with force. They looked so small against the endless reaches of the fog, little humans waging a losing war, their minds brittle as glass.

It was delicate work saving them one by one. Valens couldn’t have done it without the Ancient Riftshards replenishing his mana source. Couldn’t have done it without Captain Edric keeping the horde occupied, Nomad holding him straight, Garran and Dain coming to his side.

The frequencies even showed him familiar figures across the square. A firestorm burned wild amongst the Shifters as Master Archibald showed his mastery over the Inferno. Other figures, stray adventurers from unknown guilds, battled out in the open by the Church’s side.

To actually force a Dread to its knees, though?

That wasn’t happening. Its presence was like a giant boulder crushing into the shoulders. Valens could feel his companions stooping ever so slowly under its pressure as the Blessed Father’s lights disintegrated into pieces of small motes, drawing back from the Haven’s Reach and being pulled toward somewhere he couldn’t see.

So much for the Divines, then.

He pushed. Knew that there was little else he could do to change it as he was now. He needed more. More of anything. And completing the Trial would give him that.

At least that was the hope.

…….

Edric shook his head off as the ground wavered as if they were on a little boat being rocked by the great waves of an ocean. He stumbled a step back and clasped the handle of his sword tight, peering up at the creature that freed itself from the clutches of the earth.

Its shadow covered the whole square like a thick shroud, two humanoid arms almost big enough to clasp the Blessed Father’s sword. That was where the resemblances ended. The rest of the Dread was an amalgam of twisted shadows and wriggling worms, a great deal of pus and invisible pressure being laid across Belgrave. Hundreds of narrow-slitted eyes dotted its head, hair thick and squirming like the tendrils of the Weeping Horror.

Then he looked at his own sword, smothered in sacred flames. How could anyone ever hope to rise against something so great? How could a sword carve a piece out of that dark, slick skin when it seemed harder than steel?

Had there ever been a man who could force a Dread to its knees?

Edric couldn’t come up with an answer. True Terrors were scary enough, but Dreads were over Level 500, and even in the Broken Lands the protocol against these creatures was simple.

You see one, you run away.

Not here, though. This was the capital of Melton Kingdom. Running away meant leaving the people alone with this abomination.

Help is coming. Even if they couldn’t handle this creature, the higher-ups could use the boundaries to limit its presence. We only have to find a way to get these people out of this place.

“Captain, the Undead horde and the Shifters are retreating. What are your orders?” Mas said, shifting uncomfortably against the sheer destruction the Dread unleashed by simply breaking out of the ground. Thousands dead and thousands suffering from the aftermath. Edric found that he couldn’t feel much of anything anymore.

“We hold on,” he said simply, hating his voice the second he heard it. “Help is on the way. Secure the people near the front lines. Have the disciples carry them to the Church.”

There were around five hundred disciples here. Seven hundred if he counted the others holding the second main entrance of the Golden Church with the rest of the Templars.

Belgrave’s population was around a million.

At least they’re not throwing themselves at us anymore.

But that hardly changed the fact that someone had to carry these people away with force since they were just standing there, frozen like statues. Could be that the Dread’s presence overwhelmed the wicked force controlling them. Could be anything that whipped their minds off and left them as husks of their former selves.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Hold on? Against a Dread?” Mas asked, voice rasping.

Edric squinted up at the small dots standing over its back, ears ringing madly with a sound that just wouldn’t go away.

Where is Lenora? I couldn’t see her.

“Captain, we can’t—” Mas’s voice got cut short.

Edric’s skin prickled as a terrifying pressure descended upon him. The Dread’s presence was like a candle against this fiery storm, threatening to press him flat to the ground, stealing the breath out of his throat.

He wheezed. He stumbled, squinting skyward to the Dread, feeling his skin tightening painfully around his neck.

What… in the Nine Hells is this?!

He peered hastily about him in full panic, veins throbbing, heart thumping in his chest.

What he saw across the square made him pause.

Thousands of people were coming to themselves, blinking wearily around them as if they were waking up from a deep slumber. Slowly, each one turned toward the Dread looming in the square, staring at a singular figure hovering over the giant creature’s back.

Valens…

Then a notification flashed in before Edric’s eyes, and a searing pain lanced down from his mind.

[You are in the presence of an Ancient One.]

....

Garran halted with the sword in hand, its tip about to pierce into Lenora’s heart and kill her then and there. Been a hell of a struggle getting a hold of her, he had to admit. The shadowy business of the Hexmenders had never been his forté, after all.

Still, they managed to do it. That is what you do when you have not much else to work about. Handle the source of the problem and hope that it will help with the rest.

This time, things didn’t work like that.

“Waking,” Dain grunted, his golden armor cracked in the pauldron and letting out the golden lights inside. His sword was at the ready in case the neighbors who were having a party on the back of this creature ever decided to come knocking on their door.

Uh…

Garran nearly retched when he turned and peered behind him. The Shriekers and the Hollows were busy with another deal. A swarm of them had gathered around that strange woman, prostrating themselves to her like a host of newly brought slaves welcoming their Master, some of them licking her feet while the others were busy fondling her little robe.

I’m going to get rid of that damned—

A hand reached out and clasped around his arm. Or tried to, since the armor proved too thick for those delicate fingers to wrap around. It managed to bring Garran’s attention back, though, after which he turned and gazed into Lenora’s face.

Those dark, pulsing veins were slowly receding.

“I-I…” she spattered, breath wheezing weakly out of her lips, chest rattling as she lost her voice to a coughing fit. Blood trickled down the sides of her lips, body broken and bruised from all around, carved in pieces by the same blade Garran was holding in his hand.

He never liked much of her. He had been taught to be cautious of that line of work. Hexmenders were unstable people, and anytime there was a chance for them to lose control. Whenever that did happen, it was the Templar’s job to deal with it. That came with a certain distance to it. That made it hard for Garran to get close to this woman.

Yet now, she looked so little in the pool of her blood. So little of her was left after she was forced to go through that hellish ritual.

“You stay here,” he said to Dain, who gave him a small nod. Never been much of a talker, Dain never was. Garran appreciated it now more than ever. They were past the point of using their words. It was past time someone stuck a sword through that woman.

Before he could take a couple of steps, something crushed into his back. Rocked the breath out of his chest and sent him reeling to the ground. He coughed up blood and rolled weakly to the side, a pitiful wheeze escaping from his lips.

What—

Shadows broke into thousands of fluttering strips in the distance, dispersing as if an invisible hand swatted them across with terrifying strength. The strange woman blinked in between her diminishing swarm, eyes wide as saucers.

It wasn’t me.

Garran tried to haul himself back to his feet, but his body refused to move under this pressure. There was hardly any air for him to breathe—then there was no air at all.

Instinctively, he turned to the back and peered at the Healer. If there was anyone who could help him now, it was the Healer. It was the Healer—

The moment he laid eyes upon him, his mind reeled. Blood poured from his nostrils.

[You are in the presence of an Ancient One.]

It was you.

Then the whole world went black.

……

Nomad felt it in the core of his stone. Prickling there underneath the false heart. Tingling in the tips of his bones that held Valens stable over the creature. Voices here and voices there. Seemed as if he would never get rid of them.

Fine, that.

Not much he could do about it.

He pushed on, false skin rotting, dripping like wax over the creature and hissing, smoke rising, the stench of it sending burning pleasure down his stone.

Against the best of his efforts, his core hardly changed. Twisted through and through. Was he an undead at all? In the past, he was many things at once. A General. A Hero. A Traitor.

Today, it looked like he would be the protector.

Suited him well, he reckoned. You couldn’t gauge the worth of a coward with a better test, to his thinking.

So he held on. Felt the change in the Healer like the sun was making a way down the earth. The heat of it was sickening, the voices in his head scampering, echoing terrors deep in the back of his mind.

Did these belong to the Tainted Father? He seemed pissed, after all these years, and this time the subject of it wasn’t Nomad. Could it be that he didn’t approve of the way the Evercrest woman had handled the operation? She’d completed her Trial, no? Opened one of the Nine Gates and started the apocalypse. Well, a part of it, at least, since the other eight still stood strong.

Step by step, cruel Father. Can’t have ‘em all at once.

Nomad snickered. Barked out a laugh as Valens rose another inch from the steely skin of the creature. Oh, he knew well what that fuss was all about. Could feel it in the core of his stone, the rage building up in his voice.

The children of the Ancients were on a mission to wake their slumbering parents up, alright. Nine Gates for the Nine Forsaken. Once they all opened up and the Forsaken woke up, the chaos would take over the world. Some of them would work for the Tainted Father. That had always been the case, as Nomad remembered. Some others would try to do their own thing.

There was a little devious detail, however.

A screech.

The Evercrest woman’s eyes bulged out in the midst of her shadowy swarm. Her head jerked up, neck twisting as sinews popped all around it. Pale skin got paler still as she stumbled forward through her pawns, the thick shroud giving way, the Templar in the golden armor crushing into the ground.

Something was yanking at her, pulling her toward the Healer, pushing the shadows out of sight. Something insidious was at work here, and Nomad could feel it resonating with the gemstone planted inside his heart.

He turned as he felt the wind change. Even the Dread halted, as if it felt the ripples through the air.

Then he saw them. Thousands upon thousands of people down below, stretched in an endless tide across the square. Now that the Shifters and the undead were retreating, those poor souls were left completely wide in the open, dying slow, miserable deaths under the Dread’s influence.

Not anymore, though.

Because Valens was holding them tight with his surges. Pouring life into their minds, bringing them back from the deep slumber they had been forced to suffer. Thousands of them opened their eyes wide and blinked round at the Dread’s back, squinting toward the Healer.

It was like watching a God do his heavenly work. But then, Nomad remembered, even the Gods were afraid of the Ancients, and this one was no simple child.

.......