CHAPTER 56: DANGER

The deployment of the formation was swift. Under the oppressive heat, Rhys, Yuki, and the Wanderers rode their Dune-Skimmers to the calculated point of convergence.

The silence of the desert was eerie; had it not been for the rhythmic hiss of the Dune-Skimmers gliding over the endless white sand, one might have thought oneself deaf.

The sky was pale, already poised to accept the arrival of the Tyrant.

Rhys rode at the head of the procession. The ’Chains of Temporal Stasis’, his month-long masterpiece, rested within his spatial pouch, waiting to unleash its immense power upon the world.

He felt the wild, chaotic energy of the Tempest Djinn core thrumming within his specialised dantian, a familiar storm now tamed to his will.

He was an Artisan, a weaver of wind and runes, and he had never felt more ready.

Yuki rode beside him like a silent, beautiful shadow clad in black leather. The possessive clinginess she had displayed in the workshop was gone, replaced by the focused calm of a predator.

Her light-blue eyes constantly scanned the horizon, her senses attuned to the subtle shifts in the desert’s energy.

She was his guard, his partner, and the most dangerous variable in this entire equation.

The Wanderers followed, led by Bael. Their faces were grim, etched with the tension of the coming battle, but their eyes held a fierce, desperate hope.

This was their final gamble, their one and only chance at the salvation they had craved for centuries.

As they travelled, the signs of the convergence became undeniable. A faint, almost imperceptible rain of grey ash began to fall from the cloudless sky.

’The Titan is here,’ Rhys clenched his fists.

On the horizon, obscured by the falling ash, a silhouette moved. The eastern sky darkened with the shadow of the Stone Golem.

’It is at least a few hundred miles away, yet it looks so huge.’

Just imagining its size made him shiver. Compared to it, the Tyrant was nothing more than a chicken, but for them, even that chicken was lethal.

Rhys dispelled the growing unease in his heart.

There was no way their plan could fail. Even if it did, he was sure he could escape.

In the last month, he had not only created this single formation; escaping was no longer difficult for him.

They reached the designated location—a vast, flat basin chosen by Elder Solon for its perfect topographical neutrality.

The air was thick with a static charge, the kind that precedes a lightning strike. Rhys dismounted, the heavy, leather-bound scroll containing the formation in his hand. This was his stage.

He began to work, setting the 108 nodes in a vast circle. As he moved, invisible threads of wind energy stitched the components together into a single, cohesive web.

The runes inscribed on each node began to glow with a soft, golden light, the entire circle humming with a contained, terrifying energy.

Finally, he strode to the absolute centre and drove the anchor stone, carved from the bone of a Titan, deep into the sand.

The trap was set.

The desert fell quiet, the air heavy and still. Rhys stood in the centre of the huge formation, the golden lines of its runes glowing softly in the sand.

He felt calm; his plan was perfect.

Yuki stood near him, her face serious as she glanced intermittently towards the horizon, her brow furrowed.

Rhys was surprised, for this was the first time he had seen a concerned look on her face.

He asked nothing, his own attention completely fixed upon the movements on the horizon. Behind them, the Wanderers waited.

They were a small group, but their hearts were full of hope. They trusted Rhys; they believed this was their final fight.

Then, they heard it: a deep, heavy sound.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The ground began to tremble with each beat, like a giant heart pounding beneath the desert. A fine rain of grey ash started to fall from the pale sky.

Rhys looked to the west, where he saw a massive shape on the horizon. It was the Titan, the Stone Golem, a walking mountain of black rock.

It moved slowly, but it never stopped. Rhys felt a sense of awe; the Titan was so big, so powerful.

Then, another sound started from the same direction: the roar of a great storm. The wind began to blow, picking up the white sand, and the sky on the horizon turned dark.

The Tempest Djinn was coming... no, it was fleeing.

A smile graced his lips. His plan was working perfectly. At the Titan’s pace, it would reach the Tyrant’s position in approximately ten minutes.

His formation only needed to hold the Tyrant for that long—enough time for the Titan to arrive and crush it.

The storm grew closer, a giant wall of black, swirling sand. In its centre was a single, glowing red eye.

The Wanderers held their weapons tightly; they were scared, but they did not run. Finally, the Tyrant arrived, sweeping into the circle of golden runes.

"NOW!" Rhys shouted, slamming his hand onto the anchor stone.

A bright golden light exploded from the ground.

A huge dome of energy covered the storm. Inside, the swirling sand slowed, and golden chains of light shot up from the ground, wrapping around the Tyrant and holding it fast.

Success.

The Wanderers cheered, their voices full of joy and relief. They had done it. They had trapped the monster that had haunted their people for thousands of years.

They looked at the sky and saw the grey ash falling faster. The Titan was getting closer. Their salvation was near.

But then, something went wrong.

The trapped Tyrant began to change. The black sand inside the golden dome started to glow with a dark, red light.

The red eye in the centre of the storm burned with a new fire. It no longer seemed mindless. It was hatred.

The golden chains started to crack, red lines of energy spreading across them like poison.

A loud warning screamed inside Rhys’s mind.

[WARNING! THE TYRANT’S OVERWHELMING DESIRE FOR SALVATION IS CORRUPTING ITS ESSENCE! IT IS FORCING AN EVOLUTION TO BREAK THE CYCLE! ENTITY IS TRANSFORMING INTO A MALEVOLENT SPIRIT!]

"What does that mean?!" Rhys yelled into the wind, his happy smile gone, his face now a mask of cold dread.

[A MALEVOLENT SPIRIT IS NO LONGER A MERE MEMORY! IT IS A BEING OF PURE, DESTRUCTIVE WILL CAPABLE OF REWRITING THE LAWS OF THIS REALM! THE FORMATION CANNOT HOLD IT! IT IS NOW CONSCIOUS!]

Conscious.

The word hit Rhys like a physical blow. The golden dome shattered like glass. The spirit, now a swirling storm of blood-red sand and pure evil, was free.

Its single, burning eye was now terrifyingly intelligent. It fixed its gaze on Rhys. It knew he was the one who had trapped it.

The cheers of the Wanderers turned into screams of terror. Despair, cold and absolute, washed over Rhys.

He felt a deep emptiness in his chest. The plan, his perfect plan, had failed completely.

This was a disaster. This was not a mindless Tyrant anymore; it was a conscious, vengeful god. The Titan was still minutes away—an eternity too late.

He could not fight it. Its power was a thousand times greater than his own. He was trapped. His mind raced, desperately trying to find a way to turn the situation to their advantage, but there was nothing.

The only way left for him was... to run. Yet the spirit was a storm, and a storm is everywhere at once. Where could he run?

’Luckily, I made an Inter-transfer array,’ Rhys breathed a sigh of relief.