Once the portal closed, the darkness did not simply return. It settled in like a thick miasma.
Zerin stood motionless, his breathing slow and measured, trusting entirely in the Veinborne to deliver her to safety. Even so, that trust was more than mere hope. He did not know the limits of the [Red Door], nor whether the creature could truly fulfill the task he had given it.
So, it was no surprise when the air felt wrong—colder. Perhaps it was only his own doubt, the uneasy sense of finding himself in the same situation yet again.
A rasping cry echoed through the chamber, followed by the hurried clatter of steps closing fast from the dark.
Then came the sound of steel.
Zerin turned just in time to see Tina block the blow blindly, sparks bursting as her cinquedea caught the axe's edge. The hag's crude bardiche scraped along the short blade before being deflected, its head slamming into the stone floor.
Tina staggered back, caught herself, and twisted smoothly, yielding only enough space to retaliate. Her short sword thrust forward, vanishing into the hag's throat. Cold, azure blood spilled over her knuckles as she wrenched the blade free, and the creature collapsed at her feet.
One down.
Which meant—
A cold weight settled in his chest as another hag pressed the attack, its longsword already angling toward Tina.
Zerin stepped forward and lunged, all sound swallowed by the rush of blood in his ears as he moved to intercept.
"Get back!" Zerin shouted.
Striking true, the [Astral Blade] slashed in a downward arc that cleaved through the creature's forearm. Before it could even react, Zerin drove his shoulder into the hag, its bony body rebounding off the stone wall. He then pierced her hollow chest with his blade, pinning the creature to the stone.
The creature thrashed, clawing weakly at the air, before it fell limp, slouching forward on Zerin's sword.
Then, something struck him from the side. The attack was pathetic, like a dead limb flailing due to rigor mortis. Zerin tore his blade free in a violent wrench, pivoted, and kicked the last hag square in the chest. The impact sent it tumbling, its limbs like twigs caught in a storm.
He turned to Tina—adrenaline etched across her features—then whipped back to the hag.
The pitiful, hideous creature scrambled upright, its spine bent at an impossible angle, supporting a body far too long for its frame. Thin, elongated arms hung down like dead weights as it settled into a hunched, almost defensive posture.
Then, without warning, it turned—and fled.
Zerin took a single step toward it, ready to give chase—but a sharp, choked cry stopped him in place.
"Hhnng!"
His gaze dropped, widening as he saw the longsword buried in Tina's side. With another strained gasp, she wrenched the blade free and let it clatter to the floor, staggering where she stood. Immediately, he dropped his own blade and rushed to steady her.
"Shit. Ecludia—get over here!" He pressed his hand firmly over the wound, feeling her warm blood sift through his fingers.
Tina's eyes flared wide, her fingers digging into his shoulders as a sharp cry tore from her lips.
"I'm going to sit you down, all right?" Zerin said, his voice low. He held her gaze until she nodded, trembling. Carefully, he guided her backward, supporting her as she slid against the wall. His eyes caught the dark red smear tracing the stone behind her.
She sank to the ground with a harsh wince. Her voice was barely more than a whisper, trembling with fear and disbelief.
"Am I… dying?"
Ecludia rushed in and dropped gracefully to her knees. Her hand moved through the darkness, searching until Tina flinched—then she found it: a deep, penetrating wound in her side, carved by the longsword.
"Can you heal this?" Zerin glanced down at his blood-slicked hand before wiping it against his clothing.
Ecludia nodded. "Yes. I'll begin right away." She steadied her voice, even as tension showed in her movements. "The Soul Cores you gave me will be more than enough."
Zerin forced himself to trust her. His gaze scanned the others, frozen in place at what had occurred—each face, except for Ivan's, showing shock, fear, and relief.
Slowly, Zerin stepped back.
"When you can get her moving, follow me down the corridor," he said plainly. The message wasn't just for Ecludia; it was meant for all of them. And, in that second very pair of eyes in the room met him, and he knew they understood.
Olivia's timid voice broke the darkness. "All… by yourself? But that is… dangerous."
Before Zerin could respond, Ecludia interjected, firm but calm. "It's okay, Olivia. You have to trust him."
Olivia's eyes darted nervously at his red eyes, then vaguely toward Ecludia's direction, her fingers twisting at her side. She bit her lip, uncertainty dominating every line of her face. After a long shaky breath, she nodded, voice just a whisper:
"Trust. Yes. Miss Ecludia."
Zerin caught the shift—the way her posture eased, the physical manifestation of her nervousness fading. But he also noticed the title.
Miss Ecludia?
He shook the thought aside. Without another word, he shifted and sprinted down the corridor after the fleeing hag.
Ecludia exhaled and opened her palm. A tiny spark of light appeared at its center, flickering like a firefly. She overturned her hand, and in an instant, her entire palm was engulfed in flame.
Tina flinched as her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness illuminating their faces, but fear quickly gave way to worry.
"It's all right," Ecludia said softly. "My flames aren't hot." She smiled, pressing her hand briefly to her own cheek. The flames seeped into her skin, casting a warm, golden glow that seemed to bloom from within, highlighting the gentle features and the caring expression held on her face. Tina's eyes lingered, momentarily caught by her beauty.
Stone walls blurred past as Zerin tore down the corridor. He did not have time—if the creature alerted the others, they would be swarmed before he could save even half of them.
That knowledge drove him faster.
He whipped past the alcove where the shattered remains of crates still lay, his eyes locked on the limping figure ahead. The creature's breath rasped as it struggled to run; its body was clearly not built for such exertion. Its malformed limbs flailed as it tried to use them to aid its miserable escape.
The hag's face contorted in pure panic—eyes bulging, lips pulled back over jagged, broken teeth, large nostrils flaring. Then, it dared to glance over its shoulder, and its scream was something of pure fear and disbelief.
Zerin poured every ounce of momentum into the strike. His blade speared forward, breaching the creature's back and sinking deep between the creature's shoulder blades. The force lifted it onto its toes, its body squirming, before it sunk back onto his sword.
Zerin raised his foot and kicked the corpse free. It slammed face-first onto the stone floor in front of him.
His chest heaved, each breath a deliberate effort to steady his nerves as he stared at the creature's nape, ensuring it did not rise again.
Silence followed—only to be broken by his heartbeat.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Zerin turned to head back the way he had come, then froze, mid-step.
To his right, a stairwell dipped downward. At its base, a pack of hags halted mid-stride, their cobalt eyes like the heart of a glacier—every pair fixed directly on him.
His body locked up, and for a single, suspended heartbeat, time seemed to stretch.
Then, as one, the pack's faces twisted into vile snarls, and a war cry erupted, rattling his bones. Instinct took over, and Zerin hardly had time to think.