Edinburgh's southern half lay shrouded in unsettling silence, broken only by soft cries of survivors and crackling distant fires. The streets, haunted by Cu Sith chaos, bore scars of destruction: overturned carts, broken stones, and charred remnants of homes. Shadows flickered across alleys, the air thick with fear and ash. Robert stood near the southern barricade, a gentle glow from his left eye scanning the ruins. He frowned as the Nuckelavee's toxic mist slithered through doorways and windows, seeking life to snuff out.
Snow stood at his side, her hands glowing softly as she purified corrupted ground. Her sapphire core flickered dimly, her focus unwavering. "This won't be enough," she said, voice steady. "If we're going to save anyone, we need proper shelter."
Robert nodded, gaze fixed on distant wreckage. "The bomb shelters from the old wars might still be intact," he said. "If we can find them, they'll have a chance."
Captain Monty Scott approached, his expression unreadable. His uniform, dirtied and torn, clung to him, marked by battles survived. He spread a frayed, smudged map across a crate. "We've set up checkpoints leading south," he explained, pointing to marks. "Small teams every mile, leading to the portal. Clear the streets, guide survivors, and we'll get them out."
"If the Cu Sith don't find them first," Snow muttered, adjusting her gloves. Her turret floated above her shoulder, pulsing softly as it scanned.
"They'll no' last forever," Hamish added, voice firm, hand on his sword's hilt. "But we'll do what needs doing."
"We'll find them," Robert said firmly, gazing at survivors huddled near the barricade. Families clung together, faces pale with fear. Children sobbed quietly, muffled against mothers' shoulders. Snow's eyes softened as she watched. "No time to lose," she said. "If we don't act now, they won't make it."
Robert's jaw tightened. "Then we move," he said. "Healers, start purifying the area of the Nuckelavee's toxic mist, and find old World War II bomb shelters. Monty, your soldiers secure checkpoints. The rest of us sweep streets, keep Cu Sith off their trail."
Casters with life, light, or fire magic were to sanitize searched structures, ensuring no toxic mist lingered. The team nodded briskly, setting to work on search, rescue, and sterilization.
The first shelter was a narrow cavity beneath a collapsed building. Soldiers cleared rubble while Snow and a light mage stabilized crumbling walls with magic. Dust choked the air, and muted cries echoed below.
Inside, fifty survivors packed the dark, suffocating space. Their faces were pale from stress, clothes tattered, streaked with grime. Some stared blankly, hollow with shock; others clung desperately to rescuers, hands trembling.
A young boy sat near the back, knees drawn to his chest. He gripped a chipped, bent toy car, his anchor to a lost world. An elderly woman muttered prayers, voice hoarse, stroking a threadbare scarf. A man with bloodied hands and a bandaged leg reached out to Robert, voice cracking. "Thank you… thank you for finding us," he whispered.
Hamish stood at the entrance, silhouetted against dim light filtering through rubble. "Quickly now," he barked, motioning survivors forward. "We've no time to waste." His eyes softened, helping a young mother lift her child from shadows to daylight. "Easy there," he added, catching her stumble.
Snow glanced back, purifying the shelter's last corner, banishing toxic mist. Her gaze settled on a teenage girl, arms wrapped around a younger sibling, hesitating. "It's safe now," Snow said gently, extending her hand. "You'll be okay. Just stay close." The girl nodded, eyes wide with fear and hope, stepping forward.
Outside, soldiers guided survivors to checkpoints. Robert watched their weary faces, each carrying survival's weight. "We'll keep searching," he told a soldier nearby. "More are out there, and we're not stopping."
The second shelter, hidden beneath an old community center, was larger. Soldiers pried rusted doors, revealing a damp, dim space crowded with over a hundred people. Stale air reeked of fear and desperation. Infants wailed softly, cries echoing off cold stone walls.
Robert spotted a vaporous Cu Sith corpse nearby, its form dissolving. He raised his staff, channeling Essence Refinement, and extracted a chewed bone, grimacing at its rank smell but pocketing it for a laugh. Snow knelt beside a woman clutching a pale, shivering child, the baby's breath shallow. "Dehydrated," she murmured, weaving threads of light to heal. Her turret hovered with a quiet trill, its Sapphire Core shimmering as it wove delicate tendrils of mist, bolstering Snow's magic.
The mother's eyes widened, tears streaming. "Thank you," she whispered, voice trembling. She looked up at Snow, curious and afraid. "What are you doing? I've never seen anything like this before."
Snow paused, hands glowing softly. She gave a reassuring smile. "It's magic," she said gently. "Magic's real now, and it can help us. It heals wounds, purifies air, keeps people safe. You're safe now, I promise."
Outside, Chaucer stood with his throwing stars, sharp eyes scanning shadows. "Something doesn't feel right," he muttered. "The air… it's too quiet."
Robert lingered near the entrance, his glowing eye fixed on the horizon. A soft trill from his crystal pulsed in his mind as he considered their next move. "We're not done," he said. His nine-pointed star flared with power.
Snow rose, meeting his gaze. "I'm ready," she said. As survivors shuffled forward, she spoke clearly. "Follow the soldiers' lights to southern checkpoints. Stick together, don't stray, and you'll reach safety. The portal's waiting."
She offered a reassuring smile, waving them forward. "You're going to make it, just hurry," she added, voice steady despite brimming tears. Soldiers escorted survivors, and Hamish spoke grimly. "We have to go faster, Robert. There's no telling when the storm's unleashed again."
Robert and his team worked until dawn, freeing thousands from bomb shelters, refuse dumpsters, closets, anywhere people hid from carnivorous monsters. The sky lightened, soft hues dispelling the darkness's clinging fear.
But morning revealed tragedy. From a building perch, Chaucer's sharp eyes caught the Nuckelavee in the northern ruins, a plague given form. Its skinless body oozed a toxic aura, rotting the air. Dark, diseased breath seeped into buildings, hunting life.
As Chaucer stared, horrified, the Nuckelavee lifted its red-glowing eye to the east, where sunrise broke. Its skeletal frame stiffened, lips pulling back to reveal rotten, jagged teeth. It screamed, a blade through flesh, reverberating in every corner. The city shuddered, stones recoiling from its rage.
The scream lingered, a ghostly echo. Defenders at barricades exchanged uneasy glances, from grim resolve to fear. The city trembled, promising more blood. For survivors, safety slipped, horrors looming north.
They braced for Cu Sith, their glowing green forms a tide of death. Some defenders' hands shook, others set jaws, determined. Every survivor guided south was a victory, but those still out there weighed heavily. Soldiers scanned ruins, tense, knowing the Cu Sith's snarls could break the calm.
Fear surged in Robert. He wove wind and light, amplifying his voice. Magic swirled from legs to throat, vocal cords glimmering. His voice boomed like thunder, clear through smoky air.
The volume startled his team. Snow and Chaucer winced, covering ears, while Hamish growled, "A bit o' warning next time, aye?" Robert replied quietly, "Sorry, first try. About to do it again."
He bellowed across the city, urging anyone alive to flee south to barricades. Near a garden statue, a cheery gnome amid ruin, he brushed its stone surface, focusing magic.
Infusing it with vibrant earth magic and m-power from his Aetheric Crystal, its nine multicolored points flaring, he gave the statue life. Its mission: march east to west, repeating, "Flee south to the military checkpoint. Avoid inhuman threats and run to safety." The gnome marched, stone feet clacking, Robert's voice echoing.
Filthy and exhausted, Robert said, "We should head back before they come." Moira's voice spoke softly in his thoughts. "Robert, the Nuckelavee cannot cross fresh water. Is there anything you can do to slow it?"
Turning north, Robert saw the Nuckelavee jerking erratically, as if stomping unseen victims. Sick with remorse for the fallen, he admitted the northern half of Edinburgh, with its residential heart, was lost. "Yes," he said. "It's time to create new terrain out of old. You said this was in my power, yes?"
Moira confirmed softly, "Yes, Robert. Your paths as Aetheric Weaver and Prismatic Magister grant you the ability to shape earth. It's a craft of intent. Use water and earth as allies."
Robert nodded, mind racing. The task's weight was immense, yet he stepped forward without hesitation. "Then let's begin," he murmured, hands reaching to reshape Edinburgh into a divided city.