The mist brought not silence, but a profane cacophony. The shuffling of misshapen feet on stone, the chitinous clicking of unnatural carapaces, the low hum of corrupted energy that made the air vibrate and teeth grind. Milos's first wave of attack wasn't announced with trumpets, but with the very dissonance of the Void spilling into the watchpost ruins, a tide of horrors emerging from the haze.
"Now!" Zack's voice cut through the tension, a cold command that barely masked the growing sense of unreality assaulting him.
Simultaneously, darkness and flame erupted. From atop the makeshift walls, Zack raised Black Moon – feeling its cold, hungry weight – and black lightning leaped from the blade, whipping the air with dry cracks, seeking the red-eyed soldiers advancing with the rigidity of broken puppets. Beside him, Orpheus spun his Scarlet Katana, and torrents of ruby fire swept through the ranks of Void creatures, turning the mist into a flickering inferno. Light and shadow danced a macabre waltz across the improvised battlefield, each burst of power briefly illuminating the grotesque forms and the soldiers' cadaverous apathy.
The corrupted soldiers were terrifyingly resilient, almost indifferent to pain. Zack's bolts struck them, making their stained armor spark, but they continued their advance, driven by an alien, cold will. The creatures, amalgamations of nightmares with claws and fangs, were more chaotic but equally lethal, attempting to scale the walls or find breaches in the defenses with blind persistence.
Below, in the ruined courtyard, K was a blur of agile movement. Armed with her knives and the strength stolen from enemies via "Weaken," she intercepted any threat that managed to slip past the initial barrage. Each strike was precise, each dodge calculated, but the number of enemies was vast, and the energy she absorbed felt tainted, leaving an icy residue in her veins. Fatigue began to weigh on her.
In the makeshift refuge, the Boy was huddled. His hands no longer covered his ears; he watched the opposite wall with unsettling fixity, his dark eyes reflecting the flickering light of the distant battle. He trembled, but it didn't seem like childish fear. It was a fine vibration, like an instrument tuning itself to a wrong frequency. His murmurs were almost inaudible, fragments about "empty eyes," "cold heart," and the "echo" that called, uttered with a strange monotony.
Aloft, Milos watched. Motionless amidst the mist that swirled around him like a living cloak, he was a figure of sinister calm. His eyes, hidden beneath a deep hood, seemed to absorb the scene, not just the tactics, but the very energy being released – the pain, the fear, the raw power of Zack and Orpheus. With subtle, almost imperceptible gestures, he directed his troops, sacrificing pawns with inhuman coldness, as if the carnage were merely a necessary prelude.
The first wave was repelled, but it left scars. One of the larger creatures had managed to injure K's arm before being put down. Orpheus panted slightly, the scarlet glow of his aura flickering before he forced it bright again. The ruins were littered with broken bodies and black ichor, but the mist was already birthing new abominations.
There was a tense pause, filled by the menacing hum of Void energy. Milos regrouped his forces. It was in this precarious silence that the Boy's voice sounded, surprisingly clear, though devoid of emotion. "The heart. He doesn't want the post. He wants to wake the cold heart in the mountain." The voice was flat, almost recited. "The fight... the pain... feeds the echo."
Zack and Orpheus exchanged a heavy look. The warning, coming from that increasingly disturbing source, confirmed Orpheus's findings but also sounded... convenient? The way the Boy had spoken, the unnatural calm... a new kind of chill settled in Zack's stomach, mingling with the horror of the situation. The battle wasn't Milos's objective; it was a means. The released energy was being used to awaken something on Andur's peak.
Before they could ponder the nature of that revelation, Milos moved. He took a step forward, emerging from the denser mist. The aura of cold power around him intensified, and he raised a hand. Behind him, a second wave of attack formed – larger, more organized, and led by figures that looked like shadowy lieutenants, exuding a more concentrated threat.
The real confrontation was about to begin. And the nauseating realization that every blow struck, every spark of power unleashed, might only be serving the enemy's sinister purposes – and perhaps, somehow, the silent hunger of the blade on his back – left Zack paralyzed for an instant, caught between the need to fight and the fear of feeding the darkness itself.
The Weight of the Echo
The second wave of attack crashed upon the ruins with calculated ferocity. Led by Milos and two shadowy figures emanating an aura of concentrated corruption – one shrouded in sickly mist that seemed to suffocate the light, the other a colossal brute whose movements were accompanied by the cracking of rearranged bones – the soldiers and creatures advanced with renewed purpose.
The Boy's warning – "The fight... the pain... feeds the echo" – reverberated in Zack's mind, a terrible dissonance beneath the chaos of battle. He exchanged a tense glance with Orpheus. How to fight without feeding whatever Milos sought to awaken? Try to contain their power, fight with less fury? It was an absurd idea in the face of the imminent carnage.
"Try to neutralize, not annihilate!" Orpheus shouted over the din, dodging a shadow tendril cast by the mist-shrouded lieutenant. "Aim for the leaders!"
Zack nodded, jaw clenched. He raised Black Moon, but hesitated for an instant, the blade's coldness seeming to mock his attempt at control. He fired more precise black bolts, seeking to incapacitate the corrupted soldiers rather than disintegrate them, but they rose again, driven by Milos's will. The creatures, on the other hand, responded only to violence, forcing lethal blows.
Milos, for the moment, remained slightly back, observing. His lieutenants engaged Orpheus and the main defenses. The modified brute charged Orpheus with devastating force, each blow shattering stone, while the mist-being launched insidious attacks that distorted perception and drained vitality. Orpheus countered with scarlet flames, a furious dance to keep both at bay, but it was clear he was being pressed.
K, her arm hastily bandaged, defended the area where the Boy was hidden. She fought with desperate efficiency, but the pain and the tainted energy she absorbed left her pale and gasping. The Boy continued his murmurs, now more intense. "The hunger... the song calls... the heart hears..." His words were like needles in K's mind, heightening the sense of dread.
Zack, dealing with the creatures and soldiers trying to flank, felt Black Moon vibrate in his hands with each slain enemy, each burst of power he was forced to unleash. It was a hungry, almost pleasurable resonance that turned his stomach. The sense of mental fragmentation, the existential nausea that had assaulted him after the forced "communion," intensified with each second. He wasn't just fighting Milos; he was fighting himself, fighting the darkness he carried, which seemed to revel in the violence.
It was then he noticed a pattern. Milos wasn't just coordinating the attack; he seemed to be directing the flow of battle, channeling the most intense confrontations near the ritual symbols carved into the walls or into areas where the Void energy seemed most concentrated. It was as if he were harvesting the energy of pain, death, and raw power, using the combat itself as a feeding ritual.
A corrupted soldier managed to slip past his defenses, its rusted sword aiming for his chest. In a reflex of anger and frustration, Zack unleashed a pulse of black energy more powerful than intended, disintegrating the soldier into ash. The instant he did, he saw – or thought he saw – a fleeting glint of satisfaction in Milos's eyes, hidden beneath the hood. And, simultaneously, he felt a chill run through his body, a cold, observing presence that seemed to emanate from the corner where the Boy was hidden. A sudden stillness in the boy's murmurs, a focused attention that froze him to the bone.
At that moment, seizing the momentary distraction, Milos made his move. Ignoring the peripheral battle, he advanced directly towards the center of the ruins, where the burned summoning circle still pulsed with residual energy. His lieutenants intensified their attacks, covering his advance.
Zack and Orpheus found themselves facing an impossible choice. Intercepting Milos would require unleashing their full power, risking feeding the "echo" he sought to awaken even further. But allowing him to reach the circle, to complete his unknown objective at that nexus of profane power, could be even worse.
"Zack!" Orpheus's cry was a mixture of urgency and uncertainty.
Black Moon seemed to thrum in anticipation in Zack's hand. The weight of the echo, the weight of the choice, the weight of the very darkness he carried threatened to crush him.