Light burst from the blade like a discharge trapped in steel, and the darkness around flared, retreating for a moment. A metallic limb—not alive, but sharp as a claw carved from nightmares—lunged forward, its joints clicking with mechanical grace. He gripped the hilt, feeling the energy hum in his palms, hot and alive, and parried the blow. The blade vibrated, striking sparks that showered the floor, hissing in pools of black ooze gleaming like molten glass. Two forces collided, pressing the air: the limb pushed, bending at an unnatural angle, and he resisted, teeth clenched, muscles taut to trembling. A second stretched like a thread on the verge of snapping, and he wrested victory—the limb flew off, smoking, its stump twitching as if in agony.
But joy drowned in chaos. A second limb—hidden, swift as a snake’s shadow—struck from behind, crashing into ribs. He collapsed, air knocked from lungs, and the floor met him with cold and sticky grime. Around, the battle roared: cries of the Guardians’ team drowned in the screech of metal and a low hum piercing bones like the breath of a dying beast. Through smoke, he saw silhouettes—comrades fending off devices moving with inhuman precision: tentacles writhed, spikes tore armor, and the light of their blades reflected off the enemy’s mirrored surfaces, shattering into fragments. Somewhere out there, beyond this carnage, was Rain—her name flashed in his mind, but her shadow did not loom among the figures. Where had she gone? The question sank in pain as he forced himself to stand, gasping for air thick with soot and iron.
He lunged forward, blade flashing, cleaving the darkness, and plunged into the base of another limb. Metal screamed, tearing apart, but the enemy did not flinch—new appendages emerged from shadows, their movements smooth, almost dancing, as if someone pulled invisible strings. He dodged, feeling a spike whistle a centimeter from his neck, leaving a hot trail on skin. In the distance, a comrade—a girl with short hair, eyes blazing with fury—shouted, “Hold the flank!” Her voice cut through the noise, but he already saw her weapon dimming under the blow of a mechanical beast. The rift nearby trembled, its pulse hammering nerves, low and relentless, like a call impossible to turn away from.
A few minutes before everything fell apart, she stood at the edge of the hall, breathing synchronized with the rhythm of battle. Heart pounded, but hands remained steady—she hurled a pulse from the artifact, and the glowing projectile slammed into the wall, leaving a smoking crater. The enemy loomed ahead—a vague figure, limbs writhing like mercury caught in a nightmare. She didn’t know who it was, only felt it toyed with them, like prey cornered. Two from the team stood nearby: a tall guy with a sharp gaze and another, whose face she knew better than her own—her anchor in this hell.
Everything crumbled in one blow. The figure stepped forward, movements too fast, too precise, and a limb—black, with yellow veins pulsing like veins—lunged at her friend. Metal pierced chest, tearing armor like paper, and blood gushed, dark and thick, flooding the floor. His body didn’t just fall—it disintegrated, limbs flying off, bones crunching, head hitting the wall with a wet thud. She screamed, throat tightening, but the sound drowned in shock. The world narrowed to this image: his glazed eyes, frozen in surprise, and the figure standing over him, motionless as a statue carved from shadows.
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
She rushed forward, artifact flaring in hands, releasing a wave of energy, but it dissipated before reaching. The third team member—the tall guy—opened fire, weapon spewing hot bursts tearing the air, leaving marks on walls. The figure dodged, body bending like liquid, and retaliated—a limb lashed out, grazing his shoulder, but he stood firm, teeth gritted. “Give me your artifact!” he shouted, running toward her. His voice trembled, yet carried familiar warmth, and she, still dazed, handed over the weapon. Fingers shook, mind screamed it was a mistake, but she trusted.
He took the artifact, and his face twisted—not with pain, but something sharp, malicious, cutting her like a knife. In that instant, the illusion shattered: her friend’s body, torn to pieces, dissolved into air, leaving only smoke. Reality struck—he was alive, somewhere, fighting another threat. But before realization settled, a limb—real, not phantom—burst from shadow and knocked her off feet. The blow landed on chest, armor cracked, and she fell, head ringing from impact with floor.
Through blurred vision, she saw the tall guy—her protector—charge forward, blade meeting the enemy’s attack. But illusion played again: two hidden limbs, piercing like needles, emerged from behind and stabbed into him. One pierced shoulder, the other chest, and he fell, blood pouring, mixing with black sludge on the floor. His eyes caught hers, but light in them faded. She tried to stand, legs buckled, and the enemy—this shadow with yellow veins—stepped closer. From its device came a sound—high-pitched, cutting like shattered glass—ears rang, mind clouded. “You’re too naive,” the figure’s voice was cold, laced with slight mockery, as if amused. The guy, last of them, retreated, steps quick but uncertain—wanting to fight, yet fear drove him back into shadow.
The rift breathed. Vague, pulsating, it hung in the air like a wound, edges trembling, releasing a low hum clinging to nerves like a spiderweb. The world around warped: walls flowed like wax under invisible heat, light broke, falling into a void without bottom. From depths came sounds—not screams, not whispers, but something between, alive and alien, like voices trapped in glass. It expanded, slowly but inexorably, and air shivered, saturated with ozone and something sweet, rotting.
Into this chaos stepped two figures. Their steps were light, almost dancing, faces glowing with smiles—open, warm, like those sharing a secret only they knew. The first, with dark hair catching light like silk, tilted her head, eyes sparkling with curiosity. On her sleeve darkened a thick, damp stain, unnoticed, fingers sliding along jacket’s edge as if playing with fabric. The second, slightly taller, with impeccably sculpted features, stepped closer to the rift, hand casually sliding to forearm, a thin strip of light flashing along sleeve, breath escaping in a cloud in cold air. Their clothing was simple, yet fit as if tailored for a stage where every gesture formed part of the performance.
They stopped at the rift’s edge, silhouettes reflected in its trembling surface, but reflections were wrong—too long, too sharp, like shadows living their own lives. The first chuckled, voice soft but laced with venomous sweetness: “How noisy today.” She leaned slightly toward her friend, shoulder brushing arm—a light, warm gesture. The second nodded, smile widening, revealing teeth gleaming like ice shards. “We should listen,” she replied, tone flickering with a spark, thin but sharp, like a needle hidden in velvet.
The rift shuddered, ejecting a sheaf of sparks scattering in air, not reaching floor. Their gazes met, and in that moment, smiles synchronized—equally bright, equally predatory. They stood, staring into the abyss, and the abyss stared back, pulse beating in unison with their breathing. Then they turned to each other, and something flashed in their eyes—not fear, not surprise, but a promise, hidden behind the light of their joy…
