Roland couldn’t keep up with the fight between Nallensen and Tarrus. He caught flashes—blinding bursts of divine energy, the twist and ripple of chaos, the very air distorting under the weight of their power. But that battle was far beyond him.

  He had his own problems.

  The Chaos-forged puppets were relentless. They moved with a speed and precision that no normal monster should possess, their monstrous forms twisting unnaturally, striking with a force that rattled his bones. He was glad Nallensen had told him to free the souls before the battle. The divine payments he had earned had strengthened him, and he could feel that power flowing into his shield, letting him absorb strikes that should have shattered him.

  He had taken a few nicks and scrapes, but his cloak of regeneration pulsed with energy, knitting him back together just enough to keep him fighting. He wasn’t fast enough to go fully on the offensive, so he focused on defence, keeping himself between the worst of the creatures and Todd, who was doing something Roland couldn’t understand but assumed was important.

  Celeste, however, was thriving.

  Her movements were sharp, calculated, and deadly efficient. A strange purple haze clung to her daggers. Something Roland had never seen before. He couldn’t tell what type of power it was and he didn’t have much time to watch.

  He had a quick peek as she carved through a puppet’s side. Roland expected there to be resistance.

  Instead, the flesh simply fell apart.

  Not like a normal wound. Not like a cut through something solid. It was as if the very binding of cells had been undone, the structure of the creature ceasing to exist where her daggers passed.

  It was horrifying.

  It was effective.

  But it was also draining her.

  Roland could see it in the slight hesitation in her movements, the way her breathing was getting heavier, her reactions just a fraction slower. Whatever she was using, it was costing her dearly.

  And they were still outnumbered.

  Roland pushed his way through the battlefield, his shield absorbing the force of another brutal strike as he maneuvered toward Celeste. He caught her gaze for only a second, but that was all they needed.

  She was spent.

  She didn’t say it, but he could see it—the slight tremor in her stance, the shallow rise and fall of her chest. The energy from her daggers was costing her too much, and if she kept pushing herself, she wouldn’t last.

  Roland nodded once, a silent understanding passing between them.

  She gave the barest hint of a smirk, one that barely hid her relief, before stepping back to regroup. Roland moved forward, taking her place at the front. He raised his shield, bracing against the next attack, using the momentum of his opponent’s lunge to push them back.

  Celeste retreated just enough to catch her breath, leaning against a broken pillar as she wiped sweat from her brow. The battle around them had only grown worse. More than a few of the creatures had been caught in the crossfire of Nallensen and Tarrus’ fight, their massive forms collapsing, twisted apart by forces beyond comprehension. But it hadn’t been enough to slow the tide.

  As Roland parried another attack, Celeste called out, her voice strained but still sharp. “Spot any weaknesses? Anything like the others?”

  Roland gritted his teeth, focusing his Soul Gaze as he dodged another strike. He looked through the creatures, searching for the telltale flicker of a bound soul, for the unnatural glow of an amulet tethering them in place.

  But there was nothing.

  “No souls,” he called back. “And I don’t see any amulets either.”

  Celeste let out a long breath, wiping her daggers clean. “Yeah,” she muttered. “Came to the same conclusion.”

  She pushed herself upright, eyes scanning the battlefield, her gaze narrowing as she looked toward Tarrus.

  “They’re not like the others,” she said grimly. “They’re not bound by the artifact or trapped souls.” She exhaled, shaking her head. “He’s controlling them directly.”

  Roland had noticed it for a while now—the barrier was shrinking. Slowly, deliberately, the shimmering walls of energy closed in, tightening the battlefield, cutting off their ability to maneuver.

  At first, he had thought it was just a trick of the eye, but now, as the space grew tighter, he realised the truth.

  Tarrus was herding them.

  Roland’s muscles burned with exertion. His shield arm felt like lead, his breaths came shorter, and every strike he parried rattled his bones. His divine payments had helped, but he was still too slow, too drained to keep this up much longer.

  He needed an edge.

  Reaching into his pouch, he yanked out one of his reflex enhancement potions and drained it in a single motion.

  The effect was instantaneous.

  The world sharpened. His pulse steadied. The sluggishness in his limbs vanished, replaced by a fine-tuned precision, a clarity of movement that flowed effortlessly through his body.

  Celeste appeared beside him, pressing another vial into his hand. “Drink it. Now.”

  She didn’t wait for a response. She pulled out another potion of her own, uncorking it with her teeth before tossing it back in a single, practiced motion.

  Roland hesitated for a fraction of a second, glancing at the dark liquid inside. “What—”

  “Just do it.” Her voice was urgent, and there was something else—something he didn’t have time to process.

  A flicker of guilt in her eyes.

  She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

  With a gulp, he finished the potion, the strange, sweet taste lingering on his tongue. He trusted her, but was worried about why she would say sorry.

  A jolt of pure energy ripped through him, setting every nerve alight. His vision flashed, his heartbeat pounded against his ribs, and suddenly—everything was faster.

  His thoughts couldn’t keep up with his movements. He dodged before he realised an attack was coming. His sword lashed out, parrying, slashing, countering in ways that should have taken conscious effort. It was like his instincts had taken over, like he had been dropped into a fight he had already practiced a thousand times.

  He didn’t know what was in the second potion, but it assumed it must come with a cost. Nothing is for free.

  Celeste moved beside him, just as unnaturally fast, her daggers weaving through the air like twin streaks of violet light. She lunged at one of the larger beasts, her daggers slicing deep into its side. Flesh unravelled instantly, the same unnatural effect from before—but faster, more devastating.

  Roland followed her lead, surging forward as the creature lashed out. He saw its movement before it happened, his reactions far beyond what should be possible. He ducked under a massive claw, twisting around to deliver a brutal strike to its exposed flank.

  The blade cut deep, but the beast didn’t stumble.

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Instead, it turned too quickly, its movements almost too perfect, like a thing made entirely for war.

  It lunged, its fanged maw snapping toward him—

  Celeste was there first.

  She dashed past, carving a glowing arc with her daggers, severing the beast’s tendons in an instant. The massive form buckled, its momentum thrown off as it tumbled forward.

  Roland didn’t waste the opening.

  He raised his sword high, channelling everything he had into a single downward strike, and drove the blade clean through the creature’s skull.

  The impact shook the ground.

  The beast shuddered, its body writhing violently—before finally going still.

  Roland exhaled sharply, heart still hammering too fast, his limbs thrumming with unnatural power.

  Beside him, Celeste stood motionless, her breath shallow, her fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to keep moving.

  The battlefield twisted before their eyes.

  Roland was still catching his breath, his body twitching involuntarily, when the first abomination began to move again. Then another. And another.

  What should have been corpses—things they had cut down with certainty—were now pulling themselves back together.

  Limbs that had been severed reattached themselves with sickening ease, flesh knitting together in ways that no mortal body should be able to heal. Some of the creatures didn’t even reform the same way, their bodies reshaping into something even crueller, even stranger.

  Roland clenched his fists, watching in horror as something inhuman and wrong crawled out of the mass of flesh, its proportions so warped it barely resembled what it had been before.

  Then, from above—a body slammed into the ground with brutal force.

  Nallensen.

  He hit the earth hard, rolling to a stop, his once-pristine coat torn and bloodstained.

  Celeste rushed forward, already reaching for a light healing prayer, her voice trembling with exhaustion. While her healing offered some relief, it only partially closed the most serious wounds.

  She was on empty.

  Nallensen coughed, struggling to push himself up, his divine energy flickering like a dying ember.

  Above them, Tarrus laughed.

  The sound filled the air, thick and suffocating, the sheer presence of it wrong in ways Roland couldn’t explain. It slithered into his ears, curled around his bones, made every instinct scream to run.

  The Chaosborn hovered above the battlefield, his smoky form shifting wildly, his amusement radiating through the very air.

  “Ahhh, what a spectacle this has been,” Tarrus purred, his voice filled with mock delight. “Truly, truly. I am entertained.”

  His ever-changing form snapped downward, his focus settling fully on Nallensen, his voice dipping into something cruel.

  “But I think we both know…” He drifted lower, the air buzzing with barely restrained chaos. “It’s time to end this.”

  His form sharpened, taking on something almost solid, his presence pressing down like an unseen storm.

  “You were so close, Nallensen,” he said, voice dripping with mock pity. “But it seems you’ve run out of tricks. It's time you accept your place and work for me”

  To Roland’s surprise, it wasn’t Tarrus who laughed next—it was Nallensen.

  A ragged, pained laugh that clearly hurt his ribs, but he laughed anyway.

  Tarrus tilted his head, his smoky form shifting as if considering something deeply amusing. “Oh? Have I missed the joke?”

  Nallensen grinned, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. “You’re out of time.”

  Roland blinked, confused, until his eyes caught something—the barrier.

  It was smaller than before, the edges of it shrinking inward, its glow fading.

  Not by Tarrus’ will.

  Something was draining it.

  Roland spun, scanning the battlefield, and then—he saw him.

  Todd.

  He was moving through the battlefield, hands outstretched, pulling something unseen from the air, strands of writhing, shifting energy twisting around his fingers before vanishing.

  Roland hadn’t noticed at first, too caught up in the fight, but now that he was watching closely, he could see it—the way the air around Todd rippled, the way the unnatural feel of Tarrus’ presence was getting weaker.

  Celeste noticed too. And when she did, she grinned.

  She let out a laugh of her own, breathless but filled with triumph.

  “Of course,” she murmured, shaking her head. “How could I forget? Chaosborn need chaos from their homeworld to manifest in other realms.”

  She turned to Nallensen. “You knew this was a possibility.”

  Nallensen nodded, wincing as he pushed himself up slightly. “I did. And that’s why I developed a spell to filter Chaos energy from the air.” His grin turned sharp, defiant. “A shame I never got to test it properly… but it looks like Todd’s doing just fine.”

  Tarrus’ form shuddered, flickering for the first time, the confident ease in his presence cracking slightly.

  He floated backward, his ever-shifting silhouette twisting into something less controlled, less deliberate.

  Roland saw it then—the first hint of uncertainty in the Chaosborn’s endless amusement.

  Tarrus had spent the entire battle toying with them.

  And now, for the first time…

  He was the one being played.

  Tarrus chuckled, the sound lighter now, but still dripping with amusement.

  “Well played.” His smoky form shifted, coiling in on itself as the barrier shrunk further separating him from Nallensen, Roland, Celeste, and Todd. The shifting wall of energy sealed off the battlefield, leaving Tarrus on the other side—but it had stopped shrinking once it reached the fortress walls.

  Tarrus let out a mock sigh, shaking his head. “You think you’ve won something here?” His voice was smooth, casual, as if this was all just a minor inconvenience. “I still control the Veil Gate. And it won’t take long to gather more Chaos essence.”

  Then, he laughed, a hearty, genuine sound, one that curled around the battlefield like a promise.

  “Oh, and do remember, dear Nallensen…” The shifting Chaosborn tilted his head, his smoky form flickering like a dying flame.

  “Your precious Worldborn love is still in the fortress.”

  Nallensen went rigid, his already battered frame tensing further.

  Tarrus’ form began to retreat, melting into the fortress shadows as his laughter echoed through the air, thick with delight.

  “You’ll be back,” he purred. “And you better have a solution ready.”

  And with that, he was gone.

  Current State:

  Got some nice gains from this arc