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"Okay, fine. We should probably deal with this.”
Silas grins. “I vote we send Elias first.”
The ground splits beneath us, a jagged wound tearing through the stone, deep and raw. A sound follows, one that doesn’t belong in this world, a low, guttural groan, like the Hollow itself is breathing, like the earth is caught in the moment before it chokes. Something stirs beneath the surface, a shift, a pull, a wrongness so absolute it crawls up my spine like a living thing.
I sigh, long and slow, already done with whatever fresh hell this is going to be. Across from me, Lucien is already armed, his blade catching in the dim glow of the Void, the sharp steel as unforgiving as he is. Beside him, Riven stands coiled tight, rage simmering beneath his skin, hands flexing around the hilt of his weapon as if he’s already decided he’ll carve whatever comes out of that pit into nothing.
“Alright,” I mutter, rolling my shoulders, taking my sweet time assessing the absolute disaster unfolding before us. “So which one of us pissed off the Void this time?”
Before anyone can answer, something crawls out of the abyss.
It doesn’t walk. It doesn’t move like anything that should exist. Its body bends and stretches in ways that seem almost deliberate, as if it were made to unsettle, to wrong-foot those foolish enough to stare too long. The glow of its too-many eyes burns the same molten red as fresh embers, its limbs shifting, joints clicking as it uncoils itself from the darkness like it’s been waiting for us.
I hear Luna step closer, magic curling off her skin, her breath measured, steady. She’s about to do something reckless.
I extend a hand, palm out, stopping her before she can. “Uh-uh, princess. Let me have this one.”
She doesn’t move back. Instead, she angles her head toward me, sharp eyes assessing, like she’s already doubting my capabilities. “You?”
I scoff, placing a hand over my heart. “Wow, the lack of faith is hurtful.”
Riven snorts, shifting his stance like he’s considering fighting me instead of the creature. “It’s realistic.”
Lucien doesn’t even look up from where he’s still tracking the monster’s slow movements. “Do you even know how to fight properly?”
The accusation is deeply offensive. I squint at him. “First of all, rude.”
Before I can further defend my vast and complex skillset, the creature lets out a low, rattling growl, the sound rippling through the air, and then, it moves.
Fast.
Too fast.
Most people wouldn’t react in time. Most people would already be dead.
But I am not like most people.
I shift, just enough, the movement precise, measured, letting its claws slice through empty air. It lunges again, trying to correct, to tear through me, but I move with it, sidestepping cleanly, avoiding its next strike like I’m bored with this already.
A grin pulls at my lips.
Because this? This is the part I like.
The creature lets out a frustrated snarl, its claws scraping against the stone, digging trenches into the ruined ground. I don’t let it recover. Pivoting smoothly, I bring my blade up in a single, clean arc, steel meeting flesh, or whatever this thing is made of, and something gives.
A sickening sound follows.
The thing shrieks, guttural and raw, but it’s already too late.
The strike is clean. Precise.
Its head drops from its shoulders.
The rest of its body slumps seconds after, collapsing with a dull, final thud.
I flick the blood from my blade and glance back at the others, barely winded. There’s a beat of silence. Then, Silas starts clapping, slow and mocking, because he’s incapable of being normal.
"Wow," he says, grinning like an idiot. "I’m actually kind of impressed. Didn’t think you had it in you.”