Havoc was no hero. Yet as he hurled himself between the dual, life-reaping swipes of the towering, six-armed giant, he began to suspect the Dungeon might have had him miscast. The blades grazed the outsole of his boots as he landed in a roll, his breath catching as the impact jolted through him. Already the ravager-spawn was turning, its arms raised high like a guillotine poised to fall. With a deafening crash, the blades cleaved into the stone-covered bedding, carving deep, narrow scars where Havoc had crouched a heavy heartbeat before. The Giant's head snapped toward it, its next attack already in motion. But before it could strike, the winds whipped across the battlefield. A cyclonic torrent cut across the giant's path, staggering it mid-stride and carving fresh amber wounds across its chest.

In wild arcs, the monster furiously swiped the air, its cacophonous bellow threatening to shake the domed heavens. Yet despite its fury, the vortices were unyielding; blooming in an instant from one end of the mountain passage to the other, only to vanish just as suddenly; each pass leaving fresh amber streaks across the giant's hide.

Havoc's sister, had insisted on literacy.

'We live in the slums, but don't let it cling to you. It's where we are, but never who we are,' Hurricane would say.

In the stories she had made him read, it was beneath contempt to seize upon an opponent's distraction in an honourable duel. But this was no contest, and he had little regard for honour. Men die for honour—he would live for himself.

As the giant swung its heavy arms, attempting the cut the winds, Havoc summoned shards of ethereal light. They streaked toward the creature's back, piercing deep and spilling thick rivulets of amber blood. The beast roared, its movements faltering as the wounds tore into its flesh.

Yet still the giant stood—another unreasonable monster in a forest filled with them.

It had been six weeks since leaving the cave and entering the Forest Below. The journey toward the mountain passage had been defined by long hours laid hidden atop towering mushrooms, and within damp thick overgrowths of fungal grass, interspersed by bursts of progress. Great and terrible were the creatures that dwelt within the forest. Havoc's hairs stood erect at the memory of them. Against such monsters, they could only hope not to be seen.

Without Annalise's guidance, they would not have lasted long. He had grown stronger—that could not be denied. Though a problem unto itself, his companions were no less formidable. Yet the second night in the forest brought clarity: their power meant nothing.

For nine hours, they had lain hidden below ground, tucked within the burrow of some mercifully absent but doubtlessly horrifying beast. They peeked out to trace the aberrant, jerking movements of a monster radiating power, malice, and a profound wrongness. Its vaguely human body—composed of thin, glasslike splinters—dragged and coalesced in zigzagging patterns, seeming to slip out from the seams of reality only to be violently ejected back into the world. It moved as if the Dungeon itself rejected its existence.

If Havoc had harboured any delusions they could prevail against that horror, they were swiftly dispelled by the blood-freezing sight of its touch upon a gigantic serpent. At its touch, the reptile's flesh constricted like scrunched paper, its liberated vertebrae folding in jagged corners before collapsing into the bloodied mass of its former self. The remains dissolved into mirror-like shards, blending into the stalking Abomination and adding to its haunting might.

More dire than its power was its tenacity. Though the Abomination had left on the second night, it returned on the fourth. By the sixth night, it had found them again, and by the twelfth, the truth was undeniable—they were being hunted.

No longer than three days had ever passed before the oppressive weight of the Abomination's power bore down upon them. The heart-pounding scrape and clink of shattered glass never far behind. The group had grown quieter, their movements slower and more deliberate, the Abomination's presence pressed into their very souls. Havoc felt it most in the silences—that inescapable dread. The air seemed thicker, dense with malice, each breath a reminder that death roamed like a ravenous beast, seeking whom it may devour.

Even still, the only option was to push ahead, and so they did. Sleeping in turns, ever-vigilant, they adapted. Over time, the feel of nerves alight to the slightest touch no longer kept them from rest. Their bodies adjusted, their minds dulled to fear—vigilance became a second nature, as necessary as breathing.

The ravager-spawn was mighty. Even as its blistered skin peeled from its scotched flesh, its bulging muscles pronounced its indomitability. Yet it would be overcome like everything else that found itself in Havoc's path.

He could not pretend to be fearless, and though the battle sent sparks through his veins, he did not fight for the thrill of combat. He simply recognised an undeniable truth: to survive, he needed to be stronger. Testing himself against the titanic beast was a means to that end.

As he flooded his Anchor with Harmony, mimicking the ability to enhance one's physical strength and speed, and applying the power to himself, he faced the giant's charging gait. A blade of shimmering light formed within his grip, and he sprinted forward to meet the giant's charge.

****

The boy was impressive. Shar could admit that much. From the moment he arrived on the battlefield, he had led the charge against the monster, the other survivors instinctively falling into step behind him. He moved with purpose and decision, weaving barriers of light at opportune moments to drive his shimmering blade deep into the giant's flesh.

Even still, as she observed the unfamiliar youth while crouched on the mountain passage wall, unease twisted in her stomach. Allowing foreign Harmony to trickle into her nearly-empty core, she scrutinized the feeling.

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By all reasoning, she should have been delighted. Her lady had returned as promised, bringing with her powerful allies in a battle of attrition. Shar had no affinity for Aaron or Lucia, but she acknowledged their power. Like her, they were Servants of the third-step; even one of them could turn the tide of a losing battle.

And this new boy—he too was of the third-step. She could feel the palpable density of the Harmony he commanded. The Seer had even managed to recover the healer she was certain had perished.

So what's got me on edge? she asked herself, clicking her tongue as the disquiet gnawed at her focus, an itch she could not scratch.

She peered below, watching the giant stumble back as the burning lash of Anton's whip cracked like thunder across its chest. Just as Anton retreated, Aaron stepped ahead, engulfing the beast in a plume of cremating fire. The others followed suit, bolts of lightning crashing down, blades of ice and of rock assailing the beast, bringing it to its knees—if only for a few moments.

The stone wall trembled beneath her as the creature roared, its colossal frame quaking under the relentless assault. Through sheer force and coordination, they were overwhelming the monster, their once insurmountable foe now seeming destined to fall.

So what is it? she asked herself again, her unease twisting tighter with every passing moment.

With a grunt, she shoved her misgivings aside. She was a woman of faith—her trepidation was nothing against the Seer's design.

She tensed her muscles readying to leap back into the fray, but paused as she caught sight of Annalise.

From below, the Seer glanced up at her, her eyes reflecting a calm assurance. With a gentle sway of her head, she conveyed more than volumes of written words ever could—reassurance, guidance, and unspoken command.

Shar felt her unease begin to unravel, the tightness in her chest loosening with each steady breath. Breathing out slowly, she nodded in silent acknowledgment. Whatever had been gnawing at her no longer mattered; she had been instructed to hold, and she intended to obey. The Seer's design was in motion—whatever would follow was in her hands.

****

The kneeling giant howled a guttural roar, its colossal frame straining to rise. With two pointed fingers, Havoc cut an arc through the air, manifesting a barrier of light that slammed the beast back to the ground. Before it could recover, he conjured ethereal blades, driving them through its brutalised skin. The giant thrashed, its bellowing cries reverberating across the battlefield, but Havoc's strikes were unrelenting, each cut tearing deeper into its amber-streaked flesh.

Through the Scout's Eye, Havoc noticed Aaron, his face twisted into a bitter sneer.

If given the choice, Havoc would have preferred to keep the offensive capabilities of the Stone Guardsman a secret, but after defeating the Abominable Spirit, such concealment was no longer possible.

A confrontation with Aaron had felt inevitable for some time. Their time in the forest had cemented this. Aaron wore a smile, but it could not fully hide the enmity beneath. At Annalise's behest, during calmer moments of their journey, Aaron had sparred with him. With the blade, Aaron had instructed him on proper form, offering praise through gritted teeth at the rapid pace of Havoc's improvement. Even still, Havoc had not missed Aaron's sincerity in attempting to wound him during their more heated exchanges.

Despite Aaron now knowing the full capabilities of the Stone Guardsman, Havoc had not completely forsaken the element of surprise.

As he jumped from barrier to barrier, weaving between the giant's wild swings, he leapt into a roll above its head. His shimmering blade bit deep into its shoulder as he passed overhead, amber blood spraying from the wound. The giant bellowed, stumbling under the force of the strike, but Havoc did not relent. Even then, he was holding back. There was more to his power, a final edge he would not reveal—not yet. Choosing only to mimic powers that would go unnoticed, he had kept the secret of his Anchor's nature. To reveal it now would be to tip his hand too soon. If the Forest had taught him anything, it was the value of patience.

Rolling to his feet, Havoc faced the ravager, ready to continue his assault, but halted as if gripped by some primal instinct. Instead, he retreated.

What is that? he asked himself, the black ooze of dread lurching from his gut. Clearly he was not alone in sensing something amiss. The man brandishing his flaming whip cracked it once more across the giant's side, then rushed backward, the others following suit.

Battered and bleeding, the scored and mangled form of the giant raised arched its back, its arms extended out to its side, it roared into the sky, the air trembling at the sound.

With a sickening series of cracks, its six arms snapped in every direction, the sound rippling through the battlefield like the grinding of stones. Bones shattered and spikes jutted from its torn, twisted flesh before sliding back beneath its skin, reconfiguring with horrifying precision.

But the transformation did not stop there. The six-armed beast did not merely heal—it grew. Its colossal frame expanded, its shoulders broadening, its legs stretching. By the time the process ended, it stood tall enough to crush a dozen men beneath a single flattening stomp of its feet.

Panic erupted across the battlefield. No foot remained still as their formation scattered, survivors fleeing in every direction from the stationary monstrosity. From near victory to certain defeat—they could not hope to challenge the beast as it was.

Dense waves of profane power rolled from the giant, an overwhelming presence that pressed into their chests and stole the air from their lungs. It was as though they were drowning—not in water, but in the crushing weight of solid stone.

Yet amidst the raucous clamour to escape, a voice cut through the collective howl of consternation.

'Put your faith in me,' Annalise cried, her voice seeming to reach every stretch of the passage.

With only a tanned-skinned woman by her side, Annalise stood before the titan as if a guppy readying to fell a whale.

'Put all of your faith in me!' she repeated, her tone radiating calm authority.

The survivors stopped, their eyes fixed on the Seer. Within the throng, Havoc heard muttered prayers. Having learned that the gods were despots, his lips remained tight—until they dropped open at the sound of Annalise's name in their trembling supplications.

Emerald rays of light surrounded Annalise as she began to rise into the air. The light coiled around her, shimmering and coalescing into radiant wings spanning wide from her back, each feather glinting with a brilliance that seemed to defy the darkness of the Dungeon.

As her transformation continued, the prayers rose from whispered words to resounding chants of devotion.

'Be still and know...' Annalise whispered, her voice carrying on the wind like a storm as she raised an arm above her head. 'I am with you.'

She dropped her arm, heralding beams of brilliant emerald light from the heavens. Each stream pierced the titan, scorching holes through its gargantuan form as the sky above glowed resplendent, like a luminous jewel.

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