Death whispered in the winds—the chink and screech of splinters of shattered glass scraping over each other. The noise grew louder, and louder still, building into an all-consuming flurry, tinkering above like a windblown chime shepherding an agonized shriek.

With his eye flared open, Havoc gazed upon the oncoming storm. No words lain on page nor brushstrokes on canvas could relate the tar-black dread that sludged through his veins, stiffening his joints, rooting him in place.

We're dead… The thought echoed in his mind, dragging him back to the memory of flesh crumpling at the fractured Abomination's touch.

So lost in this certainty of doom that by the time he descried the shadow of the eight-legged Dungeon-Spawn cast down upon him—the fiend high overhead, its razored feet like death closing in—there was no time to react. And in that moment, he could not say he would have hurled himself from harm even were he able. It all seemed so futile: the sound, the fury—amounting to nothing.

A chuckle broke from his lips, fluttering high before rising into frenzied mirth. He lifted his arms to his sides and closed his eyes. But as he embraced the pitiless certainty of death, a rope lashed tight around his chest, and in an instant, he was hurled backward. The sheer of the Dungeon-Spawn's limbs sliced through the ground where he had stood, spraying shards of stone into the air. His breath caught as he tumbled to safety, disbelief flickering in his mind as the world blurred around him.

'Hold your nerve, kid!' Anton shouted as he loosed his whip from around Havoc's chest. 'You're not done yet.'

He snapped his wrist, scoring the ground with his whip as it reignited along its length. Glancing down at Havoc, his whip looped above his head, embers and ash streaming from its breadth.

A cloud of smoke and cinder plumed above as Anton roared his indomitable resolution. He leapt high into the air, lashing the chest of the Dungeon-Spawn. The whip struck true, a fevered line seared deep into mangled flesh. The Spawn screeched, its limbs flailing as the wound crackled and hissed.

The storm of shattered glass loomed nearer, a ripple of fractured motion like the ocean's tide frothing high into a tempestuous wave. It stretched over the skyline like a claw, folding down to lay claim to the land.

In mere moments, it would descend, collapsing all flesh into its splintered mass.

Havoc's heart thundered against his ribs, every instinct screaming to flee, but there was nowhere to run. He could not halt it by force. He had no tricks, no traps; wit-lashed words would not constrict it in its hypocrisy. It was a force outside nature—an unmaking destined to kill and destroy—apathetic to spite, resolve, or any other tools in the arsenal Havoc had come to depend upon.

'Everything! Give him everything we can spare!' Annalise called, her voice carrying across the battlefield, her intentions impelled directly into Havoc's mind, her plan taking shape even as he rose to stand.

The structure of her scheme etched itself into Havoc's consciousness like a design pencilled in his not in lead, but wisps of phantom knowledge. As though recalling a faded memory or dream, its form was hazed, but the impression held imperative. Though the mechanics of the plan remained obscured, he knew his part in the Seer's design: fight hard, kill fast, then run.

Nothing else mattered.

He gritted his teeth, unease swelling within him. Since freeing himself from Annalise's fate-spun snare—hard earned, ripped from the malignant grasp of the Abominable Spirit—he was hesitant to depend on her again. But there was no other way to survive. And in the end, nothing had changed. He was always going to battle the Dungeon-Spawn—though the Abomination's premature arrival had shattered any fragile preparation. It set his nerves aflame to rely on others, but survival was not granted to the strongest—it was clawed from chaos by those who could adapt.

His chest tightened as he shoved aside the gnawing doubt clawing at the edges of his resolve. Tightening his grip on his ethereal blade, he forced himself to move. There was no room for doubt, not any more.

Havoc, Aaron, Shar, and Anton encircled the eight-legged fiend, which scuttled across the circumference, clattering forward in one direction, only to pivot toward another, as if lost for choice. No longer did Havoc's muscles surge with power other than his own. He knew why. With the fractured Abomination looming above, the favour of all support-type Remnants had been directed toward one of the survivors who could slow its descent. The same was true of the Harmony distributed through the power of Myra's Anchor. Alone, the four remaining combatants would need to face the spider-like horror—there could be no retreat until the monster fell.

Settling on its target, the spawn rushed toward Anton, its bladed feet slicing deep, slender tracks through the ground as it advanced. Leaping high, its legs curved down, poised to rend Anton's arms from his shoulder, and cleave through his skull. Before the creature could carry out its gruesome intent, Havoc conjured a shimmering barrier, ramming the monster's flank, forcing it from Anton's path. Unrelenting in his assault, he curved a blade of light across three of the monster's left chitin-plated legs. The Spawn screeched, an anguished, wet slosh of gravelly clicks reverberating through the battlefield. Froth spilled from the edges of its humanoid maw, pooling at its jaws as its legs dragged awkwardly across the ground. But Havoc's blade could not sever its limbs, leaving the creature wounded yet standing.

Though unarmoured, the creature's human-like upper-half—scantly lined with deep-purple fur—was no less resilient. It withstood strike after strike from Shar's curved blade as she raced across the battlefield, winds tunnelling around her as she moved at inhuman speeds. Her movements were fluid yet uncompromising—circling, evading, and striking with cutting precision. Each opportunity was pounced upon with unwavering decisiveness, her blade flashing in pursuit of the skittering beast.

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As Shar slowed and fell back, Aaron soared forward in her place, his draconic form casting a shadow over the battlefield. In a tangle of legs, claws, teeth, and tail, he crashed into the creature, jagged teeth clamping down on its armoured hide. Lilac blood burst forth like a fountain, spilling over the ground as the beast's screech tore through the air.

Havoc's gaze caught the sheen of Aaron's scales as they began to retract, revealing smooth, pale skin beneath. Whatever strength had surged through him only moments before now faded, leaving Aaron staggering as he broke away from the Spawn, shrinking back to his human form.

Without wasting a breath, Havoc and Anton engaged, Anton's searing whip lashing one side as Havoc targeted the blood-oozing exoskeletal abdomen on the other. His Harmony was waning, but he gave no quarter, wresting the fumes of his power to drive spears of light into the widening fractured mass of the beast.

Pinned in place by the pincered barrage of light and cascading fire and ash, the creature wailed as blood pooled across the stone, dyeing the ground in amethyst slick.

But it was not enough. Though it swayed with staggered steps, absent half of its limbs and its former agility thoroughly routed, the Spawn still stood. Its shattered legs scraped across the stone, leaving streaks of viscous blood as it clung to life.

Drained of all but the final wisps of Harmony, sweat trailing his face, Havoc fell to one knee. His limbs trembled, and his vision blurred, the sharp ache in his chest a painful reminder of his dwindling reserves.

The Spawn clawed nearer, its broken limbs scraping against the ground, fury and primal indignation palpable in its all-too human-like grimaced visage. Each agonized step dripped with malice, closing the distance in seconds.

Straining against exhaustion, Havoc managed only to lift his head as the Spawn loomed closer. His will remained unbroken, but his body betrayed him, muscles refusing to obey. Again, laughter broke from his lips, but it was a wet, rasping sound, more fitting a skewered beast, sputtering and wheezing as its blood filled its lungs.

Its shadow fell upon Havoc like an executioner's blade—wide and grim, bearing no kind intent. Havoc glared up into its eyes, a bleak smile rooted on his face even as death salivated overhead.

'Kid, get up!' Anton groaned, his voice hoarse and strained as he fell to one hand.

If it were only that easy, Havoc thought, as he softly laughed. His mind scrambled for an answer, clinging to the slimmest possibility. So then, he asked himself. I wonder how I'll make it out of this one; his gallows laugh rising, unsure whether he truly believed he would survive or was merely scraping bitter mirth from the hollow pit of certain death.

As if savouring the moment, the spawn arched its back, looming over Havoc with deliberate menace. His heart hammered like a blacksmith bewitched, each thunderous beat reverberating in his ears. Holding eye contact, Havoc would not look away, he would not yield. If this was to be his final moments, if death were to take him at last, he would meet it head on—afraid, terrified even, but unbroken.

Resolute, he waited for the end. But then, he saw it. At the borders of his sight, fluttering motion caught his gaze, drawing his eyes upward.

Splintered glass crept along the edges of the great mountain walls, spreading like cracks in a pane, gradually seeping down the sides to drown the passage. Overhead, it hung still, a frozen cloud shaped like a claw, poised to lay claim to everything. Yet while the greater mass remained motionless, shattered fragments drifted below like feathers on the wind.

A scattering of splinters drifted above him, flickering in the light as they gently fell.

So that's how… he thought, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

He did not think further—he simply acted. He dismissed his Remnants into his Spirit Chain, severing their passive hold to reclaim the last sliver of strength. Holding still as the beast's limbs closed in, he waited for the splinters to descend. Then, in a burst of motion, he dived beneath the Dungeon-Spawn's abdomen. His head buried beneath his arms, his heart thrashed as he waited, uncertain whether this was salvation or merely a fleeting reprieve. Each second stretched unbearably long, his mind torn between hope and despair. And then it came—a sickening crunch. The creature crumpled above him, its lilac ichor showering him from head to boot as its limbs snapped and folded, completely undone. The ichor's stench filled his nostrils, and his chest heaved with every desperate breath as he realized he was still alive.

The mangled remains of the spawn hung in the air, slowly dissolving into the fragmented nightmare of glass and malignant will. With no time to spare, Havoc rolled from beneath the shimmering swarm, stood and ran.

'What are you waiting for?' Annalise yelled. 'Run!'

Heeding her warning, the rest of the group burst into motion. Feet pounded the ground as they sprinted down the mountain path, the thin chime of glass shards echoing behind them. Above, the shimmering death hung patiently, exuding a thin air of satiation, like a predator toying with its prey, satisfied to herd them just a little longer.

****

Still he survived. It was maddening.

As Aaron clung to the azure fur of Lucia's summon, he grit his teeth, his neck craned backward toward Havoc, who grew faint in the distance. The danger lingered, fractured glass creeping along the ground and driving the group deeper into the mountain passage. Its terrible haste had slowed, but the threat had not abated.

Aaron sneered as he watched the wounded carried on the backs of those with strength to spare, mockingly questioning the sudden vigour of those who now acted as saviours. Where had that strength been when he had risked his life? But he knew it was a distraction.

It was not the Dungeon-Spawn or the Abomination that seared his thoughts—it was Havoc, and the maddening fact that he still drew breath. It burned at him, singeing his patience, flaring his nostrils, and setting his resolve aflame.

Subterfuge had failed. Fortune favoured the villain—fine! It had always demeaned him to act contrary to his dignified state.

Though his body ached and strength eluded him, Harmony swelled in his core, restoring his verve if not yet his might. Tightening his grip on the fur, resolution burned in his chest.

This will end the way it always should have. No games, no tricks! We shall duel for Naereah's hand, and the better man shall have her.

Of course, he was the better man—he was always the better man.

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