The ground trembled beneath their feet—a subtle whisper at first, an ominous vibration that felt almost like a distant storm. Tashem instinctively tightened his grip on the rough, weathered branch as He stood at the edge of the Vale, eyes fixed on the blackened horizon, and a creeping sense of dread crawled up his spine. As the tremors intensified, he could feel them coming—a swelling tide of darkness rushing forward, propelled by a hunger that threatened to engulf everything in its path.
Beside him, Ayla's voice trembled as she whispered, "We don't have walls. We don't have weapons strong enough." The worry etched on her face mirrored the fear swelling within him.
Tashem turned his gaze from the encroaching threat to the woman beside him. "We have each other," he declared, though the hollow echo of doubt lingered in the back of his mind. "And we have the truth. That's more powerful than any blade."
The truth. They had held onto that like a lifeline, despite everything they had endured. Behind them, the seventy seven stood in a tight semicircle, their makeshift weapons—a haphazard collection of stones, sharpened sticks, and rusted tools—clutched tightly in trembling hands. But there was something more than desperation driving them now. An electric energy coursed through their ranks, igniting their resolve. Since Tashem's awakening, they had changed, transformed into something more than mere survivors. What once felt like numbness had morphed into a fierce conviction that blazed in their eyes.
Eliara stepped forward, dragging a curved blade from her belt, its tip stained dark with the blood of an earlier battle. "They think we are broken," she said fiercely. "Let's show them what broken people do when they've found something to live for."
Her words ignited a quiet murmur of agreement within the group, a murmur that swelled into a chorus of resolve, but silence reclaimed the moment as a sound pierced through the fading light—a chilling scream that froze every soul in place.
It was not the cry of a human, but something far more sinister.
Screams of beasts—creatures birthed from the darkest nightmares.
And then they came, crashing through the tree line like a surging wave of despair, dark and heavy. Claws flailed, limbs twisted grotesquely, jaws unhinged in a primal hunger. These were not the invaders Tashem had fought before—these were feral and wild, warped by dark magic or sinister experiments. They moved with an unsettling speed, eyes glowing red but devoid of reason.
"Hold!" Tashem shouted, raising his hand to steady the line.
The first beast lunged at them, snarling with a fury that sent terror racing through it's path. In that heartbeat, he unleashed a blinding arc of blue energy from his palm. It struck the creature mid-air, sending it crashing into a nearby tree with a sickening crack that echoed through the clearing.
The chaos erupted like a wildfire.
Ayla became a blur of movement, slipping through branches with the grace of a gusting wind. Each strike of her blades carved through the darkness, relentless and deadly. Eliara and two others formed a tight triad, fighting back to back, their motions so fluid it was as if they danced to an unspoken rhythm. Behind them, a younger boy—hurling glowing stones, each impact bursting with energy that knocked invaders back like leaves in a storm.
But the most astonishing transformation came from the seventy.
They were no longer the timid survivors. They were warriors, emboldened by the urgency of the moment. Their strength and speed had surged, their movements sharp and precise. Some leapt over enemies, striking mid-air, while others moved in perfect unison, their instincts perfectly aligned, as if they shared an unspoken connection. It was a revelation—evidence of their power awakening in the face of despair.
Among them was a woman—thin and elderly, wielding only a stick. However, she moved with an otherworldly grace, her body aglow with the same blue light that radiated from Tashem. Each sweep of her arm sent beasts tumbling to the ground, breath snatched away as though nature itself had whispered death through her fingertips.
Across the clash of bodies, Tashem noticed a man with one eye and a scarred jaw. With fierce determination, he caught an invader mid-leap, driving it into the ground with such force that the earth cracked beneath them. Three others clustered around him, effectively shielding his flanks, their formation an unbreakable wall against the tide of darkness. It was as if years of martial knowledge had been etched into their bones during the chaos, granting them skills that surpassed their former selves.
The invaders had counted on fear to shatter their defenses. They had anticipated confusion, panic, and retreat. Instead, they were met with united resistance—fierce, fierce and empowered.
For the first time, the creatures hesitated.
That hesitation proved costly.
Screams filled the air—human and non-human alike. Trees splintered apart; roots tore from soil. The ground quickly transformed into a muddy battleground, soaked with dark blood and sweat.
At the center of the chaos, Tashem drew the creatures toward him, feeling their primal rage aimed at his presence. He became both a target and a beacon of hope. The beasts snarled and lunged, ravenous for blood, but every attack met the pulse of his palm or the swing of his radiant blade. Light flowed with each movement, arcing out like wings that safeguarded the warriors fighting at his side.
But for every enemy he felled, three more surged forward, a relentless tide that threatened to drown them.
His chest heaved as he struggled to maintain his composure. His hands trembled with fatigue, the weight of their situation beginning to crush him. They were too many—to the point of being overwhelming.
"We need the land," he gasped between breaths, desperate to articulate his thoughts. "The trees, the roots—something."
He dropped to his knees, palms pressed flat against the cool earth. For a fleeting moment, the world felt suspended in silence. Then, deep beneath the surface, a low rumbling stirred. Roots began to awaken. Vines shifted restlessly. The ancient trees, silent witnesses of centuries, seemed to respond to his call.
From the soil, tendrils of vine surged upward, wrapping around monstrous creatures, dragging them back, cracking bones with a sickening crunch. Tree trunks splintered open, revealing dark, hollow spaces that swallowed intruders whole before sealing again with a finality that echoed through the air.
Nature had joined the battle.
All around him, the tide began to turn.
But then—
A shriek sliced through the sky. Unnatural, deafening.
A single creature hovered above the canopy, massive and imposing. Its black wings spread wide, blotting out the light. The grotesque form reminded him of a winged corpse—skin stretched thin, eyes gleaming with a predatory malice. A parasite king.
It dropped.
Straight toward Tashem.
He turned, but his body was too slow.
Then a blur of motion collided with the creature midair.
Ayla.
She slammed into it, an unexpected force of nature, tumbling through the branches as the two fell together. They hit the ground with a bone-rattling thud, and the parasite king screeched in fury, rising with Ayla tangled in its grasp.
Tashem's heart lurched.
"Ayla!" The name tore itself from his throat.
She didn't scream. She didn't beg for mercy.
Instead, she lifted her hand, defiance radiating from her very being, and slammed her fist into the creature's grotesque face. "You don't get to take me," she spat, a fire igniting in her eyes. "Not while I've got something worth fighting for."
The creature roared, but staggered back, disoriented.
Tashem was there within seconds, his blade slicing through the heavy air.
One clean strike.
The beast fell.
Dead.
Ayla collapsed into his arms, breathless but undeniably alive. "Took you long enough," she whispered, a hint of a smirk pulling at the corners of her lips.
He let out a shaky laugh, tears pooling in his eyes as he held her close. "You always were faster."
Around them, the sounds of battle began to fade as many creatures fled into the depths of the forest—some darting into the trees, others disintegrating into ash where they stood, their essence swept away.
But not all escaped.
The smarter ones—the leaders, the scouts—retreated into the shadows, dragging broken limbs and wounded pride with them. They had seen something they could not understand.
Humans who fought with the strength of gods.
They had come expecting to find prey and had encountered predators instead.
The few that survived scattered—heading in different directions, desperate to report what they had experienced. To inform Gusha.
They knew he needed to hear this.
That the god-child had awakened.
That humans had changed.
That something ancient was stirring.
Silence fell over the Vale once again.
But this time, it wasn't the fearful quiet of before.
It was victory.
For now.
Tashem stood up, lifting Ayla with him, the weight of their triumph settling heavily yet comfortably between them.
All around, the seventy—wounded, bloodied, but standing—watched him.
"You fought with more than power today," he said, heart swelling with pride. "You fought with heart."
A voice from the back responded, "You gave us that."
"No," Tashem shook his head earnestly, "You found it within yourselves. Now keep it. Guard it."