Blackridge was a dying town.
Built into the cliffs just beyond the northern ridge of Balefire Valley, it had once thrived as a mining colony. Now, it was a maze of half-collapsed buildings, rusted rails, and abandoned shacks clinging to the edge of a bottomless gorge. A single winding road snaked down the mountainside into its heart, flanked by warning signs no one had updated in decades.
> "CAUTION: Hazardous Terrain. Area Sealed by Federal Mandate."
Kael stood at the top of the ridge, looking down at the mist-choked ruins below. His new spear—Neviran's Fang—rested across his back, while his dagger pulsed steadily at his hip like a second heartbeat.
Marek stood beside him, scanning the horizon through a pair of old military binoculars.
"She came here," he said. "Right after Durin's Hollow. I found her car two miles west, hidden in a gulley."
Kael turned to him. "You said she came looking for a name."
Marek lowered the binoculars. "She came chasing a summoner."
---
The descent into Blackridge was slow and tense.
Kael could feel the presence almost immediately—like a low humming in his bones. Not demonic, not exactly… more like the remnants of something dark. As if rituals had been performed here, over and over, so often that the ground itself remembered.
They passed the rusting remains of a mining lift and followed a gravel path toward the town's center. All around them were signs of abandonment—windows shattered, doors hanging off hinges, symbols scratched into the walls with blood or soot.
Kael paused as they passed a wall marked with strange letters.
"Do you know what this says?" he asked.
Marek frowned. "That's the Old Tongue. Pre-Human dialect. Roughly translates to: 'He Who Dwells Below Listens.'"
Kael's mouth went dry.
---
They reached the town square just as the sun dipped behind the cliffs.
A statue stood at the center—crumbling and defaced—but Kael could just make out the original carving beneath the grime. It wasn't a miner, as he expected. It was a robed figure, arms outstretched, offering something to the sky.
A skull.
Marek spat on the ground. "That's not local."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Cult?"
"Worse. Legacy."
Before Kael could ask what that meant, a voice rang out from behind the statue.
"You're late."
A woman stepped into view—mid-thirties, lean build, olive skin, short cropped hair dyed crimson at the ends. She wore a tattered leather coat and a satchel filled with scrolls and flasks. Her right hand was tattooed with warding symbols; her left held a short iron staff crowned with wolf teeth.
"Mira," Marek said stiffly.
Kael blinked. "You know her?"
"She's my contact in Blackridge."
Mira walked up, sizing Kael with her eyes. "So this is Elaine's kid."
Kael straightened. "Yeah. Kael."
"She didn't tell me you'd be so young," she said, offering a hand.
He shook it, surprised at her grip. Firm. Controlled.
"And armed," she added, eyeing the spear. "That's not a toy."
Kael smirked slightly. "It's not."
---
Inside Mira's safehouse—a reinforced train car buried behind a collapsed rail depot—they sat around a table lit by red lanterns. Maps, journals, and sketches of demonic runes were scattered across the surface.
Mira tapped a particular page—a circular diagram drawn in charcoal.
"This is a binding ring. One of the oldest types. Designed to trap something... or someone."
Kael leaned closer. "You think they summoned something here?"
"Worse," Mira said. "They didn't just summon it—they tried to merge with it."
She flipped to a photograph. Black-and-white, grainy. It showed a man with hollow eyes and a stretched, cracked face. Something about the image made Kael's stomach twist.
"His name was Ehrin Vosk," Mira said. "Once a scholar. Obsessed with demonology. He disappeared in Blackridge twelve years ago. Your mother came here looking for him."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "And?"
"She found traces," Mira said. "And blood."
---
They returned to the town square after midnight.
The fog had grown thick. The buildings loomed like tombstones. Mira led them to a collapsed mineshaft entrance sealed with iron chains and dozens of charms.
"This shaft was condemned twenty years ago," she said. "But people still went down. Whispered voices. Dreams of fire and ash. When the digging stopped, the dreams got worse."
Marek drew his blade. "Is it still active?"
"I cut most of the bindings two days ago," Mira replied. "Whatever's down there is… stirring."
Kael stepped forward. The charms clinked against one another as he passed through the threshold.
A deep groan echoed from below.
Stone shifting.
Breathing.
---
The descent was steep, wet, and dark.
Their headlamps barely penetrated the shadows. The deeper they went, the warmer the air became—unnaturally so. The walls pulsed faintly, like they were alive. At one point, Kael reached out to steady himself and felt something squirm beneath the rock.
They reached a fork in the tunnel. Mira pointed right.
"Ritual chamber's that way. Vosk's work. Careful—the walls are unstable."
Kael moved ahead, spear at the ready. As he stepped into the chamber, his breath caught.
The room was circular, and at its center was a massive sigil carved into the floor—dried blood pooled in its grooves. All around the walls were carvings of faces—dozens of them, all screaming, all twisted in agony.
And at the far end, bound by chains and bolts of silver, was a corpse.
Or so it seemed.
---
The body twitched.
Kael froze.
Its eyes opened—pure white.
And then it spoke.
"You have her scent…"
Kael raised the spear. "Who are you?"
The voice was cracked and wet. "Elaine… she tried to kill me. But she didn't finish the job."
"Ehrin Vosk," Marek said grimly, stepping into the chamber. "You're not dead."
"Not anymore," Vosk rasped. "Not since He found me."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "Who?"
Vosk grinned, revealing black teeth. "Malrekh. The Devouring Flame. The Father of Demons. He gave me purpose."
The chains began to snap—one by one.
---
Mira cursed and tossed a vial toward Vosk.
It shattered, releasing silver mist—but Vosk screamed, and the stone cracked under him. A wave of corruption pulsed outward, warping the sigils on the floor.
Kael didn't wait.
He charged, driving Neviran's Fang toward the figure's heart.
Vosk raised a hand—black claws growing from his fingers—but the spear pierced through them like parchment. Kael twisted the blade.
Vosk howled—his voice turning inhuman—and exploded in a burst of black flame.
The walls shook.
The tunnel began to collapse.
---
They ran.
Stones fell. The floor cracked. Fire chased them as they sprinted through the winding mine, Mira and Marek flanking Kael. Dust filled the air, and screams echoed through the darkness—voices not their own.
They burst into the open just as the mine caved in completely, sending a plume of smoke into the night sky.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Mira turned to Kael.
"You killed him."
Kael wiped blood from his cheek.
"He was already dead."
---
Back at the safehouse, Kael examined the fragments of Vosk's body—what little remained.
A strange mark was carved into his spine—a sigil not in any of Mira's books.
She traced it slowly with her finger.
"This wasn't human."
Marek looked at Kael.
"Your mother stopped him once. You just finished what she started."
Kael looked at the broken spear, now flickering with blue fire.
"I think this was only a message," he said.
Mira raised an eyebrow. "From who?"
Kael stared into the shadows outside.
"Malrekh."