There was no time to pray.
When the Hollow One moved, the world itself seemed to hold its breath.
Anna leapt forward first, slicing through the distance like lightning—but the blade barely kissed the air before being shattered. The creature didn't even flinch. It merely stepped aside, slow and deliberate, like a god watching ants kill each other for entertainment.
Herzl froze.
He wasn't afraid of death anymore. Not really.
He was afraid of dying without ever having lived.
The Hollow One turned its head toward him.
Its eyes weren't eyes. They were holes in the world—empty, but aware. A stare that stripped the soul bare. Herzl felt every childhood wound reopen. Every betrayal. Every memory he'd locked away behind a smile or buried in laughter.
The creature stepped closer. Not running. Not charging.
Just walking—like it had all the time in eternity.
"MOVE!" Grim's voice shattered the trance.
Herzl blinked. Time snapped back into motion.
He dodged left—barely—just as the ground where he stood exploded. The Hollow One hadn't touched it. Its aura had.
Inn, they called it.
The life-force that responded to will. But this wasn't will. This was a curse.
Anna was still standing, blood dripping from her lip. "This isn't a fighter," she said between breaths. "It's a memory. A living nightmare."
"Then let's wake up," Grim growled, hurling a dagger. It didn't even touch the Hollow One. The air around it twisted, slowing the blade to a crawl before disintegrating it.
Herzl's hands shook. His Inn still hadn't awakened fully. He felt useless. Like a spectator in his own war.
He clenched his fists.
Then he remembered something his mother used to say:
"Courage isn't loud. It doesn't shout over fear. It's the quiet voice that says, 'I'll try again tomorrow.'"
The battle became a blur.
Grim and Anna moved like myths—clashing with something older than war, older than time. But even they were losing ground.
And Herzl could feel something cracking inside him.
Not fear. Not doubt.
Something else.
A question.
What makes someone a monster?
Is it the claws? The teeth? The blood?
Or is it the choice to give up one's soul, piece by piece, until nothing is left but hunger?
He had met people more monstrous than the creatures they fought. Soldiers who smiled while burning towns. Politicians who drank wine while sending boys to die. Priests who preached peace, then blessed bombs.
Maybe that's what this war was: not humans versus beasts, but those who remembered their humanity and those who abandoned it.
The Hollow One struck Grim.
The man flew back, slamming into a trench wall. His blood painted the snow.
Anna screamed, charging again.
Herzl stood alone now.
The creature turned toward him.
It stared.
And Herzl stared back.
Not as a soldier.
Not as a hero.
But as a boy who once sat under a burned-out sky and asked the stars if his life would ever mean something.
He raised his hand.
No aura yet.
No miracle.
Just resolve.
And in that moment—something flickered.
Not light.
Not flame.
But clarity.
"To be human," Herzl thought, "is to stand, even when you've lost everything. Even when your knees shake. Even when hope is dead."
The Hollow One took another step forward—
—and something inside Herzl broke open.
There was no time to pray.
When the Hollow One moved, the world itself seemed to hold its breath.
Anna leapt forward first, slicing through the distance like lightning—but the blade barely kissed the air before being shattered. The creature didn't even flinch. It merely stepped aside, slow and deliberate, like a god watching ants kill each other for entertainment.
Herzl froze.
He wasn't afraid of death anymore. Not really.
He was afraid of dying without ever having lived.
The Hollow One turned its head toward him.
Its eyes weren't eyes. They were holes in the world—empty, but aware. A stare that stripped the soul bare. Herzl felt every childhood wound reopen. Every betrayal. Every memory he'd locked away behind a smile or buried in laughter.
The creature stepped closer. Not running. Not charging.
Just walking—like it had all the time in eternity.
"MOVE!" Grim's voice shattered the trance.
Herzl blinked. Time snapped back into motion.
He dodged left—barely—just as the ground where he stood exploded. The Hollow One hadn't touched it. Its aura had.
Inn, they called it.
The life-force that responded to will. But this wasn't will. This was a curse.
Anna was still standing, blood dripping from her lip. "This isn't a fighter," she said between breaths. "It's a memory. A living nightmare."
"Then let's wake up," Grim growled, hurling a dagger. It didn't even touch the Hollow One. The air around it twisted, slowing the blade to a crawl before disintegrating it.
Herzl's hands shook. His Inn still hadn't awakened fully. He felt useless. Like a spectator in his own war.
He clenched his fists.
Then he remembered something his mother used to say:
"Courage isn't loud. It doesn't shout over fear. It's the quiet voice that says, 'I'll try again tomorrow.'"
The battle became a blur.
Grim and Anna moved like myths—clashing with something older than war, older than time. But even they were losing ground.
And Herzl could feel something cracking inside him.
Not fear. Not doubt.
Something else.
A question.
What makes someone a monster?
Is it the claws? The teeth? The blood?
Or is it the choice to give up one's soul, piece by piece, until nothing is left but hunger?
He had met people more monstrous than the creatures they fought. Soldiers who smiled while burning towns. Politicians who drank wine while sending boys to die. Priests who preached peace, then blessed bombs.
Maybe that's what this war was: not humans versus beasts, but those who remembered their humanity and those who abandoned it.
The Hollow One struck Grim.
The man flew back, slamming into a trench wall. His blood painted the snow.
Anna screamed, charging again.
Herzl stood alone now.
The creature turned toward him.
It stared.
And Herzl stared back.
Not as a soldier.
Not as a hero.
But as a boy who once sat under a burned-out sky and asked the stars if his life would ever mean something.
He raised his hand.
No aura yet.
No miracle.
Just resolve.
And in that moment—something flickered.
Not light.
Not flame.
But clarity.
"To be human," Herzl thought, "is to stand, even when you've lost everything. Even when your knees shake. Even when hope is dead."
The Hollow One took another step forward—
—and something inside Herzl broke open.