The silence that followed the Borak's disappearance was more terrifying than its roars.
For a long moment, no one in the village moved. The image of the elder on his knees, supported only by a smoldering piece of wood, burned itself into their retinas more deeply than any kind of flame. The air was heavy with the smell of sulfur and something worse that putrid odor the Abyssals left behind, like fruit rotting under the sun.
Gareth was the first to break the silence. His fingers, still wrapped around the bow, ached from clenching. He released the weapon, which fell into the wet grass with a muffled sound that seemed too loud in the quiet.
"Aldric!" his voice came out hoarse, laden with an urgency he rarely allowed himself to show.
His feet began to move before his mind gave the complete order, taking him through the shimmering barrier the same one that had failed to protect Joren in that last instant. He felt the slight resistance as he crossed it, that characteristic tingling of protective magic, but now it seemed weaker, as if dissipating.
The first thing that struck him was the smell. Sulfur mixed with a metallic touch of blood both the dark red and the bizarre purple of the Abyssals. With each step toward Aldric, he trod on the wreckage of the battle: pieces of blackened wood, churned earth, dark stains that were still faintly warm.
The old mage did not seem to hear him approach. His shoulders, once carrying a silent authority, now curved forward like branches under the weight of snow. The hand holding the staff trembled with a violence that was painful to watch. The skin of his fingers, seen in the pale moonlight, was red and blistered, with black marks of charred flesh where the energy had recoiled.
"Elder..." The word came from Gareth like a hoarse whisper.
He did not know what else to say. "Thank you" seemed insignificant in the face of such devastation. "Are you okay?" was a stupid question, when the answer was as obvious as "no."
Aldric tried to lift his head. The movement was slow, painfully slow, as if every muscle in his body protested against the effort. When his eyes finally met Gareth's, the young hunter held his breath.
There was no triumph in them. There was no relief. There was only a weariness so deep it seemed to have hollowed out the bones of Aldric's face, leaving behind only shadows and a gelid acceptance of something terrible.
"Konstant," Aldric's voice was rough, a rustle of dry leaves. "Joren."
"I don't know their condition," Gareth replied, his own voice faltering. "The others are with them now. I came..." he hesitated, looking at the devastated elder. "I came to see if you were okay."
Aldric closed his eyes for a moment, and Gareth saw something like pain pass over his wrinkled face. When he opened them again, there was a flicker of something familiar a stubborn, rusty will, fighting to rise through the ruins of his body.
"Yes," he breathed, more to himself than to Gareth. "Not yet... I still cannot rest."
His words came out broken, each syllable costing visible effort. "There are... wounded. I need... to help."
"You can barely stand," Gareth protested, but was already moving to support him. He extended a hand, hesitating before lightly touching the mage's shoulder. The fabric of the tunic was surprisingly warm, almost burning, as if it still contained residues of the mystical energy Aldric had channeled.
"It doesn't matter," Aldric murmured, using the staff to try to rise. "Konstant... the boy was hit by the Borak. If not treated soon..."
He did not finish the sentence, but he didn't need to. Gareth had already seen what that purple aura was capable of. He had seen part of Joren simply vanish at its slightest touch.
"Let me help you," Gareth said firmly, putting an arm around the elder's shoulders.
Leaning heavily on the young hunter, Aldric tried to stand. It was an agonizing effort to witness. His knees failed on the first attempt, and only Gareth's firm support and the staff dug into the ground prevented him from collapsing completely. A low, involuntary groan escaped his lips, like bones grinding and muscles tearing.
"Slowly," Gareth instructed, adjusting his support. "No rush is worth you falling before we get there."
"There is," Aldric retorted, but his voice lacked strength. "Every second counts. You... you don't understand what that aura does. It corrodes. Devours the very essence of life."
Finally standing, swaying, he looked deep into the forest. To where the trail of purple blood led, disappearing among the dark trees. For a moment, something dangerous shone in his eyes anger, perhaps, or determination to hunt the creature that had done this.
But then he let out a trembling sigh, and that flicker went out, replaced again by weariness. "Let's go," he said simply.
They walked slowly toward the village, each of Aldric's steps costing visible effort. Gareth kept his support firm, adjusting the pace to accommodate the elder's limitations.
"I found the lost children," Gareth said as they advanced, trying to fill the tense silence. "Luna was hiding in a cave, blocked by a shadow Grusk. I managed to kill it before it could reach her."
"And the others?" Aldric asked, his voice a little stronger now, as if speaking about something beyond his own pain helped.
"Tam, Davos, and Ella were hidden in a hollow log. Luna made them hide while she distracted the creature." There was pride in his voice, mixed with worry. "She... she is too brave for her own good sometimes."
"Courage is not the absence of fear," Aldric murmured. "It is acting despite it. She has that. Just as you did today."
Gareth did not reply, but Aldric felt the arm around his shoulders tighten slightly a silent recognition.
As they approached the village, the scene awaiting them revealed itself in its full devastation.
The village was in complete chaos.
Maren was on her knees beside Joren, who lay unconscious on the bloodstained grass. She wept convulsively, her hands clasped over her seven month pregnant belly, her whole body trembling. Her tears fell on her husband's pale face, mingling with dirt and sweat.
"He's going to die, he's going to die," she repeated like a broken mantra, her voice rising in panic. "He can't die, not now, not like this..."
Several village women surrounded her, trying to comfort her, but their own voices trembled. One of them Elara, the one who could manipulate water held Maren's shoulders gently.
"Maren, you need to calm down," Elara said, her voice firm but compassionate. "For the baby. Joren wouldn't want you to hurt yourself because of him."
"How can I calm down?" Maren cried, her voice cracking. "Look at him! Look what they did to him!"
Aldric quickened his pace, ignoring the pain exploding in every nerve ending. Gareth helped him make way through the crowd forming around the wounded. Worried faces turned toward him, some with visible relief at seeing the elder still alive, others with fear at what his devastated condition meant.
"I am fine," Aldric said before anyone could ask, waving his free hand though it still trembled. "Just tired. See to the wounded first."
But his eyes were already on Joren, and what he saw made his heart sink even further.
The carpenter was unconscious, his face as pale as wax in the torchlight. Part of his right leg simply... was no longer there. From the knee down, there was only a frightening void where flesh and bone should have been. The edge was too smooth, too perfect there was no gushing blood, no torn flesh. It was as if that part of his body had been carefully erased from reality.
But the arm... the arm was in terrible condition. The sleeve was torn to shreds, revealing deep cuts that went through skin and muscle. Dark blood stained the fabric and the grass around. There were other minor wounds scattered over his body scratches, bruises, a strange burn on his shoulder.
But, from that distance, Aldric could see Joren's chest rising and falling with shallow, irregular breaths. "Still alive," he thought with grim relief. "Thank the gods, still alive."
"Let me through," Aldric said, his voice regaining some authority. "I need to examine him."
With Gareth's help, he knelt beside the wounded carpenter. Every movement was agony his muscles protested, his bones felt made of broken glass, but he forced himself to ignore it.
His hands trembled violently as he examined Joren. He touched the wounded arm first, feeling carefully around the cuts. Deep, yes, but clean. No sign of the purple corruption the Abyssals left.
"He entered the barrier quickly," Aldric murmured, more to himself. "The contact was brief enough. The barrier managed to purify the corruption before it spread."
"And the leg?" Gareth asked quietly, knowing the answer would be bad.
Aldric moved to examine the frightening void where the leg should have been. He extended his hand, hesitating inches from the smooth edge. He closed his eyes, extending his senses the little he still had after the devastating battle.
There was no corruption there either. The Borak had simply... erased that part. Destroyed it on a fundamental level. There was nothing to heal because there was nothing left anymore.
"The leg is gone," he said finally, opening his eyes and looking at Maren. "There is nothing I or any healer can do. It simply... ceased to exist."
Maren sobbed louder, curling into herself. The women around tightened their support.
"But," Aldric continued, forcing firmness into his voice, "he is not contaminated. The corruption did not spread. The other wounds will heal. He will survive."
He looked directly at Maren, hoping his words would penetrate the panic. "Your husband will live, Maren. He will walk with difficulty, will need a cane or crutch, but he will live. He will meet his child. He will see his family grow."
The words finally seemed to reach her. Maren lifted her tear stained face, red eyes fixed on Aldric. "Are you sure? Absolutely sure?"
"I am," Aldric said, and put all the conviction he could muster into that word. "But you need to calm down now. For the baby. For Joren. He will need you strong when he wakes."
She nodded slowly, still trembling, but the hysteria beginning to recede. Elara and the other women helped her sit properly, murmuring words of comfort.
"Take Joren to Mira's house," Aldric ordered, looking at the sturdy men nearby. "She has medicines that will help with the pain when he wakes, and can treat the other wounds properly."
Four men approached immediately, lifting Joren carefully onto an improvised stretcher of wood and cloth. Maren stood to follow them, supported by Elara and another woman.
"You too," Aldric said to the women. "Make sure she rests. The last thing we need is premature labor from stress."
They nodded and began guiding Maren away, their soft voices offering comfort as they moved off.
Aldric took a deep breath or tried. His lungs burned, as if he had inhaled smoke. But he couldn't stop yet. There was another wounded person. A more critical one.
"Konstant," he said, looking around. "Where is Konstant?"
Gareth pointed to a spot not far away, where another group had gathered. Aldric could see Rady kneeling at the center, his small body partially blocking the view.
With Gareth's help, Aldric stood again each movement a renewed torture and headed there. The crowd parted to let them pass, pale, frightened faces watching them.
When he finally saw Konstant, Aldric's heart sank like a stone in the sea.
The boy lay on the grass, unconscious. Rady was at his side, pressing a cloth against Konstant's forehead, but it was already soaked with blood. Blood, so much blood, flowed from the left side of the boy's face, staining it completely scarlet.
But what caught Aldric's attention the most was the wound itself.
A deep cut crossed Konstant's forehead, on the left side. It wasn't large, perhaps five centimeters long, but the area around it was slightly sunken, as if the skull bone itself had been crushed. And worse: a darkened purple aura, almost imperceptible but definitely present, pulsed around the wound like a sick halo.
"No," Aldric whispered, feeling horror spread through his chest. "No, no, no..."
Rady lifted his face at hearing him. The boy had tears streaming down his cheeks, stains of Konstant's blood on his clothes and hands. "Aldric, he... he won't wake up. I tried, but he won't wake!"
Rady's voice was on the verge of hysteria, rising in panic. "And there's this purple thing, this... this thing in his wound that won't come off, no matter how much I clean!"
"Out of the way," Aldric ordered, his voice cutting.
Rady obeyed immediately, stepping back but not going far. His eyes never left Konstant, his hands still trembling with the bloody cloth.
Aldric knelt beside Konstant, ignoring the agonizing protest of his knees. His hands, still trembling violently, hovered over the wound. He closed his eyes and extended his senses once more.
And immediately wished he hadn't.
The corruption was deep. Very deep. It had passed through the barrier, probably because the impact happened at the exact moment Konstant was moving into it, being half inside and half outside the protection. The purple aura clung to the wound like a vicious parasite and was now slowly spreading through his body.
Aldric could feel it: small filaments of corrupt energy extending through the boy's mystical channels, following the invisible lines connecting the divine fragment in his neck to the rest of his being. It was like poison spreading through veins, but worse, much worse. It was consuming Konstant's very life essence.
"His vitality is being drained," Aldric said aloud, more to himself than to the others.
He opened his eyes and examined the boy more carefully. And then he saw something that made his stomach churn: a few strands of Konstant's hair, near the wound, were already beginning to turn white. Not the natural white of aging, but a dead white, like ashes.
The corruption was literally draining his life, aging him prematurely, consuming his life force to feed itself.
"How long?" Gareth asked quietly, and there was something terribly somber in his voice. He had seen Abyssal wounds before. He knew what that question meant.
Aldric did not answer immediately. He reached out and lightly touched Konstant's neck, where the mystical mark was. He could feel the divine fragment inside, fighting the corruption. Pulsing with faint but stubborn light, trying to purify the poison.
But it was losing.
"The fragment inside him is fighting the abyssal power corruption," Aldric said finally, his voice laden with heavy sadness. "That's why he is still alive. But..."
He hesitated, looking at Konstant's pale face. At Rady, whose eyes were wide with terror. At the villagers around, waiting for his words.
"But since he hasn't awakened his mystical powers yet, the fragment is small. Weak. It won't last long fighting alone."
"How long?" Gareth repeated, more firmly.
Aldric closed his eyes, doing the grim calculations in his head. Feeling the rate of the corruption's growth, the decreasing strength of the fragment, Konstant's ever weakening pulse.
"One hour," he said finally, and the words fell like a death sentence. "Maybe a little more if he is strong. But not much more than that."