Riding a horse in the physical world is a matter of balance and command. You feel the animal’s muscle, the sweat, the jolt of hoof against earth. But riding Goiás in the Spiritual Frontier? That was piloting a comet.
"Let’s go, boy!" I shouted, not with the voice in my throat, but with the will of my soul.
Goiás bolted. In the real world, we were galloping through the neighbor’s tall pasture, dodging armadillo holes and barbed wire fences under the weak moonlight. But in my double vision, the reality was different. The dry grass had turned into a sea of ash that whipped against the horse's knees. The wire fences were chains of purple smoke trying to snare his legs, but Goiás’s hooves of light snapped them like cobwebs.
The wind hit my face, freezing and smelling of old copper. Umbra smelled of rotten things, of rust and dried blood.
My left arm, the Arm of the Alliance, lit the way like a tractor headlight. With every gallop, I felt the Light of Aureus pump from my chest into the spiritual prosthesis, keeping its form solid. Keeping the gift active required focus. If I doubted, if I felt fear, the light flickered. And falling off the horse now meant falling straight into the devil’s lap.
We climbed the hill toward the dense forest. That was where the storm was coming from.
Down below, in the material plane, that forest was just a patch of preserved legal reserve. But here? The trees looked like people petrified in agony, with twisted branches like fingers begging for help. The sky above the canopy wasn't gray; it was a violet and black whirlpool.
"Damn..." I whispered.
This wasn’t a simple ritual. The place felt... sick. The heavy atmosphere slammed against my chest, a sudden sensation of sadness and despair that almost made me drop the reins. That was how Umbra worked: before cutting your flesh, they tried to cut your hope.
"Don't let it get in your head, Dayanne," I said aloud to myself, gritting my teeth. "Focus on the job."
Suddenly, the shadows between the trees moved.
It wasn't one or two. There were dozens.
Wraiths. Manifestations of minor sins, the bottom of Umbra’s food chain. They took the shape of rickety dogs, but skinless, made of that dark, oily mass. They didn't bark; they made a gurgling sound, like a clogged drain.
They were surrounding the trail.
Goiás whinnied, a metallic and furious sound, and reared up. His forelegs of light came down with the force of a hydraulic sledgehammer, crushing two Wraiths that tried to jump for his neck. The explosion of golden light illuminated the clearing.
"Hold tight, my boy!" I shouted, adjusting myself in the ethereal saddle.
They came in a wave.
I dropped the reins. Goiás knew what to do; I needed my hands free. Or rather, the hand that mattered.
A Wraith leaped at my left, aiming for my leg. I twisted my torso and brought the arm of light down in a descending arc. The impact was solid. My hand passed through the shadowy form, and Aureus’s energy fried the creature from the inside out. It dissolved into smoke before I could even retract my arm.
"One down! Fifty to go!" I counted, feeling the adrenaline drown out the fear.
But they were fast. Another Wraith latched onto Goiás’s rump, shadow claws scratching against the light of his protection. The horse bucked, and I almost hit the ground. I felt a sharp sting in my physical leg—spiritual damage reflecting as exhaustion or pain in the real body.
"Oh, no! Not on my horse!"
I extended my arm of light, grabbing the Wraith by the nape of its neck and ripping it off the rump. I threw the creature against a spiritual tree with such force that the trunk cracked.
"Lux Veritatis!" The command came out instinctively.
I concentrated my Devotion in the palm of my hand. It wasn't just hitting; it was purifying. A short beam of golden light shot from my hand, piercing three Wraiths coming in a line. The smell of burnt ozone filled the air.
We were winning, but we were surrounded. And worse: those things weren't attacking out of instinct. They were stalling us.
"They’re making a barrier, Goiás! They want to stop us from reaching the center!"
I looked ahead. In the middle of the clearing, protected by the wall of monsters, was a humanoid figure. It wasn't a Wraith. It wore an impeccable pinstripe suit, completely out of place in the dirty woods, and held a chalice overflowing with black liquid onto the ground.
A Herald of Shadow? Or maybe a cultist trying to ascend?
The man in the suit looked at me. He had no face, just a smooth blur where eyes and a mouth should be. But I heard his voice in my mind, clear and oily, just as the Black Testament preaches.
"The crippled vet... Did you come to sacrifice the other half to the Void?"
Rage rose hot up my neck. Not bar-fight anger, but the righteous wrath of someone watching their land being poisoned.
"The only thing crippled here is your morals, you bastard," I growled.
I spurred Goiás.
"GO! RUN HIM DOWN!"
Goiás understood. He didn't dodge the Wraiths. He accelerated. We became a battering ram of light and fury, tearing through the darkness toward the man in the suit. I readied my arm for impact. If he wanted to see sacrifice, I was going to show him the weight of Aureus's hand.