The highway was broken.
Cracks split the asphalt like veins, weeds and warped roots forcing their way through what used to be smooth lanes of traffic. Abandoned cars sat frozen where they had been left, some crushed by falling debris, others burned out shells picked clean by scavengers or monsters. Road signs leaned at odd angles, their directions still readable but meaningless in a world that no longer followed maps.
Under normal circumstances, the town my sister was in would have been a three or four hour drive.
Now, at the pace we were moving, it would take days.
I lay across the broad back of the salamander headed demon, my vision drifting between the gray sky above and the ruined road ahead. Every breath still hurt, though the pain had dulled from sharp agony into something heavy and constant. My mana pool remained dangerously low, barely recovering in thin trickles no matter how much I focused.
Aramak had warned me.
This was the price.
We left the highway before long. The road ahead was blocked by collapsed overpasses and mana warped terrain that twisted the air itself. Beyond it stretched forest, dense and alive in ways forests were never meant to be.
Rifts dotted the landscape like infected wounds.
Nearby tears in reality spilled creatures from a world ruled by a God of Gnolls and Hounds. Packs prowled the treeline, their howls echoing through the woods at all hours. They moved with religious fervor, marked by crude symbols burned into their flesh.
They were not the only invaders.
From deeper within the forest came another presence. Silent. Cold. Methodical.
Dark elves.
They emerged from a different kind of rift entirely, one that did not scream or distort violently. Their portals were clean, sharp, and deliberate. Their settlements were hidden among the trees, grown rather than built, and protected by magic that suppressed ambient mana.
Two factions. Two invading forces.
And caught between them was me.
Mana dry. Exhausted. Barely able to stand without assistance.
"We do not need to fight them," I said quietly, my voice rough from disuse. "But we do need to carve our way forward."
The salamander demon rumbled in acknowledgment beneath me.
The axe wielding demon glanced back briefly, eyes burning with approval.
The raven headed one circled overhead, wings silent against the gray sky.
I had given them names.
Not because they asked.
Because it made them feel real.
Hatch was the axe wielder. Solid. Direct. Brutally efficient.
Flambe was the salamander. Steady. Protective. Surprisingly gentle despite the heat he carried.
Corvus was the assassin. Quiet. Watchful. Always moving where eyes could not easily follow.
They worked together without needing commands, instincts honed by war and hierarchy. My presence did not make them weaker or hesitant. If anything, it sharpened their focus.
King to Demons.
The skill pulsed faintly within me, not as a constant effect, but as an underlying truth. They did not see me as a burden. They saw me as something worth guarding.
That alone made the pain bearable.
We entered the forest at dawn.
Light filtered through twisted branches overhead, painting the ground in fractured patterns. Mana density fluctuated wildly here. Some areas felt heavy and oppressive. Others were eerily empty, drained by dark elf magic or warped by gnoll rituals.
Flambe lowered his body slightly to keep me from scraping branches. His heat warded off insects and lesser creatures that might have otherwise swarmed us.
Hatch took point, axe resting easily on his shoulder. Every few steps he stopped, sniffing the air, reading signs I could not.
Corvus vanished ahead, reappearing periodically to signal danger or clear paths.
The first gnoll pack found us by scent.
They came howling through the undergrowth, six of them, weapons raised, eyes glowing with fervor. Their leader bore markings burned deep into his chest, the symbol of their god carved into flesh.
I tried to rise.
My body refused.
Before I could speak, Hatch stepped forward.
The gnoll leader charged.
Hatch met him head on.
The axe came down in a clean arc, splitting bone and armor alike. The leader collapsed in two pieces before it could even cry out. The remaining gnolls hesitated, confusion breaking their momentum.
Flambe exhaled.
A controlled burst of flame swept low across the forest floor, not a raging inferno, but a precise wave that burned legs and drove the pack back screaming.
Corvus dropped from above, claws flashing. Two gnolls fell without ever knowing what hit them.
The rest fled.
I felt nothing from the fight except a faint tug in my chest as contribution points ticked upward.
[Contribution Points +41]
I closed my eyes.
I hated how easy it had been.
Not because it was wrong.
Because it reminded me of how powerless I still was.
We pressed on.
By the second day, the forest grew darker. Dark elf territory.
The air here felt thin, stripped of excess mana. Even Flambe's flames dimmed slightly, his body glowing less brightly. My mana recovery slowed even further, each point gained feeling like it had been wrung from stone.
Dark elves watched us.
I knew they were there even when I could not see them. Corvus confirmed it when he returned, eyes narrowed.
"They observe," he said simply. "They do not attack."
"Yet," I replied.
We skirted their settlements carefully. Living structures woven from trees and crystal loomed in the distance, their magic suppressing the surrounding area. Gnolls avoided these places entirely, fear overriding fanaticism.
The Dark elves were not allies.
But they were not mindless either.
As long as we did not threaten them, they allowed us to pass.
At night, we made camp in mana neutral zones where neither faction held dominance. Hatch stood watch. Corvus ranged outward. Flambe curled protectively around me, his warmth keeping the cold and lesser creatures at bay.
Sleep came in fragments.
Dreams followed.
Aramak's laughter echoed at the edges of my mind, but he did not intrude. Mulligan's presence was quieter, contemplative, as if watching and waiting.
On the third night, my mana finally stabilized.
Not recovered.
But no longer empty.
I managed to sit up on my own for the first time since the embodiment. Pain still flared, but it no longer threatened to overwhelm me.
Progress.
"We are close," Corvus said upon returning from scouting. "Your kin's territory lies beyond the next ridge."
My heart clenched.
Close.
After days of danger and exhaustion, the thought felt unreal.
I looked at my hands, still trembling slightly, still marked by power I had barely begun to understand.
"I am not ready," I admitted quietly.
Hatch snorted.
"Readiness is irrelevant," he said. "Survival is sufficient."
Flambe nodded.
"You endure," he rumbled. "That is enough."
I took a slow breath.
They were right.
I did not need to be perfect.
I needed to keep moving.
As dawn broke through the trees, we resumed our journey, the forest slowly thinning ahead. Beyond it lay roads, neighborhoods, and the fragile hope that my sister was still alive.