The plan was insane. Astraeus knew it. Every rational part of his mind, the part that had been trained in academy tactics and risk assessment, screamed that this was suicide. Five Voidborn, a stable rift, and a team of mages who had never fought together in a real life-or-death situation. The odds were abysmal.
But as he looked at the determined faces of his teammates, at the grim resolve in their eyes, he knew they were going to do it anyway. Because the alternative—running away and leaving the rift to fester—was unthinkable.
They moved into position, a silent, coordinated dance of shadows and whispers. Lyra circled the clearing, her movements fluid and silent, a ghost in the oppressive darkness of the Blackwood. Darius and Thomas took up positions on the flank, their bodies tense, essence already gathering around them like a coiled spring. Kira and Elena found a vantage point slightly further back, ready to provide healing and ranged support.
Astraeus took a deep breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was their trump card, the one who could seal the rift. But he was also the most vulnerable. The sealing process required intense concentration and a massive amount of essence. He would be a sitting duck.
He watched as Lyra reached her position on the far side of the clearing. She knelt, pressing her palms to the damp earth. Astraeus could feel the shift in the essence, the way she drew power from the ground, shaping it into a complex, pulsating construct. A moment later, a pillar of stone rose from the earth, glowing with a soft, ethereal light, mimicking the essence signature of a living being.
The effect was instantaneous. The five Voidborn, who had been standing motionless as statues, turned their featureless faces in unison toward the distraction. Their mouths, impossibly wide gashes in their smooth heads, opened in a silent, synchronized snarl. Three of them detached from the group and began to move toward the pulsating pillar, their movements jerky and unnatural, like puppets on invisible strings.
Two remained, guarding the rift.
Now, Kha'Zul's voice was a sharp command in his mind.
"Now!" Darius hissed, his voice barely a whisper, but it cut through the tense silence like a knife.
Thomas and Darius exploded from their cover. Thomas was a blur of motion, his hands a whirlwind of gestures as he unleashed a torrent of raw power. A concentrated beam of pure, destructive force, a lance of shimmering energy, shot across the clearing and slammed into the nearest Voidborn. The creature was lifted off its feet, a gaping hole torn through its torso, and thrown backward into the withered trees.
Darius was right behind him, his movements a stark contrast to Thomas's explosive power. He was a study in efficiency, every step, every motion with a purpose. He summoned a barrage of shimmering essence blades, each one a razor-sharp shard of energy, and sent them slicing into the second Voidborn. The creature shrieked, a sound that was not a sound, a psychic scream that grated on Astraeus's nerves, as the blades bit deep into its shadowy flesh.
Astraeus didn't wait to see the outcome. He ran, his feet pounding on the dead earth, his focus entirely on the shimmering black wound in reality. The rift pulsed with a dark, malevolent energy, resisting his approach, making his skin crawl and his essence recoil. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, the void calling to him, promising oblivion.
He pushed the feeling aside, his training and Kha'Zul's harsh lessons taking over. He began to shape his essence, his hands moving in the complex, intricate patterns of the sealing technique. The air around him grew thick with power, the silver-blue light of his essence a stark contrast to the oppressive darkness of the rift.
The second Voidborn, wounded but not dead, its shadowy form riddled with cuts from Darius's blades, turned its attention from its attacker to the new, more immediate threat. It ignored Darius, who was preparing another attack, and charged directly at Astraeus, its featureless face a mask of cold, alien rage.
"Astraeus, look out!" Lyra's voice was a sharp cry from across the clearing.
A wall of solid earth erupted from the ground between Astraeus and the charging Voidborn, a desperate, last-second intervention. The creature slammed into it with enough force to crack the stone, but the barrier held. For now.
"Seal it!" Lyra shouted, her voice strained with the effort of maintaining the wall. "We'll handle them!"
Astraeus didn't need to be told twice. He poured his focus, his will, his very being into the sealing mandala. The complex pattern of silver-blue light grew brighter, more solid, a beacon of order against the chaos of the rift.
But the rift fought back. It was a stable, anchored tear in reality, far more powerful than the one in the warehouse. It pushed against his seal, its dark energy trying to unravel his carefully constructed pattern. He felt his essence draining at an alarming rate.
[ETHEREAL ESSENCE: 60/80]
Behind him, the sounds of battle were a chaotic symphony of destruction. He could hear Thomas shouting incantations, the crackle of lightning and the roar of fire. He could hear Darius's sharp, concise commands, the clash of essence against the Voidborn's unnatural flesh. He could hear Kira and Elena adding their own power to the fray, their spells weaving through the chaos to support their teammates.
And then he heard a new sound, a sound that made his blood run cold. A triumphant, multi-toned shriek from the far side of the clearing. The three distracted Voidborn had realized the trick. They were coming back.
"Astraeus, we need that rift closed NOW!" Darius yelled, his voice tight with desperation.
[ETHEREAL ESSENCE: 40/80]
The seal was forming, but it was too slow. He needed more power. He needed something to tip the scales.
Open the binding, Kha'Zul said, his voice a low, seductive whisper in the back of his mind. Like before. Let me help.
Astraeus didn't hesitate. He couldn't. He loosened the metaphysical chains that bound the Demon King to his soul, just a fraction, and felt Kha'Zul's power surge through him like a tidal wave of liquid fire. It was a dark, intoxicating power, tainted with three thousand years of accumulated rage and malice, but it was undeniably strong.
The silver-blue of his essence swirled with the crimson-black of the demon's, creating a maelstrom of chaotic, beautiful energy. The sealing mandala blazed with a new, terrifying intensity, and he slammed it into the rift with the force of a battering ram.
The rift screamed, an actual, physical sound, like tearing fabric on a cosmic scale. It began to collapse in on itself, the edges fraying, the darkness within churning and boiling.
[ETHEREAL ESSENCE: 15/80]
"It's closing!" Astraeus shouted, his voice hoarse with the strain. "Thirty seconds!"
"We don't have thirty seconds!" Thomas yelled back, his voice strained.
The three returning Voidborn were almost upon them. Lyra's earth wall, already weakened, shattered under their combined assault. Darius and Thomas stood between the creatures and Astraeus, a desperate, hopeless last line of defense.
Twenty seconds.
One of the Voidborn, the one with the extra arms, broke through their line, its multiple limbs flailing as it charged directly at Astraeus. He couldn't move. He couldn't stop maintaining the seal. If he did, the rift would stabilize, and all of this would be for nothing.
Ten seconds.
The Voidborn's clawed hand reached for his face, close enough that he could smell its foul, otherworldly stench. He braced for the impact, for the feeling of claws tearing through his flesh, for the cold finality of death.
But it never came.
A shadow detached itself from his own, rising up to meet the charging Voidborn. It was a figure of pure, solidified darkness, a being of ancient power and unimaginable rage. It was Kha'Zul, partially manifested, his form a twisted mockery of a man, his eyes burning with a cold, crimson light.
He met the Voidborn's charge with a casual, almost lazy grace, one shadowy hand catching the creature's flailing arm. And then, with a flick of his wrist, he tore it off.
The Voidborn shrieked, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony, and Kha'Zul laughed, a low, rumbling sound that was more terrifying than any scream.
Insects, he snarled, his voice a chorus of damned souls. You dare to challenge a king?
And then he went to work.
He was a whirlwind of shadow and death, his movements a blur of impossible speed and brutal efficiency. He tore through the remaining Voidborn like a scythe through wheat, his shadowy claws ripping and tearing, his laughter a constant, terrifying counterpoint to the creatures' dying screams.
It was over in seconds. The five Voidborn lay in pieces, their shadowy forms dissolving into black smoke, their alien essence returning to the void from whence it came.
The rift, its guardians gone, finally collapsed, the last of its dark energy imploding with a soft, final pop. The oppressive silence of the Blackwood returned, broken only by the ragged sound of six mages gasping for breath.
Astraeus fell to his knees, the last of his strength gone, his vision swimming. Kha'Zul's shadowy form dissolved back into his own, the borrowed power receding, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion and a profound, unsettling sense of violation.
He had won. They had won. But the cost… the cost was something he was only just beginning to understand.