2.15 Downfall

Above them, Akrumei hovered, wrapped in living shadow.

His body no longer resembled a goblin general, but something hollowed and remade. A cloak of black slime billowed around him, weightless and sentient. His face was covered in a mask—slim, oval, seamless, and marked by a single eye like Cycloth’s own: black sclera, white iris lined with twitching veins of light.

He gazed down like a prophet too far gone to care who listened.

“Witness,” he spoke, voice reverberating across the field. “Cycloth has chosen. You are not his enemy. You are his offering.”

Arsec stood amid his friends. He turned around to see Samina...

“Something’s wrong,” he muttered. “Where’s…”

Then she appeared. Seemingly phasing closer to them. 

Raw speed.

She had been some distance away. Smaller. Slender. No less terrible. Now she was almost over them.

Her mask mirrored Akrumei’s, but the way she moved—fluid, deliberate—was unmistakable. The twisted magic pulsing through her chest revealed the corrupted crystal she once used in battle.

Arsec’s breath caught. “No.”

She said nothing. She only tilted her head slightly toward him—acknowledgment, accusation, or something far colder.

Then a blade ignited on her arm.

It was no longer the clean glow of a spellsword's violet magic. This was raw, misshapen energy—like lightning passed through bone. The edge trembled unnaturally, flickering like a tear in the world.

Ronai stepped forward, frost swirling around his sword. “I’ll hold her.”

“She is different! You won’t last,” Arsec muttered.

“I’ll try anyway,” Ronai said—and charged.

Their blades met with a crash that sent up a burst of frost and pale light. Samina didn’t recoil—she advanced, her blade carving arcs of raw, asymmetrical energy that seared the ground and shattered stone. Ronai parried desperately, driven back with every strike.

Above them, Akrumei raised a hand.

The eye on his mask glowed.

Beams of black light lanced from the sky, twisting midair like spears seeking heat. Mesui and Narwa scattered, calling for the spirit cubs. One beam struck a boulder, liquefying it in an instant. Another barely missed the mother badger, who shrieked in defiance and charged the rear line of encroaching enthralled. Mesui attacked incoming enemies as Narwa joined the fight against Samina. She and Ronai managed to force her to dodge their attacks, but none landed.

“So-sha-nim!” Arsec roared, and flame erupted along his body once more. He sprinted toward Akrumei, with each of his attacks bouncing before the boy's impulse.

His spear was ahead of him,engulfed in flames.

With a cry, he leapt—fire trailing behind him, spear pointed at the sky.

But Akrumei’s cloak moved before Arsec could land. A tendril lashed out, coiling midair, and met him with a violent crack.

The spear struck true—but not deep.

Akrumei didn’t scream. He didn’t flinch.

He only reached forward.

And seized Arsec’s arm.

The tendrils constricted, the slime surged.

"So this is the human boy the princess mentioned," he said, disappointed, "what a waste of potential."

His eye turned to the arm holding the spear. It charged a blinding white light.

"You defied the will of Cycloth, you shall be judged."

As he said that, the eye fired a concentrated beam of black and white energy. Arsec's arm and spear disappeared by the massive beam. 

"Arsec!!" Called Mesui.

Narwa's heart skipped a cold beat.

The beam shot down, the boy's whole arm was gone, disintegrated alongside his weapon.

Akrumei loosed his grip, and he simply let go of the human with utter disinterest.

Arsec fell hard to the ground below, his right arm gone, his shoulder scorched against the earth. The spear shattered beside him, its core of fire going dark.

“Arsec!” Mesui screamed.

Ronai turned—too late.

Samina’s blade slashed across his side, sending him reeling. But she did not pursue him.

She walked toward Arsec.

Slowly.

Step by step.

“This is the end for you, master Soshanim?” she asked. Her voice was her own now, and not. A voice shared with the thing above.

“Only the strong prevail.”

Arsec writhed, trying to move. His hand scrabbled for something—anything—but there was only shattered stone. His consciousness barely kept in line. 

He called for the Red Blaze, but his prayers seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Samina raised her blade, the twisted light along its edge humming.

Arsec did not move.

His breath came in choking gasps. The eye on her mask stared down, unblinking, merciless.

Then the wind changed.

A shriek tore through the air—sharp, wild, feral.

From beyond the haze came a blur of white and fury, bounding across the battlefield like a bolt of winter loosed from the gods.

Narwa.

But not in her human form.

Where once had stood the stoat-masked girl now surged a monstrous stoat-beast, easily twice the size of a war elephant. Her fur gleamed silver in the fading light, and her eyes burned with an unearthly blue glow. Her mouth gaped wide—not just to bite, but to scream with all the pain and rage she could no longer speak.

She crashed into Samina with a roar that shook the earth.

The corrupted spellsword was thrown off her feet, blade clashing against spectral claws as she fought to hold her footing. Narwa did not let up. Blow after blow rained down—ripping gashes in the dirt, smashing stone, forcing Samina back step by step.

Samina recovered quickly, blade spinning in graceful arcs, carving at the beast’s hide—but Narwa didn’t seem to care. This was not strategy. This was fury unchained.

From the back of a hill, Malimali returned—his wool scorched, a blade lodged in his side, but alive. Ronai was slumped across his back, half-conscious, blood streaking down one leg.

He lifted his head in time to see Narwa rear back and slam Samina with both claws.

The corrupted girl flew like a comet, crashing through the outer wall of Makeb in a shower of dust and stone, vanishing from sight.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then the voice of Mesui cried out from the field’s edge, sharp and clear: “Bring him! Now!”

The spirit cubs darted to Arsec’s body, lifting him carefully in ghostly paws. His head lolled. His eyes flickered once. Gone.

Malimali knelt, and they heaved the boy atop his broad back. Ronai helped with his good arm, groaning with pain.

Mesui climbed up last, teeth gritted. “We’ve lost.”

From above, Akrumei no longer watched them. He was drifting slowly upward, his back to the battlefield, his arms raised toward the ever-widening Eye of Cycloth. His voice had turned to whispers. Worship. Madness.

“Don’t let her come back,” Mesui growled. “Go. Now!”

The stoat-beast turned, casting one last glance toward the shattered wall where Samina had fallen. Her form wavered—half-spirit, half-flesh—but her eyes were still blazing.

Then she sprinted after Malimali and the badgers, bounding beside the ram like a pale shadow.

And together, the broken band fled into the hills—bloodied, defeated, and clutching what little hope they could still carry.

Behind them, Makeb burned under the Eye.