The Canyon Stirs

The canyon opened before them like a wound in the earth, its jagged edges plunging into a shadowed abyss. Cold air seeped from below, carrying with it the sour stench of damp fur, rot, and something metallic, like blood clinging to iron. Even the Black Maw soldiers, hardened by years of mercenary brutality, hesitated at the threshold.

“Why’s it so quiet?” one muttered, his hand tightening around his spear.

Another soldier answered, voice cracking, “Quiet means they’re listening.”

Michael’s eyes scanned the cliff walls, his usual gait became methodical with every step. Seraphina’s knuckles whitened around her dagger hilt, her breathing shallow but steady. Luke trailed behind them, every nerve alight, half-hidden in Michael’s shadow. He couldn’t shake the sense that the earth itself was holding its breath.

Commander Veyne was the only one who moved with practiced confidence. His blade gleamed faintly in the dusk, his posture calm, deliberate. Yet even he spared glances at the dark caves that honeycombed the canyon wall.

The silence cracked.

From the black mouths of the caves, the first Morzbeast lunged—a chitinous blur of wings and claws. Its roar vibrated through Luke’s chest, a guttural sound that made his ribs ache.

“Hold the line!” Veyne barked, his soldiers snapping into shaky formations.

But the beasts did not come one at a time. The darkness birthed them in swarms, wings unfurling with a leathery shriek. Eyes glowed in the shadows like embers, dozens—no, hundreds—of them.

The first strike was brutal. Razor-sharp wings cut across a soldier’s throat, blood spraying in an arc as his body collapsed in twitching silence. Another soldier screamed as a tail wrapped around his torso, dragging him into the black maw of a cave before the others could even react.

Luke’s stomach lurched. This isn’t survival. This is slaughter.

Michael’s voice thundered across the chaos: “Stay close!” Flame burst from his palms, his Kairon igniting in wild arcs of orange and crimson. The nearest Morzbeast reeled back as fire seared its exoskeleton, fur sizzling, the stench choking. Michael pressed forward, his movements sharp, refined—years of battle experience unfolding in front of Luke’s eyes. He slashed with precision, flame-coated fists smashing into skulls, leaving charred husks in his wake.

“Michael!” Luke’s voice cracked as another beast descended toward him, wings slicing through the air.

Michael spun, fire blooming across his arm, and uppercut the creature mid-lunge. Its head burst into cinders, embers trailing as it collapsed. “Eyes open, boy!” he growled, already turning to the next threat.

Nearby, Seraphina darted like a shadow, her movements raw but deadly. She slashed her dagger against the membrane of a Morzbeast’s wing, tearing it clean off. The creature shrieked, toppling, and Seraphina pounced. She drove her Kairon-hardened arms into its head, stabbing again and again until its convulsions ceased. Her face was streaked with blood, eyes wild—not from fear, but from focus.

Luke staggered back, his chest heaving. He had never seen her like this.

Above it all, Veyne fought with terrifying composure. His sword sang, hacking through claw and limb, but his real power came when he stripped the glove from his right hand. Lightning erupted from his fingers, crackling tendrils that wrapped around a Morzbeast and sent it writhing to the ground in spasms. He crushed it under his boot, electricity still sizzling from its mouth.

“Form up!” Veyne shouted at his men. But the command was futile. They were being pulled apart, soldiers vanishing into the dark one by one. Fear cracked their discipline faster than the beasts’ claws.

Luke froze when a tail lashed out from the side, curling around his ankle. He hit the ground, dragged toward the canyon’s abyss, fingernails scraping rock. Panic surged—raw, primal. This is it. This is death.

“LUKE!” Michael’s roar split the air. He lunged, fire igniting his whole body in a blaze brighter than anything Luke had yet seen. He slammed his fists together, and a surge of flame erupted outward—shaped like a burning wave. It engulfed the Morzbeast dragging Luke, incinerating it in a violent burst. The flames licked dangerously close to Luke, the heat searing his skin, but he was alive.

Michael’s chest heaved, sweat and ash streaking his face. His eyes burned with something more than fire.

Veyne caught a glimpse of thr flames incinerating the beast. His gaze sharpened as he caught the glimmer in Michael’s flame: not just Kairon, but the unmistakable spark of something ancient. He said nothing, but his silence was heavier than words.

From the canyon depths, a new sound rose—a guttural bellow that wasn’t beast, wasn’t human. The Morzbeasts froze mid-attack, wings twitching. And then they retreated, pulling back toward the caves.

Luke staggered to his feet. “What… what’s happening?”

The answer stepped from the shadows. The earth quaked beneath steps too heavy for any beast, the pressure of its presence crushing the air from their lungs.

Tall. Silent. Cloaked in darkness like it wore the canyon itself. Its face—if it had one—was obscured by a shifting mask of bone and ash. The air bent around it, the atmosphere warping with every slow movement. It's wings were vast, skeletal, glowing with malignant light.

The Morz’vicar.

It didn’t lunge. It didn’t need to. It stood at the center of the battlefield, arms crossed, eyes glinting with cold amusement. With a single piercing scream, sharp enough to split stone, it unleashed the horde.

The caves vomited out more Morzbeasts, wings filling the sky.

Michael’s face hardened. He turned to Luke and Seraphina, his voice low but firm: “Run. Now.”

Seraphina shook her head. “Not without—”

“Now!” His flames burst to life again, searing the ground, holding back the nearest beasts.

Luke’s legs moved before his mind caught up, Seraphina gripping his arm as they sprinted for the treeline. Behind them, the canyon became an inferno of fire, lightning, and shrieks.

They broke into the forest, branches whipping their faces, lungs burning. Seraphina stumbled, nearly collapsing, but Luke caught her arm. Her eyes narrowed at him, torn between fury and reluctant respect.

“You’re not completely useless,” she muttered.

Luke almost laughed, though his chest still shook from fear.

Michael rejoined them minutes later, his cloak scorched, his body trembling from exhaustion. 

"We need to get as far as possible away from the Maw, before they track us down," Seraphina said. 

Michael didn’t speak until the sounds of the canyon faded behind them.

 “Nearest village,” Michael rasped. “We need supplies. Weapons. Shelter.”

Luke nodded, still hearing the Morz’vicar’s scream echoing in his skull. 

As they pressed deeper into the forest, the shadows thickening, none of them noticed the figure keeping pace at a distance. Veyne. His blade sheathed, his eyes calculating.

He had survived the canyon. And now, he was hunting.

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Mors'vicar - A creature that is more deadly and fearsome than other Morzbeasts. It is similar to a pack leader.