The air inside the tent was suffocating, a mix of blood, sweat, and the bitter sting of something foul. Kale stepped inside, his pulse pounding in his ears, and stopped dead in his tracks. His stomach twisted into a knot so tight he thought he might be sick.

Rika was there, bound to a chair, slumped forward as if her body could no longer bear the weight of its suffering. Her arms were lashed to the wooden frame, the ropes biting into her flesh, leaving angry, swollen welts. Her head hung low, her hair a tangled mess, matted with blood, obscuring her face. Her clothes were torn and crusted with dark stains.

Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Her face… the blood that streaked it wasn't fresh, and where her left eye should have been, there was only swelling, caked blood, and the ghastly sheen of raw flesh. A jagged cut ran down her cheek, the wound crusted but still angry.

She didn't move. She didn't breathe.

We were too late. The thought was a hammer blow, each word striking him harder than the last. We took too long. We failed her. I failed her.

A feral growl escaped his throat, low and trembling with rage. His hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles turned white. Red, glowing marks appeared on his body, spreading across his arms and neck. His eyes blazed a violent crimson, and the canvas walls shuddered, reacting to the power radiating from him.

"Kale, stop!" Liliana's voice was sharp, cutting through the fury rising inside him. He barely registered it. The rage was deafening, pounding in his skull.

She stepped in front of him, grabbed his face, her fingers digging into his jaw. "Look at me, Kale. Snap out of it. Look at me!"

At first, he didn't. His eyes burned with fury, locked onto the blood staining Rika's body. The marks on his skin pulsed brighter, his breath ragged and uneven.

"Kale!" Liliana's voice cracked through the haze again, sharper this time. His eyes flicked to hers, his vision still red, but now there was something else, something that cut through the rage, through the instinct to destroy.

"Rika is still alive."

The words shattered the storm. His breath caught, his entire body going still. The heat surging under his skin cooled just enough for his vision to clear, for reason to slip through.

Rika was alive.

The glowing markings on his skin dimmed, fading back into obscurity. His eyes returned to their normal blue as he stumbled a step backward, his fists clenching and unclenching.

Namara stood in the shadows, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. She said nothing, though a flicker of intrigue played across her face.

Kale ran to Rika and dropped to his knees in front of her, trembling as he reached out. His fingers brushed her hair aside, revealing her face—pale, bloodied, and bruised. Her lips were cracked and dry, her jaw slack, and that mangled, hollow socket where her left eye should have been made bile rise in his throat.

"Rika," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Rika, it's me."

He cupped her face with shaking hands. Her skin was still warm, warmer than he expected. His eyes darted to her chest. There it was—a tiny, shallow rise and fall, so faint he almost missed it.

She was breathing. She was alive.

Relief hit him like a tidal wave, his shoulders shaking as the tension bled out of him. "She's alive," he said aloud, as if speaking it would make it more real.

Namara finally stepped closer, her voice smooth but edged with interest. "She's clinging to life, but barely. Whatever they did… it was cruel."

Kale ignored her, focusing entirely on Rika. "We'll get you out of here," he promised softly. "You're going to be okay."

"Rika!" Kale said again, louder this time. "It's me! Wake up!"

Still no response. Her head lolled to one side, her body unnervingly limp. His chest tightened, the sickening thought creeping back. We were too late.

Kale's eyes darted to the ropes binding her to the chair. Without a second thought, he summoned his blades, their edges shimmering into existence with a faint hum. He sliced through the cords, slow and precise to avoid hurting her. The moment the last rope gave way, her body fell forward, and he caught her, holding her against his chest.

"Liliana!" he shouted, his voice desperate. "Heal her!"

Liliana stepped closer and shook her head. "I can't. There's no one here to take blood from. You know how this works."

"Use me!" Kale barked. "Just—use me! Take some of my life if you have to, just save her!"

"Are you crazy? Do you have any idea what you're asking?"

"I don't care!" Kale shouted back, his arms tightening around Rika's frail form. "Just do it. Save her!"

Liliana hesitated for a moment, her jaw clenching. Finally, she nodded. "Alright." She raised her hand, blood swirling at her fingertips as she cast the spell. "Thirst of the Damned."

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

Kale felt it immediately—the spell clawing at his insides. His blood turned against him, tearing through his veins as if it were alive, trying to escape. A sharp, searing pain lanced through his chest, his arms, his legs. Blood began to flow from his eyes and ears, hot trails streaking his face. He clenched his teeth, but the agony was too much, and a scream ripped from his throat.

Through the haze of pain, he kept his focus on Rika. He could feel her growing warmer in his arms. Her heartbeat, weak and irregular at first, steadied, gaining strength with each passing second.

"Come on," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Come on, Rika. Stay with me."

"Kale, if this doesn't work—"

"It will!" he roared. He held Rika closer, her head resting against his chest. He could feel it now—her life force stabilizing, her warmth returning. The faint rise and fall of her chest grew more pronounced.

Then, a soft, pained sound escaped her lips. A gasp.

Rika stirred, her body trembling as the life slowly returned to her. Her head tilted slightly, her breathing shallow but steady now. Then, her one uninjured eye fluttered open, red and bloodshot, and met Kale's.

"Kale," she said softly.

He leaned closer, his bloodied hands still cradling her, his face a mix of relief and anguish. "I got you," he said, his voice shaking. "I've got you, Rika. You're safe."

A faint smile tugged at her cracked lips, despite the pain etched across her face. "You came for me," she murmured. "I knew you would."

Kale's throat tightened, her words hitting him harder than he expected. He blinked rapidly, his vision blurring—not from pain this time, but from tears. "Always," he said, his voice breaking. "I'll always come for you."

Rika's faint smile remained as her eye closed again, her head resting against his chest. Her breathing was stronger now, steady and reassuring. She was alive.

Behind them, Liliana exhaled heavily, her hands dropping to her sides as the blood magic faded. "She's stable, but she needs rest. We all do." Her eyes lingered on Kale, a hint of admiration in her expression. "You could have died yourself, you know."

Namara, tilted her head slightly. "Touching, but we should move before the wrong people realize we're here."

Kale nodded. "Let's move."

He adjusted his grip on Rika, holding her close to his chest as he stood. Her breathing was steady now, but her body remained limp, fragile in his arms. He turned toward the tent's entrance, determination hardening his features.

Namara stepped into his path. "Would you like one of my souls to carry her?" she asked. "I assure you, they're very reliable."

"No, I'll carry her."

"Suit yourself," she said, stepping aside.

As they stepped out of the tent, the kusari harriers stood nearby, their bodies low and tense, muscles coiled like springs, their glowing eye-slits scanned the rocky basin. Kale's jaw tightened as he followed their gaze.

It was a trap.

They were surrounded.

Dozens of figures emerged from the shadows of the camp—warriors clad in dark armor, their faces obscured by masks etched with symbols he did not know the meaning of. Behind them, mages stood in formation, their hands crackling with dark energy.

Xeroth's cultists.

Two women stood at the front of the group, their presence commanding, radiating an unsettling aura. Both bore the unmistakable mark of Xeroth's corruption—dark veins streaked across their pale skin like cracks in porcelain.

The first woman stood rigid, her arms crossed over her chest. Her posture exuded discipline and an almost military air, but her eyes, sunken and rimmed with shadows, glinted with malice. Her dark armor, crafted in the style of Carrion Voss's own, bore cruel, thorn-like spines along the shoulders and gauntlets. A wicked scar stretched from her chin to her ear, though it didn't mar her calculating expression, if anything, it made her seem even more unnervingly composed.

The second woman was the opposite, moving with a lazy, mocking air that seemed deliberately calculated to unsettle. Her dark hair, wild and unkempt, framed a sharp, angular face twisted into a cruel smile. Her lips were painted a deep black, the same shade as the veins streaking across her pale skin. Those veins pulsed faintly, interwoven with an eerie green glow, like poison coursing just beneath the surface. Her eyes, equally black, seemed to pierce through them.

Her armor mirrored her companion's, though it was more ornate, with jagged, claw-like gauntlets and a tattered mantle that flowed unnaturally, like it was caught in a breeze no one else could feel. Dark, glistening symbols marked her chestplate, shifting like oil on water, their shapes never staying still long enough to decipher. As she stepped forward, her very presence seemed to distort the world around her. The ground beneath her feet darkened, cracks spreading outward like infected wounds, the soil appearing to wither and die in her wake.

The woman with her arms crossed remained silent. Meanwhile, her companion began to clap slowly, each deliberate strike of her hands echoing across the basin like the tolling of a mournful bell. The mocking rhythm lingered in the air, a cruel melody that seemed to ripple through the stillness.

"Very good," the woman said, her voice smooth. "You saved the girl. Now you die."

Liliana stepped forward. "Where's Voss?"

The woman who had clapped let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Voss?" she repeated, the name rolling off her tongue with clear amusement. "He has far more important matters to attend to. He did say you'd show up here, so he left us as the welcoming committee." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Now, if you would be so kind as to fall over and die, then we can move on to something… less tedious." She waved her hand dismissively, as if they were nothing more than an inconvenience. "Honestly, I'm bored already."

"Excuse me!" Namara interjected, stepping forward with her hands on her hips. "Did you just call me boring?!"

The woman's smile faltered, clearly not expecting Namara's reaction. "What?" the woman asked.

Namara's expression hardened. "So, not only are you ugly, but you're deaf too." She cupped her hands around her mouth, leaning forward slightly as if speaking to someone hard of hearing. "I'll have you know, I am many things—but boring? That isn't one of them."

Kale shifted his stance, keeping Rika secure in his arms, and looked toward Liliana. "This is going to get messy."

"Good," Liliana replied, blood magic already swirling at her fingertips. "I could use the stress relief."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "Ugly?" she repeated, her tone incredulous.

"And deaf! Ugly and deaf!" Namara called back, still cupping her hands for exaggerated effect. "Gods, did your mother just give up halfway through making you?"

The woman scoffed. "That's bold coming from someone hiding behind a pack of fools."

Namara threw her head back with a laugh. "Hiding? Sweetheart, I'm standing right here." She gestured toward herself with an exaggerated flourish. "If I wanted to hide, I'd just tangle myself up in that mess you call hair. No one would find me for days."

She straightened, grinning brightly. "I kid, I kid. Love the outfit, by the way! Let me guess... found it in the garbage?"

The woman's mouth twisted with anger.

Her companion shifted uneasily, glancing between them, and muttered under her breath, "Careful."

Namara caught the muttered warning and smiled wider, like a wolf scenting blood.

She leaned forward slightly. "Oh, I love this part. The moment right before you realize just how badly you've underestimated me."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.