CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Claws Rend the Ward's Lie

Sleep wouldn't come that night. I lay in the dark, eyes fixed on the ceiling, feeling my chest tighten as my heart core flared with mana. It pulsed, hot and insistent, like a drumbeat I couldn't quiet. I was close—close to grasping the second rule of the cycle, something I'd been chasing since stumbling back into District 98. The fog had taught me brutality, carved it into me over those three years, but now I saw it was just the start. There was more, layered deeper, and my body knew it before my mind did.

I wanted out. Out there, in the fog, where I could hunt, fight, let the beasts' claws and teeth sharpen what I was starting to understand. The urge clawed at me, sharp and wild, begging me to slip past the ward and solidify those rules in blood. I could do it—Hazeveil would cloak me, muffle my steps, make me a ghost in the gray. No one would see me go. But I couldn't. Not without permission. The district's rules pinned me here, and I'd already pushed them too far before. I didn't want their trouble on my hands again.

So I stayed put, wrestling the instinct down. Act human, I told myself, at least inside the ward. Follow what's asked of me. My escort had left for the night, but they'd be back by dawn, probably with others from the estate poking around, checking on me. I couldn't risk it, not for them. Still, my body fought me—muscles twitching, mana simmering, every fiber screaming to move. I rolled onto my side, staring at Hazeveil draped over the chair by my bed. It shimmered faintly, like it knew what I wanted. I shut my eyes, forcing calm, but sleep stayed out of reach.

The night dragged on, heavy and restless, until the first hints of morning crept in—a gray light seeping through the window, the fog outside thinning just enough to notice. I exhaled, ready to give up on rest, when it hit: a low, wailing rumble that shook the room. The sirens. They blared, sharp and unending, cutting through the quiet like a blade. An emergency.

I froze, breath caught in my throat. I'd never heard them before, but I knew. Everyone did. A breach in the ward. My stomach dropped, cold fear spiking through me, but my hands were already moving. Hazeveil flew to me, wrapping around my shoulders. No time for boots, no thought for the noble clothes I was supposed to wear outside. The sirens had been screaming for three seconds, and I was out the door, bare feet slapping the floor.

Where was I going? The question hit me mid-stride, but I didn't stop. Voices echoed through the estate—shouts, footsteps, panic spilling from every corner. Outside, the district roared awake, a wave of sound rolling in from the streets. One minute, everything had been still; now, chaos swallowed it whole. I couldn't think straight, beasts in the ward, here, now? My mind spun, fear tangling with a strange, electric readiness. I was Artifact Holder—weapon-bearer, defender. This was my duty, even if I didn't know where to aim it.

The mansion blurred past me. Doors loomed ahead, heavy wood between me and answers, but I didn't slow. My shoulder hit the first one—crack—splinters flying as it burst open. Another stood in my way; I drove through it, mana pulsing in my legs, shattering the frame like it was nothing. Voices rose behind me, servants yelling, but I didn't care. Tarin stumbled out of his room as I passed, hair wild, already in his Chainrunner gear, blade gripped tight.

"What's happening?" I shouted, skidding to a stop beside him.

He blinked, groggy, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "I… don't know," he mumbled, voice thick. "Just woke up—heard the sirens. A breach. We should move."

"But where?" I pressed, urgency sharpening my words. Artifact Holder or not, I was useless without a target. Beasts could be anywhere—outskirts, maybe near Meris, near everyone I cared about. My chest tightened at the thought.

Tarin paused, thinking hard, still half-dazed. "Protocol says we organize at the Chainrunners Headquarters," he said finally. "Move as a unit from there."

That was enough. I didn't wait for him to finish, my legs were already moving, mana flaring hot through me. The next door didn't stand a chance; I crashed through it, wood exploding outward, and kept going. Out of the mansion, the air hit me—cold, sharp, alive with the district's panic. People spilled into the streets, shouting, running, preparing for an invasion that might already be here. I sprinted, faster than I should've, wind whipping past me. My muscles burned, strained beyond their limit, then knitted back together in seconds, mana healing what it broke. Blood trickled from my mouth, bitter on my tongue, but I didn't stop. The headquarters wasn't far, and I covered it in minutes, chest heaving as I staggered through the doors.

Inside, it was quiet—too quiet. The main floor stretched out, nearly empty. A handful of people milled around, early risers caught off guard like me. Dain stood near the center, barking orders to a few Chainrunners, his face tight. Lirien was there too, already in her gear, calm but focused. I strode up, breathless, words tumbling out. "What's happening? Where are the beasts? Point me at them."

They turned to me, and Lirien's eyebrows lifted, surprised I'd gotten there so fast, maybe by the state of me, barefoot and wild, but she didn't seem to care this time. "We got a message from District 97," she said, voice steady. "Their ward's breached. We sounded the sirens to pull everyone here, get a team ready to reinforce them against the beast hordes."

"District 97?" I repeated, relief flooding me, then confusion. "I thought it was us."

Lirien's gaze sharpened, locking on mine. "Not yet," she said. "You remember the day you showed up, multiple districts fell at once. We're not waiting for whatever broke their ward to hit ours."

Her words sank in, heavy but logical. If something out there could crack District 97, right next door, we couldn't sit idle. I nodded slowly, catching my breath, then glanced around. A few strangers stood nearby, dressed in Chainrunner gear but marked with a clear "97" on their clothes. A messenger, maybe, who'd brought the call. My senses had flared on the run, stretching for any hint of beasts, but I'd felt nothing. Now I knew why—they weren't here. Not yet.

Minutes crawled by as the Chainrunners Headquarters filled up, the empty space shrinking with every new arrival. Boots scuffed the floor, metal clinked as weapons were checked, and voices rose—sharp, uneven, a mix of readiness and dread. Lirien stood near the center, briefing each group as they trickled in, her voice cutting through the noise. I lingered by the wall, watching, feeling the air grow thick with tension. When she explained the situation—District 97's breach, surprise rippled through the room, quickly souring into complaints.

"It's not just running this time," one man muttered, buckling his armor with shaky hands. "They want us to fight out there, purposely chase beasts in the fog." His voice cracked, fear bleeding through. Another nodded, pale-faced, gripping his spear too tight. "Let 97 handle their own mess. Why drag us into it?"

I stayed quiet, piecing it together as Lirien filled in the gaps. District 97's ward was back up after a breach hours ago. In that window, hordes of beasts had poured in, rampaging through their streets, tearing into anything alive. Some were still fighting out there, others hiding, desperate for help. They'd sent chainrunners to District 96 and us, 98, begging for reinforcements to clear the monsters out. Lirien had answered, her jaw set, even as the room bristled against it.

The Chainrunners were built for this, trained to face the fog, to answer the sirens when they screamed. Gear clattered as they armed up: blades sharpened, armor strapped on, packs slung over shoulders. But the mood was grim. Faces around me looked hollow, eyes darting like they'd rather be anywhere else. "This isn't our problem," a wiry guy near the door said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Let them deal with it themselves."

"Their loss, not ours," another chimed in, leaning against a crate. "We should be thanking our luck that it didn't hit here." A few grunted in agreement, shifting their weight, glancing at the exits like they might bolt.

I spotted Wulric and Gorin across the room—the duo I'd met before. They weren't complaining, just moving steady, buckling on heavy leather mixed with plate armor. No light gear for running this time; they were prepping for a stand-up fight. Wulric caught my eye, gave a small nod—resigned, but ready.

Even Dain was gearing up, a short sword strapped to his hip—surprising me, since I'd only ever seen him buried in papers. He moved slow, deliberate, his face still pale from the chaos that had erupted. Most grumbled, but a few got it—Gustav, a broad-shouldered veteran, stood off to the side, tightening his gauntlets. He didn't argue, just listened as Lirien spoke. If 97 fell, it wasn't just their resources gone. Every run after that would stretch longer, more chances to die out there. Lirien knew it too. "Whatever broke their ward could come for us next," she'd said earlier, her voice low. "Like it did with the lower districts years ago."

Time dragged. More Chainrunners filtered in, the room growing loud with their muttering, their clanking gear. I shifted on my feet, the wait gnawing at me. My heart core flared again, mana itching under my skin, urging me to move, to hunt. What if those beasts did turn toward us? Sitting here felt wrong—useless. I stepped forward, raising my voice over the din. "I can go ahead while everyone's getting ready," I said, aiming it straight at Lirien.

Heads turned, eyes locking on me—some wide, some narrowing. Hazeveil had kept me half-hidden, blending me into the shadows along the wall, but now they saw me clear: the badge, the cloak. Lirien paused mid-order, turning to face me fully. Her expression stayed hard, stoic as always, but a flicker of confusion crossed it. "You want to throw yourself into that horde alone?" she asked, her tone flat, testing me.

I didn't hesitate—didn't need to. "Yes," I said, meeting her gaze. If it meant not standing here, twiddling my thumbs while something dangerous tore through 97, then yeah, a million times yes. I could feel it, the pull of the fog, the chance to face whatever was out there, to move instead of wait.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

One look, and she'd read it off me—my stance, my eyes, the way I couldn't keep still. "You're going with us," she said, sharp and final. "We move as one unit. That's an order." She turned back to the preparations, dismissing me without another glance.

I stood there, the words sinking in, frustration coiling tight in my chest. Whispers started up around me, low enough they thought I wouldn't catch them. "Fog's already driven him mad," one hissed, adjusting his helmet. "Blackthorns—always itching to die out there," another muttered, shaking his head. I kept my face blank, letting it slide off me, but it stung all the same.

Gustav, off by himself, let out a loud laugh that cut through the murmurs. "Hahaha, you hear that, you lazy-ass Chainrunners?" he bellowed, grinning wide. "A boy's chomping to get out there, and you're all quaking in your boots. Should be ashamed of yourselves." He clapped his hands once, hard, like he was waking them up. A few glared, but most just looked away, tightening straps or checking blades in silence.

I stayed where I was, watching Lirien direct the chaos—teams forming, gear stacking, plans shouted over the noise. The room buzzed, restless and scared, but moving now. I wanted to argue, push past her order, but I didn't. Not yet.

Only a few more minutes ticked by before we were ready, lined up at one of District 98's fog exits. The air buzzed with nervous energy—Chainrunners shifting their weight, weapons gleaming under the early morning dim light. Lirien stood at the front, her voice steady and loud, cutting through the murmurs. "Form up. Eyes sharp. We move as one." She directed each unit with quick, clipped orders, pointing out positions, her presence anchoring the chaos. I stood among them, Hazeveil draped over me, listening to their heartbeats—some steady, some racing. For a few, this was their first taste of the fog. Tarin wasn't here, Lirien had ordered him back to the headquarters, overriding his protests. But nearly every Chainrunner in 98 was with us now, a wall of bodies facing the gray beyond.

We stepped out, and it wasn't like my solo hunts. The moment the first few crossed the ward's edge, a jolt hit me—not my own, but theirs. Corruption seeped into them, slow and relentless, a flare I could feel in my bones. It didn't touch me, not like that, but for them, it was a beacon, lighting them up for every beast in the fog. They didn't hesitate, didn't falter. They ran, full tilt, boots pounding the cracked earth, and I matched their pace, mana humming in my legs.

Beasts stirred almost instantly. I felt them—rustles in the gray, eyes glinting, claws scraping closer from every side. The fog swallowed sound, but not for me; their growls prickled my skin. "Keep running!" Lirien shouted, her voice slicing through the fog. She didn't stop moving, didn't slow, even as she pulled the Dawnbreak Bow from her back.

The sleek, recurved bow, forged from a strange metal alloy studded with pale, glowing crystals, flared with mana in Lirien's hands. Its runes pulsed faintly in the fog's gloom as she drew the string. An arrow of condensed energy shimmered into being, crackling with power. She fired once, then twice, building a steady rhythm as each shot whipped through the haze and trailed faint traces of light. Beasts fell before they could close in, shadowy shapes crumpling mid-lunge, pierced clean through by the bow's deep-cutting projectiles. She matched our pace and never surged ahead, though I knew her mana could've carried her far beyond the chainrunners. It made her more: faster, stronger, a figure of precision amid the chaos.

I'd heard tales of the Dawnbreak Bow, but seeing it was something else. The energy arrows sang as they flew and sliced the air, finding targets I could barely make out through the gray—weaklings skulking too near the ward's edge. A horned scavenger burst from the left with jagged teeth and desperation; she turned, drew, and loosed in one fluid motion. The arrow punched through its skull, a flash of light lingering where it struck, and the beast dropped, twitching once before going still.

Another darted in from the right with claws slashing, but she fired mid-stride. The shot pinned it to the dirt with a dull thud, its legs splayed out, lifeless. Each hit lit the fog for a heartbeat, cutting through the murk just enough to hint at what lay ahead. My chest tightened as awe and restlessness twisted inside me. I wanted in, wanted to join the fight, but she hadn't called my name or turned to me. I stayed with the pack, running, watching her work, the bow's power humming in the air like a promise I couldn't touch.

"Don't stray off the road!" she yelled, her voice raw against the fog's muffling weight. "You'll get lost!" A runner ahead stumbled, foot catching on a jagged root. "Look where you step!" she barked. "Trip, and you're dead!" He scrambled up, pale and wide-eyed, as a snarl echoed too close. She shot again, and the sound cut off.

The noise grew—growls, shrieks, the thud of heavy feet. Adrenaline flooded the group, pushing them faster, breaths ragged but steady. I ran with them, eyes darting, sensing the tide shift. The weak beasts fell fast under Lirien's arrows, but the numbers swelled. Stronger ones loomed now, drawn by the corruption pulsing off everyone but me. Half an hour to District 97 at this pace, but stopping wasn't an option, fighting head-on would bury us.

They'd done this countless times before, though. Lirien's strategy unfolded with the precision of a well-worn routine. She'd held the line solo for the first stretch, a quarter of the run, her bow a relentless storm. But the beasts closed in tighter, too many for arrows alone. She didn't flinch—signaled with a sharp whistle. A new unit broke from the pack: the chargers, veterans like Gustav, armored heavy and fierce. They peeled off, weapons raised, meeting the tide head-on.

It wasn't about killing. Gustav charged a hulking brute—four legs, spines along its back, slamming his axe into its knee. The beast roared, collapsing, and he was already moving, back with the group. Another veteran, a woman with a scarred face, took his place, driving her spear into a leaping crawler's flank, crippling it mid-air. It crashed, thrashing, left behind. The chargers rotated—strike, cripple, retreat—covering ground as the next group stepped up. A seamless rhythm, each blow buying us distance, keeping the run alive.

Lirien never stopped. Her bow sang over the chaos, dropping more than the chargers combined, beasts piling up in her wake.

She hadn't slotted me in, hadn't called my name, hadn't asked me to fight yet. I ran with them, watching, feeling the mana itch in my chest. But beyond her kills, barely any beasts were dying. The chargers' blows—sharp, precise—aimed for legs or gashed flanks, wounds meant to slow, not end.

Fog beasts were tough, their hides thick, their cores pulsing with stubborn life. Those injuries bought time, nothing more, too shallow to truly stop them. If the run faltered, if we stalled even for a moment, those limping, snarling things we'd left behind would close the gap. We'd be swarmed, overwhelmed in seconds, the distance we'd gained erased by their relentless hunger.

The fog thickened ahead, and a new sound cut through—low, guttural howls. A pack of diremaws burst into view, lean and vicious, jaws dripping. Behind them, bat-like shapes swooped in the distance, wings slicing the air. Further out, I caught threxids lumbering closer, and a cyclop's shadow loomed, one eye glinting. The corruption was pulling them all, converging on us. The run couldn't stop, but the fight was only starting.

The fog churned with beasts, more than it was common on a run, drawn by District 97's breach and the swarm of Chainrunners blazing through their territory. Diremaws snarled ahead, their massive jaws glinting, while threxids buzzed above, chitinous wings humming. The chargers' formation buckled as the pack broke through—veterans swinging, beasts lunging, melee erupting mid-stride. I ran with the group, heart core pounding, watching it unfold. Lirien stayed steady, her bow a blur, arrows slicing through the fog to cripple anything too close—legs shattered, wings torn, but the kills were few. She was buying distance, not victory.

I glanced at her, catching the shift in her stance. Her hands tightened on the Dawnbreak Bow, mana flaring brighter along its curve. An arrow of pure light shimmered into form—blinding, radiant, aimed skyward. I knew that move: one shot, once a day, enough to scatter every beast around us and clear the path to 97. But if she fired now, it'd be gone—useless against whatever waited inside their ward. I couldn't let that happen. Not when we could fight, not when I could feel the thrill of it surging in my chest, begging to break free.

"DON'T!" I shouted, my voice raw over the chaos. She froze, arrow half-drawn, head snapping toward me. I didn't wait for her reaction, mana flared in my core, and mist seeped from me, thin and controlled. I kept it tight, no trailing cloud to choke the Chainrunners behind me, just enough to sharpen my focus and improve my control over the magic I was about to harness. Five ice blades snapped into being—thin, jagged, hovering near my shoulders. I willed them forward, not at legs like the chargers, but at heads. They streaked through the fog, making a sharp whine. Two diremaws twisted away, jaws snapping, but two others weren't fast enough, blades punched through their skulls, dark blood spraying as they crumpled, dead in the dirt.

The nearest Chainrunners flinched, eyes darting to me, startled by the sudden strike. But they didn't stop—didn't have time to gawk. They pushed on, boots pounding, trusting me to keep up. I broke from the pack, Hazeveil rippling around me like a second skin, mana flooding my limbs. A diremaw loomed ahead, I drove forward and punched, hard. My fist sank into its face, bone crunching, flesh warping. It flew back, skidding across the ground, alive but dazed, jaws slack.

Three more charged, a wall of teeth and muscle. I ducked low, sliding under their lunging bites, and spun behind them. My hand shot out, clawing into the nearest diremaw's back, fingers piercing its thick hide. Ice surged from my palm, cold and brutal, spreading through its flesh. I felt it hit—lungs icing over, heart seizing in its chest. The beast staggered, then dropped, frozen dead mid-roar.

Another swung at me, claws raking my shoulder. Pain flared, hot blood spilling, but I gritted my teeth as it closed—green light shimmered, then blue, mana stitching the wound shut in seconds. Hazeveil's torn edge mended too, shadows weaving back together.

I pressed on, dodging a snapping jaw, summoning more ice blades—three this time, sharp and quick. They shot out, arcing toward the sky. Threxids swooped low—bug-like shells glinting, scythe-arms slashing, antennae twitching. One blade struck a wing, shearing it off; the beast spiraled down, crashing hard. Lirien's arrows joined mine, piercing another's legs mid-flight, sending it tumbling. The air filled with falling bodies—threxids and bat-like flyers dropping like broken toys, but most twitched, injured, not dead. The run couldn't stop for kills.

The chargers regrouped, catching their breath as my push gave them space. Gustav hacked at a diremaw's leg, hobbling it, then darted back into line. Another veteran—a wiry man with a mace—cracked a threxid's knee as it landed, leaving it thrashing behind. They rotated flawlessly, a brutal dance of steel and grit, crippling threats to keep us moving. Lirien's bow never faltered, arrows pinning wings, shattering joints, her focus on stalling, not finishing. The tales didn't lie about Chainrunners, but they missed this: coordination so tight it outmatched the fog's chaos, even if raw power eluded most of them.

I wanted more, wanted to kill, not just wound, but the numbers were relentless. Diremaws limped after us, threxids crawled from the muck, their injuries slowing them but not stopping. Fear gnawed at me: those we left behind could catch up, and worse loomed ahead. I'd spotted a cyclops earlier—massive, one-eyed, stomping closer and more onyx-core beasts would follow, fiercer than these ebony ones. Even Lirien, with her mana and bow, needed a team to down a single diremaw fast. Me, I could do it alone—ice and fists, but the group couldn't afford to lose pace.

The ward shimmered ahead, District 97's barrier. We were close with our speed. The diremaw pack thinned, injured stragglers falling behind, and the flyers dwindled under our barrage. I dodged a threxid's scythe-arm, freezing its legs mid-lunge—it toppled, alive but stuck. Lirien loosed a final arrow, clipping a bat-beast's wing, and it spiraled off. The path cleared, just enough.

One by one, we slipped through the ward—runners panting, weapons slick with blood and frost. I crossed last, Hazeveil settling around me, mist fading. The run had held—no deaths, no cripples, but the fight wasn't over. District 97 sprawled before us, a mess of fire and ruin. Flames licked at shattered buildings, smoke curling into the sky. Muffled roars echoed—beasts inside, countless ones that had slipped through the breach. Distant cries rang out, desperate voices of people fighting, holding on. Chaos stretched as far as I could see, and we'd just stepped into it.

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.