CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Walls of Frost

I'd known for a while I wasn't fully human anymore. Long before the onyx heart core formed, my insides had shifted, organs reworked, adapted to the fog's demands. Those changes were quiet, hidden under skin and bone, easy to ignore because I couldn't see them. They didn't stare back at me, didn't force me to face what I'd become. I could pretend they weren't real, tuck them away like a secret I didn't have to tell myself.

This was different. Waking up now, in this body. It wasn't mine, not the one I'd started with. My skin felt tight, pale and tough, blue-gray veins pulsing just beneath the surface. A cold mist leaked from me, curling around my arms, heavier than before. I exhaled slow, watching it twist outward, a faint chill hanging in the air. I should've been unnerved, waking up to something so alien. But I wasn't. I felt alive—sharp, electric, like power itself was humming through me. The pull of it, that promise of more, gripped me harder than ever.

I clenched my fists, feeling the mana surge. It wasn't just a trickle anymore, it roared, vast and deep, rivaling the serpent titan I'd faced down. Vyrithax, that crimson horror, had been a furnace of heat and rage. This? This was cold, endless, mine.

[Kara]

[User has undergone extensive changes.]

[Body analysis in progress…]

Her voice buzzed in my head, clipped and mechanical, but even she sounded strained, like she couldn't keep up. I pushed it aside, dragging my focus back. That allure for power, it was a pit, dark and tempting, pulling me in. I had to climb out. The second rule hit me then, clear as a blade: guile.

Brutality had carried me this far, raw force breaking anything in my path. But what I needed now was the second rule, a sharper edge to keep me sane.

I took a breath, grounding myself. District 97. The barricades. That's where I was, why I was here. "The barricades," I muttered, voice rough, and started moving. Kara's notifications pinged with flashes of information I ignored. She'd figure it out eventually, but I couldn't wait.

My mind snagged on something else as I moved, the dream. No, not a dream. A memory, old and jagged, clawing its way up. I'd been a sacrifice, hadn't I? Me and those warlocks from Araksiun, bound to some ritual under a blazing sun. The ancient had loomed over us, vast and silent, its presence crushing. I could still see it: Ouroboros, the serpent eating its own tail, carved into the stone, into the air itself. A cycle, unbroken.

Their voices echoed in my skull, chanting words that wouldn't fade. "Resurrection." "Destruction." "Creation." "Renovation." Over and over, like they were stitching something together. What had they wanted? Power? Survival? Something worth all those lives, something big enough to justify me being there, burning beside them. I didn't know. No answers came, just questions piling up. Later, I told myself, shoving it down. The past could wait—District 97 couldn't.

The titan's explosion had thrown me, but not far. I'd landed in some ruined library, shelves cracked and leaning, books scattered across the floor. Dust still hung in the air from my change, thick enough to taste. I stood there a moment, letting it settle, feeling the new weight of my body.

I took a step toward the barricades, then another, and the world blurred. My legs launched me forward, the ground shrinking beneath me in a heartbeat. Distance folded, each stride impossibly long, far beyond what human muscle could manage. I stumbled, catching myself, my breath hitching at the sheer force of it. My spine flexed—snake-like, segmented, bending smooth and fluid, letting me weave through the motion without breaking. This wasn't just strength; it was something else.

Then I felt them, tentacles unfurling from my back, thick and pulsing, threading through Hazeveil's shadow. They moved on their own, instinct driving them, and I let them. One lashed out, coiling around a jagged beam jutting from a ruined wall. It yanked me forward, boosting my speed, my feet barely touching down before the next launched me again. Another gripped a crumbling ledge overhead, swinging me through a gap in the wreckage. Five meters long, capable of extending more, they stretched and snapped back, guiding me through the shattered streets like extensions of my will.

My senses flared—too sharp, too much. The district's stink flooded my nose, every rustle of debris rang clear, and I caught glints of movement miles off. I twisted mid-stride, a tentacle shoving off a wall to redirect me, my body bending at angles that should've snapped bone. Frost-claws gleamed at my fingertips, catching the faint light, but I kept them sheathed. The speed, the power, it was intoxicating, overwhelming. "It'll take time to get used to," I thought, gritting my teeth. "Time I don't have."

The ancient's touch had sped it up: minutes, maybe an hour, instead of months. Still, I worried I'd been gone too long. The barricades could be overrun by now, everyone dead. I stretched my senses, feeling the district pulse, beasts everywhere, countless, some crimson horrors among them. None matched Vyrithax, but they didn't need to.

Relief hit me when I saw them. The barricades still stood, battered but holding, just as I'd left them. I slowed, peering back at my path. A thick mist trailed behind me, freezing the ground where it settled into icy patches glinting on broken stone. Not fog, not like outside the ward, but my own cold leaking out, stronger than I'd realized. I hadn't even noticed it spilling from me. It was nothing next to Vyrithax's searing heat, but it marked me all the same, a crimson beast with power I barely understood.

I focused, pulling the ice aura in tight. The mist thinned, then stopped, curling back into my skin. I couldn't risk harming the chainrunners or the other survivors. Not after coming this far. Ahead, a hundred meters off, they moved, some limping, bloodied, others hauling debris to patch the barricade. A few rocked back and forth, eyes vacant, broken by Vyrithax's psychic attack. The rest worked, steady and grim, bracing for the next wave.

I could hear them now, the beasts, claws scraping, growls rolling closer. The explosion had scattered them, bought a moment, but it wouldn't last. They'd regroup soon, hungry and relentless.

Lirien's voice cut through the noise. "Bring more tables and doors! Secure this section!" She stood atop a pile of rubble, directing the chaos, her tone sharp and sure. She turned to shout again, then froze, mid-word, her eyes locking on me.

I tried to approach slow, careful not to spook anyone. Hazeveil shifted around me, its shadows deepening, wrapping me tighter than ever. I moved through the crowd, past guards staring my way, civilians dragging planks and they didn't see me. My cloak's power had grown, blending me into the air, a ghost among them. I felt it, the mana pulsing off me, thick and heavy, bending light, muffling sound.

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Lirien saw through it. Her head snapped up as I crossed the barricade's edge, her gaze piercing the shroud. The stealth broke as shadows peeled back, and suddenly, others noticed too, heads turning, hands pausing. My tentacles were gone, sunk into my back, frost-claws tucked away, but I couldn't hide everything. The air around me thrummed, mana so dense it pressed against them, a weight they couldn't name but felt. My skin gleamed pale, veins glowing faint blue, eyes too bright, posture too fluid, something other, something vast.

I stopped a few steps past the barricade's edge, meeting Lirien's steady gaze. She didn't flinch, didn't back away, but I caught it, the faint tightness around her eyes, a flicker of unease she couldn't quite hide. "You're back. Alive," she said, her voice low, measured. "We thought you died in that explosion."

She didn't say it outright, didn't point to the changes, but I knew she saw them. Hazeveil draped around me, shadows twitching, bending the air in ways that felt heavier now. My skin gleamed pale under the dim light, cold mist seeping out despite my efforts to pull it in. The mana rolled off me, loud and wild. A pressure even the untrained could feel pressing against their chests. She noticed, they all did, but she left it unspoken for now.

"Survived somehow," I said, keeping it short. Her look sharpened, a silent promise we'd dig into it later when the chaos settled.

Gustav stepped up beside her, brushing my thoughts aside with his voice. "I was sure that beast would kill us all," he said, wiping soot from his hands. "How'd you beat it? It just… exploded." His tone was half awe, half disbelief, eyes flicking over me like he was searching for the trick.

Others chimed in, voices overlapping. "How'd you jump so high? Do you have some kind of boot artifact?" one asked, a civilian leaning on a cracked plank. He glanced down, spotting my bare feet against the dirt, with no boots, confusion creasing his brow.

I didn't have time for it. Questions piled up, but I turned away, letting them hang. We'd lost too much already. I needed to see who was left, who could still fight. My eyes swept the barricade, taking it in slow. Bodies littered the ground, some still, some twitching with shallow breaths. The injured slumped against walls or sprawled in the dust, blood mixing with the crimson streaks of Vyrithax's remains. The streets stank of it—sharp, metallic, soaking into everything.

Then I saw them, off in a corner past a shattered cart. Gorin knelt there, head bowed, hands resting on his thighs. Beside him lay a body I recognized, Wulric, his Chainrunner gear torn, chest still. He'd chosen this life, volunteered to face the fog, never flinched when we got the call to defend District 97. I hadn't seen him fall, hadn't been there for his last stand. Now he was gone, one face among the countless dead around us.

I walked over, steps quiet, deliberate. Gorin didn't look up as I reached him. No tears streaked his face, no rage twisted it, just a blank mask, cold and hard, like he'd locked everything else away. I stood beside him, shoulder to shoulder, saying nothing. The silence stretched, heavy but steady, a shared resolve binding us where words wouldn't fit.

Death gnawed at me, a dull ache spreading through my chest. So many gone, Wulric just one among them. How could it fit into a cycle? I turned the question over, staring at his still form. To me, death looked final—an end, not a step. But then I watched Gorin. His hands tightened on his knees, knuckles whitening, then relaxed. His breath came even, his heartbeat steady; I could hear it, feel it, a rhythm unbroken by grief. He shifted, gripping his sword's hilt, ready for whatever came next.

Maybe Wulric wasn't gone, not entirely. His death had shifted something in Gorin, hardened him, fueled that quiet fire. I saw it in the set of his jaw, the way he held himself. Wulric lived there, in that resolve, in the fight still ahead. The cycle wasn't broken; it turned, carrying him forward through the living. I let that sink in, standing there a moment longer, the chaos of the barricade humming around us.

I rested a hand on Gorin's shoulder, firm but brief, a gesture I hoped he'd feel. Comfort, maybe, or just a nod to what he'd lost. I didn't linger. Too many others stood like him, hollowed out but holding on. Sitting still wasn't an option, not when I could act, not when beasts still prowled the district.

Part of me ached to undo it, to pull Wulric back, all of them, rewind the blood and the screams. But the more I thought it, the more it felt wrong. Even if I could, even if some ancient power let me rip them from the cycle, I shouldn't. Death had carved this moment, shaping Gorin and everyone else still breathing here. If District 97 survived, they'd carry it forever, scars and all. Reversing it would unravel that, break something deeper than I understood. The cycle mattered, even if I didn't fully grasp it yet.

I straightened, turning back to the barricade. Faces looked my way, worn, battered, waiting. I stepped forward, letting mana rise in my chest, a low hum building in my throat. My voice came out strong, edged with power, carrying over the groans and clatter. "The ward's lie. Do not trust its promise of safety. Never forget those who fell to its betrayal."

The words hit the air, heavy and sure, mana weaving through them like a thread of will. It wasn't just sound—it pulsed, a truth rooted in the rules I'd learned, in the cycle I was starting to see. Heads lifted, eyes widened. Gustav nodded slow, jaw tight, and Mateo, leaning on a wall nearby, dipped his chin in quiet agreement. The hum lingered, rippling out, a call grander than I'd meant—a vow etched in the world itself, urging them to remember, to hold this loss as a fire against the dark.

Lirien stepped closer, her voice cutting through the murmurs still settling from my words. "Short speech, but a great one," she said, a faint nod tipping her head. She paused, scanning the barricade's battered line, then fixed her eyes on me. "That explosion bought us time, but it's running out. They'll hit again soon, too few of us can hold now. Think you can do it again, keep the beasts distracted?" Her tone was sharp, straight to it, no room for doubt.

Dain stood beside her, silent but present. His left arm hung limp, wrapped in a makeshift sling, blood seeping through the cloth. He didn't speak, but I caught the way he glanced at Lirien, quick and knowing. This was his idea, I figured, trusting me to pull them through again.

I reached up, tugging Hazeveil's hood down slow. It slid back, exposing my face, pale skin stretched tight, blue-gray veins pulsing with mana, rune carvings glowing faint along my face. Eyes turned, stares lingering, but I didn't flinch. "I'll do more than that," I said, voice steady, letting it carry.

A ripple ran through my back, sharp and sudden. Tentacles burst out, thick and sinewy, piercing through Hazeveil like it was air. They flexed, coiling, then slammed into the ground with a dull thud, dust kicking up around them.

Four of them, each five meters long, maybe more, lifted me smooth and high, raising me above the barricade's jagged edge. They moved like extra limbs, precise and alive, curling under me to brace my weight, then stretching out to grip nearby wreckage. One latched onto a broken beam, another hooked a splintered wall, pulling me forward a step, then back, adjusting my perch like a spider shifting on its web. The motion felt strange, fluid and unnatural, my body swaying slightly as they balanced me, giving me a clear view over the chaos below.

Gasps broke out, sharp and quick. I saw blades tilt my way, swords half-raised, spears twitching in nervous hands. The sight of those tentacles, writhing and black against Hazeveil's shadow, spooked them. I couldn't blame them, but there was no time to explain, no time to hide what I'd become.

I focused, reaching deep into the mana coiled inside me—cold, vast, waiting. My breath misted as I traced the faint trail of frost I'd left behind, still lingering in the air. I pushed my will forward, hard and sure, aiming for the barricade's splintered mess. Ice snapped out, crackling loud, coating the wood and stone in a thin sheen. I didn't stop. I pushed harder. The frost surged, thickening fast, walls rising from the ground, stretching wide across the line. Shouts echoed below, surprise and relief mixing as the ice climbed to three meters, then five, solidifying with every second. I kept going, mana pouring out, until it hit ten meters, a gleaming barrier, smooth and unyielding.

Up there, the tentacles shifted me, two curling tighter to hold me steady, another swinging out to snag a higher ledge, pulling me sideways for a better angle. The motion was odd, my body tilting with their rhythm, like they'd replaced my legs entirely. People stared, wide-eyed, but I locked my focus ahead. Every beast left in the ward—I'd hunt them down, end this invasion, one frozen claw at a time.

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