Hendrix’s party stepped into a chamber glittering with gemstones. The walls pulsed with faint light, casting ripples of color across the uneven floor. Amara’s gaze drifted over the jeweled expanse, wide-eyed. Despite the dazzling temptation, no one reached for the gems—or even looked twice.

  “Do we wait for Chadwick?” she asked, voice low. “Won’t we get in trouble for leaving him behind?”

  Hendrix exhaled, a hard sound that echoed faintly off the crystal walls. “He made his choice, and we made ours. Our mission comes first.” His brow furrowed as the thought of the dimwit crossed his mind, then vanished just as quickly. His attention settled on the ground, a thin film of gray ash coating the rocks. “If we’d waited, who knows what might’ve happened.”

  “Still,” Amara murmured, “having him here would’ve made this easier.”

  “Maybe,” Mavis said before Hendrix could answer. Though his voice was deep, his delicate features and painted face made him appear almost androgynous. Rings and chains glimmered under the dim light. “Vindictive asshole or not, Chadwick knew how to deal with Ashworms. Four of us against their leader isn’t ideal.”

  Hendrix didn’t argue. Chadwick’s absence wasn’t fatal, but it meant the fight ahead would be longer, bloodier.

  “Well, the idiot’s not here,” Fien muttered, scanning the chamber with restless eyes. “So there’s no point whining about him. Let’s get this done and leave. This place makes my skin crawl.”

  Mavis smirked, amused. Amara, however, frowned at the sharp tone, especially the way Fien’s gaze lingered protectively on Hendrix.

  Hendrix straightened, his voice softening. “I’m sorry for dragging you all into this. The creatures here aren’t our only threat. We move fast, stay sharp, and finish the job. Understood?”

  They nodded—grim and wordless.

  “So, what’s next?” Amara asked, her fingers were already brushing the hilt of her sword.

  “According to the Representative’s report, we should—”

  The floor groaned beneath them.

  The words died in Hendrix’s throat as the ground rippled violently. The glittering walls fractured; veins of light split open and burst into a storm of dust and color. Gemstones cracked and collapsed, cascading into powder. The entire cavern convulsed like a living thing, the sound of grinding stone swallowing their voices. Shards rained from above, each one striking the ash-covered floor like brittle glass.

  The tremors deepened.

  “Positions!” Hendrix barked.

  The command snapped everyone into motion. Amara and Fien rushed forward, weapons drawn. Mavis’s posture hardened as his fingers flexed, hair and beard beginning to twist unnaturally. Behind them, Hendrix’s breathing deepened; his tattoos pulsing faintly beneath his skin as he began to hum low, rhythmic sutras.

  The tremors grew louder. Stones split. The once-beautiful gems decorating the walls blackened and crumbled into ash.

  “They’re coming,” Hendrix murmured, eyes closed, voice barely audible under the growing rumble. “Under the moon’s gaze… we fight.”

  The air warped above them, and a phantom moon materialized—an immense sphere of silver light suspended in the cavern’s hollow sky. Its glow spilled downward, painting the party in pale luminance. The radiance pooled around Hendrix like a tide, then rippled outward through the others.

  Amara’s pulse quickened. She could feel it—the Blessing humming within her veins, amplifying her strength until her limbs thrummed with restrained power. Even the air felt lighter, sharper.

  Mavis clenched his fists, eyes flicking to the shifting ceiling. “Brace yourselves!”

  The ground split open with a deafening crack.

  A blur of gray and steel shot upward; a monstrous worm, its segmented body glinting like forged armor. It tore through the air; maw yawning wide, concentric rings of jagged teeth glistening.

  It lunged straight for Hendrix.

  Before anyone could react, the aura around him flared. silver light condensed into a shimmering barrier. The creature smashed into it, the impact echoing through the chamber like thunder. Cracks spiderwebbed across the barrier’s surface.

  “Move!” Mavis roared.

  A streak of green light flashed past him. Fien’s daggers spun through the air, whistling like angry spirits. They struck the Ashworm’s hide, embedding deep. The creature convulsed midair. Then, with a screech, its body split down the middle—two twitching halves collapsing to the floor, spraying emerald blood across the ash.

  “Focus!” Fien snapped, panting. Her eyes were bloodshot, the veins beneath her skin blackening as her daggers pulsed—alive, feeding. The roots had already burrowed into her palms, veins crawling up her arms like living vines.

  The ground erupted again. Seven more Ashworms burst forth, each one massive, armored, and glistening like a serpent of molten iron. One towered above the rest, its carapace streaked in blue—the leader.

  “Split formation!” Mavis shouted. “Amara, Fien—frontline! I’ll cover Hendrix!”

  The command came barely in time. The worms struck from every direction, their screeches blending into a single, piercing roar.

  Amara met the charge head-on. The moonlight above flared brighter as she drove her heel into the ash. The ground cratered beneath her, and she launched forward like a cannonball. Her sword cleaved through the first worm’s midsection. Steel met armor, then crushed through it. Segments split apart, spraying ichor that hissed as it hit the floor.

  “Die!” she shouted, spinning in a blur of muscle and fury. Her sword smashed through another worm, tearing it open from jaw to tail. Its shriek rattled the cavern, but she didn’t stop.

  A shadow loomed behind her.

  “Amara—left!” Fien’s voice.

  Amara ducked just as a jet of compressed sand shot past her face, carving a furrow into the wall. The second worm lunged but met a dagger instead. Fien’s strike pierced its maw, and the creature spasmed violently before bursting apart in a rain of ash.

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  Each of Fien’s movements was vicious and desperate. Blood trickled from her wrists as the daggers pulsed, the veins of her arms writhing like serpents. Her Blessing demanded a price, and she was paying it willingly—each drop of blood fueling the sentient hunger of her blades.

  Across the room, Mavis held his ground before Hendrix. Two Ashworms bore down on him, their bulk shaking the floor.

  His transformation was completed.

  Hair whipped around his head like living tendrils, hardening into black metallic spikes. His beard bristled outward, glimmering like woven steel. He caught the first worm mid-lunge, his hair plunging through its armor. With a guttural snarl, they ripped the creature in half, blood raining down like molten tar.

  The second struck from behind—too fast to turn.

  But Mavis’s hair moved on its own, a dozen tendrils coiling like whips. They speared through the creature’s hide, anchoring deep, and heaved it sideways into a crystal wall. It shrieked once before collapsing into a puddle of green sludge.

  All around them, the battle raged.

  The blue Ashworm reared high, segments scraping the ceiling, its gaping maw glowing with molten light. The temperature spiked as it inhaled—its body pulsing like a bellows.

  “Everyone, down!” Mavis shouted.

  A beam of compressed fire erupted from the creature’s mouth, carving a molten trench through the cavern. Fien barely rolled aside in time, the blast melting stone where she’d stood seconds before.

  The attack died down but the backlash was immediate. The heat scorched through Amara’s skin, blistering her arms. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself upright.

  “Now!” she shouted.

  She sprinted forward, her muscles swelling unnaturally as her Blessing peaked. With both hands, she brought her sword down on the Ashworm’s midsection. The impact thundered through the chamber, shattering the floor. The beast recoiled, bellowing. Its armor fractured—just barely.

  Fien appeared beside her, covered in blood, both hers and theirs. Her daggers glowed a sickly green, dripping viscous ichor. She plunged them into the cracks Amara had made.

  The worm screamed as its armor began to melt.

  “Keep hitting them!” Mavis roared. “The ash—don’t let it reattach!”

  They didn’t stop. Not for breath, not for pain. The worms kept coming, bursting from the earth only to be torn apart again and again.

  Meanwhile, Hendrix’s chant deepened. The moonlight pulsed with every word, each note pulling at the ash blanketing the floor. Slowly, the residue drifted toward him; streams of gray and black spiraled upward, coiling into the phantom moon like smoke into a flame.

  With each particle absorbed, the worms’ regeneration slowed. Their sheen dulled. The cracks in their armor spread.

  Minutes passed, though it felt like hours.

  Then silence.

  Only the leader remained—the blue Ashworm, thrashing in agony, its armor shedding like cracked glass. Its blood pooled across the ground, hissing against the hot stone.

  Amara dropped to one knee, panting. Her vision swam.

  Fien’s body hit the ground a moment later, pale as parchment, her arms trembling uncontrollably.

  Mavis’s form reverted, his hair softening, his beard receding. He slumped back against a broken wall, chest heaving.

  The moonlight dimmed.

  Hendrix opened his eyes. The sutras ceased.

  The ash—every grain of it—spiraled toward him and vanished into his tattoos. As the light faded, a new mark etched itself upon his skin: a coiled spiral of black dust, faintly pulsing.

  He stepped forward, gaze calm, voice steady despite the exhaustion hanging over them all.

  “Good job, everyone,” he said quietly. “Rest now. I’ll finish this.”

  Mavis gave a weak thumbs-up before collapsing fully.

  Hendrix approached the twitching Ashworm. Its one remaining eye rolled toward him, filled with animal terror. He lifted one of Fien’s daggers, the blade still slick with blood, and drove it into the creature’s skull.

  The worm convulsed, shuddered, and then fell still.

  The silence that followed was almost reverent.

  As Hendrix withdrew the blade, the ash mark on his body flared once, then settled like a sleeping brand.

  He looked at his fallen teammates, then at the orb glimmering faintly within the creature’s corpse.

  “I’ll heal you soon,” he murmured. “Just hold on a little longer.”

  He reached for the orb, prying it out from the corpse.

  Hendrix grinned weakly. “I got the orb, guys,” he said. The shimmering sphere dissolved into light, vanishing into his skin as a new tattoo burned to life across his arm. “I’ll heal—”

  A thunderous crack split the air before he could finish.

  Pain exploded through his body. His vision blurred; sound warped into a hollow hum. He crashed onto his side, limbs refusing to obey. The ground spun beneath him.

  Then came laughter.

  “Congratulations,” a familiar voice drawled. “You did far better than I expected.”

  The air rippled—space itself bending—and a figure stepped through the distortion, whip coiled in one hand. “Too bad it won’t matter in the end.”

  “Chadwick?” Hendrix rasped, struggling to focus. The man’s silhouette sharpened in the haze. It was him. The very teammate they’d left behind.

  But Chadwick wasn’t alone. A motley band of ten emerged behind him, armed and smirking. One wore a cloak that shimmered like liquid glass, bending light, and warping visibility.

  “Chadwick, how could you—”

  “Shut up!” Chadwick’s voice cracked like the whip he held. “I don’t care what you have to say.” He strode forward, his boots crunching against ash and crystal shards. “Hand over the orb if you value Fien’s life. I won’t ask twice.”

  He stopped inches from Hendrix, eyes alight with mockery. “None of this would’ve happened if you knew your place,” he sneered. “Last chance.”

  A low hum came from the flank. “Friend,” said a smooth voice, “I hope you remember our end of the bargain.”

  Chadwick’s jaw twitched. He turned, meeting Cale’s cold grin. “Take their amulets,” Chadwick snapped. “I’m busy.”

  “What about the ladies?” Curtis asked, scratching idly at his stubble.

  “Chadwick!” Hendrix forced the word out; every syllable ragged with pain. His body refused to move, muscles numb.

  Chadwick’s gaze flicked toward him, his lips curved upwards as he stared at the bald men. “Do whatever you want with them.”

  Cale and Curtis shared a knowing grin. They gestured for their men to move. The underlings fanned out, closing in on the fallen group. Fien’s unconscious form was dragged across the floor, her daggers clattering uselessly. Amara and Mavis were seized next—one unconscious, the other thrashing violently until a blow to the stomach folded her in half.

  “Don’t! Chadwick—please!” Hendrix’s plea came out broken, barely more than a gasp. The orb flickered into existence once more, hovering briefly before dropping to the floor. The tattoo on his arm faded.

  Chadwick smiled faintly as he stooped to pick up the orb. “Don’t worry,” he said, almost kindly. “I’ll tell them to make it quick.”

  A tap on his shoulder made him turn. His irritation flared. “What now?”

  Cale stood there, smiling. “We’ve collected their amulets.”

  Chadwick frowned. “And?”

  Curtis stepped forward. “We still need his.” He nodded toward Hendrix’s prone form.

  “That’s fine, right?” Cale added, still smiling. “We just want to keep things fair.”

  Chadwick’s eyes narrowed. “Fine,” he muttered. “Take it. Then get the hell out of my sight.” He stepped aside, watching them rummage through Hendrix’s pockets until they pulled the amulet free.

  “You two can fuck off now. Our deal’s done.”

  Cale chuckled. “Of course, of course.” He pocketed the amulet, his grin never fading. “Although… we still have one more to collect.”

  A sharp silence cut through the cavern.

  Chadwick’s hand drifted toward his whip, but Curtis’s voice stopped him cold. “I wouldn’t do that,” he said softly. “You so much as touch that thing, and my archers will turn you into a pincushion.”

  “There’s no need for blood,” Cale added, feigning sympathy. “We only want the amulet—and the orb.” His grin widened. “You understand.”

  Chadwick’s breath quickened. “We had a deal, you bastards!”

  “Indeed, we did,” Cale replied cheerfully. “And we upheld it.”

  Curtis’s tone dropped, all humor gone. “But our guild isn’t big enough to let a Varidan student walk away. Not after this.”

  The color drained from Chadwick’s face. He took a trembling step back.

  “Don’t kill me,” he stammered. “I can pay—lots of money. My uncle’s a minister in Vohmir, he—he’ll give you anything!”

  Laughter rippled through the group.

  “You’re not helping your case,” Curtis said. “Relax. We’ll make it painless. Then we’ll go find the last brat. Wouldn’t want you dying alone, now—wouldn’t be fair.”

  A slow clap echoed through the cavern.

  The laughter stopped. Swords were drawn.

  “Who’s there?” one man barked. “Show yourself!”

  “There’s no need to shout,” came the calm reply. “I’ve saved you the trouble of looking for me.”

  The air shimmered again, space folding like fabric. A lone figure emerged from the distortion, the lower half of his face hidden behind a half-mask. Varidan’s uniform, torn and scorched, still clung to his frame.

  “Here I am,” he said, arms spread, voice low and controlled.