The moment the Griffins multiplied, their crystalline long swords glowing with malevolent light, the air turned suffocating. Dozens of them now filled the chamber, their forms barely more than streaks of white light as they darted through the battlefield. The sound of their crystalline swords scraping against the ruined stone floor, the shrieks of dying adventurers, and the tearing of flesh created a cacophony of death.
The Tyrants, surrounded on all sides, braced themselves. They had no choice but to fight, even as the odds stacked higher against them. Every movement mattered now—every misstep meant death.
Mertha was immediately swarmed by three Griffins. Their glowing swords, clenched between jaws of jagged crystal, swung with lethal precision in a coordinated assault. The first Griffin lunged low, its blade aimed for her knees, while the second came from her right, its sword carving an arc toward her throat. The third Griffin leapt directly overhead, its massive crystal blade poised to drive straight down into her skull.
Mertha growled, her pink halo flaring brighter, and slammed her black and pink flaming gauntlets together. The ground beneath her cracked as she ducked low, narrowly avoiding the first blade aimed for her legs. She twisted her body mid-duck, catching the second blade with her flaming gauntlet. Sparks and shards of crystal exploded from the impact as her gauntlets ground against the sword, the force driving her back a few inches.
"Come at me! I'll kill every last one of ya!"
Before she could counter, the third Griffin dove. She threw herself to the side, rolling across the blood-slick floor as the beast's blade stabbed deep into the stone where her head had been. The Griffins didn't relent, their movements quick and surgical.
"Damn it!" Mertha snarled, forcing herself to her feet.
The first Griffin lunged again, this time feinting left before spinning its entire body mid-air, its sword cleaving horizontally in a deadly spiral. Mertha surged forward into the attack, her flaming gauntlets igniting as she caught the spinning blade with both hands. The impact nearly drove her to her knees, but she held firm, her muscles straining as the flames licked up her arms.
With a roar, she wrenched the blade aside, using the Griffin's momentum against it. The beast's body twisted awkwardly before she drove her gauntlet into its exposed side, shattering its crystalline ribs with a sickening crunch. It let out a shriek, blood spraying from its mouth as it collapsed.
The second Griffin didn't wait. It dashed forward, its blade swinging low for her midsection. Mertha slammed her foot into the ground, pivoting sharply to avoid the strike. She countered with a brutal uppercut, her flaming gauntlet smashing into the beast's jaw. The force of the blow sent shards of crystal and teeth flying, but the Griffin didn't fall.
Before she could finish it off, the third Griffin was on her. Its sword drove into her side, the jagged blade cutting deep. Blood poured from the wound as Mertha hissed in pain, her eyes narrowing. She grabbed the blade with her bare hands, the flames of her gauntlets flaring violently as she melted through the crystal.
With a guttural scream, she pulled the sword free from her body, turned it around, and drove it into the Griffin's throat. The beast gurgled as it slumped to the ground, but Mertha staggered, clutching her side.
'No….i'm not done yet. I still have too much left to do!'
Zyphira ascended into the air, her golden wings sharp and radiant, as three Griffins circled her like vultures. Their swords glimmered, catching the light of Gabriel's Ladder as they darted toward her in a synchronized attack.
'Based on the carvings in the walls before, these were the beasts the Lysfødt rode into battle with! This is impossible! No..don't give up so easily. We can do this, can't we? We're Tyrants..'
The first Griffin came head-on, thrusting its sword with brutal force. Zyphira twisted her body, her gilded wings folding inward as the blade scraped past her chest, cutting just deep enough to draw blood. She retaliated with a roar, opening her mouth wide and unleashing a massive, fire-wreathed projectile.
The golden fireball engulfed the first Griffin, melting its crystalline form mid-flight, but the other two Griffins were already moving.
The second Griffin closed in from beneath her, its blade rising in a deadly arc aimed to cleave her from the waist up. At the same time, the third Griffin dove from above, its sword spinning like a saw as it aimed for the back of her neck.
Zyphira snapped her wings outward, the sharp edges cutting into the second Griffin's blade mid-swing. Sparks exploded as her wings fought against the weapon's edge, but the sheer force of the attack sent her spiraling upward, blood trailing from her waist. She wasn't fast enough to block the third Griffin's strike.
The blade grazed her stomach, carving a deep gash into her draconic flesh. She screamed, her golden flames flaring wildly as she folded her wings and dove straight at the Griffin. Her speed turned her body into a living spear, her sharpened wings piercing through the beast's chest.
As the Griffin thrashed beneath her, its claws scraping at her legs, she opened her mouth again and let loose another fireball, burning through its skull.
The second Griffin, still intact, charged at her again, but Zyphira met it mid-air. She twisted into a tight spiral, her wings slicing through the beast's legs before she grabbed its head with both hands. With a savage roar, she drove her knee into its jaw, shattering it, before impaling the creature on her wings.
Sethrak flew high above the battlefield, his golden dragon wings shimmering as two Griffins chased him relentlessly, their swords spinning like wheels of death.
The first Griffin surged ahead, it's blade from its mouth stabbing forward in a deadly thrust. Sethrak turned mid-air, his hands moving in intricate patterns as he chanted in the ancient tongue. A fiery wheel, glowing with golden light and cloaked in darkness, appeared behind him.
The Griffin's blade came within inches of his chest before Sethrak twisted sharply, his claws catching the flat of the blade and redirecting it downward. He followed through with a brutal counterattack, slamming his knee into the Griffin's neck. The beast choked, but the second Griffin was already upon him.
The second Griffin swung its sword in a rapid slash, forcing Sethrak to release the first beast and dodge backward. The blade grazed his wing, cutting through the golden membrane and leaving a trail of crystals.
Sethrak snarled, his chants growing louder as the fiery wheel behind him spun faster. He thrust his palms forward, and a barrage of small fireballs shot out fast, each one streaking toward the Griffins.
The first Griffin dodged, weaving through the projectiles with uncanny speed, but the second wasn't as lucky. One fireball struck its wing, igniting it in golden flames. The beast shrieked as it spun out of control, crashing into the ground below.
Sethrak charged the remaining Griffin, his hands glowing with golden fire. The beast met him head-on, its sword slashing downward in an overhead strike. Sethrak caught the blade between his palms, the flames of his hands melting through the crystal as he drove his knee into the Griffin's chest.
The beast staggered, but Sethrak didn't let up. He grabbed the Griffin by the head, his fiery claws digging into its skull, and tore it apart with a savage twist.
More small fireballs raced from the flaming wheel behind him, but those golden fireballs formed into golden flaming clones of Sethrak, and they attacked the griffins, their claws and sharp kicks slashing the beasts, shattering them into crystals, golden beams of flames exploding from their body each time the clones attack.
Draeven fought on the ground, his body wrapped in the same cloth that now glowed faintly with runic symbols of darkness, Yuuna's darkness. Two Griffins circled him, their swords in their beaks cutting through the air in precise, deadly arcs.
The first Griffin lunged, its blade carving an upward slash aimed to split him in two. Draeven sidestepped, his movements sharp and efficient, and countered with a spinning back-kick. His reinforced leg struck the beast's jaw, cracking the crystal and sending it stumbling backward.
The second Griffin attacked from behind, its sword thrusting toward his spine. Draeven dropped to the ground, the blade whistling over his head, and rolled forward. He came up with a powerful uppercut, his wrapped fist slamming into the Griffin's stomach and shattering its crystalline ribs.
The first Griffin recovered, leaping at him with its sword raised high. Draeven ducked low, dodging the strike, and grabbed the beast's leg mid-air. With a roar, he swung it into the second Griffin, the impact shattering both beasts into pieces.
"There's so many…each time we take one down, more show up!"
Gunthr and his guildmates were hiding behind destroyed pillars, keeping their heads down as they saw the massacre happening.
The chamber was chaos incarnate. Blood sprayed in thick screams across the desecrated stone floor as adventurers were butchered by the crystalline horde. Screams of terror and agony filled the air, mingling with the shrill, otherworldly screeches of the Griffins. Their crystalline swords, glowing with malevolent light, cut through the strongest armor and flesh with ease.
Gorran stood at the center of it all, his Xenith blade humming with dark, hungry power. The blade itself seemed already alive, its edges rippling with shadows and spiraling red eyes that blinked open and shut like the watchful gaze of a thousand demons. Where the blade struck, spirals of black and crimson tore through the air, rippling like distorted wounds in reality itself.
But Gorran was surrounded. Dozens of Griffins circled him, their crystalline swords shimmering like death itself. The corpses of adventurers lay scattered around him, their bodies mangled and lifeless. Blood pooled beneath his boots. He tightened his grip on the Xenith's hilt, his teeth gritted against the pain of the deep gashes already carved into his sides and arms.
This was no victory march. This was survival.
Four Griffins rushed him at once, their swords gleaming as they darted in from different angles. Gorran's eyes flicked from one to the next, his muscles tensing as he anticipated the onslaught. The first Griffin came high, its blade slashing downward in an overhead strike meant to cleave him in two.
Gorran pivoted, narrowly avoiding the blade, and countered with a diagonal slash of his Xenith. The blade moved like a whisper, cutting through the Griffin's side as if it were paper. The spiraling red eyes on the weapon blinked open, and a foul ripple tore through the Griffin's body. Its crystalline form began to crack and rot from within, black veins spreading like a disease. It let out a shriek before collapsing, its body dissolving into a steaming, heap of blood and crystals.
But the second Griffin was already there. Its sword came low, aimed for Gorran's knees. He jumped back, but the blade caught his shin, slicing through flesh and muscle. He grunted in pain but retaliated with a vicious upward slash. The Xenith tore through the Griffin's jaw, the spiraling eyes along the blade leaving burning, bleeding crystal wounds in their wake. The beast staggered, but Gorran didn't stop. He spun, delivering a horizontal strike that decapitated the creature in one clean motion.
"I'm not letting you bastards take me down!"
The third and fourth Griffins attacked together, their swords carving through the air in a deadly, synchronized pattern. Gorran raised his blade to block, the Xenith catching one of the swords. Sparks flew as the two weapons clashed, but the second blade found its mark, slicing straight through Gorran's shoulder. Blood sprayed from the wound, but Gorran roared in defiance, slamming his boot into the chest of the first Griffin to create distance.
He lunged forward, his Xenith carving through the second Griffin's chest. As the blade exited, spiraling eyes opened along the beast's torso, the creature collapsed, twitching violently as its body fell apart.
Nearby, a human swordsman tried to face off against a single Griffin. He was quick, his longsword flashing as he parried the beast's strikes. But it wasn't enough. The Griffin feinted, its crystalline sword darting to the side before plunging straight through the man's chest. The adventurer gasped, blood bubbling from his mouth as the Griffin yanked its blade free.
Before Gorran could intervene, another adventurer—a stoic cleric—was struck down. The cleric had raised his shield, chanting prayers to his dragon gods, but the Griffin's sword shattered the shield in one swing. The next strike cleaved straight through the clerics skull, splitting his head down the middle. Brain matter and blood splattered across the ground as the Griffin moved on to its next victim.
Gorran grimaced but had no time for anything else. Three more Griffins charged him, their blades spinning towards him..
'Damn pests…they're strong! I'm using my strongest skills on them…each time one goes down, another one grows from its body. It has to be That Lysfødt woman! She's the link, if Xyenn and Yuuna can kill her fast…that would help us. I don't think we can hold off against these bastards any longer..'
The first Griffin zipped for his chest, its sword aimed to impale him. Gorran strafed to the side, swinging the Xenith in a curve. The blade hummed with dark energy, its spiraling red eyes leaving a ripple in the air where it passed. The slash struck the Griffin's side, carving through its ribs. A spiraling distortion opened in the wound, and red eyes blinked into existence along its body. The beast shrieked as crystals and black ichor poured from the spirals, its body collapsing into a heap of steaming rot and crystals.
The second Griffin was faster. Its sword slashed across Gorran's back, tearing through his armor and drawing a spray of blood. He stumbled forward, his vision blurring from the pain, but he turned in time to see the third Griffin coming down on him.
'I didn't go this hard against Xyenn before, I really held back against that brat? And he held back against me…guess me and that fool aren't so different.'
With a desperate roar, he raised the Xenith, catching the Griffin's sword mid-swing. The impact sent a shockwave through his arms, but he held firm. But the impact made blood burst from his eyes, nose, and mouth, and ears.
"I'm not losing to you beasts! Damn bastards!"
'Me and the other Tyrants…our skills are tainted with Yuuna's darkness, there's no way we can lose. I won't be a disappointment, not even to myself. I was born into perfection, failure is not an option.'
The spiraling eyes along his blade blinked open, releasing a burst of shadowy energy that rippled through the Griffin's weapon. The crystalline sword cracked, and Gorran shoved the beast back before delivering a brutal downward slash.
The Xenith carved through the Griffin's head, splitting it in half. Blood, diamonds, and crystal shards exploded from the wound as the beast collapsed.
All around him, adventurers were dying. A halfling rogue, quick and nimble, managed to dodge a Griffin's first strike but was caught by its second. The crystalline blade impaled him through the stomach, lifting him off the ground. The Griffin shook him violently before tossing his mangled body aside like trash.
A towering minotaur, wielding a massive warhammer, roared as he brought his weapon down on a Griffin. The blow shattered the beast's wing, but another Griffin struck from behind, its sword severing the minotaur's head in one clean cut. Blood sprayed like a fountain as the headless body crumpled to the floor.
Gorran's breathing was ragged, his body covered in wounds, but he refused to stop. He spun, his Xenith carving through another Griffin's legs. As the beast fell, spiraling eyes opened along its wounds, devouring its flesh from within.
Across the battlefield, Sethrak had been fighting with deadly precision, his golden flames tearing through Griffins. But then he saw her—Zyphira, lying on the ground, blood pooling beneath her. A Griffin stood over her, its crystalline sword raised high, ready to deliver the killing blow.
Time seemed to slow.
Sethrak's mind was dragged back to another moment, one burned into his memory forever.
Zyphira was just a child, no older than six. Their father, a towering draconic vessel, loomed over her. His eyes, filled with lust and cruelty, made Sethrak's stomach churn as Sethrak burst through the doors.
The father sneered, saying, "You are ready, to become a woman—"
Sethrak had acted on instinct, grabbing a hidden dagger from his father's belt and driving it into his ribs. He had stabbed him again and again, blood spraying across the walls, until the monster collapsed.
The memory ignited something primal in Sethrak. His golden flames turned darker, tinged with black, as he let out a roar that shook the chamber.
"I won't let anyone take advantage of her…"
He launched himself at the Griffin standing over Zyphira, his body a blur of golden fire. The Griffin's sword came down, but Sethrak caught it with his bare claws, the golden flames searing through the crystalline blade. He drove his teeth into the beast's neck, tearing out its throat in a spray of blood.
Another Griffin charged him, but Sethrak turned, his flames exploding outward. The beast was incinerated before it could even strike.
He tore through the horde, his claws ripping flesh and his flames consuming everything in his path. Blood, jewels, and ash coated the ground as he screamed in fury, killing anything that dared approach.
As Sethrak prepared to charge again, Zyphira's weak voice stopped him. "Brother…"
He froze mid-step, his flames flickering. Zyphira reached out, her trembling hand grabbing his. "Keep your head on… please… for me."
Sethrak's eyes widened, tears mixing with the blood on his face. He was pulled back again, to the memory of them running away together, hand in hand, after killing their father.
The battlefield seemed to go silent for a moment, the chaos fading into the background. Sethrak knelt beside Zyphira, gripping her hand tightly.
"I'll protect you," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Always."
Then he stood, his golden flames reigniting. The fight wasn't over. Not yet.
The Griffins swarmed like a tide of death, their crystalline swords glowing with an unholy light as they closed in on Kivorn. His body ached, his wounds oozing blood, but he planted his staff into the ground, holding his ground like a lone bastion against the onslaught.
The runes on his staff pulsed faintly, flickering under the strain of his magic. His voice rose above the sound of clashing blades and shrieking beasts, chanting in the ancient elven tongue. The words were guttural and melodic, each syllable pulling the elements closer to his call. The air around him thickened, laced with fire, wind, and shards of splintered stone.
But the Griffins didn't hesitate. They sensed his power, and they wanted him destroyed.
The first Griffin darted forward, its sword swinging like a menace toward Kivorn's side. He spun his staff just in time, the strike deflecting with a shower of sparks. The force of the blow jolted his arms, nearly sending him to his knees. Before he could recover, two more Griffins lunged from opposite directions, their blades aimed to tear him apart.
Kivorn whispered a desperate chant, his staff glowing as the ground beneath him erupted. Jagged pillars of stone shot upward, spearing one of the Griffins mid-leap, its body shattering in a rain of crystal and blood. The other two Griffins adjusted instantly, one darting low while the other leapt high to flank him.
The low Griffin's blade came for his legs, and Kivorn barely managed to twist his body to avoid the strike. The other's sword screamed down toward his head, and he raised his staff to block. The impact knocked him back, his boots skidding across the blood-slick stone.
He roared, slamming the butt of his staff into the ground. Fire erupted in a ring around him, blackened flames licking at the edges of the chamber. One Griffin caught in the inferno shrieked as its crystalline body melted, but the others surged through the flames, relentless.
A sword grazed his side, tearing through his robes and cutting into his flesh. Kivorn hissed in pain, clutching the wound as blood seeped through his fingers. Another Griffin struck from behind, its blade slicing toward his spine.
Kivorn spun, his chant rising into a shout. The fire around him surged into his body, merging with him. His skin glowed with molten light, and his eyes burned like embers as the flames consumed him. His staff turned into a weapon of destruction, the fire coursing through it as he swung it in a wide arc. The attack left a burning crescent in its wake, incinerating the Griffin in front of him and forcing the others to back away.
But they weren't done. More Griffins surged forward, their swords carving through the air.
'Are they getting stronger?! The more they fight…the more we kill…this can't be won! Not like this!'
Kivorn's breathing was labored, his body trembling from the strain of channeling so much power. The Griffins came in a coordinated assault now, five of them charging at once. Their blades gleamed with light, and their movements were too fast, too precise.
He couldn't block them all.
One blade slashed across his shoulder, slicing deep into his flesh. Another struck his thigh, nearly dropping him to his knees. Blood poured from his wounds, pooling at his feet, but Kivorn gritted his teeth and slammed his staff into the ground.
The air around him exploded into a maelstrom of wind and darkness. The wind howled like a living thing, tearing through the chamber with ferocious force. Shards of stone and debris whipped through the air, slicing into the Griffins' bodies and leaving trails of blackened, festering wounds.
The storm didn't stop. Kivorn's chant grew louder, his voice raw as the wind wrapped around him, merging with his body. His limbs became spectral, his arms and legs shrouded in a swirling vortex of darkness and razor-sharp currents. His staff became an extension of the storm, glowing with electric fury.
The Griffins fought through the storm, their swords carving paths through the wind. One of them lunged, its blade aimed for Kivorn's heart. He twisted, the wind carrying him sideways, and countered with a swing of his staff. The strike didn't just hit—it detonated. The Griffin's body was torn apart by a violent burst of compressed air, blood and shards of crystal spraying across the battlefield.
Another Griffin came from above, its sword poised to cleave his head in two. Kivorn raised his arm, the storm coiling around it like a shield. The blade struck the wind, and the Griffin was flung backward, its body spinning wildly before slamming into the ground.
But the strain of the storm was too much. Kivorn faltered, the wind around him flickering. One Griffin took advantage, its blade stabbing into his side. The pain was blinding, and he gasped, his chant breaking for just a moment.
It was enough. The storm collapsed, and the Griffins closed in.
Kivorn fell to his knees, blood pouring from his wounds. The Griffins surrounded him, their crystalline swords raised high. He gripped his staff tightly, his knuckles white as he whispered a final chant.
'No joy in this..'
The elements roared in response. Fire, wind, earth, and darkness surged toward him, merging with his body. His flesh turned to stone, cracks glowing with molten light. His arms ignited, flames trailing from his fingers like living things. The air around him swirled with a deadly current, and shadows coiled at his feet, writhing like serpents.
The Griffins struck all at once, their swords carving through the air in perfect unison. Kivorn didn't block—he just moved. His body blurred with elemental speed, the wind carrying him between the strikes. He reappeared behind one of the Griffins, his stone fist smashing into its back. The beast crumpled, its body crushed into blood and jewel shards.
Another Griffin lunged, and Kivorn countered with a blast of molten fire. The flames consumed the beast, melting its crystalline body into slag.
Two more came from his sides, their swords swinging in deadly arcs. Kivorn raised his arms, the stone cracking as spikes of earth erupted from his body, impaling both Griffins mid-strike. Their blood sprayed across him as he pulled the spikes back into his body, his stone flesh reforming.
The final Griffin circled him, its sword glowing brighter than the rest. It lunged with terrifying speed, its blade aimed for his heart. Kivorn didn't dodge. Instead, he raised his staff, channeling the full force of the elements into a single point.
When the sword struck, the explosion ripped through the chamber. Fire, wind, and darkness erupted outward in a violent wave, consuming the Griffin and leaving nothing but ash.
Kivorn stood in the aftermath, his body trembling as the elements receded. The chamber was silent, save for the crackle of flames and the sound of his ragged breathing. Blood dripped from his wounds, pooling at his feet, but he remained standing.
'Hopeless…why do I feel this way now? Is it my time..?'
Kivorn's eyes flickered as the chaos of the present dimmed for a moment, the blood-soaked battlefield around him giving way to the cold, quiet memories of another time—a distant pain he rarely allowed himself to revisit.
---
He was always moving, always laughing, always alive.
The village of the Svren Elves was a place of grace, its inhabitants the embodiment of elegance and balance. Anything that was an anomaly, was considered a curse in their eyes, a breaking of the origins of tranquility and peace they achieved over years of existence. The towering silver trees of their home whispered to the wind, the streams wove delicate paths through the earth, and the air was charged with the quiet hum of elemental magic that bound all things. Among these serene people, Kivorn was a storm of vibrant chaos.
It was when he was a small elf child, he darted through the village like a spark of wildfire, his laughter ringing out over the tranquil melodies of the elder's chants. He'd race along the smooth branches of the silver trees, flipping and tumbling without care, his white hair a wild mess, his bright eyes filled with mischief. He'd splash through the sacred streams, turning their crystal waters into waves of joy. While the other children practiced their precision with elemental fusion, their hands weaving water and fire with perfect poise, Kivorn would hurl boulders of flame into the sky, laughing as they exploded into harmless sparks.
"He's always happy.."
"That's weird."
"Think he's joking around? The elders won't be so happy.."
The elders of the village watched him from their council circle, their expressions cold and disapproving. To the Svren Elves, the mastery of elemental magic required not just skill but grace, a reflection of their devotion to the nameless dragon god they worshipped. They believed themselves chosen, their magic a gift from the divine beast, and Kivorn, with his wild, unrestrained energy, was seen as a blemish on their perfection.
"He is an anomaly," one elder muttered, her voice laced with disdain. "A curse born of chaos."
Another elder nodded, his voice grave. "If he is not corrected, the dragon god will see us as unworthy. His punishment will be swift."
But others, softer in their approach, spoke of a solution. "Perhaps the boy can be fixed. His spirit... tamed."
And so, the decision was made.
Kivorn ran through the village one last time, his laughter echoing through the trees, oblivious to the gathering of the adults. His parents stood silently among them, their expressions unreadable. He waved to them, his grin as wide as ever, but they didn't wave back.
"Kivorn," one of the elders called, their voice stern but calm. "Come here, child."
He bounded over, his boundless energy radiating off him like sunlight. "What's up?" he chirped, his voice bright and unguarded.
"We have a task for you," the elder said, gesturing toward a massive, hollowed-out tree stump in the center of the village. The hollow was large enough to fit a person inside, its bark etched with shimmering runes that pulsed faintly. Kivorn tilted his head, curious.
"What's in there?" he asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"Your chance to help the village," the elder replied, their tone cold and calculated.
Kivorn didn't hesitate. He trusted them. The elders were wise, and his parents stood with them. Whatever this was, it had to be important. He climbed into the hollow, his small hands brushing against the runes etched into the bark. The magic pulsed against his skin, warm and alive.
As soon as he was inside, the elders began their chant. The air grew heavy, the light dimmed, and the ground trembled. From the shadows of the trees, a figure stepped forward—a witch, draped in tattered robes, her face obscured by a hood. Her hands moved with unnatural precision, weaving threads of dark magic into the air. Witches, experts in harnessing draconic dark magic for their own ambition..
The curse she summoned had a name: Ekven's Grasp, a spell forbidden even among the Svren Elves. It was a binding of the soul, a siphon of joy and vitality meant to crush the spirit without breaking the body. The witch's voice was a rasping whisper, her words twisting through the air like smoke:
"To the restless soul, we bind stillness. To the bright flame, we cast shadow. To the storm of joy, we bring silence. By the will of Ekven, let the fire dim and the mind quiet…"
The runes on the tree stump glowed brighter, their light turning a sickly green. Kivorn felt the magic coil around him, slipping into his skin like needles of ice. At first, he laughed—it tickled, and he thought it was part of some game. But then his laughter caught in his throat.
Something was wrong.
The magic dug deeper, wrapping around his heart and mind. His boundless energy, his joy, his fire—all of it began to drain away, as if siphoned into the glowing runes. His limbs grew heavy, his thoughts slowed, and the vibrant colors of the world dulled to gray. He tried to call out, to ask what was happening, but his voice was weak, trembling.
And still, they kept chanting.
His parents watched in silence, their faces blank. He looked at them, confusion and betrayal flickering in his dimming eyes. The runes flared one last time before their light faded, leaving the stump cold and lifeless. The elders stepped back, their expressions satisfied.
"Leave him," one of them said. "The curse will take hold fully in time. We will return in three days."
For three days, Kivorn sat alone in the hollow. The first day, he tried to laugh, to sing, to move, but the curse clung to him like a weight. His joy felt distant, as though it were locked behind a wall he couldn't reach. By the second day, he stopped trying.
When the elders finally returned on the third day, they found him sitting perfectly still. His once-bright eyes were dull and tired, his green hair limp. Tear tracks stained his cheeks, though no more fell—he was too exhausted to cry.
The elder leaned closer, studying him. "Kivorn," they said, their tone almost gentle. "How do you feel?"
He looked up at them, his voice flat, hollow. "Fine."
The elders smiled.
The other villagers murmured their approval. Even Kivorn's parents managed small, tentative smiles.
"He is quiet now," one elder said. "The dragon god will be pleased. He is normal like us. We won't allow him to be the downfall of a tranquil peace we have cultivated for centuries. For only through peace and tranquility are we able to truly harness the elements of the world. If that tranquility is thrashed, then we as a race will perish alongside it. Our power will lie in ruin. We will not let him be the cause of our downfall like our founding fathers."
Kivorn didn't respond. He sat there in the hollowed tree stump, staring at the ground, his small hands limp in his lap. Somewhere deep inside, he knew something had been taken from him. Something he might never get back.
But all the village saw was a child who wasn't laughing anymore.
Kivorn, now out of his own head and memories, looked down at the ground, blood draining from his body:
'Pure joy…why is everything trying to stop me? Even if I smile, it's not real. Every time I turn, something is keeping me from my goal, to experience true joy. As long as the dragon gods are around, with their dumb rules and concepts, I can't achieve it. I'm trying so hard to survive. Joy will come one day, is what Yuuna told me if I stuck with her, I'm gonna survive to see that day happen.'
Back in the structure where Gabriel's Ladder was, the chamber was in ruins. Blood pooled across the cracked stone floor, mixing with the shards of shattered crystal and the charred remains of Griffins. The air was heavy with the stench of death, the metallic tang of blood mingling with the acrid scent of burning flesh. Every breath was a struggle, every movement a reminder of the wounds carved into their bodies.
Mertha stood in the center of the battered group, her flaming gauntlets dimmed, the once-roaring flames reduced to flickering embers. Her jagged halo flickered above her head, cracked and unstable. Blood streaked her face and arms, dripping from the gaping wound on her side. She swayed slightly but planted her feet firmly, refusing to fall.
"Everyone, circle up! Now!"
'I'll lead if I have to..'
Around her, the Tyrants gathered. Gorran leaned heavily on Xenith, the dark blade still pulsing with malevolent energy, the spiraling red eyes blinking lazily as if hungering for more. His armor was rent in several places, exposing deep gashes across his chest and arms. His breath came in ragged gasps, but his eyes burned with defiance.
Kivorn limped to the group, his staff acting as a crutch. The elven mage's robes were torn, his once-pristine appearance now soaked in blood and grime. His hands trembled as he leaned against his staff, the glow of his magic flickering weakly.
Draeven sat on the ground, his back against a shattered pillar. His fists were still wrapped, though the enchanted cloth was soaked with blood, its runic symbols nearly invisible beneath the stains. His chest heaved with effort, his muscles trembling from exhaustion.
Zyphira landed beside them, her golden wings tattered and bloodied. The radiant flames that usually surrounded her were gone, leaving her looking dim and vulnerable. One of her wings hung at an awkward angle, the membrane torn and oozing blood.
Sethrak stood a short distance away, his fiery wheel spinning sluggishly behind him. His dragon wings drooped, and his body was covered in burns and cuts, his golden scales dulled and cracked. He clutched his side, where a deep gash seeped blood onto the ground beneath him.
Illyana knelt beside her floating grimoire, her hands glowing faintly as she stitched a wound on her arm with healing magic. Her face was pale, her dark light energy flickering weakly as she glanced around the group. Her entire frame and face were covered in blood and shattered crystal shards.
They were all alive, but barely.
Mertha looked at each of them, her breathing heavy but steady. She clenched her fists, reigniting the dying flames of her gauntlets.
"This isn't over," she said, her voice low and hoarse but filled with authority.
Gorran scoffed, spitting blood onto the ground. "It sure as hell feels over," he muttered, straightening despite the pain. His dark blade hummed in his hands, the spiraling eyes along its length blinking as if eager for more bloodshed. "These are the ancient beasts the Lysfødt used in the war, defending the First Dragon, no wonder they chose them. Damn bastards.."
"It's not over!" Mertha snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through the haze of exhaustion. "We're holding this ground. We're not running. We're not dying here."
Zyphira winced, touching the torn membrane of her wing. "You're planning to hold this against that?" She gestured to the far end of the chamber, where the horde of Griffins was already gathering again. Dozens—no, hundreds—of them, their crystalline swords glowing like a forest of death. Their shrieks echoed off the walls, each one a promise of annihilation.
Mertha nodded, her eyes hard. "We're holding. Xyenn and Yuuna will handle that Lysfødt. It's defeat will break this. The Griffins aren't natural—they're tethered to her power. They'll vanish when she falls."
Kivorn frowned, his voice quiet but tinged with doubt. "And… if Xyenn and Yuuna don't win?"
Mertha's gaze snapped to him, sharp and unyielding. "Then we'll keep fighting. Until we can't anymore. But I believe in them. They'll win. Xyenn won't lose."
Sethrak hissed through clenched teeth, his golden eyes narrowing. "Belief alone isn't going to stop that," he growled, nodding toward the advancing horde. The Griffins moved as one, their crystalline swords scraping against the stone as they marched forward, their movements impossibly fast and precise. "But we can't just doubt at the same time.."
Illyana stood, her grimoire floating beside her, the faint glow of her magic growing stronger. "If we're going to hold, we need a plan. We can't just charge in and hope for the best."
Mertha smirked, though it didn't reach her eyes. "We don't need hope. We've got each other. That's enough. Just kick ass."
She turned to Gorran. "You take point. Your blade cuts deeper than anything we've got. Keep their attention on you and give us an opening."
Gorran nodded, gripping Xenith tightly. "Whatever. Just point."
Mertha looked to Zyphira. "You're aerial support. Keep their fliers off us as long as you can."
Zyphira hesitated, glancing at her injured wing, but nodded. "I'll manage."
"Kivorn, Illyana," Mertha continued, "we need barriers and suppression. Keep the pressure off us and watch for stragglers."
The two mages exchanged a glance before nodding in unison.
"Draeven, Sethrak," Mertha said lastly, "you're with me. We're taking the brunt of this."
Draeven cracked his knuckles, his blood-soaked wraps tightening around his fists. "O-Okay..•
Sethrak simply nodded, his fiery wheel spinning faster as his wings flared slightly.
The Griffins shrieked, their crystalline swords raised high as they charged. The ground shook beneath their stampede, the sound of their blades scraping against the stone like nails on a chalkboard.
Mertha turned to her team, her voice rising above the chaos. "This is it! No one dies here! We hold this line until the end!"
Kivorn said, "Please…stop screaming…in my ear.."
The Tyrants straightened, drawing on whatever strength they had left.
The battle was chaos incarnate. The chamber, once a grand hall of stone and divine light, had become a brutal arena soaked in blood. Dozens of Griffins surrounded the Tyrants, their crystalline long swords gleaming with unnatural light as they stalked forward. The air was thick with the iron tang of blood and the crackling energy of magic. Each Griffin moved with terrifying speed and precision, their glowing forms flitting like specters in the haze of destruction.
The Tyrants regrouped, their bodies battered and bloodied. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their breaths ragged, but their eyes locked with grim determination. Gorran stood at the center, his Xenith blade humming with dark energy. The weapon radiated an ominous aura, the spiraling red eyes along its edge shifting and blinking as if alive.
Gorran roared, his voice cutting through the chaos. His dark blade pulsed in his grip, rippling with shadows that coiled around his arm like serpents.
Mertha spat blood onto the floor, her jagged pink halo flaring above her head. "I'll take the ones on the left!" Her flaming gauntlets crackled as she slammed her fists together, sparks flying.
Zyphira hovered above the group, her golden flames wreathing her body as her sharp wings gleamed like blades. Sethrak's fiery wheel spun behind him, golden and dark flames licking at the edges. He nodded to Gorran.
Sethrak said to Zyphira, "Watch yourself, sister."
"Yeah, thanks. You too."
Illyana's grimoire floated beside her, pages flipping as dark and light magic swirled around her hands. "I'll keep their blades off you. Kivorn, back me up!"
The elven mage gripped his staff tightly, elemental energy crackling at its tip. "Understood."
Draeven said nothing. He rolled his shoulders, his enchanted wraps tightening as smoke curled around his fists. His eyes burned with focus.
The Griffins shrieked as they charged, their crystalline blades shining like death itself.
Gorran moved first. His Xenith blade carved a black arc through the air, the spiraling red eyes along its edge blinking open. As he slashed, a ripple tore through the space in front of him, spiraling outward like a vortex. The nearest Griffin, lunging with its sword aimed for Gorran's heart, was caught in the expanding ripple. The spiraling eyes opened along its body, burning into its flesh with a searing heat that made the beast scream.
The Griffin faltered, its crystalline sword dropping as its body began to rot from within. Gorran didn't hesitate. He stepped forward with brutal efficiency, driving Xenith into the beast's chest. The blade pulsed, and the Griffin's body imploded, blood and shards of crystal spraying across the battlefield.
"Mertha, left flank!" Gorran barked, spinning to parry another Griffin's blade.
Mertha was already moving. She ducked under the sweeping strike of one Griffin's sword, her flaming gauntlets igniting as she surged upward with a savage uppercut. Her fist collided with the beast's jaw, the force of the blow shattering the crystalline structure and sending shards flying. A second Griffin lunged for her back, but she twisted mid-step, catching its blade between her gauntlets.
"Zyphira, take it out!" Mertha shouted, holding the Griffin's sword in place as blood dripped from her arms.
Above them, Zyphira dove like a golden comet. Her sharp wings sliced through the air, carving into the Griffin's neck with surgical precision. Blood sprayed in an arc as the beast crumpled to the ground, its head severed.
Three Griffins broke off from the pack, charging Sethrak from different angles. Their swords gleamed with deadly intent, slashing through the air in coordinated strikes. Sethrak's fiery wheel spun faster as he chanted in the ancient dragon tongue, his hands weaving intricate symbols.
"Coming at you, Seth!" Kivorn shouted, raising his staff. A surge of water erupted from the ground, forming a barrier that slowed one of the Griffins.
The other two Griffins closed in. Sethrak thrust his hands outward, and two fireballs shot from the wheel behind him. The fireballs twisted mid-flight, morphing into flaming dragonkin clones that collided with the Griffins mid-charge.
One of the clones tore into a Griffin, its flaming claws raking through its chest and leaving deep, molten wounds. The beast shrieked, but Sethrak didn't let up. He chanted louder, and the clone exploded, the force of the blast ripping the Griffin apart.
The second Griffin struck the remaining clone with its blade, shattering it, but Sethrak was already moving. He leapt into the air, his golden wings propelling him forward as he grabbed the beast by the head. His sharp teeth sank into its neck, tearing out its throat in a spray of blood before he dropped it to the ground.
Illyana stood at the back, her hands glowing with light and darkness as her grimoire floated beside her. A Griffin charged her, its blade swinging wide, but she raised her hand, summoning a barrier of dark light. The blade struck the barrier, the impact sending cracks rippling through it.
"Kivorn, now!" she shouted.
Kivorn raised his staff, channeling a surge of lightning that arced through the air. The bolt struck the Griffin, coursing through its body and leaving it convulsing. Illyana followed up with a spell of her own, summoning chains of light and shadow that wrapped around the beast's limbs.
The Griffin struggled, but the chains tightened, digging into its flesh. Kivorn stepped forward, slamming his staff into the ground. A pillar of earth erupted beneath the Griffin, impaling it through the chest.
Draeven moved like a storm, his wrapped fists striking with deadly precision. Two Griffins came at him from opposite sides, their swords carving through the air in deadly arcs.
The first blade came for his head, but Draeven ducked low, his body twisting as he delivered a brutal punch to the Griffin's knee. The beast staggered, its leg shattering from the impact. The second Griffin swung its sword in a downward strike, but Draeven rolled forward, coming up behind it.
He wrapped his arm around the beast's neck, his smoke-covered wraps tightening like a vice. The Griffin thrashed, but Draeven held firm, using its body as a shield as the first Griffin recovered and lunged again.
The second Griffin's blade struck its own ally, cleaving through its chest. Draeven released the dying beast and drove his fist into the first Griffin's face, shattering its skull.
Gorran and Mertha stood back-to-back, surrounded by four Griffins.
"Left!" Gorran shouted, slashing with Xenith. The spiraling eyes along the blade blinked open, and a ripple of burning energy tore through one Griffin's side.
Mertha lunged at another Griffin, catching its blade with her flaming gauntlets. She twisted the weapon out of its mouth and drove her fist into its face, caving in its skull.
Gorran spun, his blade carving through the air. The spiraling red eyes opened along the ground where he slashed, creating burning fissures that caught a Griffin's legs. The beast stumbled, and Mertha finished it off with a brutal stomp to the head.
The Tyrants continued to fight as one, their movements perfectly coordinated. Gorran's Xenith carved through the Griffins with deadly precision, each slash leaving trails of burning rot and spiraling red eyes that consumed the beasts.
Zyphira rained fire from above, her sharp wings cutting through any Griffin that dared to take flight. Sethrak's fiery clones wreaked havoc, tearing through the beasts with savage ferocity. Illyana and Kivorn provided support, their magic keeping the Griffins at bay, while Draeven moved through the battlefield like a ghost, his fists shattering bones and crystal alike.
The Griffins were relentless, their glowing swords cutting deep into the Tyrants' flesh. Blood poured from their wounds, but they refused to fall. Together, they pushed forward, their combined strength turning the tide of the battle.