Fear was a force more insidious than any blade or bullet—a silent predator that slipped through cracks in the mind, gnawing at reason, tearing apart even the most stable foundations.
Mason had felt fear before, of course. He knew the fear of being caught sneaking out, the fear of making reckless decisions and facing the consequences. That familiar rush of adrenaline, the quickening pulse—he had always thought that was fear.
But now, standing on the roof, surrounded on all sides by an army that stretched far beyond the smoke, Mason realized how naïve he had been.
This—this—was fear. Not the warning nudge of adrenaline or the rush of nerves from a risky mistake, but a crushing weight that stole the air from his lungs, freezing his body in place. His legs refused to move, rooted to the ground like they had forgotten how to obey him. His chest tightened as panic clawed its way through his mind.
His heart pounded, not just with anxiety, but with a visceral, primal terror—the kind that screamed of finality.
This is it. This is where I die.
His mind echoed with the thought, over and over again, louder each time, until it was all he could hear.
Is this what death feels like?
This was real fear.
Claire: MASON ARE YOU LISTENING?!
Mason finally turned towards his maid, who had her sword out in front of her.
Claire: I said, we're going to make it through this. All we have to do is clear a path through them and then we can escape the roof. We'll be harder to spot on the ground and we should be able to lose them if we head into the forest.
Mason nodded, unable to move his lips. The Heartson manor, for privacy reasons, was surrounded by a massive forest, with thick trees grouped together. If they managed to escape into the forest, they might have a chance.
Claire: Stay behind me and keep your head low.
Finally it seemed that the enemies had grown impatient and a horde of soldiers came marching forward with an assortment of weapons drawn.
Claire and Thomas instinctively raised their swords, moving to either side of Mason like two protective walls. They knew—without speaking—that as long as they kept close to him, the enemies wouldn't risk using projectiles. The threat of accidentally hitting Mason forced the attackers to engage them up close, and for now, that was the only advantage they had.
At first, it worked. The enemies came in single file, overconfident in their numbers, and Claire and Thomas made quick work of them. Each swing of their swords was precise, baiting the attackers to strike and then cutting them down before they could react. But it didn't take long for the mob to catch on.
Soon, they stopped coming one by one. The enemy began to rush in groups, their sheer numbers overwhelming the small trio.
The first wave came at Claire. She narrowed her eyes, lowering her stance, shifting the angle of her blade. With a burst of speed, she darted forward—a blur of motion too fast to track. Her sword slashed through the air, targeting the weak spots in the attackers' legs. The sound of steel meeting flesh was drowned out by the collective cries of pain as the mob collapsed, clutching their torn muscles, crumbling to the ground in agony.
But there was no time to celebrate. As Claire caught her breath, her eyes lifted to the endless tide of enemies charging forward, their expressions no longer filled with shock but with cold, unrelenting focus.
The trick wouldn't work twice. She backed up, her feet moving almost instinctively, drawing closer to Mason and Thomas. Charging in again would be suicide. She needed to think—no, they all needed to think if they were going to survive this.
Thomas, on the other hand, felt a rush of panic creep up his spine. His sword trembled slightly in his grip as he faced the swarm of enemies barreling toward him. Despite all the training, the grueling drills, the hours of preparation—nothing had prepared him for this. For this. The sheer number of enemies made his heart race, his instincts screaming at him to run, to escape.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing shallow, the noise of battle dimming around him as he fought to regain control.
Focus. Breathe.
His mind raced, but after a few seconds, something clicked. When he opened his eyes again, there was a calmness that hadn't been there before. He smiled—a small, defiant smile.
This is just another test.
A test of strength, of endurance. And he had been through plenty of those before.
Raising his sword, Thomas abandoned all traditional stance and examined the enemies in front of him. They were all taller than him, and he assumed they were stronger than him as well.
Their armor looked flimsy in areas, and he had already cut through a lot of them before, so he assumed that he could take one down with a single good slice. There were about fifteen men in front of him, which was troublesome, but they all had melee weapons such as knives, daggers, and swords, so they would have to get close to attack him.
Thomas finally devised a plan and stood ready for the men to charge him. As the men came closer, he extended his arm behind him and threw his sword into the group of oncoming men as hard as he could. The men stood still for a moment, completely dumbfounded by the move Thomas had performed, and Thomas used this opportunity to rush at the group.
He punched and kicked at the men closest to him, and cracked another man's collar, causing him to drop the dagger that was in his hand. Thomas quickly picked the weapon up and sliced through three more men causing them to crumple to the ground.
Running with more speed, Thomas dashed through the remaining men, hitting as many as he could, and retrieved his sword that had fallen. He looked out and saw that only six men were still standing, and he smiled once again, raising his sword and preparing his next attack.
Pouring power into his legs, he ran into the closest man, kicking him in the chest and slicing at his chest. Leaping back to avoid the second man's attack, Thomas did a similar motion. He then ran at the remaining men and isolated them, bouncing around attacking them one by one, until finally, there was no one left standing.
Thomas and Claire worked in tandem, exploiting every weakness, every opening—but for every group they defeated, another surged forward. And as the wave of enemies grew, so did the weight of exhaustion pulling at their limbs. Their breaths came quicker, their strikes slower, and the tide seemed never-ending.
Mason stood between them, feeling utterly useless. The sounds of swords clashing, the cries of enemies falling—it all blurred around him. His heart pounded, his mind racing, searching for something—anything—he could do to help. His hands trembled at his sides, a growing frustration bubbling inside him.
If I could just activate it... the black flame.
His thoughts clung to that desperate hope. He had done it once before, hadn't he? If he could just do it again, he could help them stop the endless waves of attackers. Mason clenched his fists, closing his eyes tight, forcing himself to focus.
For a few agonizing seconds, nothing. Just the cold grip of fear tightening around him. Then, just as doubt began to creep in, he felt it—a burning sensation sparking to life within him. His heart leapt, adrenaline spiking as the power began to stir, but before the flame could fully ignite, a sharp, searing pain tore through his shoulder.
Mason's eyes snapped open, the flame flickering out in an instant. His breath hitched as he looked down, his heart plummeting at the sight of the arrow lodged deep in his shoulder, blood already soaking through his clothes. The pain was blinding, but it was the shock that overwhelmed him. He stumbled backward, his vision swimming as the force of the arrow knocked him off balance.
And then, before he could even process what was happening, Mason's body pitched backward, rolling off the roof.
The world tilted, his body weightless for a terrifying moment before gravity slammed him into the ground with a sickening thud. Pain shot through his entire body, the air knocked from his lungs in one crushing blow. Mason lay there, dazed, gasping for breath, his mind spinning as his vision blurred.
Up on the roof, he could just make out Thomas and Claire, their faces twisted with panic as they sprinted toward him, but they were too far—much too far. He saw the soldiers move in, blocking their path before they could even attempt to jump down after him.
He forced himself to sit up, his entire body screaming in protest. Blood continued to flow from the wound in his shoulder, the pain now radiating through his chest, but he couldn't stop. Not now. Not with the soldiers rushing toward him from the manor entrance, their eyes locked on him like predators closing in on their prey.
His body trembled as he pushed himself to his feet, his legs shaky beneath him. The fear was suffocating, the panic clawing at his mind, but he had no other choice. There was no time to think, no time to hesitate. The soldiers were closing in.
Gritting his teeth, Mason ignored the pain, his breaths ragged as he turned and sprinted into the forest.He couldn't afford to stop.
The shadows of the trees swallowed him, and Mason ran.
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Claire and Thomas were completely distraught.
There were still a few dozen enemies littered around the roof, and Mason was now being chased through the forest on his own. With little options left, Claire and Thomas revised their strategy, deciding now to work together to defeat the enemies on the roof so that they could catch up to Mason.
The two fought like they had fought in the manor, with Claire taking the lead, and Thomas backing her up, defending her from stray fighters attempting to get cheap shots on them.
The enemy, noticing Mason was now gone, quickly drew their gallery of rifles, bows, and spears, in an attempt to take the two out from a distance. Claire looked over at the enemies ahead of her who were preparing to open fire and felt the small force of fear creep up on her again, but she managed to stabilize herself and think of a plan.
Claire: Thomas, I'm sorry, but you're going to have to hold out on your own for a bit.
Thomas: Where are you going?
Claire: Don't worry about me, just focus on the enemies in front of you.
Claire understood she didn't have any more time to continue talking, and instead turned around, facing the enemies who had now drawn their weapons. She quickly rushed at the nearest soldier to her and stabbed him straight through the chest, no longer caring about Thomas's no killing rule.
One of the soldiers who was far away gave a command to the soldiers nearest to him and they quickly began opening fire on Claire and Thomas. Claire used the impaled soldier as a makeshift human shield and redirected the soldier's fire to herself as she closed the distance.
As Claire got closer and closer, the firing line grew worried and some attempted to turn and run to put more distance between themselves and Claire, but it was too late. With inhuman speed, Claire cut through the line of soldiers as if they were made of paper, no longer caring about precision, but instead cutting through everything as if in a frenzy.
After only a few seconds, Claire looked down at the mess of blood on her clothes and all around her on the floor. It wasn't a clean job, but precision no longer mattered. She turned around once again and headed towards Thomas to finish up the rest of the enemies on the roof.
To Thomas' credit, he did a decent job holding back the line of enemies on his own.
With about twenty enemies left on the roof, Thomas continued his strategy of isolation. He'd divide the enemies into smaller groups and take them out with his unpredictable fighting style to confuse and defeat one group, and then move onto the next. While the strategy was efficient, Thomas understood he was growing more and more fatigued.
As his movements grew more and more sluggish, Thomas found himself slowing down, which allowed multiple enemies to group up at once. The horde of men rushed towards Thomas, who had grown too tired to even run away.
THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD
Thomas watched in amazement as the enemies in front of him fell to the ground one by one, each one with an arrow in their back. The enemies who weren't immediately pierced turned their backs to try to identify the source of the aerial attack, and Thomas used this to his advantage, mustering enough strength to charge at the remaining soldiers, slicing through their armor.
After all the enemies on the roof had fallen, Thomas turned towards Claire who now had a bow and quiver strapped to her back.
Thomas: Expert swordsman and marksman? Just who exactly are you?
Claire: I could ask you the same thing. I don't know many fifteen year olds who can take on an army of grown soldiers on their own.
Thomas: Sixteen, and we can reintroduce ourselves later.
Claire: Right, for now we need to recover Mason quickly before the young fool gets himself killed.
They moved quickly, having no choice but to follow Mason's tracks through the dirt, ears straining for any sound.
They made good progress at first, weaving through the dense trees, but after only a few minutes, Claire suddenly raised her hand, stopping Thomas in his tracks. Her expression shifted, sharp and alert, her eyes narrowing as she scanned their surroundings.
Claire: Do you smell that?
Thomas blinked, confusion flashing across his face as he opened his mouth to respond.
Thomas: No, what do you me-
Before he could finish the sentence, it hit him. The smell. Thick, acrid, like something had been set ablaze. The stench filled his nostrils, his stomach twisting in revulsion. It was a smell Thomas knew all too well—the kind that brought with it memories of destruction.
His breath hitched, but he forced himself to remain steady, looking at Claire and nodding.
Claire's gaze darkened, her voice dropping to a grim murmur.
Claire: Don't tell me... they're going to burn it all down.
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Fear had captured Mason as he stumbled through the forest.
His legs throbbed from the impact of the fall and his shoulder burned from the puncture of the arrow.
Mason clutched his arm and limped forward, determined to get away. His mind was completely clouded.
Mason feared the enemies who were pursuing him, he feared what would happen to Mason and Thomas if they didn't make it off the roof, and he feared what would happen to himself if he was captured.
Mason traversed through the swarm of trees for what seemed like an eternity, until he finally heard the sound that he had been fearing. The sound of an army running through the dirt behind him.
He picked up his pace, ignoring the pain in his legs and forcing himself to break into a jog, but he knew it wasn't enough. The sound of the enemy creeped closer and closer and Mason's mind went ablaze trying to figure out what to do.
RUN, STOP, FIGHT, SCREAM, CRY, DIE, JUMP, CRAWL, HIDE
Mason couldn't figure out what to do and the confusion tore a hole into his brain until finally he couldn't take it. He let the exhaustion of the brain and the mind get to him and his legs gave out causing him to collapse on the ground.
It's over
Mason prepared for the attack, he prepared for the enemy that had finally discovered him to pick him off the ground and drag him away. Claire and Thomas's struggling had been for nothing. They would die, and he would be taken away and killed as well.
But the attack never came. The footsteps came to a stop around him, but instead of orders to kill or attack, the only sound Mason heard was laughter. It was deep, cold laughter, but it was unmistakably the sound of glee.
Mason opened his eyes and saw the sight that he had been fearing. An army of armored soldiers surrounded him with weapons drawn and aimed at him. The source of the laughter was a soldier with sleek, flexible, yet reinforced white armor and no helmet. He had a fair face and dark black eyes.
Unlike the other soldiers, he had no gun, instead carrying two weapons strapped to his back. He continued laughing, clutching his stomach until he noticed Mason had opened his eyes. Clearing his throat he walked forward towards Mason and examined him closely.
White Soldier: So, this is the heralded savior of humanity? Hardly the image one would expect.
The man continued to laugh softly, walking forward until he was right in front of Mason. Finally, the man raised his hand out towards Mason, who was still lying on the ground.
Mason didn't take his hand, instead staring up at the man with a puzzled expression on his face.
Mason: …Savior?
White Soldier: Well use your context clues boy. Has no one told you anything.
Mason: I– I don't know what you're talking about.
White Soldier: Do you lack understanding? Hurry about and stand.
Mason continued to stare at the man, his mind now a pile of mush sloshing around in his skull.
The white soldier seemed to grow impatient and lifted Mason up without waiting for him to take his hand.
White Soldier: And take this thing out of your arm will you.
The man grabbed the arrow that was lodged in Mason's arm and without warning ripped the arrow out of his shoulder. Mason let out a violent scream as blood splattered all around them. Mason fell to one knee, clutching his shoulder and looked up at the man with anger in his eyes.
White Soldier: You really are clueless aren't you. It takes longer for it to heal if you leave it lodged in your arm.
Mason: Wh-Who the hell are you.
White Soldier: How rude of me. It's been a while since I've introduced myself, please do forgive me. My name is Edward Bassett, captain of Obsidian's 1st division.
He outstretched his hand towards Mason again, and this time, reluctantly, Mason took his hand and stood up. His mind was still a mess but Mason decided to ignore the questions that plagued him.
Edward: Well, since I haven't seen a signal yet, I suppose we still have some time to mess around.
Edward drew the first weapon on his back, a sleek white blade, and looked towards Mason with a bloodlust.
Edward: How about we see what the astral of death's successor can do.
Mason stood confused for a second, wondering what the man in front of him was talking about, until his brain finally began working, and he noticed Edward lunge forward to strike him.
Instinctively, Mason dodged, his eyes flickering to a shade of black that felt all too unnatural. He leapt out of the way of Edwards first strike but Edward advanced again, using the momentum of the strike to lunge forward again.
Steam began curling off of Mason's body and his body ached. Mason dodged more swings but Edwards' speed was inhuman, and it became harder and harder to dodge each strike.
Edward: Come on, come on, give me a real fight boy!
Mason tried to think back to his training, and he looked for a pattern in Edward's swings but it was as if Edward was striking randomly. There was no rhythm or style to Edward's attacks, he simply attacked in a frenzy.
Realizing he had no other option, he closed his eyes, letting his body fill up with heat and drew from the power that he had used earlier to save Claire. He felt the fire on his hand and thrust his fist as hard as he could at Edward, hoping to get a clean hit at the stomach, but the white soldier effortlessly deflected the punch with one sword, using the other to send a shallow cut against Mason's chest.
Edward: Come on, get up. You're hardly making a case for yourself.
Edward began laughing again as Mason withered in pain.
I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die.
Fear beat itself into Mason's brain until it was the only thing Mason could think of.
Crawl, Escape, Live.
Mason didn't bother to think, instead using his arms to drag his body across the forest floor. If he could just go a little further, maybe Claire and Thomas could find him. If he could just recover a little bit, maybe he could summon another flame and take care of Edward.
Mason watched in astonishment as the group of soldiers moved out of Mason's way, allowing him to continue crawling.
I can do this, I can make it, I can live.
Hope entered Mason's heart. Just a bit further, he can do this, he can live.
But the flower of hope that had bloomed inside of Mason melted in a fiery frenzy as he stared in horror at the sight in front of him.
A monster, a beast in the form of flames enveloped the trees in front of him.
Edward: There's the signal. I wish I could have had more fun though.
Mason turned his back to see Edward who had a horrific smile stretched across his face. The heat of the flames became unbearable as they inched closer, and Mason began feeling feverish. Soldiers marched forward and picked him up by his armpits but Mason was too weak to resist. His vision was blurred and his hearing disappeared.
As Mason grew unconscious, he let himself succumb to fear, giving up on the little hope that was left. Staring at the flames, he wondered if Thomas and Claire were staring back at him, through the ash.