Veyrath did not sense danger.
Did not feel the weight of impending doom.
The settlement was stronger than ever.
The Unmade were fully in control.
The Hollowed had formed the first true order of transformation.
The Forgotten had pushed beyond even that.
He had achieved perfection.
Or so he thought.
Because death was already marching toward him.
And he had no idea.
The army moved with purpose.
Steel-clad warriors.
Priests wielding divine flame.
Battle-hardened knights, marching beneath banners of faith.
They did not come for war.
They came for eradication.
Not just of a threat.
But of heresy itself.
They had seen what Veyrath had done.
Not with mortal eyes.
But through visions, divine warnings.
They did not come to conquer.
They came to purge.
To erase the Unmade from existence.
Before they could spread further.
Before they could infect the world.
And when they reached the settlement's gates—
They did not ask questions.
They did not demand surrender.
They simply charged.
And in an instant,
The war had begun.
Veyrath heard the first screams.
The first clash of steel.
He emerged from the shadows, watching from above.
His Unmade rushed to meet the invaders.
The Hollowed moved first—their bodies no longer bound by human hesitation.
They did not fear death.
They did not hesitate.
They fought as perfected warriors, striking without pause.
Blades met flesh.
Spears pierced armor.
And the knights fell.
But the priests raised their hands—
And the divine answered.
Holy fire burned brighter than normal flame.
It did not simply scorch.
It did not simply burn.
It purified.
The first Hollowed who was struck fell to the ground, screaming.
Not in pain.
Not in fear.
But because he was becoming something again.
The Unmaking was being reversed.
Veyrath's eyes narrowed.
They could undo it?
That had not been part of his calculations.
He had underestimated them.
And now, the battle was turning.
The Forgotten did not charge.
Did not engage in direct combat.
They simply were.
One moment, they were nowhere.
The next, they were everywhere.
They stepped between places, ignoring distance entirely.
And when they struck, they did not swing weapons.
They erased.
A knight's sword vanished from his hands.
A priest forgot the words to his prayers.
A captain's armor simply ceased to exist.
And for a moment—
A brief, terrifying moment—
It seemed like the Unmade were winning.
Until the Holy Champions arrived.
The paladins led the charge.
Wielding weapons blessed by faith,
Armor untouched by darkness.
They did not fight as men.
They fought as avatars of their god.
And when the Forgotten tried to erase them—
It did not work.
They could not be Unmade.
The Forgotten who attempted to erase them simply failed.
And then they died.
Because the paladins' weapons burned through them like sunlight through mist.
Not cutting.
Not breaking.
Erasing.
The Unmade had never met an enemy like this.
An enemy who could fight them on their own terms.
And now, they were dying.
The Hollowed fell first.
The Forgotten were destroyed next.
One by one, the Unmade were cut down.
The settlement was burning.
The air was filled with the screams of those who could no longer escape their fate.
The Church had come not to fight.
Not to claim victory.
But to annihilate.
And annihilate they did.
Veyrath watched from the rooftops.
His creations were dying.
Everything he had built—falling apart before his eyes.
But he did not move.
Not yet.
Because even in failure, there was knowledge.
He watched how they fought.
How they killed.
How they countered Unmaking itself.
And he memorized every detail.
Because even though he was losing this battle,
The war was far from over.
The Unmade were gone.
The settlement was lost.
Only Veyrath remained.
But he did not stay to fight.
Not out of cowardice.
Not out of fear.
But because he had already won.
Not in the way he had expected.
Not in the way he had planned.
But he had learned.
And that was more valuable than any victory.
So he melted into the darkness, unseen.
Vanished into the wilderness.
Leaving behind the ashes of his first creation.
Knowing that the next would be even greater.
Even stronger.
And this time,
It would be unstoppable.
Veyrath had survived the destruction of the settlement.
But survival was not victory.
Not yet.
The Church had won the battle,
And now, they were hunting him.
Not with armies.
Not with soldiers marching under banners.
But with trackers.
Men who did not need roads.
Men who could follow a scent for weeks, months, across forests and rivers.
Their eyes were sharp.
Their skills honed through years of hunting monsters.
And now, they were after him.
Because to them, he was the greatest monster of all.
And if he did not find a way to break their trail—
They would find him.
And this time,
There would be no escape.
Veyrath moved swiftly, but carefully.
Not running.
Running was for prey.
He was not prey.
Not yet.
But the trackers were close.
He could feel them.
Sense their presence like shadows moving through the trees.
They were patient.
They did not rush.
Because they knew they would find him.
Unless he stopped them first.
Veyrath knew his problem immediately.
His body was not human.
His claws left deep gouges in the earth.
His movements disrupted the forest in ways a normal man's would not.
Even when he tried to cover his tracks,
The hunters were too skilled to be fooled.
They knew how to read the land.
How to see the signs no ordinary man would notice.
Broken twigs.
The absence of small animals.
The slightest shift in the scent of the wind.
These men had tracked beasts before.
They had tracked demons.
They had tracked things that had never been seen by mortal eyes.
And now, they were tracking him.
He tried the old ways first.
Moving through rivers, masking his scent in the water.
It did not work.
They found where he emerged.
He tried climbing into the trees, moving without touching the ground.
That did not work either.
They were too patient.
They did not lose his scent.
He was still leaving something behind.
Something they could follow.
And if he could not remove it—
They would find him.
No matter how far he ran.
Veyrath stopped.
Closed his eyes.
Listened.
Not just to the forest.
But to something deeper.
Because this was not just skill.
Not just honed instincts.
The way they followed him, the way they always knew where he had been—
It was more than tracking.
More than hunting.
They were using something else.
Something beyond mortal sight.
And that was when he realized.
They were tracking not just his movements—
But his very existence.
The priests had done something.
Marked him.
Not with a spell he could see.
Not with a physical brand.
But with a connection to their god.
A link that tied him to them,
So that no matter where he went—
They would always know.
Even if he hid his tracks.
Even if he masked his scent.
It would not matter.
Because they were not tracking his body.
They were tracking his soul.
And that meant he had to sever it.
Or he was already dead.
Veyrath did not hesitate.
There was no time.
He needed to break the connection.
Not through magic alone.
Not through illusion or trickery.
But through something stronger.
Through Unmaking.
Because if they had tied him to their god—
Then he would erase the link entirely.
Rip it from existence.
And in doing so, tear himself free.
He traced the runes into the ground.
Dark symbols, burning with the power of erasure.
He felt the connection as he reached for it.
It was not a physical thing.
Not something he could cut with a blade.
It was woven into the fabric of his being.
And pulling at it felt like tearing at his own existence.
But he did not stop.
Because if he did, he would die.
Somewhere miles away, the trackers paused.
One of them staggered.
Another clutched his chest, gasping.
They felt it.
The sudden shift.
The tug at the connection that bound them to their prey.
"He knows," one of them whispered.
The leader's face darkened.
"Stop him."
And they moved faster.
Veyrath's veins burned.
His vision blurred.
It was like pulling himself apart.
Like tearing away a piece of his own being.
But he kept going.
Kept ripping at the connection.
And then—
It snapped.
Like a chain breaking in two.
And the moment it did—
The presence of the hunters vanished from his mind.
He was gone from their senses.
He had erased the link.
And now,
He was truly free.
The lead tracker stumbled.
Fell to his knees.
His men rushed to him.
"What happened?"
He stared at the ground.
His breath unsteady.
And then he whispered—
"He's gone."
Silence.
"What do you mean, gone?"
The tracker clenched his fists.
His teeth grinding.
"I mean we can't track him anymore."
The silence grew heavier.
One of the priests stepped forward, shaking his head.
"Impossible. The link cannot be broken."
But it had been.
Veyrath was gone.
And now,
They had no way to find him.
Not unless he wanted to be found.
Veyrath had escaped the crusade.
The divine link that bound him to their hunters was gone.
For the first time since the fall of his settlement, he was free.
But freedom was not enough.
Not yet.
Because the priests had proven something undeniable.
His power was not absolute.
Unmaking could be countered.
The Forgotten could be destroyed.
And faith could stand against him.
That meant he was not ready.
Not yet.
And so, he left the world of men behind.
Venturing deeper into the untamed wilds.
A place where even the crusade would not follow.
A place where he could break himself apart—
And return as something even greater.
The forest became denser, darker.
No more paths.
No more roads.
Only twisting roots, tangled thickets, and shadows that never moved.
A place where few had ever walked.
Where even the beasts of the world did not claim dominion.
But Veyrath was no ordinary traveler.
And this place did not frighten him.
It welcomed him.
As if it had been waiting.
For days, he walked.
Eating only what he could find.
Drinking from hidden streams, untouched by man.
Hunting not with weapons—
But with his hands, his instincts, his nature.
He did not burn fires.
Did not build shelter.
Because he was not here to live comfortably.
He was here to understand.
To become more.
And that meant stripping away the last remnants of what he had been.
Not just physically.
But mentally.
Each night, he carved new sigils into the ground.
New symbols of Unmaking—experiments to push the limits of his understanding.
He tested his power on the living.
On creatures that should not have been touched by it.
A deer that vanished into nothing.
A bird that returned twisted, its wings no longer bound by flesh.
Each failure taught him something new.
Each success brought him closer to perfection.
But he was not satisfied.
Because he had seen his weakness in the battle against the Church.
Unmaking had been stopped.
Undone.
And that was unacceptable.
If he was to truly master this power—
Then he had to ensure nothing could ever stop it again.
Veyrath had seen the effects of divine magic firsthand.
It did not just burn flesh.
It burned concepts.
It unraveled what he had created.
Even the Forgotten had not been immune.
And that meant there was a fundamental flaw in his power.
A weakness that had to be purged.
He did not just need to master Unmaking.
He needed to make it untouchable.
Beyond the reach of prayers, beyond the reach of gods.
And the only way to do that—
Was to test its limits on something stronger.
Something that had already touched the divine.
And in the depths of the wildlands, he would find it.
This deep in the wildlands, there were no men.
No cities.
No settlements.
But there were things older than civilization.
Creatures that had never been tamed.
Born of old magic.
Of primordial forces.
Beasts that did not fear men—because they had never needed to.
And one of them was watching him.
He felt it before he saw it.
The weight of its presence pressing against his senses.
Something massive.
Something that had never been touched by human hands.
And now, it was curious.
Watching him.
Waiting.
As if it, too, wanted to see what he would become.
And so, Veyrath did not run.
Did not hide.
He simply stood.
And welcomed the challenge.
Because this was what he needed.
A test beyond man.
Beyond faith.
A creature that could not be undone so easily.
Something that would force him to break past his current limits—
Or die trying.