Battles were chaotic. Even the simplest battles I had fought, with just two combatants, had been adrenaline fueled seconds of chaos and near-death experiences. But this was worse. Even worse than the fall of Ravenrock, because I had not been in the thick of things until it had been too late. The shadows silently towering over me, grasping at me, threatening to swallow us all…The roaring of the fire spirit, the vegetation rising up to fight the shadows and in the distance the sound of Wyldling behemoths fighting each other. I could not see anything. I knew my party at my side, and I saw Manus giant frame, glowing almost bright enough to blind me.

Suddenly we stumbled free of the darkness, which was retreating all around us. As I turned to look for it, I saw the tendrils gathering, solidifying into a smaller but much more dense space. Forming bodies on their own, growing as more and more of the shadows merged. They were much smaller than the fire spirit now, but they seemed endless in number. A few battled the – I don’t know, nature spirits? Plant spirits? – a few followed us, but the majority began assaulting the fire spirit, throwing themselves at him, burning as they touched the fire. They had no sense of self preservation.

Higgins fell back, his sword glowing in his [Weapon Art: Crashing Waves]. I only watched him for a heartbeat, but wherever he cut a shadow spirit, it dissolved into a slick puddle. He fought marching backwards, sure-footed even on the slippery surface created by the rain and him cutting them. A bigger spirit emerged, thundering past him with huge steps. He turned, finishing his horizontal swing without even looking, and raised his crossbow. I knew the Skill to be [Water Dragon Shot], but to see it in action was something else. He shot and a fountain of water erupted, quickly spiraling around the bolt, growing as it went on. Before it hit, the water spiral opened its mouth like a creature from the darkest sea, chomping down on the physical shadow it impacted on. The shadow and the water exploded outwards, falling down as part of the rain.

“I can hold them back!” He screamed, whirling to the side and cutting a lump of shadows in half that had sped past him to get into our backs. “Go get them!”

Around me my team surged into action, finally free of the shadows, and swarmed out around Manus, advancing on the Wyldling warriors from different angles. They unnerved me, standing still and looking at us with dead, black eyes. As we came closer, I saw that they were very similar in appearance to each other. They had to be brothers or twins, although the bird-like changes to their physique made such a judgement difficult. Suddenly, they moved. Mirroring each other in their exact movements, they jumped to the side and swung their glaives out. They both shouted a word in their language and gripped their weapons with both hands, swinging it back in perfect synchronization.

And they were gone.

Somewhere to my side Manus screamed, his giant frame carrying a much louder voice than usual, and I saw him falling back, blood shooting out of his arm and shoulder, the splinters of his demolished shield raining down around him. The earth shook as he fell. Behind him the twins slid through the mud, as if to stop their momentum, their glaives dragging a trail of falling droplets of blood behind them. They had been faster than a falling drop of blood. Faster than my eye could follow.

Manus rolled around, panting. He was hurt but not dead yet. Another one of these attacks would be his last. Or any of us, really. If they could hurt Manus through his shield, they could hurt the rest and more. Which brought me to the question: Why did they attack the member of our group that was hardest to kill? Because they were not here to stop us. They were here to protect their Leader. And the Skill of Manus banished the shadows around him. Shadows that Barak was controlling. They were not fighting alone. They were enabling their trump card to do what he wanted.

“Shit!” I cursed aloud, looking around for signs of him. But for the spirits I could see nothing.

“They cannot do that again.” Zora shouted. “Get them now, while the Skill is recharging.”

The others followed as fast as they could, even Manus burrowing his giant hands into the muddy soil to get up and towards them. I wanted to follow, but something held me back. A thought.

They were a distraction. They were support. Oh, dead gods they were good, and may even beat us on their own, but they were just a distraction. And not our goal. I turned and ran, sprinting up the hill. What if the [Shaman] was vulnerable now? What if he was undefended, while is guards fought the Wounded Pride? What if this was the only opening we would get?

Zero coiled up in my hand, ready to be thrown out, but looking behind me with his head, in the form of a curved blade with enough barbs to make removing him difficult. Again, I felt the thrill of the fight, the thrill of the hunt as I ran towards my brother in spirit. And I could see the massive frame of the White Beast as I cleared the hilltop, rolling on the ground, with a couple of much smaller beasts snapping after him. He threw them around like chew toys, but they were fast and precise, and always got up again. But they did not work as well together as the [Pack of the Unchallenged Hunter] did.

Around him hunted his packmates, darting in and out of the fight, using the White Beast as shield and diversion, while they went for throats and heels. The sight of forty or something behemoths, wildly changed, all different and one more nightmarish and absurd than the last, brawling it out in the rain and mud was a sight to behold. The raw, primal violence, or even just the noises these roaring, yapping, grunting and thundering beasts made, shook the isle to its core.

But the Bear Clan was falling back, drawing their enemies out at the same time. I didn’t know where the differences were but where the Snake Clan was feral and somewhat unhinged, the Bear Clan kept control and some resemblance of order. Maybe it was Cogar, maybe it was his Skill, or the Snake Clan had went insane in their dealings with the darkness. The first behemoths of the Snake Clan had already jumped to another isle following their opponents, who nimbly retreated over the floating boulders.

And I saw him.

In a circle of tents sat the man I had been looking for, with legs crossed in front of an urn, made from matte black stone with silver inlays. He was rocking back and forth, eyes closed and humming, while he tapped a steady rhythm on the side of the urn. And out of the urn, in exactly the same rhythm as his tapping, lumps of shadows emerged, which hit the ground and immediately slithered out of sight. The man itself was as I remembered him. Slim as a willow, wiry and gaunt. Now the rain added to his appearance, as the red brown dye of his hair, or blood as some said, ran over his skin and clothes, dying it all red. He had a pitch-black amulet around his neck, no trace of Dragonamber visible anymore.

Beside him stood a final guard. It was a barrel-chested man, tattooed and bald, with a massive beard with iron rings woven into it. He did not have an amulet, like the rest, his Dragonamber had grown into a black mass where is heart would be, like a tumor growing out of his chest. He had no weapons, or gear really, but massive claws that looked to be made out of granite. Where the granite hit his arms, his skin was flaking off, as if his skin was only tacked onto his body of stone.

He now turned to me. Watching me expressionless, but slowly shaking his shoulder as if to loosen them up.

But behind him I saw something else, sheltering from the rain inside an open tent. Veneir. Clothes torn, dried blood all over his body. His face as much a mask of horror as it had always been, but there were cuts and bruises added to the mix of removed lips and shattered teeth. He stared at me. Stared at me with wide eyes and an expression of fear and horror on his face. But his eyes were darting around frantically.

“Master!” He croaked. I could barely hear him over the rain. He stumbled out of the tent, after shakily standing up, and towards Barak Bloodbraid and his guardian. “Master! Watch out! There is an assassin coming for you!” So, he had betrayed us after all, even if he looked worse for it. I spat.

Barak opened his eyes and stopped his tapping, the urn ceasing to spit out more shadows. They all were inspecting me with fear, indifference and curiosity, respectively. “That is not an assassin, you worm.” He sneered.

He stood up, his long limbs unfolding themselves like the legs of a spider, and walked towards me, but stopped as he reached his stone-clawed guardian. “I don’t even think he is worth your effort, Raiva.” Barak put his long, fine fingers on the shoulders of his guardian, both watching me over the dozen feet that were between us.

Barak Bloodbraid grinned at me. His teeth filed down to a point, smiling at me like a shark. No, like an excited artist may look at a new block of stone, imagining the forms and scenes he might coax out of it with hammer and chisel. He was judging me. Judging if I was worth more to him alive rather than dead.

“You are him, aren’t you? The man who dared too much. I can smell your stench as I have smelled it on the men and women you killed.” Barak said, still smiling at me. I said nothing, but gripped Zero and Kingsbane tighter, moving along the hill, looking for an opening.

“Yes. You are. How else would you be here? The Ghost of the Mountain, they call you.” His smile froze and his face turned into a grimace of hate and anger. “Do you have any idea how much work you have destroyed with your little rebellion? I will skin you alive and make you eat it! When I am done with you, you will beg me…BEG ME…to kill you. You will not die today, I have plans for you. Raiva, bring him to me!” He pointed his finger in my direction and the warrior stomped into my direction, raising his claws.

Then, everything happened at once.

An arrow flew past my head, past the warrior and hit the thigh of Barak with a thump. He yelled, more surprised than in pain, grasping the shaft of the arrow. Raka turned to see what had happened. I was already sprinting, throwing Zero out over my head.

But faster than all of this, Veneir moved.

He had left his tent, as Barak was monologuing, had approached the scene, while Barak had been blinded by his rage. Now he was behind the stooped [Shaman]. Veneir’s eyes met mine. He had everything to say and nothing, his gaze full of meaning, but too much to grasp in a second. But he was not afraid any longer.

His hand snaked around the head of Barak, lightning quick, and with a heavy snap pulled the Dragonamber amulet off his tormenter’s neck. Both stumbled away from each other immediately, both screaming their hearts out. Barak pressed both hands on his head, as darkness spilled out of every orifice of his body like thick and oily smoke. Veneir stumbled back, as the amulet vibrated, ramming tendrils of shadow into the flesh of his arm that held the gem.

Darkness erupted out of Barak as he lost control, like a geyser or a volcano spewing nothing but impenetrable shadows. I was swallowed by the wave. Everything went black. Not my eyesight, not my senses, but everything. The darkness was absolute.