TŪMBṂĀR grabbed onto Iḷēhaḥ and leapt back as the darkness filled the space, no trace of light creeping through. The group, now trapped within its confines, saw seven hooded figures emerge from it, their bodies hazing. They lifted their bony fingers and pointed toward Tūmbṃār. Skeletons then arose from the black surface, their numbers far exceeding anything they expected.

The seven specters then rose, and the darkness covered, swirling around them. It then burst, sending a shockwave! But the group stood their ground. From the waves appeared the specters, but renewed, made whole. Three black wings on either end, horns protruding on all parts of their head, wrapping themselves together like crowns. Bodies of brilliant luster, hair of gold, but eyes of the self-same darkness. And upon their persons draped a fhorlia of blood, dripping from its ends and rippling on the surface, pervading the space with an unbearable stench. Their appearance was confused, for they looked as a mix of the Demons and the Gods, but unlike either. Their fingers had not left their position as they continued to point toward Tūmbṃār.

The boy shouted, “What do you want from me!”

But they would not speak, the white pupils remaining transfixed on him. As they opened their mouths, an array of sharp blackened teeth, similar in likeness to Nakthaḥm’s but more terrible, appeared for all to see. A light haze issued from their throats, and suddenly, blades shot at great speed toward Tūmbṃār.

He bore both his short sword in front and blocked the strike! With no more time to lose, the group dispersed and engaged their adversaries. But their attacks seemed to have no effect on them.

Tūmbṃār then flipped himself onto the blades and ran toward the specters. But they, however, reached into their mouths and pulled the blades, holding on to their hilts, and lifting them high into the air, they swung the blades around with great frenzy.

Then they stopped, their blades angled high and Tūmbṃār left hanging to one.

He clung as well as he could, but he began to slip along the length. He hardened his hands with earth and as he fell hanging onto the blade; the others resumed their strikes, slashing and cutting the air as they clashed their weapons against the blade Tūmbṃār hung onto to.

Then the boy released his grasp and dropped his sandals. Covering his feet in fire, he flipped in the air and dropped his leg onto the specter that stood center. But it did not so much as flinch, and it grabbed onto Tūmbṃār’s leg. It swung him around with unparalleled speed and crashed him into the floor, thrusting into the air a great amount of black haze. The boy was left immobilized.

The skeletons overwhelmed the others, and the onslaught of the elements the group unleashed seemed to do little in thinning their numbers. Hvesykhiḥ, while spewing great bursts of fire, was ultimately assailed by the sheer numbers and was held down and beaten.

One after another, the skeletons rushed forth and Vrihkhaḥ, seeing Tūmbṃār in danger, leaped through the skeletons and bit the hand of the specter. His teeth sunk through the glowing skin, but the specter looked to it unusually.

Lifting its hand high, it cocked its head toward the wolf and wailed. Its scream resounded loud and rung and echoed to all those that could hear. The group was stunned and fell to the ground, clinging to their ears. Feyūnhaḥ hit the hardest, collapsed to the ground, paralyzed. Nakthaḥm, Sanyhaḥmān, Yūrmatṛtha, and Iḷēhaḥ held back the advancing lines as Aiṛth try to heal Feyūnhaḥ. Vrihkhaḥ did all he could to hold on, but the specter flailed its hand in madness. When the wolf could no longer bear the wails, he dropped to the floor, unconscious.

The seven specters rose, their blades high ready to fell him. But as the swords came crashing down, both Nakthaḥm and Tūmbṃār came in between and blocked the strike. They pushed the specters back. And seeing that their hands were vulnerable, they issued a flurry of elemental strikes toward them: fire, air, water, and lightning, and a torrent of aether surrounding all. Tūmbṃār using space, warped the attack until it spread as wide as the darkness itself. He then burst the coursing elements, sending a shockwave that annihilated the skeletons and disarmed and stunned the specters.

The company regrouped, with Feyūnhaḥ still paralyzed. Tūmbṃār had hoped that attack would be enough to defeat them; for now, he was tired and could barely move. They had spent too much of their power when traversing the steps.

Things were to become worse, as the skeletons slowly came about in larger numbers from the outskirts of the darkness, and it seemed that their forms had also grown in stature.

“Nakthaḥm!” shouted Iḷēhaḥ. “Might you know how to defeat this? Its form seems closest to yours.”

“Oh, I would very much like to know myself!” said Nakthaḥm as he searched for a weakness. “This being that masquerades like it were a god, never have I seen its likeness before. And this darkness, unlike what I can issue, seems wholly different from the aether, but what it is I cannot say. And I suppose Yūrmatṛtha does not know the aspects to this form either?”

“I am afraid, yes,” said Yūrmatṛtha as he created a barrier of Earth around them. “This is the first time I have seen it take a shape like this!”

Yet as Yūrmatṛtha said that, Nakthaḥm saw a faint black glint near the chests of the specters, just as the swords began to shake and levitate.

“Friends! Though Tūmbṃār is down, I think he has given us an opening.” He pointed to the blades. “Run to the weapons and catch a hold of them! I shall release as much of the aether as I can to wield them and throw them toward their chests from where the haze seems to leak.”

Yūrmatṛtha, Sanyhaḥmān, and Iḷēhaḥ caught grasp of the seven blades. The specters were coming to, but before they could react, Nakthaḥm grabbed the seven blades with the arms of aether. He clenched his hands tight where his nails pierced his palms in desperation to keep hold before the seven could return to their masters.

The skeletons quickened their pace, and on their hands and legs ran toward the group like a stampede of maddened animals. With a great cry, Nakthaḥm sent the aether flying with hold of the blades and the specters were pierced!

Darkness leaked and hazed from the puncture and the luster of their forms corrupted. The specters cried in agony and soon burst themselves along with their minions. In their place were now hooded forms that knelt to the ground.

Nakthaḥm could no more fight, panting and clenching his chest, yet he drew the group’s attention to the blades that had not disappeared but were hazing into the darkness.

Feyūnhaḥ came to with Aiṛth’s assistance. Iḷēhaḥ levitated the seven blades. Yūrmatṛtha encased them in flames. And Sanyhaḥmān and Feyūnhaḥ ran to either end of the array and struck each on the hilt, sending them flying toward their masters. But the blades failed to reach, disintegrating completely before they could even touch them.

The specters arose but receded into the darkness, and the darkness likewise receded, and their hisses of malice could be heard faintly behind the veil.

The space then became normal, the lights returned, and it looked as if nothing had changed. The same could not be said of the group’s health, for they each dropped to the floor, some on their chests, others on their faces, exhausted and bloodied.

“They pointed to you Tūmbṃār,” said Iḷēhaḥ, panting; “I know you said you saw them before in whatever it was that you experienced, but perchance, do you know why it is they sought you?”

“No,” said Tūmbṃār, spread out on the floor, unable to move.

He knew well enough that they seemed to follow him, but their malice did resemble something that he saw in the last dream he had. A dark haze about a boy who very much looked like Athizhska, powered as it were, by his wrath, seemingly both close and distant at the same time. A feeling of unease came over him, for he felt the same affliction of the heart as he experienced prior. It hurt so very much, but it was not the pain that made him feel as such; no, it was the sense that those specters could be felt inside him waiting and watching. Perhaps that was why they left, but it was not as if he could conclude as such, for he did not know such a thing to be true. Only a feeling that they persisted on near and would continue to assail him in the future.

He moved his head to the others, who either laid on the floor as he did or hung their heads. Vrihkhaḥ remained unconscious, and Hvesykhiḥ slowly gathered each of them upon her back. Aiṛth seemed the only one to have escaped injury, though she too looked exhausted, her motions dulled and some sweat dampening her robes.

When all were upon the snake, the priestess, one by one, healed them. The ones who had already fallen asleep would not wake for some time.

Hvesykhiḥ said:

You need not wake now, rest children. No more does it seem that we shall have to fight, and the lift that has come for us shall no doubt take us to the top. But I must say, you have all exceeded my expectations! Doubts came to my mind as I observed you through our journey, for you did not seem well-equipped to handle the heat of the halls, and as Iḷēhaḥ mentioned before, the number of things you have kept from each other. I hope you shall at some point set your differences aside and open your hearts fully, yet regardless, you have all convinced this old pet of Īrshevhaḥ of your prowess and abilities! The Dehaḥṃār have indeed chosen well!

And the ones who were awake were glad of heart at her words. The snake moved on to the translucent platform, and it gently lifted them along the path into the myriad of lights that seemed much brighter now. Showering them in their radiance—in their success!