A guttural howl tore through the churning ash winds, a sound both ancient and savage. Seraphin’s senses, honed by years of Aethelgard’s silent predation, registered the tremor in the ground before their eyes could confirm. They were here. The Cinder Hounds.
These were not mere scavengers. Obsidian plates covered their frames, etched with veins of smoldering ember. Their paws, tipped with razor-sharp claws, kicked up plumes of fiery ash with every thunderous stride. Red eyes, like chips of magma, burned in the swirling gloom. They hunted in packs, numbering in the dozens, sometimes hundreds, led by an Ash Mother—a colossal matriarch whose inner fire shone brighter, whose obsidian hide was thicker than any other.
Fear was an alien concept to these creatures. Caution, a weakness they had shed long ago. They moved as one, a wave of primal destruction, sweeping aside any obstacle in their path.
Most of the pack veered towards Kaelen, already a roaring inferno of motion. But a significant number, drawn by the scent of a new, weaker prey, turned their molten gaze on Seraphin.
Seraphin grit their teeth, a faint tremor running through their exhausted frame. Drawing on the last vestiges of their mana, they flung out a hand. Sharp obsidian shards, coalesced from the surrounding ash, launched forward in a focused volley. The first Cinder Hound, its eyes fixed on Seraphin, collapsed as a crystalline spike pierced its skull. It crumpled without a sound, a dark blot against the fiery ground.
Others paid it no mind. They surged onward, a tide of burning fur and clicking claws. Taking them down one by one, Seraphin knew, was a futile endeavor. The exhaustion from guiding the survivors still weighed heavy, each crystalline projection a drain on their depleted reserves. Their hand trembled.
*Not enough. Need more.* Seraphin closed their eyes for a flicker of a second, feeling the raw particulate matter of Aethelgard. They saw the swirling currents, the latent power. *Divide. Focus. Pierce.*
With renewed resolve, Seraphin opened their eyes. Instead of a single, blunt volley, five slender, needle-thin filaments of obsidian shot forth simultaneously. Each hummed with condensed power, streaking towards a different Cinder Hound. Five choked cries, five dark forms slumping to the ash. Each had a precise, coin-sized puncture between their eyes.
The initial strain was immense, a burning ache in Seraphin's chest. But the second attempt came easier, the path forged by the first now clearer, more instinctive. Successive barrages followed, a deadly, silent dance of death. Five Ash Shard Needles, five falling Hounds. Seraphin could hold their ground, for a time.
---
Then, for a desperate moment, Seraphin glanced towards Kaelen. Their eyes widened.
“*Hehehe! Come, more! More!*” Kaelen’s laughter, a raw, rasping sound, tore through the cacophony. He wielded Riven, his colossal obsidian greatsword, with a horrifying grace. Around him, a landscape of death unfurled. More than a hundred Cinder Hounds lay dismembered, their burning innards cooling rapidly in the harsh winds.
He employed no intricate techniques, no elaborate displays of power. He simply swung Riven. Again, and again. With each brutal arc, several Hounds were rent asunder. Ash-blood sprayed, mingling with the swirling dust, staining the obsidian ground an even deeper crimson.
Occasionally, a Cinder Hound managed to clamp its jaws around Kaelen’s arm or leg. But their teeth, sharp as volcanic glass, shattered against his flesh. His body, hardened by some ancient, terrifying power, was impervious.
“*Hehehe! That tickles!*” Kaelen snarled, grabbing the head of a Hound that clung to his thigh. With a sickening crunch, he crushed its obsidian skull in his bare hand. The creature’s sturdy head crumbled like dried clay. He then hurled its mangled carcass at the approaching pack. The dead Hound slammed into several others, sending them tumbling, limbs bending at unnatural angles, bellies torn open.
Kaelen slaughtered the Cinder Hounds without mercy, without pause. None dared challenge his direct assault. Observing from a slight distance, the Ash Mother finally moved. A searing aura of fire and concentrated heat enveloped her colossal form, shimmering in the night. This creature was not merely powerful; she commanded the very elements of this scorched world.
Sparks, like tiny nova, erupted from the fiery crest that crowned the Ash Mother’s head. A bolt of raw, concentrated heat, a spear of solidified flame, shot forth, splitting the ash-filled air. It reached Kaelen in an instant.
Kaelen, as if swatting a bothersome insect, merely raised a hand. The bolt of fire, which had illuminated the dying night, vanished within his palm, consumed without a trace. Only then did a primal sense of dread flicker in the Ash Mother’s molten eyes. This adversary was unlike any she had ever encountered, an anomaly in the harsh laws of Aethelgard.
She let out a piercing shriek, a command to retreat. There was no glory in facing an unstoppable force. Half of her pack lay dead, their forms cooling rapidly. The survival of her line was paramount.
But Kaelen had no intention of letting his prey escape.
He hurled Riven. The massive obsidian blade spun with terrifying velocity, a dark, gleaming vortex of destruction. It scythed through the fleeing Cinder Hounds, cutting down scores in a single, brutal pass. Mournful howls echoed through the ash-choked sky.
The carnage froze Seraphin, a cold dread creeping into their bones. Yet, Kaelen's rampage was far from over. He drove his armored foot into the ground, a miniature explosion of ash propelling him upwards. Riven, having completed its bloody circuit, arced back through the air, returning to his waiting hand.
As Kaelen caught Riven, he launched himself downward, a meteor of death, straight towards the shrieking Ash Mother. His impact was cataclysmic, a thunderous crack that shook the very ground. Sands and obsidian shards erupted in a colossal wave, obscuring the scene.
When the tempest of debris settled, the aftermath was revealed. The Ash Mother was no more, her formidable form mangled beyond recognition. Only the pyroclastic crest, still faintly glowing with internal fire, remained largely intact atop a shattered skull.
Kaelen stood over the carcass, Riven resting casually on his shoulder. After such a brutal, mana-draining battle, there was no hint of fatigue on his face. In fact, he seemed invigorated, a faint, predatory smile playing on his lips, as if he had just enjoyed a refreshing meal.
Seraphin dared not even breathe too loudly. They were simply overwhelmed by Kaelen's raw, unbridled power. *Is he truly bound by the same flesh? He used no complex formations, no intricate crystalline weaves. Only brute force, and that ancient blade.*
Awakened beings gained unique skills, manifestations of their connection to Aethelgard. They achieved their greatest power when unfolding these abilities. Yet Kaelen had defied all logic. He had crushed the Ash Mother with sheer, unaugmented might. Seraphin couldn't comprehend such strength.
Kaelen turned his head then, his gaze falling upon Seraphin.
“*Hehehe! Still breathing, little ash-sprite.*”
Seraphin could only manage a slight nod, their throat dry. After a wry chuckle, Kaelen knelt, collecting the pyroclastic crest from the Ash Mother’s head. He held it for a moment, examining the intricate fiery patterns within. Then, with an almost imperceptible gesture, he outstretched a hand into the air. The crest shimmered, warped, and vanished, as if it were never there.
*A void-pocket? But Kaelen's power is… physical. A raw, unrefined strength. Yet he commands the very fabric of space? My understanding is fractured.* Seraphin felt a tremor of unease. Kaelen, who already possessed Riven, had no apparent need for another weapon. But Seraphin dared not voice the question.
Kaelen sheathed Riven and instead drew a small, crude obsidian dagger. He tossed it to Seraphin.
“*From now on, feed yourself. The majority of a Cinder Hound’s flesh is toxic, infused with their elemental fire. Only the muscle along their ribs, closest to the bone, is safe. Dry it, and it will sustain you.*”
Kaelen, with practiced ease, carved a modest portion of meat from the Ash Mother’s side. It was barely the size of an adult’s palm. Seraphin, who had been observing Kaelen’s precise cuts, mirrored his actions. They knew Kaelen would offer no further explanation, no comforting guidance. Survival was learned through observation and painful trial.
The coarse, dried jerky Kaelen had offered them earlier, Seraphin now realized, was monster flesh. They had no objection. Seraphin had grown up watching life cling to the razor edge of oblivion. If it was edible, if it aided survival, it would be consumed without hesitation.
Seraphin mimicked Kaelen, working cautiously. Kaelen had taken only enough meat for a few days, confident he could always hunt more. Seraphin, not possessing Kaelen's terrifying power, needed to be more thorough. Securing as much sustenance as possible was a matter of life and death.
Seraphin managed to harvest nearly thirty such portions. They yearned to cut more, but lacked the means to store it. They wrapped the meat tightly in their worn outer cloak, fashioning it into a crude bundle slung over their shoulder.
“*Heh. Resourceful.*” Kaelen’s voice, a gravelly commendation, startled Seraphin. After two days of near-constant exertion, it was an accomplishment. Yet, Seraphin knew it was far from enough. To truly be useful, to hold their own, they needed to endure much more, much harsher tutelage.
“*If you’re done gathering, let’s move. Before the others catch the scent of blood and come. There are always others.*” Kaelen spoke not out of fear, but of mere inconvenience. Seraphin nodded, not daring to linger in this place of ash and cooling blood.
The first sliver of dawn was beginning to pierce the eastern sky, painting the churning ash clouds with grim hues. The carnage, revealed under the stark light, was even more gruesome. Scavengers—Ash Wraiths and carrion-birds with wings of obsidian—were already beginning to circle, drawn by the scent of death. More would follow. Such was the iron law of Aethelgard.
The strong preyed upon the weak. The dead nourished the living. No being, not even Kaelen, could entirely escape this grim cycle. Following Kaelen, Seraphin was grasping these brutal laws with every painful, exhausting step.
As usual, Kaelen paid Seraphin no heed, striding ahead. Seraphin pushed themselves to keep pace, calling upon their ash-striding ability. Given the profound drain on their mana during the battle, they expected it to be a struggle.
But, surprisingly, it was not as difficult as anticipated. More mana remained than they had thought, and controlling the particulate currents beneath their feet felt smoother, more intuitive than before. *It must be the battle. The decisions, the desperate push for power, the proximity to the edge of oblivion.* The crucible of combat had forged a sharper, more efficient command of their abilities.
*I’ve become stronger. I will continue to grow.* Seraphin looked at Kaelen’s formidable back. They still couldn't fathom why Kaelen had taken them along. But one truth was starkly clear: simply following him, simply enduring his brutal lessons, would undeniably make Seraphin stronger. As long as they survived.
Seraphin diligently trailed after him, their melancholic gaze fixed on the desolate horizon, a fierce, quiet resolve burning in their heart for the scattered remnants of life that still clung to Aethelgard's cruel surface.