Vortex Origins
Chapter 94: The Third creature wave - 12

Chapter 94: The Third creature wave - 12

The ground shook beneath the weight of death.

A sea of Grimhorns and hollow-eyed undead surged forward, weapons raised, eyes empty. The stench of rot and iron filled the air.

Alex hurled a spinning sphere of wind into the closest corpse. It exploded into pieces—limbs, bones, dust. No scream. Just silence after impact.

He looked up.

Mia and Kevin hovered in the sky on a rough-edged stone platform, drifting fast toward the broken wall. Mia’s voice cut through the chaos.

"Retreat! There’s too many!"

Alex turned. The horde stretched across the field like a black wave, thousands of beasts sprinting toward them.

He grabbed Kaius by the shoulder and pulled him to his feet.

"Move!"

They launched into the air, riding streams of compressed wind, skimming above the torn earth and broken bodies.

Mia and Kevin touched down near the Ironhold wall. Dust covered them, but they kept moving. Mia turned, her voice low.

"How bad is it?"

Kevin clenched his jaw.

"The black water is shaking. Like it’s alive. I’m patching the cracks, but my Soulcore keeps fracturing."

Alex landed beside them, panting.

"What happened?"

Mia looked toward the battlefield.

"Something’s in that horde. I think it attacks Soulcores directly."

Alex froze.

"Seriously? I’d rather fight a beast than something like that."

"Then get ready,"

she pointed

The swarm was nearly on them.

Grimhorns with curved blades broke from the main pack, roaring as they ran. Their eyes glowed faint red, jaws slick with blood. The bots met them at the front—but they were being overwhelmed. Metal limbs flew through the air. Sparks rained like falling stars.

"There’s too many," Alex muttered.

"They’re tier fours. They might be the weakest kind. But they breed fast."

A sharp whistle cut through the noise.

Arrows.

Dozens of them.

Alex raised his arm and pushed out with everything he had. A wall of wind exploded outward, scattering the projectiles like dry leaves.

He didn’t have time to breathe.

More bots crashed down from the sky, shaking the ground with every landing.

More trembled with every step of the horde, but the true horror came from behind.

Bodies twitched.

A low growl rolled through the battlefield, deep and cold. Behind the wall of fighters, corpses once still began to stir.

Julia’s fingers clawed the ground.

Oscric’s jaw unhinged, teeth clacking.

Horthgar’s broken frame snapped upright.

And Hunter—what was left of him—dragged his half-torn body forward, fingers scraping lines in the dirt as he crawled toward Kaius.

Kaius froze. His eyes locked on the face he used to trust.

Then—

Three heads flew.

One. Two. Three.

Hunter’s skull split next, a blade plunging through his cranium and pinning him to the earth.

Ash stood above them, his sword dripping black fluid. Smoke curled around his shoulders like breath from another world.

He looked at Kaius.

"They’re dead. Let them stay that way. We can’t afford distractions."

The wind stirred. Alex glanced back.

"He’s right."

Kaius let out a breath. His stance dropped low, hands ready, the storm behind his eyes finally steady.

Then chaos erupted.

Ash dove into the chaos like a storm in armor. His blade sang through air and bone, each swing clean and heavy. He didn’t dodge—he shattered. Grimhorns lunged and fell, one after another, their broken bodies tossed aside.

Alex and Kaius moved beside him, riding wind like blades. One snap of Alex’s wrist sent a Grimhorn spinning backward, ribs cracked inward. Kaius dashed around another, slicing deep with gusts that cut like knives.

Mia stood near the cracked Ironhold wall, her arms raised, pieces of stone pulling back into place. A jagged boulder rose behind her and blocked another wave of arrows. Her skin was pale, her breaths sharp—but she held the wall.

Below, Kevin sat with eyes shut, sweat streaking down his face as his hands gripped the stone. His soul pulsed, thin veins of black flickering under his skin.

Bots filled the gaps.

One slammed into the ground between two Grimhorns, crushing them under its feet. Another raised a shield and blocked a charge before impaling its attacker with a steel pike. They moved without fear, without pause—cold precision against chaos.

Wind howled. Steel clashed. The ground split and the sky burned.

Ash lifted his blade, spun through a group of Grimhorns, and didn’t stop until only limbs were left behind.

No one said a word.

Then.

The air around Ash thickened, shifting like a veil pulling tight. He froze, every sound fading—boots hitting earth, blades clashing, the distant roar of battle—all fading into a distant hum.

A sharp crack cut through the silence.

Ash’s eyes darted, searching for the source.

Crack.

Then another.

And another.

His gaze locked on the distance—not the ground, not the sky—but the very space between. Reality fractured like a shattered mirror. Jagged cracks spiderwebbed outward, revealing a swirling black void beneath.

The fractures expanded, circling wide enough for a man to step through.

But nothing entered.

Instead, something emerged.

A flicker of cold skittered down Ash’s skin.

From the void stepped a man.

His beard was rough, dark eyes gleamed black as night. His chest was bare, skin gray and taut over muscles carved like stone. Black markings writhed across his body like living ink, twisting toward a green gem embedded in his chest.

A slow, cruel grin stretched across his face.

He raised one hand and laughed—low, sinister, a sound that seemed to claw at the air.

His gaze swept the battlefield—and locked on Ash.

That grin widened, twisted into a savage smile.

"ASH BURN!"

The voice boomed, a shout that shook the broken earth beneath their feet.

The pressure crushed Ash, heavier than anything before. Even the creatures nearby scattered, fleeing the invisible weight.

Ash’s mind raced. He knew the rules — when a higher tier faced a lower one, the difference should be clear, unshakable.

He was tier 5. This should have barely scratched him.

But it did.

The man before him—eyes black and cruel—was tier 7.

Ash’s teeth clenched hard.

’How does he know my name? Damn I can’t move.’

The man stepped forward, slow, deliberate.

"Hehehe, finally. I get to end you. And there’s nothing you can do."

His voice echoed across the frozen battlefield. All motion stopped — friend, foe, even the creatures.

Ash clenched his fingers tight.

’Come on... activate Phantom’s Stride,’ he thought, willing himself to move.

The man’s grin widened, dark and cruel.

"The pressure you feel now isn’t the worst. After all you’ve done to me, you deserve more than death."

Ash’s mind scrambled, trapped in shock. He tried every trick to break free from the invisible grip — but nothing worked.

Then, reality shattered again.

A hand burst out from the black void behind the man.

The man twisted, dodging just in time.

"Ah, not this time," he hissed, dashing forward.

Suddenly, the same hand shot up beneath him, grabbing one leg like a steel trap.

He struggled, but his foot wouldn’t budge.

From his hand, a stone-like blade extended, stabbing down into the grasping hand.

The weapon passed right through—like the hand was nothing but mist.

His teeth ground.

The void yawned wider, pulling him down.

The man was dragged into the darkness as cracks tore through reality.

Then, as fast as it broke, the world stitched itself back whole.

The pressure vanished.

Ash blinked once. Twice.

’What just happened?’