The sky cracked open with a second roar. This one was closer. Bone-chilling.
From the treeline, shapes emerged—dozens of them. Small, hunched, with horns curled like twisted roots. Their eyes gleamed red beneath the shadows of the forest—baby Xylens. No taller than a man's chest, but crawling on all fours like rabid beasts, their claws raked through dirt and flesh alike.
The crowd scattered in every direction.
People screamed. Some were trampled. Others were too slow.
The first Xylen lunged from the trees and tore through a fleeing villager, biting down and thrashing its head like a dog with a rag. Blood sprayed the cobblestones, and chaos followed.
Guards fumbled for weapons. Mothers cried for children. Council members abandoned their dignity and fled behind carriages. cursing and yelling for protection.
The executioner froze sword up in the air. The broadsword trembled in his grip.
He turned to look toward the shrieking crowd—and that was enough.
From the blur of fleeing bodies, Rothan emerged like a shadow with purpose. His cloak billowed behind him as he sprinted up the platform, his sword already drawn.
The executioner turned—too slow.
With a grunt, Rothan slammed the hilt of his blade into the masked man's temple. The executioner dropped like a stone, his helmet cracking against the wood.
"Khaos!" Rothan shouted, already slicing at the chains. "Look at me!"
Khaos blinked, breath ragged. "You came…"
"Of course I came," Rothan growled. "We're not done yet."
He hacked through the final lock and hoisted the boy to his feet. Khaos stumbled, one leg almost giving out from the beating he took earlier.
"We have to move—now!"
They leapt off the side of the platform just as three baby Xylens clambered up the other end, shrieking.
They ran. Through the crowd, past overturned stalls and bodies. Rothan cut down one of the creatures that charged them, its skull splitting with a wet crunch. Another lunged at their heels, only to be skewered by a fleeing knight.
As they ducked into an alley, the bell tower began to ring. Warning bells—four times. That meant a breach. The village's outer defenses had been compromised.
And it was all happening so fast.
Khaos gasped, clutching his side. "Why… Why are there so many?"
"I don't know," Rothan said grimly. "But they're inside the village."
They turned a corner, approaching the west side of the village where one of the old storage houses stood. It had strong doors and a reinforced cellar—one of Rothan's intended hiding spots.
But behind them came more shrieks.
Three Xylens. Then four.
Rothan stopped and turned. "Go."
"What?" Khaos blinked.
"I'll hold them. Go hide in the cellar. You know the place."
"No—"
"I said go!" Rothan shoved him forward. "You get out of sight. If I don't come back , keep moving. Find the old forest path. Do not stay here."
"But—!"
"I believe in you " Rothan said, eyes blazing. "Now run!"
Khaos turned, staggering toward the storage house. His breath was ragged, his limbs like dead weight, but he moved. He reached the door, opened it, and ducked inside.
But then—
Something felt wrong.
The Xylens—they weren't coming from all sides. They were streaming from one direction.
The same direction Dylan and his friends had lured the first Xylen from.
The breach.
It hadn't been sealed.
Khaos's heart pounded as realization dawned. If they were coming from there, maybe—just maybe—they could be stopped. He needed to tell Rothan.
He turned back, bursting out of the storage house—
Only to stop dead in his tracks.
Dylan stood there, soaked in blood and sweat, a sword clutched in his hand. Rain had started falling—light at first, then heavier.
"You," Dylan snarled.
"Dylan?" Khaos whispered.
"You think you'll get to be a hero again?" Dylan's voice cracked with fury. "You humiliated me. Everyone one in my family saw you as superior to me, because i couldn't protect two brats from a xylen. A XYLEN which you could defeat. That should've been me who was there killing the Xylen. Not you. NEVER you."
Khaos stepped back.
"I didn't ask for this. I tried to save you. All of you."
Laughter—cold, broken. "Save me? You think I need saving?"
He hurled a sword at Khaos's feet.
"Pick it up," Dylan hissed. "If you're going to run from me again, at least die with a blade in your hand."
Khaos hesitated. Then, slowly, he picked up the sword.
The rain poured heavier. Lightning flickered. Their faces were shadows under the storm, eyes locked.
They clashed.
Steel rang against steel, echoing down the empty street.
Dylan wasn't a prodigy—but he was skilled
Fast. Angry. Khaos barely blocked the first flurry of strikes, stumbling over broken stone and mud.
"You don't belong here!" Dylan shouted. "You're filth! Your parents were traitors!"
Khaos grunted, blocking a blow and countering with a quick jab. "They wanted freedom. Not blood."
Steel clashed under stormlight.
Rain pelted the dirt street as Khaos caught Dylan's strike with the flat of his blade. Sparks flew. The boy's fury pressed down like a hammer, wild and fast—no technique, just rage.
"You ruined everything!" Dylan screamed, driving him back.
Khaos gritted his teeth, parrying, side-stepping mud. His arms trembled from exhaustion. The earlier beatings, the chains, the fear—they still clung to his bones.
"I saved you," he rasped, blocking a heavy overhead swing. "You should be dead!"
"You think I care?!" Dylan's eyes gleamed red in the rain. "I was supposed to be the hero—not you! They were supposed to chant my name!"
He lunged. Khaos dodged, the blade grazing his shoulder. Pain flared, but he stayed grounded. Countered with a quick slash across Dylan's thigh. A shallow cut—but it slowed him.
Dylan stumbled, cursed, and attacked again.
The rhythm shifted—sloppy anger versus desperate defense.
Khaos ducked a wild arc, rolled through a puddle, and rose behind him. His blade flashed—catching Dylan's back.
The noble boy howled, whirling around, blood mixing with rain. "You're dead!" he spat. "You've always been dead!"
Another rush. Khaos caught his wrist this time, twisted hard, and drove his knee into Dylan's gut.
The sword fell from Dylan's grip.
He collapsed, gasping, fingers clawing at the mud.
Khaos stood over him, chest heaving, sword lowered but ready. "I don't want to kill you," he said, voice hoarse. "This isn't what I wanted."
Dylan looked up, broken and snarling. "I'll never… let you live…"
But the words drowned under a different sound—
A low growl. Wet, guttural.
Khaos's eyes snapped to the side—just in time to see it.
A baby Xylen, claws digging into wet stone, eyes glowing like molten coals.
It lunged.
"Dylan—!"
Too late.
Above, thunder rolled—loud enough to drown a heartbeat.
The beast's jaws closed around Dylan's torso, dragging him down with a sickening crunch. Blood splattered across the wall. Dylan screamed, flailing, and then—silence.
Khaos stumbled back, eyes wide, sword falling from his hands.
Rain washed the blood toward the gutters.
He didn't move. Couldn't move.
Only watched.
Watched the thing that had once been a boy he knew… disappear, being devoured by one of the beast he desperately wanted to defeat.
The storm above raged on.