The Tools of Magnalith

The air vibrated with an indescribable energy—denser than time itself, heavier than fate. There was an urgency to everything, as if the world braced itself for an irreversible shift.

Seryne felt it first. The invisible weight that had held her down dissipated, and she took a deep breath, feeling freedom surge through her body like a wave of warmth. But the battle was far from over.

She looked around and saw horror unfolding before her eyes. The inhabitants of the Village of the Unburdened were no longer human—or anything that could be considered truly alive. Their bodies had been distorted, flesh torn and patched together with pulsating yellow roots, as if something had reshaped them, treating flesh as mere malleable material.

And then, the first attack came.

The lizard merchant, now a beast with serrated teeth and empty eyes, lunged at Seryne. It did not move like a mindless beast but with calculated precision, each attack guided by something greater, something implacable.

Seryne did not hesitate. She moved—her feet gliding over the ground as if gravity itself had no claim over her. The first claw swiped where her throat should have been, the second strike came like lightning, aimed at her chest—but before it could reach her, she was already gone.

A single palm. Swift. Precise.

The impact struck the creature's core, sending a shockwave through its body. It staggered backward, coughing up black blood. A fatal strike for any living being.

But this was no longer a living being.

The lizard convulsed, and the yellow roots within its body pulsed, sealing the wound instantly. It smiled—an impossible smile, a grotesque mimicry of emotion.

Seryne inhaled deeply. She knew this fight would not be simple.

Then, all at once, chaos erupted.

Kiyoshi Takahara moved like the wind, his katana catching the distorted sky's light as he carved through the corrupted villagers. Each strike was precise, each attack carried no hesitation. The first foe was split in half with a single movement. The second lost its head in an instant.

But they did not die.

The yellow roots slithered back into place, rebuilding their bodies into something even more grotesque. Their mouths stretched into impossible grins, their empty eyes glowing with an unseen presence.

Kiyoshi did not waver. He adjusted his stance. If they could learn, he simply needed to be faster.

Zeta 4 stood at the center of a whirlwind of violence. His processor calculated every enemy's trajectory in real-time, his sensors sweeping across every movement, adjusting his combat algorithms with ruthless efficiency.

A burst of energy vaporized the upper half of an approaching foe. Two more lunged from the sides—he activated his repulsion field, sending them tumbling backward.

But the roots… they did not follow logic.

One moved at an impossible angle, twisting through the air and striking Zeta 4's shoulder with enough force to crack his plating. Warning alarms blared in his systems.

The enemy was not just a mass of puppets. The very environment was against him.

The android recalibrated, redirected fire, but the creatures kept adapting. Every mistake they made was corrected in mere seconds. They were evolving.

Kaerith was trapped.

Time around her twisted. The corrupted villagers extended their warped hands, manipulating the very flow of time around her. She tried to move, but the world felt sluggish, as if she were caught in amber.

She could not move.

Then, three of them attacked.

Claws aimed for her throat, her abdomen, her heart.

And then—something inside her awakened.

A violet substance oozed from within her exoskeleton—something primal, something ravenous.

The first strike never landed. The living ooze surged up like a barrier, absorbing the impact. The second was repelled entirely. The third… never happened.

The liquid extended into sharp blades and pierced through the enemies, slicing them apart.

The five remaining creatures pushed harder, attempting to freeze her in time once more.

But it was too late.

The violet tendrils shot forward, burrowing into the corrupted bodies, ripping out the yellow roots from within them.

Time flowed again.

Korrak roared. His voice rolled like distant thunder, shaking the battlefield. His monstrous body, covered in scars and thick muscle, moved like a force of nature—unstoppable, unforgiving. The air trembled with his raw might.

Perhaps because of his sheer size, or perhaps out of suicidal instinct, ten of the corrupted creatures rushed him.

The first one did not last a second. Korrak grabbed it by the skull and crushed its head like glass. The second attempted an attack from behind, but a single elbow strike sent it flying into a stone wall—which promptly collapsed from the impact.

The third and fourth came together—but Korrak twisted into a spinning blow, ripping them apart like dry leaves in the wind.

But then—something changed.

His movements slowed—not from exhaustion, but from something deeper.

The flow of time around him was being twisted.

Seven of them had stopped attacking, standing still, their hands raised, their pulsing roots weaving something unseen.

The remaining three struck.

Their corrupted forms lashed forward in perfect sync.

Three angles. Unavoidable.

Korrak smiled.

He was not mindless. He was not just muscle and fury.

And above all—he was not prey.

With a single roar, he shattered their control over him.

He moved.

The first attacker ceased to exist before it even realized what happened.

The second had its chest imploded, its body launched like a projectile.

The third never saw the claws closing around its throat before it was torn in two.

The seven time manipulators faltered.

Korrak did not hesitate.

He pretended to be trapped. Let them believe they had control.

Now, they were defenseless.

He charged.

The ground cracked beneath him. He became a storm.

The first was crushed instantly.

The second was split in half.

The third and fourth tried to flee—but Korrak caught them mid-air, smashing them into the others.

The final one tried to bend time again.

But it would take far more than seven to stop Korrak.

With a final, devastating blow, he ended the last one.

Blood, black resin, and shattered roots covered him. But he was still standing.

Then, the Sorcerer laughed.

The corrupted surged toward him, yellow roots writhing.

And he laughed.

His laughter broke something in reality.

The roots hesitated. The creatures wavered.

The very structure of the village trembled.

— "Marvelous!" — the Sorcerer shouted, eyes gleaming with manic delight. "I could fight like this forever!"

The creatures shrank away from him.

The roots hesitated to touch him.

Whatever Magnalith had done to control them—it was not enough to bind a man who obeyed no laws.

Then, the ground split apart.

A sound echoed from the depths below.

A presence rose.

Seryne felt it first.

She turned, eyes wide.

— "Regroup."

The ruins shook.

The roots coiled together, forming something colossal.

And then, the scream came.

Not a sound.

A thought. Forced into their minds.

The world shuddered.

The ruins collapsed.

The roots twisted, merging, becoming a shape.

And then—

Magnalith awakened.