Chapter 8 – What Waits Below

From the Blackwood Testaments, Last Entry "A king once declared all beasts his to slaughter, and so the god answered. His court fell silent, his hunters vanished, and when winter came, no flesh could be found. The starving king fled into the woods, and the Hunt claimed him too."

The ruin had gone quiet again.

Not the kind of quiet that brought calm—this one watched. Thick with dust and weight, like the crumbled walls themselves were holding their breath.

Fey leaned against the cold stone, his burned hand wrapped in a strip of cloth torn from his coat. The sting had dulled, but not the tension. Every creak, every settling pebble pulled his nerves tighter.

They were still waiting.

Rhea perched on top of the broken structure, barely visible hidden in the shadows. Her thoughts laser-focused.

Nova stood by the doorway, silent and still. His weapon hung loose in one hand, his gaze fixed on the stairwell outside. Not blinking. Not moving.

Something was coming.

The air had turned slightly more heavy. Just enough to notice if you were paying attention. Less wind. More stillness.

Footsteps.

Not loud. Not rushed. Careful. Calculated.

Fey slowly lowered himself into a crouch, eyes flicking toward the stairwell through a crack in the wall. Shadows moved—long and lean. A flicker of cloth. A glimpse of boots stepping into the light.

Three more.

One of them knelt right near the stairwells entrance where Nova killed the cultist. He ran two fingers through the blackened earth, then stood and looked around as if knowing what had happened.

Fey's breath caught.

They know we're here.

They know the others are dead.

They know why we're here.

Fey shifted ever so slightly, eyes narrowing as he tried to get a better view of the three figures. Just a better angle—just enough to—

Crunch.

A chunk of the collapsed wall beside him gave way, tumbling down in a cascade of grit and stone. The sound wasn't loud, but in the silence? It was a shout.

The lead cultist's head snapped toward the noise.

Fey froze.

A beat passed. Another.

The cultist took a slow step forward, motioning silently to the others. One fanned left. Another started toward the ruin's edge. The leader kept walking—straight toward Fey's position.

His heart pounded.

From above, Rhea moved. No sound. Just the subtlest shift of weight in the rafters. Fey didn't need to look to know she had a throwing knife ready.

Nova's shadow didn't stir.

The cultist moved closer, scanning the rubble, boots crunching over old bone and brittle ash. He paused right beside the broken wall, eyes drifting over the stone, then—

Click.

He stepped on something. A hollow sound beneath.

His weight shifted. He paused.

Fey's eyes widened. A forgotten subfloor? A gap? The ground caving in?

The cultist looked down, just as the ground gave way with a sudden CRACK—and he dropped straight through.

Dust exploded from the hole, swallowing the room in dry grit and coughing silence. For a moment, no one moved.

Then chaos.

The other two cultists shouted—no words, just raw noise—and bolted toward the breach. Rhea struck first. Her blade flashed through the air and bit into one of their necks with a wet snap, dropping him mid-sprint the sudden stop causing him to fly forward and tumble down the newly formed hole in the earth.

Fey lunged forward from his cover, tackling the last one before he could react. They hit the ground hard, the cultist's head smacking stone. Dazing him for a moment.

Fey didn't wait.

One arm around the man's throat, holding him in a head lock using all his strength until—SNAP! The cultis body twitched before going limp.

Panting, he pushed off body and stood up, his arms aching from snapping the neck of the man.

From the hole, a groan.

Fey peered over the edge. The cultist who'd fallen was alive—barely. Pinned beneath a collapsed beam. Limbs crushed and twisted bone exposed blood seeping out.

Nova appeared beside Fey, wordless, and dropped to one knee at the edge.

"What do we do with him?" Rhea asked from across the hole, wiping her blade on a patch of moss.

Fey's eyes stayed on the cultist, watching the desperation in his eyes fade into something else—calm acceptance.

"He's not going to talk," Fey said. "Not to us."

Nova nodded grimly. Using his meteor hammer, he swung it in a wide arc, the chain rattling through the air with a low hum. He built speed, his posture steady, eyes locked on the pinned cultist below.

With a swift motion, the hammer was released, its heavy weight slamming into the cultist's skull with a crunch. The man's body jerked once, then fell still, the faint sound of the chain's return echoing in the stillness of the ruins.

Fey stood over the body for a moment, his breath coming in short, controlled gasps. The air felt thick, heavy with what they'd done, what they were about to face. Rhea moved first, slipping through the shadows toward the stairwell, checking the way ahead with practiced ease.

"We need to move," she said, her voice low and taut.

Nova wiped the blood from his hammer, his face unreadable. "We've made enough noise. The others will know."

"Well then we have two options," Fey said, his voice low but steady. He glanced at the stairs, where the darkness seemed to thicken with each passing moment. "Head down and face them head-on, catching them by what little surprise we have left, or hide and continue picking them off."

Rhea's gaze flicked between Fey and Nova, weighing the risks. The silence in the room seemed to stretch, thick with the weight of their decision.

Nova took a deep breath, his jaw set, and nodded firmly. "Fey and I will head down and confront them. Rhea, you stay hidden, picking off the weaker ones from the shadows. With your ability to fly, they won't know where you are."

Fey looked at Nova, a silent understanding passing between them. Their bond had always been one of action, no time for hesitation. If there was one thing they knew, it was that the moment they hesitated, it was over.

Rhea looked up at them, her expression unreadable, before she nodded. "Understood. I'll take care of the rest."

With that, the trio prepared. Nova checked his weapons, tightening his grip on the meteor hammer, his eyes scanning the dark stairwell. Fey did the same, pulling the straps of his cloak tighter. His gaze lingered on the stairs, the heavy, pressing sense of danger hanging in the air.

"Ready?" Fey asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Nova gave a short nod. "As ready as we'll ever be."

Rhea slipped into the shadows without another word, disappearing from sight with the eerie fluidity of a ghost. Her wings beat silently as she hovered just out of sight, ready to strike when the moment came.

Fey and Nova moved toward the stairs, their footsteps deliberate but quiet. The darkness below seemed to pull at them, as though the ruin itself was trying to consume them. With each step, the air grew colder, the sense of something watching them—waiting—growing heavier.

Fey paused at the top of the stairs, glancing back at Nova. "Stay sharp."

Nova gave him a grim smile. "Always."

They descended.

The steps creaked beneath them, the ancient stone protesting every movement. The deeper they went, the more oppressive the air became. It felt like the weight of centuries was pressing down on them, a lingering presence in the dark that made Fey's skin crawl.

At the bottom of the stairs, they entered a vast, shadow-filled chamber. Old pillars lined the room, their surfaces cracked and worn, covered in faded runes. The faintest sound echoed in the distance—muffled voices, footsteps. The cultists were close.

"Stay close," Fey whispered, eyes scanning the room. The flickering light from distant torches barely illuminated the space, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch out of their control.

Nova nodded, stepping lightly beside him. His presence was calm, controlled. Fey felt a fleeting sense of reassurance from his steady pace. They had each other's backs.

Fey's gaze flicked toward the far corner, where shadows moved. "There," he said, his voice barely audible.

As if on cue, a cultist stepped into the room. Tall, draped in dark robes, his face hidden beneath a hood. He was alone for the moment.

Fey's heart beat faster. Now was the moment.

He gestured to Nova. No words needed. The plan was simple.

Nova moved first, silent and swift. The cultist didn't even notice him until it was too late. The chain of his meteor hammer whipped through the air with a snap, catching the cultist across the back and slamming him to the ground with a sickening thud.

Fey didn't hesitate. He was already moving, his blade drawn in a flash. With one quick, precise strike, the cultist's life was extinguished.

"Clear," Fey muttered, wiping the blood from his blade. He glanced at Nova, whose expression was unreadable as he wiped the blood off his own hammer.

They moved deeper into the chamber, the sound of distant footsteps growing louder. But they were not alone. Fey's instincts screamed that something was wrong—there was a larger presence, hidden, waiting.

Suddenly, a voice rang out in the darkness. "The prey have come willingly."

Fey's blood ran cold. The tone was calm—too calm—and it echoed throughout the chamber like a death knell.

Before he could react, something shifted in the shadows, a figure stepping into the dim light. It was a man, tall and imposing, wearing a cloak of stitched-together shadows.

The leader.

Fey gripped his blade tighter, his mind already racing. He had known this moment was coming.

The figure spoke again, his voice like a whisper through the stone, "You've made a grave mistake thinking we'd let you hunt us."

Fey didn't wait. He charged forward, his body moving on instinct.

But the leader was faster, stepping aside with inhuman grace, his eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

Nova followed close behind, ready for whatever was next.

The hunt had begun.

As Fey rushed forward, he thrust his sword upwards, aiming for the tall cultist's chest, but the figure moved with unnatural speed, deflecting the blow with a jagged, black weapon. The strike sent a jolt of resistance through Fey's arm, and before he could regain his balance, the tall figure slammed him backward.

Fey crashed to the stone floor, groaning from the impact, but he didn't have time to recover. Nova, seeing his opening, hurled his meteor hammer forward with a brutal twist of his wrist. The chain wrapped around the tall cultist's forearm, yanking the figure off balance, and Nova followed up with a swift strike, sending the figure reeling back.

The tall figure sneered, the dark hood barely shifting as his glowing eyes locked onto Nova. "Not bad" he laughed, raising his weapon in a menacing arc.

Meanwhile, smaller cultists emerged from the shadows, trying to swarm the pair. Fey quickly got to his feet, slashing at the nearest attacker. His blade met flesh with a sickening thud, and the cultist crumpled to the ground, blood pooling around him. But for every one he felled, two more took their place.

Rhea, silent as ever, darted through the shadows, her movements barely visible in the dim light. She appeared beside one of the smaller cultists, her knife flashing. The cultist didn't even have time to scream as the blade sank deep into his throat, dropping him like a ragdoll. With a flick of her wrist, she retracted her blade and was gone, moving to the next target before anyone noticed her.

Nova and Fey were still focusing on the tall cultist, working in tandem. Nova swung his meteor hammer, but the tall figure parried with an ease that was unsettling. Fey seized the moment to press forward, his sword flashing in the dim light, trying to find an opening in the cultist's defense.

The tall figure grinned, twisting his body in a fluid motion, his jagged blade cutting through the air. But Fey was faster, deflecting the strike and forcing the cultist back. He couldn't afford to give the figure any space. "Keep him distracted!" Fey shouted to Nova as he darted forward again.

Nova's chain lashed out, wrapping around the tall cultist's arm, pulling him closer. The cultist hissed, trying to break free, but Nova swung his knee at the figure's exposed side. The blow landed, but the figure's laughter filled the room as he deflected it with a powerful kick of his own that sent Nova stumbling back.

"I'm just getting started," the imposing cultist sneered, his voice deep and bone chilling.

The smaller cultists continued to swarm, but Rhea was a ghost, cutting them down one by one from the shadows. Her knives were deadly precise, and each cultist that came too close was met with a silent, swift death. Their bodies fell, one after another, yet more continued to emerge, as if the shadows themselves were spitting them out.

Fey saw an opening and lunged. His sword sliced through the air, cutting across the tall cultist's arm. The cultist staggered, momentarily off-balance. It was enough. Fey and Nova acted in perfect synchrony—Nova's hammer struck first, crashing into the cultist's ribs with a sickening thud, while Fey took advantage of the cultist's momentary weakness and thrust his blade deep into the figure's side.

The tall cultist howled in rage, his weapon swinging wildly in an attempt to dislodge Fey, but Nova was there, yanking his chain and pulling the cultist closer, not giving him any room to recover.

"Push!" Nova growled.

Fey twisted his sword, turning the blade inside the cultist's side, and with a final, brutal yank, the tall figure collapsed, his body hitting the ground with a dull thud.

But their victory was short-lived. As the leader fell, the remaining cultists seemed to rally, pushing harder against Fey and Nova. Rhea, still hidden in the shadows, had thinned their numbers significantly, but there were still too many.

"Rhea!" Fey shouted over the noise of the battle. "grab Nova and fly as high as you can."

Rhea emerged from the darkness with a fierce glint in her eyes. "On it" she muttered under her breath, then vanished again, appearing behind Nova and Lifting him to the air.

Nova wiped the sweat from his brow, breathing heavily. "Fey what's your plan here?!"

Fey smiled darkly "I'm gonna do something real stupid that's my plan."

With that he rushed forward thinking about his burned hand from the backflow of magic and breathed deep. Rushing into the group of cultists and circulating his pulse forcing a backflow on a larger scale this time.

Sword in hand, Fey stabbed a cultist through the gut—and then it hit.

His pulse twisted.

Hard.

A violent jolt ran up his arm, and suddenly his entire body convulsed. The magic surged backward like a dam breaking in reverse. The cultist on his blade didn't just collapse—he imploded, bones crunching inward with a sickening pop as blood sprayed in a wide arc.

Then the real burst came.

Fey's body erupted with a shockwave of raw, unstable Pulse. The ground cracked beneath him, stone shattering outward in jagged veins. A roar of pressure flattened the air, and dozens of nearby cultists were torn off their feet, limbs snapping as they slammed against walls like dolls made of meat.

His vision blurred. A ringing buzzed in his ears. Time stuttered.

Another cultist lunged at him—too slow. Fey's instincts moved on reflex. He twisted, his sword dragging fire through the air as it cleaved the attacker nearly in two.

But the backflow wasn't done.

Veins of blood lit under his skin like glowing thread—burning hot—and Fey dropped to one knee, gasping, his left eye bleeding from the sheer pressure of what he'd forced out.

Nova's voice cut through the haze, sharp and urgent. "Fey—on your feet!"

Fey rose, trembling but alive.

"Yeah," he rasped, eyes wild. "I'm good."

He charged back in. The remaining cultists now reduced to half of what they were.

Fey continued fighting recklessly until only a few cultists remained as Fey's body started to shut down.

"Alright you two… I could use a rest now," Fey stuttered, breath ragged, every inhale sharp like broken glass. He stumbled back, knees buckling slightly, sword dragging against the stone as he fell to one knee.

Blood smeared across his knuckles. His hand was shaking—not just from the pain, but from what he'd unleashed.

Before either of them could respond, movement flickered in the shadows.

Two cultists, desperate and snarling, lunged from opposite sides.

Rhea blurred through the air like a phantom—her wings beating once, sharp and fast, before she drove both daggers into the side of one's throat, twisted, and kicked the dying body back into the rubble.

The second cultist barely got two steps before Nova's chain snapped out like a whip, catching the man by the ankle. With a grunt, Nova yanked hard, pulling him off his feet and slamming him headfirst into the ruined stone wall.

The cultist didn't move again.

Breathing heavy, Rhea touched down beside Fey, brushing a smear of blood off her cheek. "That's the last of them."

Nova strode over, scanning the bodies to be sure. "They fought like they had nothing to lose," he muttered. "Fanatics."

Fey looked up at them both, sweat clinging to his brow. "They knew we were coming."

Rhea said flatly, flicking blood from her blade. "They were waiting for us to make the first move."

Fey slowly pushed himself upright, wincing but standing. He looked towards a hallway in the distance where they must have moved the Fairies too.

"No rest for the damned," Fey muttered.

Rhea smirked—just for a second—then her expression shifted. Walking behind him and smacking the back of his head, not hard, but enough to make a point.

"You ass," she snapped. "Don't do reckless things like that. Causing a backflow can kill you!"

Fey winced, more from her words than the hit. "It worked, didn't it?"

"That's not the point!" she shot back, eyes glinting with fury that only barely masked her fear.

Nova chuckled as he approached, but his gaze was sharp, locking with Fey's. "She's right. Don't be dumb. Killing yourself isn't going to save anyone."

Fey looked between them, his breath still uneven, the sting of the magic burn flaring in his hand. He wanted to argue—but he couldn't. Not this time. Instead, he nodded, quiet. "I know."

The wind shifted through the broken stone above them, carrying the stench of blood and dust. The ruins fell silent again, the aftermath of the fight settling like ash.

Rhea folded her arms. "Next time, let's try winning without nearly dying. Yeah?"

Fey gave a tired smile. "I'll put that on my to-do list."

Nova turned toward the stairwell, where the dark passage waited. "We've bought time. That's all. Let's catch our breath while we can."

As the three of them stepped away from the carnage, their footsteps echoing across the cracked stone, Fey looked back once, eyes narrowing at the trail of bodies left behind.