Chapter 20: Flames at the Gate

The Iron Sanctuary had never fallen. Towering iron walls, pulse cannons, and elite Hunters made sure of it. But as Ethan stood atop the battlements with Kael and Zeila, watching the Rift in the distance writhe like a living wound in the sky, he couldn't help but feel like that was about to change.

"We have three hours," Commander Veyra said, voice sharp and steady. She was the silver-haired fortress leader, and every syllable she spoke was measured, like a ticking clock. "Scouts report that the Rift-born are converging. They move as one. That's new."

"They're being led," Ethan said, eyes fixed on the sky. "By something intelligent."

"By something that looks like you," Kael added under his breath.

Zeila clicked her tongue. "Doppelgänger with command over Rift creatures? That's next-level cursed."

Veyra turned to Ethan. "I don't pretend to understand what you are. But I know power when I see it. If you're the only one who can counter what's coming, then you're not just another Hunter. You're our last card."

Ethan hesitated. "I don't know how to control it yet. The mark—it's like… trying to hold fire in your hands. It burns through me when I push it."

"Then don't hold it," Veyra said. "Let it burn."

---

Preparations began immediately.

Walls were fortified, cannons loaded with silver rounds, and Hunters lined the parapets. Archers from the Talon Guild arrived by duskfall, led by a silent woman with a raven mask and eyes like frost. Mages from the Rune Collective carved glowing glyphs into the ground around the Sanctuary, their chants creating wards that shimmered in the air.

Ethan stood alone in the northern tower chamber, watching the Rift from afar. The mark on his chest still pulsed, reacting every time the Rift spat out another wave of beasts. His breath fogged the glass.

He remembered what the vision showed him: not just the destruction, but the choice. A forked path. In one, he lost everything. In the other… he became something not quite human.

The knock came soft. Kael entered.

"Zeila's sharpening every blade she owns," he said lightly. "You good?"

Ethan nodded slowly. "No. But that's never stopped me before."

Kael smirked. "That's the Ethan I know."

They shared a brief moment of quiet before Ethan said, "If I lose myself—if this power overtakes me…"

"I'll bring you back," Kael interrupted. "Or die trying."

---

The first wave hit just after midnight.

A massive horned beast led the charge, crashing against the front gates. Behind it, swarms of Rift-born poured forward—snarling, shifting horrors that clawed the ground and screamed at the stars. The Sanctuary's cannons roared to life, raining silver and flame. Arrows whistled. Spells cracked the sky.

Ethan stood on the edge of the highest wall, eyes glowing.

"I can feel them," he whispered. "Like they're calling to me."

"Then answer," Zeila shouted from behind him, "with pain!"

He jumped.

The wind howled as he plummeted, mark flaring like a miniature sun. At the last moment, black and blue energy spiraled around him, catching his fall. He slammed into the ground like a meteor, cracking the earth. Dozens of Rift-creatures turned toward him.

And charged.

Ethan raised his hand—and let the mark guide him.

A wave of raw force erupted outward, incinerating the front line. He ducked under one claw, spun, and his sword—now enveloped in glowing energy—sliced through a beast like paper. For every creature he felled, two more took its place.

But something was changing.

With each strike, each kill, the mark responded faster. His movements sharpened, and strange glyphs flickered across his arms. His senses expanded. He could feel where the Rift's energy was densest—where its leader waited.

Then he saw him.

Hovering above the battlefield, black coat billowing in the wind, was the mirror-Ethan.

The original Beastmarked.

Their eyes met.

And he smiled.

Ethan roared. With a single burst of energy, he launched himself skyward, clashing mid-air with his counterpart. Their swords met in a burst of sparks and flame, the force of it shaking the sky.

"You're not ready," the mirror-Ethan said, voice echoing like thunder. "But you came anyway."

"I'm not you!" Ethan shouted.

"No," the Beastmarked replied. "You're still pretending you aren't."

He kicked Ethan back, sending him crashing through a watchtower. Debris flew. Kael shouted his name from the wall.

Ethan rose from the rubble, coughing blood.

But his eyes burned brighter than ever.

"I don't care what you are," he growled. "I'll protect my people. My world."

The mark flared.

Then his sword shifted—growing darker, sharper, as if feeding on his conviction.

And Ethan charged again.

This time, he struck first.