the chain bound sentinel

The Chainbound Sentinel

The armored giant moved like a falling star—silent, swift, and unstoppable. The moment its blade cleaved through the air, Tae Hyun barely had time to roll aside. The force of the swing split the marble beneath his feet, fissures cracking like lightning.

"Spread out!" Jinhwan shouted, drawing his glaive.

Yul vanished in a blur, leaping off a broken pillar and launching a flurry of needles aimed at the knight's joints. They clinked harmlessly against the armor—deflected as though the air itself refused to harm the sentinel.

The knight pivoted smoothly. Not once did it stumble or hesitate. It moved with the calm inevitability of a tide—methodical and relentless. Each swing of its greatsword carved through the air, forcing them to keep moving or die.

Jinhwan dashed in, glaive spinning. He aimed for the knee, testing its balance. Sparks flew as his blade struck true—metal grinding against bone, but no damage.

The knight responded instantly.

Chains erupted from its back like coiled serpents. One wrapped around Jinhwan's ankle mid-movement, yanking him off his feet and slamming him into the wall with a sickening crack. Dust billowed.

Tae Hyun rushed in to intercept. His daggers flared with violet qi as he slashed at the chain.

Shadowflame hissed.

The chain shrieked as the qi licked at its surface—finally, a reaction. The knight staggered a step back, its helm tilting toward Tae Hyun.

Another chain shot out.

Tae Hyun ducked and twisted, letting it pass, then countered with a palm strike wreathed in coiling shadow. It struck the knight's chest plate with a resounding thud.

No dent.

But the knight froze—for a second. Long enough for Yul to reappear behind it, her fingers glowing with icy blue light. She jabbed them into a seam beneath the arm.

The knight flinched.

It retaliated, spinning with a wide sweep of its sword. Yul leapt back, but her side was clipped. She grunted, landing hard.

Tae Hyun dragged Jinhwan back as the knight advanced.

"This isn't working," Jinhwan growled, coughing blood. "Its defense is too high."

"It faltered when hit with both flame and cold," Yul muttered, clutching her ribs. "We combine our attacks. Overwhelm it."

"Attrition, then," Tae Hyun said, eyes narrowing. "Burn it down, piece by piece."

They surged again, this time in coordination.

Jinhwan distracted—his movements reckless, loud, aggressive. His glaive spun, struck, pulled, never letting the knight focus on anyone else. For each blow he parried, two more followed—less to damage, more to disrupt.

Tae Hyun stayed close to the ground, darting like a shadow beneath and around the knight's swings. Every time the greatsword lifted, Tae Hyun's daggers bit at the chain armor or struck joints, pouring in that flickering violet fire. The longer he fought, the more his qi adapted—his Shadowflame more precise, more potent.

Yul was the specter. Appearing in bursts, her strikes were needle-precise, aimed at pressure points and seams. Frost bloomed where her palms struck. With every coordinated hit—flame, ice, steel—the knight's armor began to hiss, smoke rising from the joints.

Still, it did not slow.

Chains whipped out again—four at once this time. One caught Tae Hyun by the wrist and lifted him off the ground, tightening like a vice. He snarled and pushed qi through his body—shadow spiraling down his arm and into the chain.

It hissed—and loosened.

Yul leapt in, cutting it with a frost-laced blade. Tae Hyun dropped, rolled, and exhaled hard. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet."

The knight's sword slammed into the floor where Jinhwan had stood a heartbeat ago. The glaive user now moved with a limp, his left leg dragging slightly. Blood streaked his temple.

They were getting slower.

The guardian wasn't.

Its armor steamed. Cracks formed at the joints. But its movements didn't dull. If anything, the more damaged it became, the faster it responded. As if pain fueled it.

Tae Hyun's lungs burned.

He dropped low and pressed both palms to the floor.

Shadow surged outward.

Not an attack, but a field—a ring of deep violet that engulfed the knight's feet. It slowed, just slightly. But it was enough. Jinhwan rammed his glaive into the gap between helmet and chest. The weapon snapped, but the force sent the knight stumbling.

Yul drove a frost-covered dagger into the exposed shoulder.

The knight bellowed—its first sound.

Chains exploded outward in a sphere. The trio scattered, Tae Hyun barely escaping with a gash across his side.

The knight rose, armor now riddled with spiderweb cracks, smoke trailing from its limbs. One arm hung limp. But it still moved.

It couldn't be reasoned with.

It didn't know pain.

But it could be broken.

Tae Hyun's qi churned. He took in his allies—Jinhwan's battered stance, Yul's labored breath—and realized it had to end now.

He raised his hand.

Shadow and flame twisted together, forming a spear-like spiral. His veins lit with violet fire. It hurt. Gods, it hurt. But it was right.

"Now!" he roared.

Jinhwan tackled the knight's legs. Yul slammed her palm into its side, freezing it solid.

Tae Hyun hurled the spear.

It struck the knight's chest—and detonated.

The explosion was silent.

No sound, only light and shadow—coiling, twisting, devouring.

When it cleared, the knight lay motionless. Its armor cracked open, and the spiral sigil faded to black.

Then… stillness.

Tae Hyun dropped to his knees.

"...Is it over?" Jinhwan wheezed.

Yul said nothing. She stared at the broken form of the guardian, eyes distant.

Tae Hyun looked ahead—beyond the fallen knight, a sealed door now glowed softly.

"It's just the beginning," he said.

—