Aesyle

Andravion ducked aside, the nymph's blade slicing the air where his head had been a heartbeat before.

"I take it this is how you repay those who help you, Miss Nymph?" he growled, eyes narrowing.

She tilted her head, grinning with a dark glint in her eye. "Not quite. But someone has to pay for the mess you dragged in—and since you're their leader, well... you make a perfect target."

She stepped closer, voice playful, almost musical. "And since you'll be cursing a name while you rot in the Forest of the Dead, I may as well give you one." A pause, her finger tapping her cheek like a child pondering candy. "Aesyle. And you?"

Andravion's smirk was slow, deliberate. "They call me Nowon."

Aesyle blinked. "Nowon?"

"What a curious name," she murmured, then shrugged. "But it won't matter. Come—taste despair, Nowon."

In a flash, she lunged, vines snapping from the earth like serpents, aiming to bind him in place for the killing blow.

"What're you idiots standing around for? Get in your formations and help the Captain!!" Kaden barked

Andravion staggered back from the vines, jaw clenched as he studied her movements—fluid, precise, and cruel. She was not simply defending herself; she was controlling the entire battlefield.

"She's not letting us leave unarmed," he growled, loud enough for every soldier to hear. "If we want to make it out alive, we have to kill her."

"We have no backup. No reinforcements. But we draw the line here—for the six hundred brothers still waiting on us. Waiting with empty hands and hungry eyes, hoping we'll return with food, with water… with a way home."

Andravion's voice rose, fierce and unyielding.

"So I ask you now—

SHOW ME HOW STRONG YOUR WILL TO SURVIVE IS!" He roared.

A chorus roared back at him:

"WE DO NOT FALLl! WE DO NOT BREAK! WeE FIGHT FOR HOME!"

Their voices shook the trees, a battle-cry born of hunger and hope.

He pointed to the water. "Watch her arms—they aren't her only weapons. That lake is hers. Every drop."

The nymph's eyes glowed, and the lake behind her shifted. Water peeled up like a serpent, slick and gleaming, then cracked through the air like a whip.

One soldier was struck—his body folded unnaturally and collapsed, unmoving.

"Blades ready! Archers, long-range formation!" Andravion commanded. "The rest—circle her, don't get close. When she strikes, it's from the vines or the water. She'll aim for those who linger too close."

Another strike came—not from the water this time, but from a sudden mist. It rolled out in a cool wave, blinding and thick.

"Hold your ground!" Andravion shouted. "She uses the fog to mask her direction. Listen for the water's shift! You'll hear the strike before it lands!"

But it was easier said than done and before they could quickly adapt they could hear the screams of two more men before they met their end.

One soldier—quick and clever—picked up stones and flung them into the mist in random directions, listening for splashes. Another mimicked the motion, spreading sound and confusion through the haze. They moved low, quietly, beneath the shroud.

The tactic worked. She struck at false targets.

Then came the retaliation. Swords cut through vines. Arrows finally were able to tear through her watery shield and her control began to slip.

But Aesyle wasn't done—not yet. She'd rather spend an eternity tortured by the eternal flames of Nekharisv than be defeated by theiving lower life forms.

With a guttural cry, she slammed her hands into the wet earth. The ground responded, convulsing beneath the soldiers' feet as roots tore upward, thrashing like beasts unchained. The vines, now barbed and coated with a sheen of poisonous dew, lashed at them with renewed ferocity.

"You will not leave here alive!" she screamed, the sing-song edge gone from her voice, replaced by fury and raw power. "You will not deny me my revenge!"

The lake boiled. Steam hissed from the surface, and the once-elegant arcs of water became savage lances. Two soldiers were struck down—one flung into a tree, the other dragged screaming beneath the surface.

Andravion pressed forward through the chaos, cutting vines with brutal efficiency, but she matched him at every step. Her magic was no longer precise— was wild, cracking, uncontrolled. The forest trembled as her desperation twisted the very air around them.

One vine coiled around his ankle. He slashed it. Another wrapped around his bow hand. Kaden appeared at his side, cutting him free with a grunt. "She's losing it," Kaden growled, "but that makes her twice as deadly."

Andravion nodded grimly. "Then we press forward. Force her to break, she's bound to slip up."

Even as she bled magic and her rhythm frayed, Aesyle summoned a final surge—one last attempt to drown them all. A tidal wave rose behind her, towering and wide, rimmed with glowing runes. The lake had become a weapon forged by will and wrath.

"Fall!" she shrieked.

But they didn't.

And it was then—only then—that her breath hitched and her stance faltered.

Wounded and tired, she staggered back toward the edge of her lake, bleeding magic into the soil. Her breath was ragged, her form losing it's sheen.

Andravion saw the opening—drew his bow—and let the arrow fly. It struck her square in the chest, just shy of her core.

She fell.

But not defeated.

She coughed, a bitter laugh slipping from bloodied lips. Her eyes—dimmed yet burning—still held their bite.

"You think you've won, haven't you?" she rasped, voice sharp with hate. "I told you to taste despair." Her gaze locked with Andravion's, venomous and sure.

"You're not leaving here without choking on it."

With trembling hands, she reached into the reeds and moss, drawing forth something buried beneath them: a slender artifact, not made by mortal hands. It pulsed with a faint glow—radiant, oppressive, and heavy with ancient power. The moment it touched her skin, the air changed. It grew thick. Sharp. Unforgiving.

Her eyes widened—no longer just a nymph, but something more.

The lake behind her twisted, growing darker, deeper, its waters swirling like a void given thought. And then it snapped.

A single streak of condensed magic—fast as light—ripped through the air toward Andravion.

He saw it too late.

But Haleel didn't.

The thud came before the scream. Andravion turned—his heart hollowing as he saw his best friend, Haleel, impaled clean through, knees buckling.

Haleel met his eyes—blood at his lips, a smile lingering.

And then—gone.

There wasn't even time to mourn.

"You've done enough," the nymph said, voice barely above a whisper. Yet her fury thundered louder than any storm. Her glare met Andravion's—seething, raw, absolute.

"You said you have six hundred brothers waiting?" she asked, her tone darkening with a bitter chuckle.

"Then let it be so. Six hundred lives I'll take."

The artifact pulsed—once… twice—and then the sanctuary screamed.

"Six hundred lives I'll break."

With each word, a burst of light flared—and a life was snuffed.

The lake surged—not water now, but a writhing mass of vengeance. Tendrils lashed outward, slick and bladed, moving with the speed of thought.

They struck.

"And when I've killed every last one of you…" Her voice cracked through the chaos. "My pain will finally be washed away."

One man's scream was cut short as a column of water punched through his chest, hollowing him from heart to spine. He dropped like a sack of bone, eyes still wide with disbelief.

Another tried to run. A tendril caught his leg, yanked him so hard his skull cracked on the stone. She didn't even look—just twisted her hand until his bones shattered. He vanished beneath the surface, never to rise.

"You cannot escape," she whispered. The air trembled.

Two soldiers raised their blades—only to be sliced in half by a crescent of water so thin it whistled as it passed. Limbs spun. Blood painted the mist.

One screamed for his mother.

Another begged to wake up.

Their bodies dissolved into the lake's embrace—churned into pulp and memory—until only red foam marked where they had stood.

Her eyes flared—burning with grief, hatred, and something close to divine wrath.

"Now…"

"Die."

Another wave.

"Die."

Screams echoed—desperate, raw, human.

"DIIIIEEEE!"

Andravion stood rooted, watching his world collapse. His men—his brothers—torn apart in seconds. There were barely bodies left to bury.

Only puddles of blood.