The Reaper emerged from the mist like a shadow given shape, tall and terrible, with the Scythe hissing against the stone and the air growing colder with each step.
Then, there was a flurry of footsteps behind them, not one, not two, but five. The other Firstborn stumbled through the alleyway, bloody and limping, their cloaks torn, their armour cracked, and they appeared as though a god had reached down and decided to punish them.
One of them fell to his knees, while another held his side, blood seeping through his fingers, and one of them had lost a mask, leaving only eyes.
The Veiled turned, saw them, and their eyes narrowed behind the mask, not in fear but in relief.
The Reaper remained still. He tilted his head slowly. His damaged mask's red line pulsed once.
From the periphery of the chaos, Riven observed. And he got it. The time had come. Either now or never. He took off running. didn't hold off. didn't turn around. What occurred next didn't matter to him. The firstborn. The Veiled. The Reaper. They all didn't matter. Not then. Stone clattered beneath his feet.
He hid beneath a broken arch. slipped by a statue that was falling apart. Like fingers, the mist coiled about him, attempting to draw him back. He ran harder, though.
His throat ached from breathing.
Every step made his legs scream, He continued,Because he would die if he stay. behind him. The others had no chance.
The Veiled were just a few meters from the Reaper.
Between them stood the shattered Firstborn.
In a corner, Weary, One of them. tall. Slender. Eyes bright despite the bruising. moved forward.
"Captain. Let us fight with you. You can't battle that monstrosity alone."
The Veiled didn't answer at first. simply looked straight ahead. Mask silver. Unreadable expression. The wind caused the cloak to move. The margins were torn.
The words "this is my fight" were spoken.
Speak in a flat voice. chilly.
"I was the one who fell for it. Therefore, I'm just paying for my ignorance in failing to recognise that he was buying time."
They gave the five a quick look. In addition to that.
" You all appear to be inept. You couldn't possibly compete with me."
The tall Firstborn,paused.But Captain...
"Stay out of this" the Veiled said. Back turned. Voice like frost. "It's an order." They stepped forward. Closer to the Reaper. The creature didn't move. Didn't raise the Scythe. It only watched. The mist coiled tighter. Like it was holding its breath. The Veiled stopped a few feet away. Raised hair twin blades. And said
"Come at me. You bastard!!!."
In the garden stood the Veiled.
Her legs were encircled by mist.
Above, the moon hovered like a pale eye. Her dual swords were held low. Quiet. Still. Something moved somewhere in the fog. A murmur behind her. She pivoted. It's too late. Screaming, the Scythe arrived. steel that is black. ran. heavy. Just in time, she lifted her blades. Steel struck steel. Sparks exploded through the fog. She stumbled back. Stones scraped by boots. He was erect in front of her. Robes were smoke-like. The middle of the mask cracked. Beside him, the Scythe dragged. creating a wound-like track in the stone. He seemed incapable of walking. As if he were flowing. He moved with the mist.
She made a lunge. The twin blades cut. One high, one down. He moved. The upper blade fell short. The bottom cloth was nicked. No blood. Only a shadow. Her ribs were injured by his elbow. She didn't even make a sound. Sharp pain bloomed. She continued to move. She hit once more. His shoulder was sliced by a single blade. The robe ripped. It is empty inside. He brought the Scythe up. She slipped beneath. She aimed her blade at his chest. The fog burst. He disappeared. Everything was engulfed by the fog. Then she sensed it. Behind her, icy breath. She whirled— Her back was struck by the haft of the Scythe. She took to the skies. went through a dead tree. Like snow, ashblossoms rained down. He returned. This time there is no mist. Only the sluggish pull of the Scythe and the throbbing light in the mask
She stood. Shaky. Bleeding. Blades still in hand.
Then there was a brief period of stillness. Once more, they clashed. Steel's voice echoed. She moved with rapid speed. Like fate itself, the reaper moved. His side was scratched by one blade. The other one didn't make it. He swung his scythe— She ducked. rolled. Cut off— He disappeared once more. emerged from the fog. She almost lost her head to his Scythe.
She tightened her jaw. remained upright. Once more, he lifted the Scythe. Slow. final. Her blades were crossed. held them in high regard. The Scythe descended. Stone broke. The garden trembled. Then there was silence again. Who remained was only visible to the moon.
Riven only saw this burst of chaos before he left, the only aspect of the conflict that he saw. He saw the combat raging in the distance after he left the garden, but it no longer concerned him. His eye was already weary of the death and devastation in his presence. Now, he just wanted to get out of this city's terrible hold. It had been impossible to return where he had come from as the ruins were a labyrinth of death. There had been some creatures along the way, their twisted bodies remaining in the shadows, waiting for any hint of vulnerability.
With his head wandering and each step a scorching reminder of his mounting fatigue, Riven continued moving. Despite the mask having given him a boost to his strength and a strange sense of peace, it could not dispel the weariness that was holding fast to his bones. There was no time here; the desolation of the city became one unending expanse of ash and destruction. He didn't even worry about the pain of the world anymore. Now it was all about leaving. Getting out.
In the distance, the cathedral, an ancient building shrouded in mystery, loomed. Once reaching as high as heaven, its spires were now deformed, broken, and jagged. Some force had ripped the roof of the cathedral out of the earth, tearing them out. Riven had no idea if it was from a giant beast or a fierce storm, but it did not matter. It was just another ruin in this deserted city, another indication of how things are coming apart slowly in the world.
He moved toward the shattered doors, his frame shaking with the flight. A faintest flicker of hope flared within him—perhaps here was sanctuary, a brief peace before he had to go on. Inside was an enormous, cavernous space with a shattered, rubble-strewn stone floor. Dust was suspended in the air, and a dank cold seeped into the former holy place. With caution, Riven crossed the threshold, his footsteps ringing in the silence. This was too silent. Although the cathedral seemed empty, he couldn't help but feel that he wasn't alone. He pushed the thought aside. It didn't matter. It mattered because, for the first time in what felt like an eternity,. All that concerned him was that for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he wasn't being pursued. At least, not yet.
He pushed on deeper into the cathedral, looking into the dark spaces around him. He battled with his own weariness step for step, but he went on to stay in motion trying to find some protection this location could provide. Relief and fear mingled in his mind. All the cathedral ever symbolized was mocked by its broken beauty. It had previously been a haven, a place of wonder and tranquility, but now it was just another broken monument to a lost city. Riven did not concern himself with its past any longer. He only hoped that he would be able to find some peace in this falling building before the relentless march of death caught up with him again.
The cathedral interior was somber, moonlight and from the sky that had broken through the gaps in the decaying walls reaching far, deformed shadows across the floor. Wooden pews filled the area, their solid frames now breaking down to rot and decay. Mildew and age clung to the air. Riven's gaze swept the room with hardly any care, too exhausted to actually notice anything in front of him. His eyes finally focused on a chair that, unbelievably, had been less ravaged by the rot. It wasn't great, but it would have to do.
He staggered to it, his muscles grumbling at each step, and dropped into the chair with a heartfelt sigh. His body was crying out for sleep, and his eyelids grew heavier by the second. The pain in his bones, the pounding in his head, and the weariness of all the running forced him to sleep. The stillness of the cathedral seemed to virtually invite him to do so. Here, at least, it was safe—at least, safer than the city outside.
Riven settled back, his eyes closed, exhaling slowly. The burden on his chest, the incessant pressure of survival, relaxed just a bit in the quiet.
'At least I'm kinda safe,' he thought, the words barely leaving his lips in a whisper. A fleeting moment of peace, fleeting enough that he almost believed it. For a moment, he let himself believe that he had found sanctuary. But deep down, a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach told him otherwise. The shadows were never truly empty, and in a city like this, safety was nothing more than an illusion.
Before he could settle further, a shiver ran up his spine, and he stiffened. The merest glint of metal came into the corner of his eye, inches from his neck. He went rigid instinctively, the edge of the knife nuzzling his skin sending a cold shiver along his spine. The metal flavor of blood was in the air. His heart pounded harder, and a delicate trickle of blood began to ooze from his neck, each bead a testament to how near death had lain.
The voice behind him was low and even, its tone flavored with a sort of coldness that made his blood run colder than the knife pressed against his neck.
"No, you ain't, buddy," the voice spat, each sentence dripping with scorn. "You are a Firstborn and have been causing us so much problem."
Riven's muscles locked. He ached to turn, to see who it was that had found him, but something stayed him. Perhaps it was the fear eating at the nape of his brain, the dreading that if he so much as moved an inch, his head would come loose. His breath was caught in his throat, and for an instant he could do nothing more than feel the hard edge of the blade against his skin.
"Who are you?" Riven could manage, his voice harsh, strained. His eyes snapped open, staring straight in front of him, not even daring to glance over their shoulder. The knife didn't waver, the pressure constant.
A dry, humorless laugh came from behind him, echoing through the air between them.
"Me? I'm a Veiled," the voice replied, its tone laced with something that sounded like amusement. "Sent to capture a Hollowborn, and it seems you're more trouble than you look, kid. You've given my partner a lot of work to do."
The words echoed in his mind, every one a bitter reminder of how low down in this hell he was. He didn't know how much longer he could keep running. He didn't know how much longer he could stay ahead of people like them, people who could so easily kill him.