It tore through the heavens, a cruel and guttural cry that echoed off the cliffs and old stones. The wind changed, its direction shifting abruptly, as though recoiling from the sound's ferocity.
From the sky, a Hollow descended.
Its wings stretched wide, tattered like forgotten banners of war, flapping with a force that defied the laws of nature. The creature's face wore the bone-white mask common to its kind, smooth and featureless save for the jagged mouth that opened to scream again. Its talons glinted in the moonlight, long and curved like the blades of a reaper, and its skeletal form moved with an eerie, almost liquid grace, as though it were both solid and shadow.
And it wasn't alone.
Another soared in behind it, banking through the clouds like a ghost of war, its silhouette cutting a sharp line against the moon's pale glow. Then a third appeared, its cry blending with the others to create a terrible chorus that shattered the stillness of the night. The sound was not merely noise—it was a violation, a wound torn into the fabric of the world.
On the summit, a figure stood unmoved.
Raven adjusted the grip on his gauntlets, the dark steel glinting faintly as moonlight danced across its surface. Subtle enchantments woven into the metal shimmered briefly, their faint glow betraying the power within. Beneath his helmet, his breath remained calm, steady, unbroken. His heart did not race, though the air thrummed with menace. He was a sentinel, forged in battles long past, tempered by an oath that bound him to this place.
The Hollows came at once.
One broke ahead of the others, diving straight toward him, its talons stretched outward like an executioner's blade. Its screech was a jagged thing, meant to paralyze, to instill fear. Raven didn't move until the last possible second, his body still as the stone beneath his feet. Then, with a fluid motion, he turned and stepped inside the arc of its descent. His fist rose like a hammer of judgment, driven by a strength that was both human and something more.
A sickening crack split the night.
The Hollow was busy was knocked back, its ribs crushed beneath the force of the blow. It tried to screech, but no sound came out, its chest caved in by the impact. Raven's second punch drove into the creature's neck, folding it in on itself. The beast collapsed to the stone, writhing and gasping, before finally falling still, its broken form a testament to his unrelenting resolve.
Raven turned his head, his visor catching the moonlight. The other two Hollows had chosen to divide, each targeting one of the guards stationed near the summit's edge. The guards were capable, armed with halberds and shields forged of enchanted steel, but even they seemed momentarily shaken by the Hollows' speed and aggression. Their eyes flickered with uncertainty as the creatures' talons slashed through the air, faster than any mortal beast could move.
Raven didn't shout a command. He didn't need to. The guards had trained for this, their discipline forged in the crucible of countless drills. They fell into formation, stepping in rhythm with each other, their movements precise and synchronized. The clang of metal against claw echoed between the cliffs, a sharp counterpoint to the Hollows' attacks. The guards held their ground, their weapons striking with calculated precision, their shields absorbing blows that would have shattered ordinary men.
Still, Raven moved to assist.
He leapt forward, covering the distance to the second Hollow in a heartbeat. The creature noticed him too late, its head turning just as his gauntlet came crashing down onto its skull. The bone-white mask cracked, fragments flying like shards of glass. The Hollow screeched and reeled, its tattered wings thrashing violently in a desperate bid for escape.
Raven grabbed one wing by the joint and pulled hard. The bone snapped like dry kindling. He drove a knee into its chest, pinning it to the stone. The creature's talons scraped uselessly against his armor, the enchantments flaring briefly as they repelled the attack. With a final, devastating blow, he crushed its skull, silencing its cries forever.
The last Hollow flared its wings and tried to retreat, sensing it was outmatched. Its movements were frantic, its cries laced with fear. The guards kept it occupied, their halberds striking in tandem, forcing it to divide its attention. It was enough of an opening for Raven.
He intercepted the creature with terrifying speed, his blood-soaked gauntlets moving faster than thought. The Hollow shrieked and twisted, its talons slashing wildly, but Raven was relentless. His fists struck with the weight of his oath, each blow a promise that nothing would pass this summit. Not tonight. Not ever again.
The creature's mask shattered under the onslaught, its skeletal frame buckling. It crumpled to the ground, its wings twitching feebly before falling still. Raven stood over its broken form, his chest rising and falling with the exertion of battle. Blood dripped slowly from his gauntlets, each drop painting the stone red beneath his feet.
The wind quieted.
Silence reclaimed the summit.
Raven scanned the sky, his senses sharp, waiting for any sign of further threat. The distant horizon was empty, the clouds still and heavy once more. No more cries came. The night, though scarred, had been reclaimed.
The guards looked at him, their faces a mix of awe and quiet respect. One of them, a grizzled veteran named Torren, gave a curt nod. His shield bore fresh scratches, but he stood tall, unbroken. The other, younger, his eyes wide with the adrenaline of survival, mirrored the gesture. Raven did not respond. He turned, his heavy boots grinding against the stone, and walked slowly back toward the watchpoint.
He took his position once again, his silhouette stark against the moonlit sky. This was the fourth attempt by the Hollows in the last two weeks. They had grown bolder, perhaps driven by desperation or some darker purpose. It didn't matter. They would not breach the summit. Not while he stood guard.
Nothing had gotten past him.
Nothing ever would.
Beneath his helmet, his eyes narrowed as he watched the distant sky. His heart remained steady, his mind calm. He had fulfilled his duty once more, as he had countless times before.
Raven's gauntlets flexed, the dried blood cracking along the steel. He wondered what drove them, what force compelled these creatures to test the summit's defenses. The answers were beyond his reach, hidden in the shadows of the mountains. But answers were not his concern. His duty was to hold the line, to ensure that whatever lay beyond the peaks remained there.
The moon continued its lonely journey across the sky, its light a cold companion to the vigil below. Raven's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his senses attuned to the slightest disturbance. The night was long, but he was patient. The Hollows would come again—he was certain of it. And when they did, he would be ready.
The guards exchanged quiet words, their voices low to avoid breaking the silence. Torren spoke of the Hollows' masks, how their featureless faces seemed to mock the living. The younger guard, Kael, wondered aloud if they felt pain. Raven ignored their conversation, his focus unbroken. Their words were a distraction, and he had no use for distractions.
Hours passed, the night growing colder still. The wind stirred once more, carrying the faint scent of snow from the higher peaks. Raven's armor was heavy, but he bore its weight without complaint. It was a part of him, as much as the oath that bound him. The enchantments within the steel hummed faintly, a constant reminder of the power he wielded, and the responsibility it carried.
As dawn approached, the sky began to lighten, the moon fading into the pale gray of morning. The guards stood straighter, their fatigue hidden behind disciplined resolve. Raven remained still, his vigil unbroken. The Hollows rarely attacked in daylight, but he took no chances. The summit was his charge, and he would not falter.
The first rays of sunlight touched the peaks, casting golden light across the stone. The bloodstains at Raven's feet looked darker now, a stark reminder of the night's violence. He stepped away from the watchpoint, his movements slow and deliberate, and knelt beside the body of the first Hollow. Its shattered mask lay in pieces, its skeletal form crumpled like a broken toy. He studied it for a moment, searching for some clue to its purpose. There was none.
He rose, his gauntlets leaving faint smears of blood on the stone. The guards watched him in silence, waiting for a command that would not come. Raven was not their leader, not in the traditional sense. His authority was born of necessity, of a shared purpose that needed no words.
The summit was secure, for now. But the Hollows would return. They always did. And Raven would be waiting, his fists ready, his oath unbroken.
The fires of vigilance burned on.
And the night went on soundly.