Hope's legs felt like lead, and each breath came with a stab of pain beneath his ribs. But something stirred inside him—not power, not yet, but something deeper. Survival. Grit. That stubborn instinct that refused to let him die here, surrounded by red-eyed statues and a cursed voice mocking their efforts.
The statues didn't wait. They charged as one.
Three titanic constructs of ancient stone and corrupted energy—taller than a grown man by several feet—barreling forward with inhuman force. Their glowing red eyes locked on their targets, movements thunderous, shaking the ground beneath them. One wielded a flanged mace the size of Hope's torso, another a jagged halberd, and the last held a massive hammer, already humming with Veil-tainted energy.
Too big. Too fast. Too strong.
Hope ran to meet them.
Not because he was stronger.
But because he had to be faster.
The first statue brought its mace down in a sweeping arc. Hope dove into a slide, tucking his shoulders and letting the wind scream past his ears as the weapon tore through the air above him. Sparks erupted from the stone where the mace struck. Hope rolled out of the slide mid-momentum, came up on one knee, and thrust his cracked sword deep into the back of the statue's knee joint.
Crk!
The sword embedded. Not deep enough.
Hope twisted.
SNAP!
The blade snapped in half.
"Dammit!" he hissed.
The statue let out a mechanical screech and staggered—its knee joint flickering with molten veins. Hope yanked the broken hilt back, only to see the jagged blade remain stuck inside. But he didn't need it.
He grabbed a chunk of sharp rubble off the ground, spun it in his hand like a dagger, and leapt back as the mace came crashing down again, just grazing the edge of his tattered cloak.
Massa took her opening. She flung a kinetic blast that cracked into the side of the limping statue's torso. The force shifted its balance—and Hope, sprinting like hell, launched himself off a fallen slab of stone.
He climbed the monster's body mid-motion.
Fingers dug into cracked armor, boots scraping along its thigh for grip. The statue raised its hand to swat him like a fly—but too late. Hope reached its shoulder and, using the broken sword's jagged shard, rammed it through the glowing eye socket.
POP—
A spray of molten sparks burst from the cavity, sizzling against Hope's arm. The construct let out a shuddering screech and fell to its knees before crashing forward in a lifeless heap of rubble and dust.
The second statue was already there.
It tried to bisect him with a horizontal halberd swing. Hope ducked, barely, the tip grazing the top of his scalp, slicing a thin line of blood. He fell into a crouch, panting, sweat mingling with grime and ash.
Nefer's voice rang out—sharp, calm.
"Your right!"
Hope turned, expecting the halberd to return—but instead, Nefer vaulted off his shoulder, using him as a launchpad.
She soared like a silver arc, her white sword flashing mid-air as she spun once—twice—then drove the blade downward into the halberd statue's neck.
She didn't pierce all the way, but it staggered. As it reeled, Hope darted forward and punched the embedded blade deeper with both hands, driving the weapon into the stone like a stake.
The second construct collapsed, gurgling static as it twitched in its death throes.
Two down.
One remained.
The largest of them. Hammer-wielding. Its eyes glowed brighter than the others, its movements slightly more fluid. It was smarter. Stronger.
It charged.
Hope barely stood. No blade. Just cracked knuckles and desperation.
"Nefer!" he shouted.
But she was still pulling her sword free from the second construct's collapsing form.
Massa cast—sigils flared, but the last statue slapped the spell aside like smoke. The energy fizzled.
"SHIT!"
Hope didn't move. He didn't run.
Instead, he dropped low.
As the hammer swung horizontally at full force, he dove under it, the wind from the swing nearly lifting him off his feet. He somersaulted past its ankles and kept running—then turned on a dime and leapt onto its back.
It roared, twisting violently.
But Hope clung on.
One hand gripped the chiseled stone at the back of its neck.
The other held his broken sword hilt—its jagged edge still capable of piercing, even if it couldn't slash.
He raised it—and stabbed it into the base of the construct's neck, just below the skull dome.
Again.
And again.
Again.
Sparks flew.
The statue thrashed, trying to shake him off. But Hope clenched his legs tighter, howling with every strike, driving the shard deeper until the light in the creature's eyes dimmed.
A final roar of broken gears and searing heat
Then silence.
The statue fell forward, Hope riding it all the way down before he collapsed beside it, gasping for air, bloodied and broken.
All five were down.
The hall was silent now—save for the three of them breathing hard. Sweat. Blood. Dust.
Then the voice boomed again.
"You've done what many could not. You fought. And you survived."
"You may rest now, warriors. But do not grow comfortable."
"For the path ahead is far crueler."
Hope didn't hear the rest.
He lay on the cold floor, staring at the cracked ceiling above, his eyes stinging.
What surprised him more was that the veil didn't announce he's kill and there was no increment to he's darkness fragments....
When he killed he's reflection he had even gain a memory...
Hope couldn't help but sigh the veil did it thing in an unfathomable way.
"Guess I am the spearhead," he muttered.
Nefer sat beside him, wiping her blade. "Reckless, but effective."
Massa flopped down, shaking her arms. "You're insane, Hopeless."
He smiled weakly. "Yeah… But I'm not dead."
The silence that followed wasn't peace. Just a brief pause between storms.
And somewhere deep in the building… new footsteps echoed.