An inhuman howl shattered the stone silence of the old castle. From the shadows, a towering Vorm burst forward with savage fury. In a matter of seconds, three soldiers were torn apart, their cries dying in gurgles as their blood sprayed across the decaying walls.
"By all the hells… they're faster!" shouted Korven, a battle-hardened veteran with a bald head and a missing eye. "Watch out for their tentacles! They're poisonous! One touch and you're done for!"
Panic swept through the ranks. The younger soldiers backed away in terror, stumbling over the corpses of their fallen comrades. The air was thick with the stench of fear and death. The enemy was no longer just a beast—it had become death incarnate.
Just as everything seemed on the verge of collapse, a figure broke through the chaos. Declan dashed forward, moving with terrifying precision. With a single leap, he reached the monstrous creature and, in a flash of steel, sliced off five of its tentacles in one deadly strike. The Vorm screeched, writhing violently as violet liquid sprayed from its severed limbs.
Korven raised his fist, voice booming like a war drum. "You see that? That's what a brother-in-arms looks like! Follow him! Hold the damn line!"
That single shout reignited the courage buried deep within the hearts of the survivors. They stood taller, eyes sharper, the fear in their bones burning into rage.
Kael rushed forward, his lance gripped tightly in both hands. He jumped on a crawling Vorm, stabbing straight into its neck, then spun and cleanly severed the head of another. His breathing was ragged, his pulse thundered in his ears—but he didn't hesitate. Not now.
Back-to-back, the twin sisters Nyra and Syla Thorne moved like two parts of the same weapon, their bladed fans slicing through the enemy in a deadly whirlwind. One struck, the other parried, switching roles seamlessly. Two minds. One rhythm. One purpose.
On a broken ledge above, Serial, a dark-skinned sharpshooter with hawk-like eyes, dropped to one knee. She aimed. Fired. Three Vorms fell with bullets between their eyes. Her face didn't move. Her expression was made of stone. She was made for this.
Yet even with all their efforts, the toll was brutal. Fifty-three soldiers were torn apart. All that remained were fifteen exhausted, blood-soaked survivors.
The castle, once a makeshift refuge, was now a butchered tomb. The ground was carpeted with gore, the walls painted in flesh. Human remains hung from balconies like grim trophies. The stench of rot, blood, and despair clung to everything.
Naelys, her armor drenched in blood, stepped forward. She raised her hand and spoke firmly, though her voice trembled beneath the weight of grief.
"This place is cursed," she declared. "We can't stay. If we want to survive, we need to get back to the transport vehicle… and send out a signal."
Selia, still catching her breath, looked around desperately. "But how? We've got no transmitters, no working coms…"
Naelys nodded. "Exactly. Someone has to reach the vehicle. It's our only chance."
A heavy silence followed. No one spoke. Naelys scanned each face, waiting.
Kael stepped forward. "I'll go. I know the way."
Declan moved beside him. "And I'll go with him."
Hope sparked in the eyes of the others.
Lyo, the youngest of the group, hesitated only a second before raising his hand. "I'm coming. I'm fast. I can dodge whatever's out there."
Selia clenched her fists. "You'll need me too. I'm the only one who knows how to operate the beacon system."
Then, silently, Eron—a towering man with a square jaw and steel eyes—stepped forward. He didn't say a word, just nodded.
"That's five," said Naelys. "We need a sixth."
Korven let out a long breath. "I'll go. I've survived two Vorm sieges. I'm not dying in a damn castle."
Naelys turned to face the six volunteers. "Listen closely. While you head for the transport, the rest of us will act as bait. We'll lure the Vorms away, keep them distracted."
She drew a small blade and held it to her palm. "I'll use my own blood to draw them. But don't think we're sacrificing ourselves. We're going to fight with everything we've got."
She looked Kael in the eyes. "If you fail… we all die."
Kael nodded, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We won't fail."
Naelys turned to the others. "Get ready. The blood we've lost won't be in vain. This mission is our only hope. Either we make it out… or we vanish in the dark."
In the rotten silence of the cursed castle, fifteen souls made a choice.
Fate had drawn its blade—and only their will could decide which side would bleed.