The bruised pre dawn sky hung low over the Plaza of Screams, a tapestry of infected purple and grey smeared with the bloody promise of a sun that offered no warmth. Ryota's boot, massive and deliberate, was the first to settle onto the black ice. It didn't crack; it groaned. A deep, subsonic vibration shuddered up through the soles of their boots, the frozen heart of the mountain protesting their intrusion into its sacred slaughterhouse. The plaza was a vast, circular void paved in obsidian ice, reflecting the sickly sky with warped, despairing clarity. Frostguard banners hung limp and heavy with rime from towering obsidian pylons, skeletal sentinels weeping ice. Every twenty paces, sentry braziers burned with unnatural pale blue flames that cast long, writhing shadows but radiated a chilling absence, leaching heat from the very air like spectral vampires.
At the dead centre, the Frostforged Skiff squatted, not a vessel, but a jagged altar sculpted from hatred and iron. Its runners, taller than a man, were crusted thick with layers of frozen gore, dark stains like old wounds marring its brutal flanks. It radiated an aura of violation, a monument to pain. Beyond it, dominating the far curve of the plaza, yawned the true maw: the Spire door. Seemingly carved from the same black ice, yet impossibly dense and ancient, its frame was lined with overlapping, jagged plates of dark iron teeth. From these teeth dripped thick, viscous globules of corrupted starlight, iridescent slime the colour of rotten amethysts. Each drop fell with agonizing slowness. Plink. Onto the ice. Hssssssss. The sound was the death rattle of a trapped sun. Crackle. As it hardened instantly into a fist sized lump of dark, malevolent crystal.
Haruto flowed onto the ice beside Ryota, silent as a shadow given lethal purpose. His obsidian eyes, chips of flint colder than the Razorwind Peaks, swept the killing floor. Left. Right. High. Low. They dissected vectors of death, angles of ambush, the lethal geometry of the Frostguard's frozen hell. He saw the subtle fractal patterns in the frost betraying pressure plates between Braziers Three and Seven. He noted the almost imperceptible tension in the deeper gloom beneath the Spire's shadowed arches, roof hawks, bone bows undoubtedly notched, patient as gargoyles. He smelled the greasy, wet fur and ozone stench of Void Hound musk carried on the knifing wind. Every detail was a variable in a terminal equation. His hand rested, light but ready, on the hilt of the scavenged Polaris dagger.
Shiro and Kuro stood poised at the precipice, where the rough, frost rimed stone of the tunnel mouth met the seamless, reflective void of the killing ice. Shiro's void leather braces bit deep into his forearms, the numbing cold a brutal trade for the grinding agony in his fused wrists. His Polaris scar pulsed in his palm, a trapped star raging against the dying violet pulse overhead and the consuming cold underfoot. Beside him, Kuro's corrupted arm pulsed visibly beneath layers of hide and fur, the grey translucence past his shoulder swirling like oil disturbed on ice. The cold fire within flickered, casting faint, horrifying shadows of the bones beneath his skin for fleeting moments. The void ice sphere secured at his hip emitted a low, subsonic growl that vibrated up through their boots, resonating unnervingly with the obscene plink hiss crackle of the Spire door. Their eyes met across the scant distance, a silent, savage pact forged in blood, void, and shared defiance. We fall, we drag them with us. No words needed. Only the resolve etched in pain and cold fire.
Juro spat onto the stone threshold. The spittle froze instantly mid air, shattering on impact with a tiny, crystalline tink. He hefted his hand axes, the blades already stained with the dark, freezing ichor of the Void Hound pack they'd shattered bursting from the conduit grate moments before. His flint chip eyes, hard and merciless as the mountain itself, raked the high galleries, the shadowed arches, hunting not shapes, but the absence of shadow, the subtle tension of a drawn bowstring, the faint gleam of bone arrowheads. "Look alive, maggots," he growled, the wind stealing some volume but none of the venom. "Flying fuckers love a slow moving target. Especially one stupid enough to walk onto Volrag's fancy fucking ice rink." A grim, anticipatory smile touched his chapped lips. Killing was coming. He could taste its metallic promise in the frozen air.
Mira stumbled onto the ice behind them, a wraith buffeted by the wind. She clutched Obsidian to her chest; the crow was a tense, shivering ball beneath its hood, utterly silent for once. Her visible eye, wide, bloodshot, and strained, wasn't fixed on the monstrous Skiff or the weeping Spire door. It was locked downward, tracing shimmering, heat haze lines only she could perceive, the cracks, the psychic fractures Haruto had warned were jaws lining their path. Her fractured lens pulsed erratically, casting jagged, prismatic shards of light that skittered across the black ice like panicked insects. Blood, fresh and startlingly red, welled from her nostrils, tracing frozen crimson paths down her chin onto her ragged scarf. "They're... inhaling..." she whispered, her voice thin, fraying like old rope about to snap. "The cold... it feeds them... the cracks breathe... deeper..." A violent shudder wracked her slight frame. Obsidian let out a muffled, distressed "krk" beneath the hood.
Ryota's voice cut through the wind's mournful keen and Mira's fractured warning, a low, resonant rumble like bedrock grinding. "First step." He didn't glance back. His Polaris eyes, burning furnaces reflecting the dying sky, scanned the killing floor, the Frostguard wedge solidifying near the Skiff, glaives like winter's teeth lowered; the deceptive calm over the pressure plate zones Mira's sight revealed; the high perches where patient death waited. "Control." He took another deliberate, measured step forward. The black ice groaned again beneath his immense weight, a deeper, subsonic hum vibrating up through their boots. It wasn't the sound of fracturing ice; it was the mountain's bones protesting their trespass into this consecrated space of slaughter. "Precision." He took a third step. The groaning deepened, resonating in their chests. The intricate frost patterns around his boots seemed to swirl infinitesimally faster. "No room for hesitation. No room for fucking error." His words weren't encouragement; they were the immutable, frozen law of this place.
Haruto moved with Ryota, a shadow perfectly attuned to the mountain's rhythm. His steps were precise, economical, each footfall placed with the meticulous care of a surgeon avoiding vital arteries. His obsidian gaze never ceased its relentless sweep: tracking the slow, deliberate rotation of the Frostguard cordon; noting the subtle tightening of shadows beneath the roof hawk perches; observing the almost imperceptible shimmer of disturbed air over the psychic pressure plates Mira identified. He saw the pattern, the rhythm of the killing floor. "West conduit path," he stated, his voice flat, devoid of inflection, colder than the void between stars. "Follow the silence. Deviate, and the frost claims your bones."
Shiro forced his braced legs to move. The first step onto the black ice sent a fresh jolt of grinding agony up his fused wrists, the void leather biting like frozen iron fangs. The ice felt alive beneath his boots, not merely cold, but hungry, leaching warmth with vampiric greed. He flexed his scarred hands, the Polaris scar flaring hotter in defiance. He met Kuro's storm grey eyes once more, saw the abyss and the contained cold fire. Kuro stepped onto the ice, his movements fluid despite the corrupted arm held slightly away from his body. The grey translucence pulsed, and the void sphere at his hip hummed louder, its deep thrum harmonizing unnervingly with the ice's groan beneath Ryota's feet. Static whispered around Kuro's limb.
Juro stomped onto the killing floor proper, his boots crunching the frost rime with deliberate, challenging force. "Hesitation's for corpses," he spat, hefting his axes. "Im not one yet." His grim smile widened. He scanned the high arches one last time. "Just point me at the first frostbitten bastard who twitches. I'll introduce them to my conversationalists." He jerked his chin towards the heavy blades.
Mira's fractured lens ERUPTED. A violent burst of kaleidoscopic light exploded from it, painting the black ice, the nearby obsidian pylon, and their tense faces in jagged, shifting colours for one blinding split second. "STEP!" she shrieked, the sound raw and tearing, her trembling finger stabbing towards a point just ahead and slightly left of Ryota's next intended stride. "The crack... it breathes! NOW! It HUNGERS!" Obsidian unleashed a piercing, terror stricken "KRAKK!" beneath its hood.
Ryota froze mid stride. His immense frame halted with impossible control, his boot hovering mere inches above the ice. The spot looked identical to the rest, obsidian black, perfectly smooth, reflecting the bruised sky. But within the fading afterimage of Mira's psychic flare, Shiro could see it, a faint, almost invisible shimmer, like heat haze over desert stone, swirling in a lazy, malevolent spiral directly where Ryota's heel would have landed.
Haruto's hand snapped up in a sharp, silencing gesture. His obsidian eyes locked onto the shimmering patch. "Pressure plate," he breathed, the words carrying the weight of a death sentence. "Psychic trigger. Mira's sight holds." No one moved. The wind howled. The Spire door dripped. Plink. Hssssss. The ward stone pulsed overhead. Thump... The Frostguard near the Skiff shifted. The shadows beneath the roof hawk arches seemed to lean forward.
The shimmer faded. The faint heat haze illusion vanished. The patch of ice looked utterly inert once more. Smooth. Black. Deadly. Patient.
With glacial slowness, Ryota lowered his hovering foot. Not onto the deadly patch, but half a pace to the left, onto ice Mira's fading vision confirmed was merely cold, not hungry. The black ice groaned again under his weight, but no telltale hiss followed. No geyser of freezing death erupted. He didn't look at Mira. His next step was already placed, following the path only Haruto's calculations and Mira's bleeding sight could perceive. The silent command hung in the frozen air, heavier than the mountain, colder than the void: Control. Precision. No error. The killing floor had issued its first, silent warning. Ninety seven.
The deep groan of the ice beneath Ryota's weight faded into the Plaza's oppressive silence, leaving only the knifing wind and the obscene plink hiss crackle of corrupted starlight dripping from the Spire door's iron teeth. The air was thick, not with fog, but with the weight of frost and decay, the scent of ancient blood frozen beneath the ice, of ozone from the dying star overhead, and the greasy, predatory musk of Void Hounds carried on the gale. The wind itself howled, a mournful counterpoint to a distant, rhythmic thump… thump… thump… that resonated through the soles of their boots, siege drums, the heartbeat of the Frostguard's anticipation.
Shadows deeper than night flickered within the high, shadowed arches of the Spire's flank. Roof hawks. Not visible, but felt. The subtle tension of drawn bone bows, arrows no doubt tipped with void ice or poison, aimed at the interlopers daring the killing floor. The pale, cold light from the sentry braziers cast their writhing silhouettes on the distant obsidian walls, predatory gargoyles waiting to strike.
Ryota led, a mountain of contained power moving with deliberate, glacial inevitability. His Polaris eyes, burning embers in the gloom, scanned the path ahead, radiating an immovable resolve that was the only anchor in this frozen hell. Haruto kept pace beside him, a shadow etched in lethal focus. His obsidian gaze darted ceaselessly, left, right, high, his mind a whirlwind of calculations, parsing the rhythm of patrols, the deceptive calm over pressure plates, the shifting menace in the high shadows. Every step was a potential death sentence.
Shiro and Kuro moved in tight tandem behind them, a dissonant harmony of power. Shiro's Polaris scar flared hot in his braced palm, a contained inferno raging against the biting cold and the grinding agony in his wrists. The void leather braces creaked with each step, biting deeper, the numbing cold a fragile dam against the pain. Beside him, Kuro's corrupted arm pulsed visibly beneath his layers. The grey translucence swirled like disturbed oil, and deep within, the cold fire flickered, casting fleeting, horrifying shadows of bone beneath his skin. The void sphere at his hip hummed, a low, subsonic thrum syncing with the pulse in his arm and the distant drums. Their power signatures resonated, heat and void chill, a tense counterpoint in the frigid air.
Juro followed, a step behind and slightly to the flank, his flint chip eyes locked not on the path, but on the high, flickering shadows. His hand axes gleamed dully in the pale, cold light, ichor from the conduit fight already frozen on the blades. Every muscle was coiled, ready to explode into violence at the first sign of movement from the roof hawk perches. His jaw was set, a grim line of anticipation. He scanned the arches, the parapets, hunting the unseen archers, his breath pluming in short, furious bursts that froze instantly.
Mira trailed behind, a fragile spectre buffeted by the wind. Her visible eye, wide and bloodshot, remained locked downward, tracing the shimmering, treacherous cracks only she could see snaking across the black ice. Her fractured lens pulsed erratically, casting frantic, jagged shards of prismatic light that danced like dying fireflies on the obsidian surface before her. Blood continued to well from her nostrils, freezing into intricate, crimson crystals on her upper lip and chin. Obsidian remained a shivering lump beneath her hood, utterly silent. The cost of holding the path open, of perceiving the psychic minefield, was bleeding her dry, breath by frozen breath.
They moved in single file, a grim procession on the mirrored expanse. Ryota's path was serpentine, avoiding the subtle fractal patterns Haruto identified and Mira confirmed as deadly. Each step was a calculated risk, a negotiation with the frozen death beneath their boots. The wind picked up, howling with renewed fury, carrying not just the scent of frost and distant decay, but the rising, guttural howl of Void Hounds, closer now. Much closer. A hunting pack, drawn by the scent of intrusion, or perhaps summoned by the drums.
Haruto's voice sliced through the gale, flat, devoid of inflection, colder than the void itself: "Pressure plates." He didn't point, but his obsidian gaze flicked towards a section of ice ahead near Brazier Three, where the frost swirled in a complex, unnatural spiral. "Stay in line. Trace my steps. One misstep…" He paused, the implication hanging heavier than the mountain. "…and we're fucked."
Shiro's scar flared brighter in response to the warning, a brief, contained supernova in his palm that cast sharp shadows on the ice. The heat was a tangible force for a split second, pushing back against the consuming cold. Kuro's corrupted arm pulsed violently in response, the grey translucence seeming to flow towards his shoulder. The cold fire within flared, illuminating the dark veins beneath his skin starkly. The void sphere's hum deepened, resonating with the ice beneath them, making the frozen ground vibrate faintly. Static crackled audibly around his limb for a moment.
Mira gasped, staggering. Her fractured lens ERUPTED again, not with light this time, but with a violent burst of discordant, prismatic shards that shattered against the black ice like glass, leaving no mark but a psychic echo. "Eyes!" she choked, blood bubbling at her lips, her finger trembling not down, but up, towards the shadowed arches. "Watching… from the ice… through the cracks! Hungry eyes!" Obsidian let out a strangled "Kraaaa!" before falling silent again, trembling violently.
High above, in the arch Mira indicated, a shadow detached itself from the deeper gloom. Not a roof hawk. A figure, clad in Frostguard plate the colour of old blood, leaning out, a massive bone bow drawn taut, arrowhead glinting with a sickly violet sheen, void ice. Aimed directly at Ryota's broad back.
Eighty seven...
The bone arrow, tipped with sickly violet void ice, hung frozen in the air for a split second, a death sentence aimed at Ryota's spine. Then Kuro's corrupted arm snapped up. Not with a shout, but with a silent surge of will. Blue white static lanced from his grey palm, not at the arrow, but at the shadowed arch itself. There was no sound, only a sudden, ozone rich CRACK as the static struck the obsidian lintel above the archer. Frost coated stone exploded inwards in a shower of razor sharp shards. The roof hawk archer vanished backwards into the gloom with a choked gasp, swallowed by darkness and falling debris. The void ice arrow clattered harmlessly onto the black ice ten paces away, already frosting the surface around it. Kuro staggered, the grey translucence swirling violently up to his shoulder, the cold fire within flaring then guttering low. Static crackled furiously around him. "Move!" Haruto's command was a whip crack. "That flare was a beacon!"
They surged forward, abandoning stealth for desperate speed. The howl of Void Hounds was a physical pressure now, closing fast from the eastern flank. Ryota led, a juggernaut carving a path through the psychic minefield Mira's fading sight revealed. The Frostforged Skiff loomed larger with every pounding heartbeat, transforming from a distant obscenity into a visceral nightmare. It wasn't just crusted with frozen gore; it was built from it. Layers of dark crimson, almost black ice, compressed blood, viscera, and despair, formed jagged plates over the underlying iron. The stench hit them like a wall: copper, iron, ozone, and beneath it, the sweet sickly tang of decay preserved by unnatural cold. It radiated an aura of profound violation, a psychic scream frozen solid. Shiro gagged, the Polaris scar in his palm flaring hotly as if trying to burn away the memory of Aki being dragged towards this abomination. Brought here. In that.
Behind the Skiff, dominating the horizon of frozen hell, the Spire door wept its corrupted tears. Plink. Hssssss. Crackle. Each drop felt like a hammer blow counting down. Above it, the ward stone pulsed with a slow, ominous rhythm, Thump… Thump… no longer violet, but a deep, bruised crimson that stained the surrounding ice. Shadows deeper than night clung to the Spire's base, flickering like living things. The air itself thickened, saturated with tension so acute it felt like breathing ground glass. Every nerve screamed. Every shadow held a glaive. Every drip promised annihilation.
Haruto kept pace with Ryota, his obsidian eyes darting, calculating, reassessing. His mind was a storm of contingencies, the closing hounds, the roof hawks undoubtedly repositioning, the tightening Frostguard cordon near the Skiff, the treacherous ice underfoot. "Juro, rear guard! Eyes high and low! Shiro, Kuro, flanks tight! The Skiff is a focal point, expect ambush at its shadow!" His voice was clipped, devoid of fear, pure tactical ice. "Mira, status on the cracks?"
Shiro and Kuro moved as one, a dissonant engine of contained annihilation. Shiro's Polaris scar burned like a branding iron in his palm, casting flickering heat waves that made the air shimmer around his braced fists. Each step sent fresh jolts of agony through his fused wrists, the void leather braces creaking under the strain. Beside him, Kuro's corrupted arm pulsed erratically, the grey translucence swirling like storm clouds under his skin. The cold fire within flickered, weaker after the static blast, but still casting horrifying glimpses of the skeletal structure beneath. The void sphere at his hip hummed, a constant, unsettling counterpoint to the ward stone's thump. Their power signatures clashed and resonated, heat waves meeting cold static, creating a visible distortion field around them that made the air crackle.
Juro fell back half a step, spinning with surprising grace despite his bulk. His axes gleamed, hungry and dark with old ichor. His flint chip eyes raked the high arches, the rooftops, the deeper shadows pooling around the Skiff's massive, gore crusted runners. A grim, feral smile split his frost rimed beard. "Come on, you ice picked bastards," he muttered, breath pluming white. "Give Juro a reason to redecorate this frozen shithole with your insides." He scanned, muscles coiled, ready to explode into lethal motion at the first flicker of threat.
Mira stumbled, almost falling. Obsidian let out a feeble "krr..." beneath her hood. Her visible eye was wide, pupil dilated, blood frozen in thick, crimson trails from both nostrils down to her jawline. Her fractured lens pulsed not with light, but with a frantic, erratic darkness, deep violet and black shards that seemed to absorb the surrounding gloom. She gasped, short, sharp inhalations that sounded like tearing cloth. "The cracks…" her voice was thin, strained, barely audible over the wind and the approaching hound howl. "They're… whispering…" She clutched her temple, fingers trembling violently. "Not… watching… talking… about us… to the cold… to the door…" Her head snapped up, lens flaring briefly with panicked light. "They know… they know we're here… they're telling the stones… telling the teeth…" A fresh torrent of blood pulsed from her nose, splattering onto the black ice at her feet, freezing instantly into dark rubies.
They reached the lee of the Frostforged Skiff. The sheer scale of the thing was oppressive, towering over them, blocking the worst of the knifing wind but amplifying the stench of frozen death. The layers of blood ice seemed to shift in the gloom, revealing glimpses of trapped faces, frozen screams, fragments of armour. Ryota paused for a fraction of a second, his Polaris eyes sweeping the immediate area near the Skiff's massive stern, searching for the path Haruto had charted towards the west conduit. Haruto's gaze darted from shadow to shadow around the Skiff's base, his hand tight on the Polaris dagger. Shiro braced, scanning the gloom, his scar flaring in response to the proximity of so much frozen suffering. Kuro's corrupted arm pulsed, the cold fire flaring weakly as he stared at the Spire door, now terrifyingly close, its dripping teeth seeming to gleam with malevolent awareness. Juro kept his back partly to the Skiff, axes raised, eyes scanning the route they'd come and the high perches. Mira leaned against one of the Skiff's grotesque, gore encrusted runners, retching dryly, her lens pulsing chaotic darkness.
The shadow detached itself not from the high arches, but from the deepest pool of gloom pooled at the base of the Spire itself, right beside the dripping maw of the door. It moved with unnatural silence, flowing over the black ice like spilled ink given form. Frostguard plate, yes, but darker, sleeker, devoid of the heavy rime coating the others. It held a glaive not lowered, but held low and parallel to the ice, blade shimmering with a faint, hungry violet sheen, void touched steel.
It didn't charge. It flowed. Covering the twenty paces between the Spire shadow and Ryota's flank in a terrifying, silent blur. The glaive flashed upwards, not a sweeping blow, but a vicious, precise thrust aimed like a viper's strike at the gap between Ryota's backplate and helmet, a killing blow delivered with chilling expertise.
Juro saw it. Not from the corner of his eye, but from the absence of shadow, the subtle distortion in the air Mira's warnings had primed him for. He didn't shout a warning. He moved. A guttural roar tore from his throat, raw and furious, as he launched himself sideways, abandoning his rear guard stance. His axes became a single, blurred arc of dark steel, intercepting the thrust not head on, but with a brutal, sweeping parry. He didn't try to stop the glaive's momentum; he redirected it.
CLANGGGGGGGG!
The sound was catastrophic. A shattering, metallic scream that ripped through the Plaza's tense silence like a physical blow. Sparks, white hot and furious, erupted where Juro's axe blade met the void touched glaive. The force of the parry, combined with the Frostguard's own lethal speed, wrenched the glaive sideways. It scraped along Ryota's armoured shoulder, scoring a deep groove in the dark metal but failing to pierce, before Juro's follow through axe smashed into the Frostguard's armoured forearm with bone crunching force. The guard staggered back, a hiss escaping its helmet, its void glaive momentarily lowered.
The world froze. The howling wind seemed to pause. The distant drumming stopped. The approaching hound howl cut off. Even the dripping corruption from the Spire door seemed suspended mid fall. Ryota had half turned, Starbreaker's hum rising to a threatening snarl. Haruto's sword was half drawn, eyes wide with a fraction of surprise swiftly buried under cold calculation. Shiro and Kuro snapped towards the threat, power flaring, heat waves and cold static washing outwards. Mira pressed herself against the Skiff's frozen gore, a whimper dying in her throat. Juro stood panting, axes held ready, a fierce grin locked on the staggered Frostguard assassin. The echo of the clash, that terrible, ringing CLANG SHRIEEEEK , reverberated across the vast Plaza, bouncing off the obsidian pylons, announcing their presence with the subtlety of a thunderclap.
High above, the ward stone above the Spire door FLARED.
Not crimson. Not violet.
Blinding, actinic WHITE.
It wasn't light; it was pure, searing energy. It exploded outwards, engulfing the Spire door, the Skiff, the frozen plaza, the stunned Frostguard assassin, Juro, Ryota, Haruto, Shiro, Kuro, Mira,Corvin everything. For one terrifying, endless moment, the Plaza of Screams vanished, replaced by an absolute, scorching whiteness that burned retinas and seared the mind. It revealed nothing but its own overwhelming, annihilating brilliance. It was the opposite of darkness, equally absolute, equally terrifying. A silent scream of pure power.
Then, darkness plunged back, deeper than before, leaving only the afterimage of the flare seared onto their vision and the frantic hammering of their own hearts.
Seventy seven.