Chapter 7: The Heavier Hammer
The return to Last-Hope was not the triumphant march Leander had naively imagined. They dragged the dissolving carcasses of the Scavengers with them, not as trophies, but as proof. The sight of the demon corpses thrown before the main gate did more for morale than any speech could have. A cheer went up, hesitant at first, then swelling into a raw, hopeful roar. For a moment, the oppressive fear lifted. They had drawn first blood.
Captain Vorlik surveyed the scene, his stony expression unreadable. He gave a single, curt nod to Leander. It wasn't praise, but it was acknowledgment. A currency more valuable than gold in this new world.
But the high was short-lived. The "heavier hammer" Pythios promised did not fall with a demonic legion or a psychic scream. It fell with silence.
The next day, the scouts reported nothing. No Scavenger packs were sighted. No Dream Weavers whispered on the wind. The forest beyond the walls was preternaturally still. It was a silence more unnerving than any assault. It was the silence of a predator circling, studying its prey.
On the second day of the silence, the first crack appeared. It started with the livestock. A farmer found his two milk-goats dead in their pen, not torn apart, but utterly desiccated, as if every drop of moisture had been sucked from their bodies. There were no tracks, no signs of struggle. Only a lingering, cold emptiness that made the man's breath fog in the unseasonable chill.
Then, the crops in the small, struggling hydroponics garden withered in a single night, turning from vibrant green to a brittle, gray dust. The silence was no longer just outside the walls; it was seeping in, carrying a blight that fed on life itself.
Panic, cold and sharp, began to replace the warm memory of their victory. This was not an enemy they could punch, burn, or shield against. This was a slow, insidious starvation of both body and hope.
Leander stood with Elpis and Roric at the edge of the dead garden, the gray dust crunching under his boots. "This is his answer," Leander murmured, his voice tight. "He's not trying to break down our walls. He's trying to make us starve inside them."
Roric kicked at a pile of dust. "How do we fight this? We can't eat demon corpses. We can't drink light."
It was Elpis who noticed it first, her senses attuned to the flow of energy. She knelt, her hand hovering over the dead plants. "It's not just the plants," she whispered, her eyes wide with a new horror. "Can't you feel it? The air here... it's thin. The energy... the spark inside me feels weaker here."
A cold dread washed over Leander. He reached within himself, feeling for the steady hum of his own power. It was there, but around this blighted area, it felt muted, distant, like a sound heard through thick glass. Pythios wasn't just killing their food. He was creating dead zones, places where their awakened powers were stifled.
This was a strategic masterstroke. He was systematically destroying their resources and nullifying their only advantage, all without ever showing his face.
That night, a council was called in the archives. The mood was grim. Vorlik, several of his lieutenants, Leander, and his core group were present.
"We have maybe two weeks of food left, if we stretch it," one of the lieutenants reported, his voice hollow. "The water is still safe, but if this... blight... touches the aquifers..."
"We have to find more supplies," Vorlik stated, his fists clenched on the table. "The old world storage facility at Silver Ridge. It's a risk, but it's the only option within a three-day march."
"It's a suicide mission," another lieutenant countered. "The pass is undoubtedly watched. They're herding us, Captain. They're forcing us into a trap."
"Staying here is a slower, more certain suicide!" Vorlik slammed his fist on the table. "We have no choice!"
All eyes turned to Leander. He had become the de facto authority on the supernatural threat. He felt the weight of their desperate gazes.
"The lieutenant is right," Leander said quietly, the words tasting like ash. "It is a trap. Pythios is engineering this. He's creating a problem with only one solution, and that solution leads right into his hands."
"Then what do you suggest?" Vorlik's question was not a challenge, but a genuine, desperate plea. "Do we sit here and slowly fade away?"
Leander looked at the map, at the route to Silver Ridge. It was a death sentence. But so was staying. His mind raced, trying to find a third option, a path Pythios hadn't anticipated. He thought of the dead zones, the stifling of their power.
"What if," Leander began slowly, a dangerous idea forming, "we don't play his game? What if we don't go to Silver Ridge?"
"Then we die," Vorlik said flatly.
"Not if we take the fight to him," Leander said, his voice gaining conviction. "Not his army. To *him*. To Pythios."
A stunned silence filled the room.
"That's madness," Roric breathed. "We don't even know where he is."
"But we can find him," Leander countered, his grey eyes glinting in the candlelight. "He's connected to this blight. He has to be close to maintain it, to control it. We don't march to Silver Ridge. We hunt the hunter. We find his nest, and we cut the head off the snake."
He met Vorlik's gaze. "It's a gamble. A huge one. But it's the only move he won't be expecting. He thinks we're desperate, scared animals he can herd. Let's show him we're something else."
The room was divided, fear warring with a spark of defiant hope. The choice was between two terrible paths: slow starvation or a desperate, near-impossible assassination. The silence in the room was no longer that of the enemy's making. It was the silence of a fateful decision.
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Author's Note:
The enemy adapts, forcing our heroes into an impossible choice. Do they walk into the obvious trap or risk everything on a dangerous gambit to strike at the source?
The plot thickens! What do you think Leander should do? As always, your support through adding the story to your library or a rating is incredibly motivating. Thank you for reading