The scream that tore through the air wasn't human. It was the sound of reality being shredded.
Jarin lunged forward, his boots skidding on the now-iridescent soil. He grabbed Kaelan's tunic just as a jagged fissure snaked between the old man's feet, venting a plume of freezing, violet mist. The veteran delver gasped, his eyes wide with a terror that transcended his years of experience.
"The air... it tastes like... metal," Kaelan choked out, clutching his chest.
Jarin didn't answer. His "Delver's Sense" was screaming. To his eyes, the world was no longer made of solid matter; it was a chaotic map of vibrating energy. The trees were pulsing with a sickly, rhythmic glow, their roots churning beneath the surface like drowning serpents.
Then, the first one emerged.
From the swirling mist of the rift, a shape solidified. It was roughly the size of a wolf but lacked a true pelt or flesh. It was a silhouette of shifting smoke, held together by a core of pulsating purple light. Where its eyes should have been, there were only twin voids of absolute darkness.
A Shadow Stalker.
"Stay behind me!" Jarin commanded, his voice surprisingly steady despite the hammering of his heart. He unsheathed his heavy mining pickaxe—a tool forged from tempered iron and reinforced with mountain-zinc.
The creature didn't growl. It made a sound like grinding glass. With a sudden, blurred motion, it leaped.
Jarin didn't rely on his sight; he relied on the vibration of the air. He swung the pickaxe in a low arc. The iron head connected with the creature's midsection, but instead of the thud of bone, there was a sharp crack of discharging energy. The impact sent a jolt of static electricity up Jarin's arms, nearly numbing his elbows.
The Stalker recoiled, its smoky form flickering. It wasn't dead, but the iron—a grounding element—had disrupted its ethereal makeup.
"Jarin... look at the town..." Kaelan whispered, his voice trembling.
Jarin glanced toward the valley. The peaceful town of Connel was no longer peaceful. Columns of violet light were erupting from the streets, and the distant screams of hundreds of people drifted up on the wind. The "Sanctum Breach" wasn't a local event; it was a continental catastrophe.
"We can't stay here," Jarin gritted his teeth, his eyes scanning the horizon. To the North, the Great Spire of the Sanctum Mountain loomed, its peak now wreathed in a permanent storm of magical lightning. "The rift is pulling everything toward the mountain. If we stay in the lowlands, we're dead."
Another grinding screech echoed from the mist—then another, and another. The first Stalker wasn't alone. A pack was forming, drawn to the life-force of the two men.
Jarin gripped his pickaxe until his knuckles turned white. He was just a delver, a man who dug for secrets in the dark. But as the shadows closed in, he realized that the secrets were now hunting him.
Author's Note:
The first battle has begun! Iron seems to be an effective deterrent against these shadow beings, but for how long? If you're enjoying the tension, make sure to drop a Power Stone and support the story!