In the silence between Wyn and Iskareth, the only sounds were the moans of the abominations, and the deep thrumming of the profane womb in the middle of the huge cavern.

  Without a word, Wyn’s blade roared to life, spewing lavender flames onto the ground as he stared at the mass of red and purple flesh in the center. At the fringes of the room, roots began to creep in, constricting in response to his power.

  “I would rather we didn’t fight,” Iskareth said calmly.

  Wyn’s grip tightened. “Answer me Iskareth, what the hell is that thing?”

  Slowly, Iskareth took off his hat and stared at Wyn, his eyes still, like a stagnant pond. “Tell me Wyn, what is it that you fear most in this world?”

  “Don’t play games with me. I want to know what it is you’re doing here!” Wyn’s voice echoed off the walls as he yelled.

  “You see, what I fear, more than anything else, is death. And I don’t mean something as trivial as my own death. No, what keeps me up at night is the truth of this world—that all things must end. Isn’t it terrible? Every day, thousands of lives are snuffed out. A child dies of an incurable disease. A soldier dies fighting for his country. A father dies saving his family from monsters.”

  “Shut up!” Wyn’s sword trembled.

  “Perhaps you’ve heard, Wyn, that though the body may fail, our souls live for eternity with the spirits. But that’s a lie. The truth is, neither the body nor the soul can last forever. Just as the body breaks down, so too does the soul, lost to the endless grindstone of time. It may take a thousand years, or ten thousand, or even longer still, but it is inexorable nonetheless. That is the very thing I wish to change. Death is nothing but a curse upon this world! I will rid the world of that curse, and usher us into a new age, free of death and of loss!”

  “You’re working with this damn cult, aren’t you?” Wyn shouted back. He hated that a part of him understood what Iskareth was saying. “How can you talk about wanting to prevent death, while sentencing so many innocent people to die? You’re nothing but a hypocrite! Surrender to me now Iskareth. You can’t win.”

  Iskareth glanced up at the ceiling. “I spoke to you once about weakness, didn’t I? I believe humans are frail creatures. Our lives are extinguished as easily as a candle, and we bend as easily as a tree in the wind. As humans, the only thing we can do is cling to that one dream we hold dear, and strive ceaselessly against the tempest. Wishing for anything more, or trying to fulfill petty desires is nothing more than naive greed.

  For thirty years I’ve trudged forward, with that single goal in mind. I may be nothing more than a weak human, but you will not bend me. I weep for the lives lost in the pursuit of my goals Wyn, I truly do. But I will not let that stand in my way. I will not let you stand in my way.”

  Wyn grit his teeth. The whole city was counting on him to purify the tree. Corrin and Luscien would be fighting right then. This was nothing but a waste.

  “I don’t have time for this,” he growled, rushing straight for the cocoon. Spirit fire spewed out from his blade, bathing the whole room in violet light.

  “Protect him!” Iskareth shouted before moving to cast a spell.

  Around the room, the aimlessly shambling abominations suddenly gained life, springing towards Wyn—no, they were throwing themselves in between him and the cocoon. The monsters took on all sorts of strange, horrifying forms, with strange eyes, and misshapen limbs. Their fur or skin came in every color, but their bodies seemed ill-fitting, and they moved with an air of awkwardness that he’d only seen before in the zombies of The Hollow Bastion.

  Spirit fire tore into them all the same though, and they caught like kindling, filling the air with pained screams as they burned. Two strikes was all it took to finish them completely, but as a heavy weight filled his soul, like that of a strong monster, he was confused. For a moment, they were actually able to push him back.

  “No!” Iskareth howled.

  A hail of arrows, cast from light, cut through the air, and Wyn was forced to dodge back to avoid them, dashing across the ground as Iskareth adjusted the spell, following him with the barrage, guiding it with his hand. His aim was rough, but he was casting it over a wide area, heedless of the abominations he skewered.

  Wyn reached out, and a root burst from the ground beneath Iskareth’s feet, snagging his ankle and tripping him. The spell fell apart, and Wyn skid to a halt in the soft dirt, a small horde between him and the cocoon.

  To his shock, the monsters impaled by the arrows of light were getting back up, their wounds closing quickly. Only those he’d burned with spirit fire seemed to have been killed, though the rest were screeching—warped wailing filling the air as a thin grey fluid leaked from their bodies. They were shockingly resilient, and it was slightly unsettling.

  Wyn turned back just in time to see Iskareth taking a syringe from his robes—the same type that Sloth had tried to use.

  Shit!

  “I won’t let you!” Wyn charged, but the abominations rushed him, throwing their bodies in the way. Instead, he threw his sword, and it flew true, piercing Iskareth straight through the gut.

  Undaunted, the doctor stabbed the syringe into his heart before collapsing onto his knees and grabbing at the sword even as blood leaked from his lips. Groaning in agony, he withdrew the blade, inch by inch, until it clattered onto the floor in front of him. He fell after it, convulsing on the ground as his blood grew thick and black.

  Wyn battered the abominations back, clawing his way through the mass of bodies using his own brute strength. In the back of his mind, he felt something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t figure it out.

  With an anguished scream, Iskareth’s body twisted in on itself, then surged outwards until it had formed another cocoon. No sooner had it formed than a hand burst through the membrane, tearing its way free. When Iskareth stepped through, his body too, had transformed.

  A hole remained in his torso where Wyn’s blade had struck, but his legs were thick and covered in scales, bending backwards like a wolf’s. His arms had grown feathery, and four huge tentacles sprouted from his back, writhing and beating against the ground, matched by countless small tendrils on his shoulders that licked at the air. His head had thickened, developing some sort of strange, eyeless carapace that covered his face, devoid of any sensory organs.

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  “Too crude,” Iskareth growled, his voice echoing from within the strange mask. “But I didn’t have time. That blessing of yours…”

  Wyn took a step back instinctively. His eyes glanced at the other cocoon in the room, even more nervous than before. “What did you do?”

  Iskareth’s tentacles scraped against the stone as he straightened, the warped mask of his face tilting slightly. “As I have always done—what I had to.”

  One of the tentacles snapped forward.

  Wyn moved on reflex, and his blade came up, slicing cleanly through the limb. Spirit fire’s recoil hit him like a physical blow, but it did its job, and the severed flesh fell to the ground with a set slap before burning to ash. Iskareth staggered, a harsh distorted cry tearing from his throat.

  Not wasting the opening, Wyn surged forward, snaring Iskareth’s ankle once more.

  Except unlike before, Iskareth simply tore his leg away, ripping the root with ease.

  Wyn was caught off guard, and a sloppy jab crashed into his chest, hurling him backwards. He slammed into the wall of the cavern, and his vision flashed white. Where had that strength come from? It was like a blow from the damn Leviathan!

  He spun to the side as Iskareth shattered the wall where he’d been an instant before, then lopped off another tentacle. It didn’t matter that he was stronger, spirit fire was too great an advantage against whatever sort of ‘monster’ he’d become.

  Even through the creaking in his ribs, and the intense strain of purification, Wyn quickly gained the upper hand, forcing Iskareth back under a wave of spirit fire. Each strike was potentially lethal, and it was all Iskareth could do to retreat, smashing aside any of the roots Wyn sent to pin him. Still, Wyn was just as occupied. As long as Iskareth was up, he couldn’t ignore him—he could only take so many of those punches.

  “All that talk just to run,” Wyn taunted, hoping to bait him in.

  “Buying time,” Iskareth corrected. His gaze flicked over to the cocoon. “Destroying things is easy, Wyn. Creation takes patience.”

  As if in response, the cocoon pulsed.

  A deep vibration rolled through the chamber, shaking Wyn’s bones. The abominations around the room shuddered and wailed, thin grey fluid leaking more freely from their bodies.

  “Enough!” Wyn charged again, pouring everything into the attack. Roots surged up in a cage around the monster, snapping shut as he leapt, driving his blade down in a blazing arc.

  Iskareth roared in defiance, but the impact drove him to the ground, roots coiling tight against his limbs as Wyn struck again and again, eventually abandoning spirit fire to simply break him the old-fashioned way. When he was finished, the rest of Iskareth’s tentacles were nothing more than charred stumps, and his mask had cracked in front of his eye, spilling a red light from within.

  “It’s over,” Wyn growled.

  At that moment, the light inside the cocoon began to brighten, until the membrane became almost translucent, like a lightstone held against thin skin. Within, Wyn could make out the shadows of a human skeleton. Abandoning Iskareth under the roots, he ran straight for it.

  “Too late,” Iskareth spat. “Wake up—Zavier!”

  An instant later, the cocoon swelled to twice its original size, then collapsed back in on itself with a hiss, spraying thick black fluids in all directions, squeezed out like a sponge. It warped, melted, and twisted, morphing its flesh until suddenly it solidified into the form of a human boy, and fell against the ground.

  Zavier rose slowly, black hair falling down in front of his eyes as he seemed to collect his bearings. His skin was pale—no, it had become as white as snow, and was completely unmarred by the withering. From one side of his head, a thick obsidian horn protruded a few inches before sharply turning and pointing forward. The mana in the room seemed to subtly shift, bending towards him.

  Zavi looked down at his hands, then around the room, as if getting his bearings. His eyes, framed in black, fell on the abominations around him, and the remnants of spirit fire smoldering on the ground. Then he looked over at Wyn, and his expression twisted into one of hate.

  “Why…” he moaned, clutching at his head. His fingernails dug into skin, drawing lines of blood down his face. “Why?”

  As massive, batlike wings suddenly sprouted from his back, he shot towards Wyn in a burst of absurd speed.

  What? Wyn’s mind reeled as he stumbled back, desperately parrying Zavi’s attack on instinct.

  Panic surged up in his chest as the blade cut through Zavi’s arm like butter, and spirit fire leapt eagerly onto his body.

  “No!” Wyn shouted as Zavi screamed in pain.

  He felt the strain of purification, even stronger, painfully so. Thankfully, the flames died down before they could spread further, and Zavi clutched his wound, grimacing.

  “Zavi I’m sorry!” Wyn stretched out a hand. “I didn’t mean to—”

  The arm was regenerating. After only a few second, it had completely healed.

  Wyn’s eyes widened in a mixture of relief and horror.

  With a snarl, Zavi attacked again, and Wyn was forced onto the defensive as he let the spirit fire drop off of his blade, deflecting with the flat side. He couldn’t kill Zavi, especially when he didn’t know what had happened to him. But just like with Iskareth, the cocoon had changed him.

  “Zavi! Stop! What are you doing?”

  “You killed them!” Zavi roared. His regenerated arm had blackened, and as he swung short, it extended to reach, human fingers turning to something more like claws. They raked across Wyn’s side, tearing through his leather armor and into his flesh.

  Wyn hissed as the pain quickly burnt away. After battling both Sloth and Iskareth, he didn’t have enough aura left for a proper mantle, at least not while reinforcing his body enough to keep up.

  “Do you see it, Wyn?” Iskareth yelled triumphantly from below. “After all these years, success. I have improved on even the work of a god! An immortal body, and one that can continue to grow after apotheosis. With this, I’ll rise to Sagehood and take on the mantle of Acedia! An eternal world is so close, I can almost grasp it!”

  As Zavi continued his assault, forcing Wyn to dance away, pure black mana condensed on the tip of his horn, then shot forward in a beam, piercing Wyn’s shoulder like paper. The shot was so clean, he almost hadn’t felt it.

  “Damn it Zavi!” he growled, losing his temper. Spirit fire roared back up his blade. If the boy was really immortal, then he didn’t have to hold back, even if it hurt him. “I’m sorry for this!”

  Despite his change, Zavi still wasn’t a fighter. He was full of openings waiting to be exploited. In a flash of violet light, Wyn took both of his arms, leaving him completely defenseless. A look of bewilderment crossed Zavi’s face, but before the pain could even set in, Wyn twisted and kicked him in the chest.

  He flew across the room and crashed into the wall of the cavern, where thick roots quickly snaked around his body, holding him in place. He thrashed terribly, screaming and wailing, and his arms quickly regenerated, but they were enveloped just as fast, holding him even more tightly than Iskareth.

  Finally, as he was completely immobilized, Wyn let out a shaky breath and turned back to the doctor, who had managed to free himself during the fight.

  “Any more worthless tricks, Iskareth?” Wyn’s voice was harsh. “Whatever you were doing here, you’re done. Now I want you to answer me, where are they?”

  “That’s not possible.” Iskareth stammered as he crawled backwards. “No no no! I have come too far to be stopped now!”

  Wyn stalked towards him, and his blade ignited again. “Answer me! Where are they?”

  “Wyn?” A small voice sounded from the entrance. “Father?”

  His eyes went wide. Why was she here?

  In the doorway, the eldest sister of The House of Spring stood, staring at the sight before her with a look of abject horror.