Chapter 214
The squad advanced in taut silence, every member aware that the fog was not merely a veil but a trap. Shadows shifted unnaturally between the skeletal trees, hinting at life, or perhaps something older. Even seasoned veterans felt the chill of unease crawling up their spines. The swamp was alive with the residue of Mira Sennblood's Seiðr a corrupted pulse that left the air thick and heavy, clawing at the mind like frostbitten fingers.
Natasha Sokolov moved beside Alexsei, scanning the forest floor with practiced precision. Her eyes caught every subtle disturbance in the mud, every broken reed, every shimmer of unnatural energy. "Sir," she murmured, her voice almost swallowed by the mist, "there's residual Seiðr here… older than anything we've cataloged. It's not her doing alone."
Alexsei's gaze hardened, the cold blue light from his armor's runes reflecting in the fog. "Of course it's not," he replied, voice low but resolute. "Mira was a vessel, nothing more. Whoever guided her… knows what they're doing. That's why we cannot afford mistakes."
The swamp seemed to react to his words, the mist twisting around the trees as if alive, whispering the remnants of spells long abandoned. Each step Alexsei took sank slightly into the mud, but the exosuit compensated, keeping his pace steady, unwavering. Despite the weight of the armor and the drain on his mana, there was an undeniable authority in his movement — a presence that bent the air itself.
The rest of the Guild fanned out behind him, rifles raised, halberds pulsing faintly with Seiðr energy. They moved like shadows within shadows, trained to anticipate the unnatural, to respond with lethal precision. Even so, the forest held its breath. There was a sense that Mira's magic lingered here, a threat waiting in the folds of fog and twisted roots, and that every step forward drew them deeper into a web spun long before anyone arrived.
Alexsei paused at a clearing where the swamp opened slightly, exposing a half-sunken stone altar etched with faintly glowing runes. He knelt, placing a gauntleted hand upon it. The runes pulsed briefly, reacting to his touch, whispering secrets that chilled the mind. "This is what she was feeding on," he said, voice taut with barely restrained anger. "Not power, not vengeance… something far older. And if we lose sight of it, she won't be the only threat Valdyrheim will face."
Natasha crouched beside him, scanning the surrounding trees. "Then we track her," she said. "Every step. Every breath. Until she runs out of places to hide."
Alexsei rose, the armor hissing faintly as it redistributed power. His eyes glowed faintly through the visor, reflecting the twisted forest around them. "Then we move. Quietly. Efficiently. And we end this before it grows beyond control."
The Guild pressed forward, their boots sinking slightly into the treacherous marsh, weapons ready, eyes unblinking. The mist thickened around them, but they moved as one — a dark tide of order stalking a ghost born of chaos. Somewhere in the shifting shadows, Mira Sennblood ran, her single eye burning with desperation, yet unaware that the hunters of the White Devil Guild were already closing in, patient, relentless, and unyielding.
The hunt had begun in earnest, and the marsh itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the inevitable collision between blood, Seiðr, and steel.
The mist thickened as they advanced, curling around the convoy's torches and swallowing their light.
"Keep formation," Alexsei said through his helm's vox. His voice was steady, cold. "No rune bursts unless I give the order. She feeds off Seiðr , the more we burn, the stronger she gets."
Natasha Sokolov moved like a shadow through the misted marsh, careful but deliberate, every footfall calculated. Her hair caught the faint glow of the blue Seiðr runes etched along the barrel of her rifle, pulsing rhythmically as if it had a heartbeat of its own. The scar along her jaw itched faintly in the chill morning air — a reminder of Mira Sennblood's ruthless attack weeks ago — but it no longer slowed her. Even the bandages wrapping her left arm, still healing from the encounter, seemed like mere ornamentation to someone of her precision.
The weapon she carried was no ordinary rifle. It was a rune gun, a collaborative creation born from the combined ingenuity of the White Devil Guild and the High Strategy Guild, in conjunction with the East Lazarus Guild. their Magic, in many parts of Valdyrheim, had been sealed or dampened , the old ways restricted , leaving conventional spellcasters and magic users handicapped. Only those who could manipulate Seiðr, or work with enchanted constructs, could still channel their power. The rune gun bridged that gap.
Its barrel was lined with micro-etched runes, each one a conduit for Seiðr energy. When fired, the weapon didn't merely discharge a bullet; it channeled a fragment of Seiðr through the projectile, allowing it to interact with magical or spiritual targets. Physical impact alone wasn't enough , the shot carried a pulse that could disrupt corrupted Seiðr, break enchantments, or even burn the life force of creatures partially composed of spiritual energy. The rate of fire was limited by the user's mana and the weapon's rune resonance, but when wielded correctly, it could mimic the destructive precision of a fully cast spell , without the wielder needing to speak incantations or carve symbols themselves.
Natasha adjusted her grip and whispered to herself, a quiet ritual she'd developed over weeks of practice. "Pulse synchronized, glyph energy stabilized… ready." Each shot she fired released a faint blue tracer that shimmered unnaturally in the fog, leaving a line of subtle Seiðr disturbance in its wake.
Alexsei had insisted on the design. The White Devil Guild's magic might be sealed, but their tactical thinking was not. With the East Lazarus Guild lending their skill in Seiðr augmentation and the High Strategy Guild contributing their knowledge of battlefield control and precision timing, the weapon was both a symbol of their combined power and a practical tool for hunting rogue Seiðr users like Mira Sennblood.
Natasha glanced over her shoulder at Alexsei, who moved silently through the marsh atop his enchanted exosuit. The armor hissed and clicked with each movement, the brass veins pulsing faintly, compensating for his drained mana. "She won't escape this time," she murmured, the confidence in her voice unwavering. "Not with these in our hands… not through this swamp."
Alexsei nodded subtly. "She underestimated the Guild," he said, voice low. "And she underestimated what happens when magic is forced into discipline. Every trick she knows… every corrupted pulse… the rune guns counter it. Every time we close the net, it gets smaller."
Natasha's eyes narrowed, scanning the fog for even the faintest ripple of Seiðr. "Then we move silently. Strike precisely. And remember, the swamp favors those who know the ground , not the desperate."
And with that, the White Devil Guild pressed forward, every rifle humming faintly as if alive, each pulse of runic energy ready to meet the chaotic Seiðr of the fugitive witch
"She's heading south," Natasha said, crouching beside a trail of disturbed reeds. "But the traces aren't… consistent. It's like she's walking through more than one layer of reality. These distortions"
"are Seiðr warps," Alexsei finished, kneeling beside her. He placed his gauntleted hand over the soil, letting the armor's sensors pulse with faint runelight. The mud shimmered faintly , thin strands of black smoke curled upward before fading.
"She's not masking her trail," Natasha said grimly. "She's shedding it. Whatever she's carrying, it's eating her alive."
Alexsei stood, eyes narrowing. "Good. That means she's desperate."
Behind them, the rest of the unit fanned out , fifteen hunters, all veterans of the old Guild purge. Each bore weapons of a different craft: rune rifles, halberds humming with frost enchantments, blades sealed with binding symbols to cut through corrupted flesh. They had been promised redemption after years of blood , but the hunt for Mira felt too familiar.
"Sir," one of the scouts said, his voice tight with unease, "we found something, half a mile east."
Alexsei turned. "Show me."
The scout led them through the trees, and soon the air began to change. It grew colder, heavier. The swampwater thickened into tar-black pools. The mist shimmered faintly with crimson streaks, like veins of light crawling across the fog itself. Then they saw it , the remains of a camp, torn apart. Tents shredded, idols of bone smashed to pieces, runes drawn in blood half-faded in the mud.
At the center of the clearing, a crude altar had been overturned. Its stone base still glowed faintly with residual power , the mark of the Hands of Renewal.
Natasha crouched beside it. "She passed through here. Look , these symbols aren't cultist work. They're grafted onto something older."
Alexsei nodded. "Mira's been using their faith as cover. Feeding on their rituals."
"But for what?" Natasha asked.
He looked up, scanning the forest. The mist shifted , shapes seemed to move within it, phantoms that vanished when the eye tried to focus. "To reach something buried here," he said finally. "Something even she doesn't understand."
A distant crack echoed , not thunder, but gunfire. The squad froze, weapons rising.
"Contact, west quadrant!" a voice shouted through the comms. "Visual on target , Mira Sennblood, confirmed!"
Alexsei's tone sharpened instantly. "Engage on containment protocols. Don't kill unless I order it. Move!"
The Guild broke into formation, boots churning the mud as they advanced. Through the fog, flashes of crimson flared , rune circles igniting in the air like firebrands. Then, out of the mist, Mira emerged.
She was a ruin of what she once was , one arm missing, her body pale and thin, but her single eye burned with mad determination. Her blood stained the swamp, yet every droplet that touched the ground twisted into black tendrils that fed her spellwork.
"So the wolves come crawling," she hissed. "Did Alexsei send his daughter to finish what he started?"
"Mira," Natasha called out, rifle trained but steady. "You can still surrender. You're dying — your Seiðr is consuming you."
Mira smiled, blood staining her teeth. "I'm not dying, little Sokolov. I'm becoming."
She slammed her hand into the ground, and the swamp screamed. From the dark water burst a tangle of skeletal figures , men and beasts fused together, their forms bound by corrupted runes. The smell of decay filled the air.
"Hold the line!" Alexsei roared.
The forest erupted. Rune rifles flared with blue light as bullets of condensed energy tore through the summoned creatures. Each impact exploded in bursts of pale flame. Natasha moved with practiced precision, firing controlled shots that shattered one abomination's skull before it reached the line.
Mira stumbled backward, blood dripping from her nose. Every summon weakened her further, but she kept chanting, desperate.
Alexsei broke from formation, activating his armor's thrusters. The ground split beneath his boots as he propelled forward, crashing through a tree trunk and slamming his halberd down. The blow cleaved one of Mira's creatures in half, sending shockwaves rippling through the swamp.
"Mira Sennblood!" he shouted. "You're finished!"
She met his gaze with her single, burning eye. "You said the same thing when you burned my guildhouse to ash."
Alexsei froze for a fraction of a second , and in that hesitation, she moved. Mira drew her own blood with her nails and flung it into the air, forming a rune circle. It ignited instantly, exploding into a wall of crimson fire.
The blast hurled Alexsei back, slamming him into the mud. Natasha rushed to his side, shouting orders. When the smoke cleared , Mira was gone.
Only her voice remained, echoing faintly through the mist:
"You can't kill what you made."
The White Devil hunters stood in silence as the fog slowly reclaimed the battlefield. The runes she left behind glowed faintly in the water , not fading, but spreading.
Natasha broke the silence. "She's heading for the southern ravine. That's where the oldest ruins lie."
Alexsei rose slowly, gripping his halberd. His voice was low, measured , but the weight in it was unmistakable. "Then that's where we end this."
He turned toward his squad. "No mercy. No hesitation. The White Devil Guild cleans its own sins."
The mist thickened once more, swallowing the light as the hunters marched south. The ground trembled faintly beneath their boots , as if something ancient, buried deep below Valdyrheim, had begun to stir in its sleep.
The marsh seemed to tighten around them, the mist curling and thickening like fingers reaching for the hunters' ankles. Each step became heavier, each breath colder, as if the swamp itself resented their intrusion. The faintly glowing red runes left behind by Mira's bloodwork pulsed intermittently, feeding unseen veins of corrupted Seiðr beneath the surface. It wasn't just the witch they pursued now , it was the lingering corruption she had awakened, a malignant residue that clawed at the senses of even the most disciplined of the White Devil Guild.
Alexsei's armor hissed faintly with each step, the thrusters keeping him upright against the sucking mud while conserving his drained mana. He led the column with precise authority, scanning the mist for the faintest ripple of movement. Natasha stayed close, rifle raised, her eyes flicking constantly between the ground, the trees, and the mist. Every shadow seemed to twitch unnaturally; every reflection in the shallow pools hinted at something that shouldn't be there.
"Something's watching us," one of the scouts muttered under his breath, barely audible over the squelching of mud.
"Then let it watch," Alexsei replied, voice low, steady. "We've hunted ghosts before. Nothing hides forever from discipline."
The southern ravine loomed ahead , a deep fissure in the marshlands, choked with twisted roots, skeletal trees, and stagnant water black as ink. It was a place old as the land itself, a graveyard of forgotten ruins and secrets better left untouched. Alexsei paused at its edge, lifting a gauntleted hand to measure the Seiðr energy radiating faintly from within. The pulse was subtle but undeniably there , Mira's signature interwoven with something far older, something patient and malignant.
Natasha crouched beside him, running her fingers along the rune-lined butt of her rifle. "This is it," she whispered. "She's using the ruins themselves… turning them into a trap. The older the Seiðr, the harder it is to disrupt. If she reaches the center, we risk losing more than just her."
Alexsei nodded grimly. "Then we go carefully. Containment first. If she summons again, we hit hard, coordinated. No single Hunter acts alone. And watch the ground , she's been feeding off the marsh's residue. Every pool, every root could hide another one of her creations."
From within the shadows of the ravine, a faint, distorted scream echoed , barely audible over the whispering wind. Natasha stiffened. "Target confirmed," she murmured. "She's inside. And… she's not alone."
Alexsei's gaze sharpened. "Good. That means her desperation has brought her allies , or creations. Either way, we proceed. Quietly. Efficiently. We cannot let her escape again."
The squad fanned out at his command, moving as one through the sucking mud and skeletal brush. Rune rifles hummed faintly, halberds pulsed with frost-bound energy, and the black mist twisted unnaturally around them. Each step brought them closer to the heart of the ancient ruins, and with every step, the pulse of corrupted Seiðr grew stronger, more insistent.
Somewhere ahead, Mira Sennblood waited. Her single eye gleamed like a dying star through the fog, the faint trace of her blood runes lingering in the air. She could feel them , the hunters of the White Devil Guild , methodical, unrelenting, and prepared. The trap was ready, the stage set. The clash between order and chaos was about to ignite again, deeper and deadlier than before.
And beneath the ravine, in the roots and soil long untouched by time, something far older and far darker began to stir, drawn by the same corrupted pulse that had birthed Mira's power. The land itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the inevitable.
The hunt for Mira Sennblood was no longer just a pursuit , it was the opening move in a war that had slept for centuries, and the White Devil Guild was walking straight into the heart of it
The ruins rose ahead, half-sunken and skeletal, their stones slick with moss and soaked in centuries of swampwater. The air thickened as the White Devil Guild advanced, the mist curling through shattered archways like smoke from a grave. Each footfall sent ripples across the stagnant pools, reflecting faint red glows — the residue of Mira's blood runes lingering like embers in a dying fire.
Mira Sennblood crouched atop a broken tower, her lone eye burning with fevered light. One arm gone, her body battered, yet her mind sharp and calculating. Around her, faint traces of her blood magic seeped into the stones and water, forming invisible threads that whispered across the ruins. She didn't need to see the hunters to know they were coming , she could feel them, every pulse of disciplined movement in the swamp vibrating through her Seiðr senses.
"Predictable," she muttered under her breath. "Always chasing… never anticipating."
A wall of stone shattered suddenly, the runes carved in her own blood igniting with dark fire. From the rubble, skeletal creatures emerged , leaner than her previous Draugr, agile, their joints fused with blackened roots. Their eyes glowed crimson as they shrieked, rushing toward the Guild with unnatural speed. The mist twisted around them, hiding their numbers, making them appear as a living shadow.
Alexsei's thrusters hissed as he slammed his halberd into one of the creatures, splitting it with a resounding crack. "Hold formation!" he barked. "Do not fire recklessly! She's feeding off the chaos!"
Natasha's pulse-synchronized rune rifle fired with cold precision. Each shot pierced the creatures' corrupted forms, the Seiðr pulse unraveling the magic binding their bones together. Still, for every one that fell, two more seemed to spring from hidden recesses, their bodies crawling along broken walls and dangling roots.
"She's clever," Natasha muttered, keeping her eyes on the shifting shadows. "She's leading us… into the center. The heart of the ruins."
From above, Mira watched, her body trembling as the effort of maintaining multiple traps tore at her remaining Seiðr reserves. Each summon, each blood-threaded rune, gnawed at her vitality. Yet she grinned, savoring the slow dance of death she orchestrated. "Come," she whispered, voice like a serrated blade. "Come into my cathedral."
The Guild advanced, step by careful step, disarming traps and clearing creatures with a mixture of magic and engineering precision. Their formation was flawless, yet the ruins themselves seemed alive , stones shifting to form corridors, roots snapping to block paths, and residual Seiðr energy flaring unpredictably. Mira's manipulation of the environment made her almost untouchable, forcing Alexsei and Natasha to calculate each movement as if they were pieces on a board.
Then, a sudden shockwave threw them backward , a trap embedded in the central plaza. Natasha's left arm was grazed by a shard of enchanted stone, burning through her bandages. Alexsei's exosuit barely compensated, halting him just in time to avoid being crushed. Mira's laughter echoed through the mist, cruel and triumphant.
But her advantage was fleeting. Natasha adjusted the runes on her rifle, pulsing the energy in precise frequency , a pulse that could temporarily disrupt her blood-threaded spells. "She won't escape this," Natasha whispered to herself. "Not today."
The Guild pressed forward once more, their methodical advance forcing Mira to retreat deeper into the central ruin , a half-collapsed sanctum, its walls scarred with ancient, forbidden runes. She was cornered, but still defiant, raising her remaining hand to conjure one final wall of corrupted Seiðr. The air shimmered with black and crimson energy, the smell of iron and decay choking the mist.
Natasha stepped forward, every shot calculated. With a deep breath, she let a concentrated rune pulse tear through the center of Mira's barrier. The blood-fire screamed, twisting violently before collapsing inward. Mira shrieked, her body thrown back against the wall. Her single eye glowed, then dimmed, her life-thread severed as the corruption around her collapsed.
Silence fell. The ruins were still, the mist slowly curling back into lazy motion. Natasha knelt beside Mira's lifeless form, her rifle lowering, her chest heaving. The fight was over.
But the victory was not without cost. Her left arm throbbed painfully, burned from the residual Seiðr backlash. The runes etched into her weapon and armor had fed her mana to the brink, leaving her weakened and shaking. Natasha's jaw tightened, eyes flicking over the ruins. "It's done," she whispered, though even to her, the word sounded hollow. "But the swamp… it's still alive. The work isn't over."
Alexsei joined her, placing a heavy gauntlet on her shoulder. "You did what had to be done," he said quietly. "Mira is finished, but the threads she pulled… they're still out there. We've only cut the tip of the serpent."
Natasha nodded, voice low and pained. "Then we hunt the rest. For her, for the Guild… and for Valdyrheim."
Above, the mist slowly lifted, revealing the ruins , shattered, scorched, yet still whispering faintly of dark Seiðr. Somewhere below, in the heart of the marsh, something older stirred, watching, waiting, patient and infinite.
The hunt was over, for now. But the war , against what Mira had awakened, and against the shadows she served ,was only just beginning.
The ruins lay silent beneath the waning mist, their blackened stones steaming in the early afternoon sun. The swamp had begun to settle, though every step left a ripple across the water, a reminder that the land itself had been scarred by Seiðr far older than any mortal reckoning. The White Devil Guild moved carefully among the wreckage, their boots sinking into mud that had absorbed centuries of corrupted magic. The scent of iron, blood, and scorched earth hung heavy, pressing down on even the most disciplined soldiers.
Natasha Sokolov leaned against a fallen column, her rifle lowered but ready. Her arm throbbed faintly from the backlash of the final spell, yet her eyes remained sharp, scanning the ruins with meticulous care. Around her, Guild members carefully cataloged the remnants of Mira's rituals — fragments of rune-etched stones, twisted bones of her summons, and pools of coagulated blood that still pulsed faintly with dark Seiðr.
Alexsei moved beside her, his silver exosuit gleaming in the fractured sunlight. He crouched near the center of the sanctum, tracing the blackened veins of Seiðr that Mira had left behind. The threads were older than he expected , not merely corrupted Seiðr, but a remnant of something buried deep beneath Valdyrheim, a power that had been sleeping for centuries.
"Careful," he murmured. "This isn't her doing alone. Mira was a vessel… but the source is still here."
A silence fell over the group, punctuated only by the soft hum of runes etched into rifles and armor. The Guild moved as one, securing the perimeter, erecting temporary wards to suppress lingering corruption, their disciplined formations echoing the rigor that had made them the White Devil Guild.
Then, a faint movement caught Natasha's eye , too deliberate to be a creature, too silent to be a member of the Guild. She raised her rifle instinctively, scanning the mist that pooled between shattered pillars.
"I see him," she whispered, her voice tight.
Alexsei followed her gaze and froze. Emerging from the haze, walking calmly among the ruined stones, was a familiar figure , Daniel. His cloak was damp and streaked with mud, his eyes glowing faintly blue as he paused atop a half-collapsed archway. There was no hurry in his movement, no panic, only the quiet, measured calm that always preceded his strikes.
"Daniel Rothchester," Alexsei said under his breath, the faint hiss of his armor betraying the tension coiling in his chest. "How…?"
Daniel's gaze swept across the ruins, lingering on the twisted traces of Seiðr that Mira had left. He knelt briefly, placing a hand over a scorched rune, feeling its pulse, dissecting its structure even now. He didn't move like someone hiding; he moved like someone studying a specimen , calm, composed, and infinitely patient.
"Alexsei," Daniel called softly, his voice carrying clearly across the marsh. "I see the Guild has… contained the immediate threat. Mira is gone."
Natasha's hand tightened on her rifle. "You're a little late," she said, voice sharp. "She's dead. Finished."
Daniel nodded, his eyes flicking toward the pools of residual corruption. "Yes… but this is only the surface. Mira was feeding on something older, something buried beneath Valdyrheim. If you truly want to understand what she awakened, you'll need more than brute force."
Alexsei rose slowly, the weight of his armor making a faint creak. "And you're here to teach us what? Or to… take control of it yourself?"
Daniel's expression was calm, unreadable. "I'm here to see it for myself," he said. "And to make sure whatever remains does not consume the land."
The mist shifted around him as he descended from the archway, each step measured, deliberate. Even now, the faint traces of Seiðr left by Mira quivered as if sensing his presence. The Guild instinctively tightened their formation, rifles humming with runic energy.
Natasha spoke quietly to Alexsei. "Do we… trust him?"
Alexsei's eyes never left Daniel. "Trust isn't required. Observation is. But know this , if he attempts anything reckless, he will be treated as a threat."
Daniel paused in the center of the ruins, hands tucked behind his cloak. "I mean no harm… to those who've already fought honorably. But the corruption here… it's far from spent. Mira's death only delayed what she touched."
For a moment, the swamp was silent again, the only sound the faint drip of water from broken stones and the distant call of a bird lost to the mist. Both parties , the hunters of the White Devil Guild and the master of Seiðr himself , understood the unspoken truth: what Mira had unleashed was not dead. It lingered, patient, waiting for the next thread to pull.
Alexsei stepped forward slightly, halberd in hand. "Then we investigate," he said. "Together , but cautiously. There are forces here older than either of us. And if we're not careful…"
Daniel's lips curved faintly, almost imperceptibly. "I know. That is why I am here."
The sun broke faintly through the mist, catching the edges of shattered ruins and casting long, jagged shadows. The White Devil Guild reorganized, tightening their formation around their leader, while Daniel moved among them, studying the lingering pulse of ancient Seiðr.
The aftermath was only beginning, and the ruins whispered secrets that had lain dormant for centuries. Somewhere deep beneath the swamp, in the shadowed corridors untouched by Guild or witch, the dark power stirred once more.
And for the first time, both hunter and observer understood that the true war for Valdyrheim had only just begun.
The ruins had grown quiet again, the last echoes of battle fading into the mist. The pools of Seiðr corruption shimmered faintly under the weak sunlight filtering through the canopy, their surface broken only by the occasional ripple. Daniel moved carefully among the stones, studying the fading runes with calm precision. Alexsei followed behind him, the faint mechanical hiss of his golden exosuit breaking the silence, while Natasha walked at their flank, rifle slung but ready.
Daniel stopped beside a broken column, tracing one of the symbols carved into it. The lines were sharp, precise — too deliberate to be wild magic. "Mira knew what she was doing," he said softly. "This wasn't a desperate spell. It was part of something structured."
Alexsei's heavy steps came to a stop beside him. The armor's servos clicked faintly as he shifted his stance. "Structured," he repeated, his voice low and thoughtful. "Yes… that's the word. Mira didn't invent this pattern. She inherited it — from people who thought discipline and control could excuse corruption."
Daniel glanced at him, his eyes cool and steady. "You speak as though you knew them well."
"I did," Alexsei admitted. He removed his helmet, letting the cool air touch his scarred face. Without the armor's mask, he looked older, worn ,not from years, but from burden. "You know where my Guild comes from. You've heard the stories, I'm sure. The White Devil Guild was born from the remnants of the Bratva , the old Russian mafia families. When the world fell into chaos and magic reawakened, they saw an opportunity. They wrapped their crimes in discipline, called it order. They became the Guild."
He gave a humorless smile. "But an old beast doesn't change just because it wears a new name."
Daniel said nothing, waiting.
Alexsei continued. "I didn't build this Guild, Daniel. I inherited it. And when I took leadership, I swore we would never return to those days. No more extortion, no more blood oaths, no more forced loyalty. Every man and woman in the White Devil Guild serves by choice , or not at all. But the elders…" He paused, the servos in his armor tightening as his hands clenched. "They still remember the old ways. They still whisper of control through fear and violence . And Mira was one of many who were force to endure their vile activities , that lost tormented soul, listen to them."
Natasha stepped closer, her voice quiet but firm. "We hunted Mira not just because she was dangerous. We hunted her because she reminded us of what our Guild once was. The same arrogance. vile action The same belief that those elders of our still believe , that power justified everything."
Daniel turned back to the ruins, his expression unreadable. "And now you want to convince me that your Guild has changed."
Alexsei nodded slowly. "No. I want you to see that we're trying to change." He looked down at his Seiðr golem armor, its golden plates streaked with mud and ash. "You hold power I can't begin to measure, Daniel. You've seen the heart of the Netherborn legacy , and the truth buried in its history. We all crossed into the second floor when no one else could. But you need to understand… our hunt wasn't born of pride. It was about owning our mistakes ,and trying, in whatever way we can, to wash our hands of them."
He paused, his voice tightening. "But even then… it's still something we're not proud of. Mira , that witch , killed four of our Guild members before we brought her down. They weren't soldiers of fortune or zealots. They were good people. Parents, sons, daughters , just trying to earn an honest living after years of blood and chaos."
Alexsei's gaze hardened, the faint glow of his armor's runes reflecting in the shallow pools around them. "I don't mourn their deaths because of what they meant to the Guild. I mourn them because they died cleaning up the sins of those who came before us."
"I am not a saint, Lord Daniel," Alexsei said quietly, his voice carrying a raw honesty that cut through the heavy mist. "I've done many evil things in my life, things I once justified as survival. Every crime, every order, every life taken… I told myself it was necessary. That it was for the Guild. For the family."
He looked down at his armored legs, the golden plates faintly reflecting the light of fading Seiðr. "But when I lost my legs, everything changed. Lying there , powerless, watching others fight and die for the same hollow cause , I finally saw it. I saw what we had become. I saw the cruelty of humanity… not from the side of the victor, but from the side of the broken."
His voice lowered, rough but steady. "And for the first time, I understood that surviving isn't the same as living with honor."
Many people came under the banner of the White Devil Guild, but they were all manipulated by our elders. The cult attacks and purges that happened in this place were orchestrated by those same people. The East and North are constantly ravaged by war, and even the two Lazarus guilds are facing their own problems.
Have you heard? They've been forcing their members into marriages with Skald-borns , not by choice, but through coercion. My teacher, Addison Lazarus, as well as Charlotte and Jacob's mother, were among those affected. I still don't know why.
And as for the White Devil Guild members who remain loyal to me , they are not allied with the North. Those actions came from our elders, not from my team. So please, understand that distinction.
Daniel's gaze softened, though his tone remained calm. "You're not the kind to hide behind excuses, Alexsei. That I can respect."
A faint smile tugged at Alexsei's mouth. "Good. Then let's talk plainly." He drew in a slow breath, eyes flickering toward the ruins beyond the broken walls. "Everything you see here — the chaos, the betrayal, the blood , it didn't begin with the guilds. It began with the fear our elders planted in us. They told us we were chosen, that we carried the will of something greater… but what they truly wanted was control."
He looked back at Daniel. "You've seen what blind loyalty does. Good men turn into monsters. Promises turn into chains. That's why I broke from them. Not because I wanted power ,but because I refused to be another weapon in their hand."
Daniel stayed silent, watching him closely.
"I tried to protect the young ones," Alexsei continued, voice low but steady. "To teach them that we are more than what our bloodlines or creeds demand. But some of them were already too far gone ,they believed the elders' lies. They called me a traitor." His hand curled slightly at his side. "Maybe I am. But if betrayal is what it takes to break this cycle, then I'll bear that name."
There was a long pause , the air heavy with the truth that neither man could easily deny.
"Understand this, Daniel," Alexsei said finally, his tone quiet but firm. "I don't want to rebuild the old order. I want to end it , every chain, every curse they've left behind. The White Devil Guild, the Lazarus names, the wars ,they've all become symbols twisted by pride and fear. If we can't unmake them, we'll never have peace."
Daniel's expression hardened slightly, but there was respect in his eyes. "Then you and I may not be so different after all."
Alexsei's smile faded. "Perhaps not. But the difference between us, Daniel… is that I've already seen what happens when good men believe they can change a corrupted system from within."
He adjusted a control on his exo suit, and the gold-plated armor responded with a low hum. "When the governments banned the use of the old magic tongues, most casters lost their edge. Incantations failed. Seiðr became unpredictable. But instead of abandoning magic, we adapted. That's how the rune guns were born."
Natasha unslung her rifle and handed it to Daniel for inspection. The weapon pulsed faintly with blue runelight along the barrel. "The rune guns were a collaboration," she said. "Our Guild worked with the Lazarus East Guild and the High Strategy Guild. Together, we found a way to channel Seiðr through rune-etched ammunition. No chants. No ancient language. Just pure energy focused through precision and discipline."
Daniel examined the weapon carefully, his fingers brushing the runes with interest. "Efficient," he murmured. "It's not magic in the old sense. It's engineering , controlled power without emotion."
"Exactly," Alexsei said. "It bridges the gap between the mundane and the forbidden. But that kind of innovation doesn't come cheap , or clean. The Lazarus Guild's forgers found remnants of Skald-born designs here in these ruins. Ancient rune-scribe techniques , lost since before the bans. That's why Mira came here. She wasn't just feeding on corruption. She was studying it. Adapting it."
Daniel frowned slightly. "And her allies?"
Alexsei's expression darkened. "Two of them. Both former Guild apprentices who fled after the purge. They discovered fragments of Netherborn history on the second floor , relics from your own lineage, Daniel. They twisted those teachings to control the broken cults that had risen after the clan wars. The Hands of Renewal, the Black Choir, and others like them. They promised salvation, but they only fed hatred."
Natasha added, "The people followed them because they were desperate. The wars destroyed families, whole cities. The east and north are still filled with lawless zones , bandits, mercenaries, broken guilds. Fear and distrust grow fast in those places. Mira and her followers used that."
Daniel's gaze grew distant, the faint blue glow in his eyes reflecting the runes on the ground. "I haven't seen the far cities in years," he said quietly. "I knew the wars left scars, but not that deep."
"They did," Alexsei replied. "And the elders , our elders , wanted to use that chaos. They failed twice before, when they tried to rebuild the old order. So they left the Guild in my hands to save face. I thought it was over. But when word spread that you, the Netherborn successor, had returned… they moved again. They used your name, your legacy, to legitimize their corruption."
Daniel's jaw tightened, though his voice remained calm. "So Mira believed she was serving me."
Alexsei nodded grimly. "Yes. And in a way, she did. Not you, the man , but the symbol. The return of the old power. She thought it justified everything."
A long silence followed. The three stood among the ruins as the fog began to thin, sunlight catching the edges of broken stone.
Daniel finally spoke, his tone softer now. "You're right to want to cleanse what your Guild became. The sins of our founders can't be erased, but they can be understood. If you truly mean to rebuild it , not in fear, but in reason, I'll help you."
Alexsei looked at him, surprised but grateful. "You would stand with us? After everything?"
Daniel gave a faint nod. "I don't stand with anyone, Alexsei. But I do stand for balance. What Mira unleashed could spread beyond this ruin if left unchecked. And if the corruption carries traces of Netherborn Seiðr, then I have a responsibility to end it."
Natasha holstered her rifle, exhaling slowly. "Then we start here."
Daniel glanced toward the half-sunken altar where Mira had once drawn her power. "These stones still hum with ancient Seiðr. Whatever she awakened is deeper than what we've seen. The cults, the old forges, your Guild's elders , they were all touching the edges of something older."
Alexsei nodded. "Then we dig carefully. Piece by piece. And when we find the source, we destroy it , together."
Daniel looked at him for a long moment, then extended his hand. "Then we have an accord."
Alexsei clasped it, his armored gauntlet closing around Daniel's with steady weight. "No lies. No debts. Just truth."
Natasha stepped beside them, the faint wind lifting strands of her hair. "And if the elders try again?"
Alexsei's voice was cold, resolute. "Then they'll learn that the White Devil Guild no longer serves the old ghosts of the past."
The mist rolled slowly over the ruins once more, the light fading into gray. Beneath the cracked earth, something vast stirred , a pulse, faint but steady, like the heartbeat of a buried world. The old enemy had not died; it merely slept, biding its time in the hollow veins of the land.
They were the jötnar , beings older than the Skald-born gods themselves. In the first dawn of creation, when the world was still a chaos of frost and flame, the jötnar walked freely between realms. Their voices could shake mountains, their breath could call storms from the sea, and their blood carried the raw essence of the ancient Seiðr , untamed, primal, and absolute.
When the Skald-born gods rose to power, they feared the jötnar's boundless nature. To rule creation, order had to be forged, and chaos had to be chained. The gods waged a war that lasted a thousand years, breaking continents and drowning empires in the process. In the end, the jötnar were defeated , not by strength, but by betrayal.
The gods sealed them beneath the world, using runes carved from their own divine bones. They buried them under mountains, beneath rivers, beneath the very roots of the world-tree, where even memory could not reach. The people came to believe the jötnar were myths , stories told by mad prophets or wandering seers. But the truth was darker.
Each time great blood was spilled upon the land, the jötnar stirred. Each war, each purge, each act of divine arrogance sent a tremor through their prisons. And now, as the ruins of the old world burned once again, the pulse beneath the earth grew stronger.
A whisper drifted through the mist , low, thunderous, like a mountain breathing.
"When gods fall silent, the forgotten shall rise."
It was said that if the jötnar ever woke, the balance of the realms would collapse. For they carried no concept of mercy or vengeance , only the will to reclaim what was stolen: the freedom of chaos itself.
Somewhere in the deep caverns below, a crack ran through an ancient seal, glowing faintly with molten light. The old enemy was not gone. It was waiting , patient, dreaming, and hungry.