The wind howled as Ethan faced the creatures before him—shadows, twisted echoes of things that once had form, now nothing but claws and teeth. They hissed with hunger, circling him in the dim glow of the pact sigil.
"You summoned these things?" Ethan asked, voice steady despite the tension in his limbs.
"They are fragments of me," Lior replied lazily, perched atop a broken stone pillar. His red eyes gleamed. "If you can't survive even a sliver of my darkness, you'll be useless against what's coming."
Ethan exhaled slowly. "Then I'll tear through your shadow until the light breaks in."
The first shadow lunged. Ethan ducked low, sliding beneath its arc, and struck upward with the dagger forged from bone and salt. The creature screeched and dissolved into mist.
Another came at him from the side, faster. He barely turned in time, catching it with the edge of a fire rune sewn into his sleeve. The explosion threw both of them back, but only Ethan stood up again.
"Two down," Ethan muttered, spitting blood. "How many more?"
Lior smirked. "Five."
Ethan's heart pounded. His body ached. But he stepped forward again.
The third one was smarter—its form more defined. It took the shape of a young man, wearing Ethan's face.
"Why fight us?" it said in Ethan's voice. "You're one of us. You carry the Root. You always have."
"I carry the burden," Ethan whispered. "Not the corruption."
And he slashed the shadow's throat open with his dagger, watching his own false eyes go dark before the body crumbled into black sand.
"Three."
The fourth and fifth came together—a pair of twin beasts, mirror images of each other. They struck with coordinated speed, biting and clawing. Ethan could barely keep up, dodging, rolling, bleeding.
"You're slowing," Lior called out. "Will you fall before you even begin?"
"Shut up," Ethan growled. He drew a charm from his belt—one of the last his mother had given him before she died. "I may not be fast enough. But I've learned to burn bright, even if it kills me."
The charm exploded in his palm—blinding golden light burst forth, slicing through the twins in one swift flash.
"Five."
Only one remained.
Ethan turned, breathing hard. The sixth was not like the others.
It stood tall, cloaked in robes of woven ash, its face hidden, but its presence familiar.
"You look like..." Ethan froze. "Father?"
The creature didn't speak. It simply raised its hand, and from its sleeve spilled a chain—the very one that had once bound the Vi family altar.
"Do you remember how he died?" Lior asked quietly. "Do you remember the scream? The curse?"
Ethan's grip tightened on his blade. "I remember... I was too weak to stop it."
"Then what will you do now?"
The creature lunged—and this time, Ethan did not dodge. He stepped into the blow, took the pain of the chain tearing through his shoulder—and stabbed forward.
Straight through its chest.
"You may look like him," Ethan whispered, "but my father died protecting me. You die meaning nothing."
The shadow gasped once—then melted into smoke.
Lior stepped down from his perch, slow claps echoing. "Impressive. You bleed, but you don't break."
Ethan fell to one knee. "Was that enough for your approval?"
"For now," Lior said. Then his gaze turned serious. "But this was nothing compared to what waits in Hollow Root."
Ethan looked up, drenched in blood, breathing heavy.
"Then let's go to war."
—End of Ep 4