Chapter Twelve: Tyrant of the Mire
The swamp was still. Too still. The croak of frogs had gone silent. Even the insects had fled, leaving only the stink of rot and stagnant water in the air.
Kael stood with his strike team crouched in the reeds, eyes locked on the crude fortress of bone and wood ahead. The ogre sat upon its throne, a grotesque monarch framed by cages of groaning prisoners.
He turned to his companions, voice low but commanding. "You know your roles. Lyria, you lead the hunters. Free the captives. Move fast, strike quiet, and keep to the shadows. If things turn loud—" his crimson eyes flicked toward the massive figure on the throne— "I'll hold its attention."
Lyria's silver eyes gleamed in the swamp-light. She gripped his arm briefly, her hand warm despite the chill. "Don't make me regret trusting you."
Kael smirked faintly. "You won't have time to regret anything if you don't move fast enough."
The elves slipped away like ghosts into the shadows, bows at the ready. Kael straightened, rolling his shoulders, his hand tightening on Baldrek's freshly-forged blade. His other hand brushed across Umbra's neck. The direwolf's fur bristled, golden eyes fixed on the fortress.
"Stay close," Kael whispered. "But not too close. This is mine."
Then he stepped from the reeds and into the heart of the mire.
The Ogre Tyrant noticed him instantly. Its massive head lifted, yellow eyes narrowing. Slowly, it rose from its throne, towering over the battlefield, club dragging through the mud with a teeth-grating scrape.
Kael stopped at the center of the clearing, cloak billowing faintly in the swamp's fetid breeze. His crimson gaze never wavered.
The ogre's voice was a guttural rumble, deep and mocking. "Another morsel. Bold, to walk so close to your death. Did you come to join my larder, little man?"
Kael smirked, shadows coiling at his feet. "I came to shut your mouth. You've stolen your last life."
The ogre chuckled, the sound like boulders grinding together. "Big words. Small body. I will snap you in half and drink your marrow."
"Try me." Kael's voice was steel. "I'm not prey. I'm the end."
With a roar, the ogre swung its massive club down.
Kael moved. Shadows burst beneath his feet as he leapt aside, the ground erupting where the club struck, mud and water spraying like shrapnel. He closed the distance in a flash, blade singing through the air. The steel bit into the ogre's thigh, drawing a spray of black blood. The giant roared, backhanding Kael with terrifying speed.
The blow hurled him through the air. He slammed against a cypress trunk, the bark shattering beneath the impact. Blood filled his mouth, but he staggered back up, spitting it out with a grin.
"Is that all?"
The ogre snarled, swinging again. Kael met the strike head-on, blade braced in both hands. The club crashed down like thunder, sending shockwaves through the swamp. Kael's arms screamed, bones nearly snapping under the force, but he held. Shadows surged up his legs, rooting him in place. With a growl, he shoved upward, redirecting the blow just enough to slip inside the ogre's reach.
His blade flashed again, carving across the beast's ribs. More blood splattered the mud.
The Tyrant roared in rage and pain, kicking out. Kael barely dodged, the strike grazing his side. Agony ripped through him as claws tore flesh. He stumbled, clutching his wound.
Behind him, faintly, he heard the creak of cages opening—the hunters at work. The plan was working.
But his vision blurred, blood pouring freely.
"Enough games!" the ogre bellowed, lifting its club with both hands. "Kneel, insect!"
The weapon descended like a falling mountain. Kael raised his blade, but his strength faltered. The impact shattered the ground, flinging him aside like a broken doll. He hit the mud hard, his weapon tumbling from numb fingers.
Umbra howled, charging forward, massive jaws snapping. The direwolf leapt, biting into the ogre's arm, shaking violently. The Tyrant roared, slamming its club against Umbra's side, but the wolf refused to let go.
Kael tried to push himself up. His vision swam. He was bleeding out. The world tilted.
Not yet. Not like this.
He staggered to his knees, shadows boiling from his body, twisting, writhing. His crimson eyes burned, brighter than fire. Memories surged—the screams of his parents, the flames of his home, the scent of blood and smoke.
Rage swallowed him whole.
The swamp itself seemed to shudder. Kael's shadow erupted outward, coiling into wings of darkness. His skin cracked with red fissures as demonic power surged. His voice came out layered, dragon and demon entwined.
"You… will… FALL!"
He launched himself at the ogre, faster than lightning. His blade reappeared in his hand, shadow-forged and blazing with crimson fire. He struck again and again, carving into the Tyrant's flesh with monstrous strength.
The ogre swung wildly, bellowing in fury, but Kael was everywhere—climbing its arm, leaping to its shoulder, driving his blade into its neck. Black blood rained.
The Tyrant staggered, dropping its club, both hands clawing at Kael like a man swatting at a viper. But Kael's fury was unstoppable. With a final roar, he plunged his blade through the ogre's skull, shadow and fire exploding outward in a storm of raw power.
The beast convulsed once, then collapsed into the mire with an earth-shaking crash.
Kael stood atop its corpse, drenched in blood, shadows writhing uncontrollably around him. His crimson eyes glowed like twin suns in the dark.
Umbra whined below, pacing nervously, hackles raised.
Kael staggered, dropping the blade. The shadows guttered. Blood loss caught up with him, his body giving out. He toppled from the ogre's corpse into the muck. Darkness closed in.
He awoke to warmth. The crackle of fire. The murmur of voices.
His eyes fluttered open to the familiar sight of the village hall, beams overhead, herbs hanging from rafters. His wounds were wrapped tight, pain dulled by salves. Lyria sat nearby, exhaustion on her face but relief in her eyes.
"You're alive," she said quietly.
Kael groaned, trying to sit up. "Barely."
Umbra lifted his great head from the floor beside the bed, golden eyes filled with reproach. The direwolf huffed, then laid his head back down against Kael's leg.
Lyria shook her head, half-smiling. "You nearly got yourself killed. But the captives are safe. The ogre is dead. And once again, you've done the impossible."
Kael closed his eyes briefly, letting the words settle. The image of the ogre's fall replayed in his mind, its roar, its death.
When he spoke, his voice was hoarse but steady. "One more Tyrant down. Two remain."
And in the silence that followed, the weight of his path pressed heavier than ever.