The world split open in light and roar.
The Shackleborn's bellow shook the cliffs, a scream of iron and bone, of every chain ever forged grinding against the will of the world. Its bulk towered above the hunters, body writhing with fused bones and tangled links that clanged with every movement. A storm of ash and sparks swirled around it, blotting out the stars.
Hunters scattered, their beasts dragging them from crushing strikes, but each lash of the creature's chains shattered stone, splitting the battlefield into craters. Dozens already lay broken, screams drowned in the thunder of the beast's fury.
Ethan stood his ground, breath ragged, Shadowfang braced beside him with fire searing from his jaws. The bond between them throbbed with pain and defiance alike, each heartbeat tethered by something deeper than survival.
Lyra fought nearby, her serpent darting like a streak of flame to blind the monster's eyes. She shouted over the chaos: "We can't bring it down, Ethan! It's not possible!"
Ethan's blade trembled in his grip, not from fear but from the weight of what burned inside him. The chains beneath his skin pulsed brighter, searing through flesh, singing to the abomination like a call of blood. The Shackleborn turned, every one of its thousand burning eyes locking onto him.
He understood then. The thing wasn't just born of chains. It was the chains. A living embodiment of the power that bound every hunter, every beast.
And it wanted him.
---
The ground split as the Shackleborn lunged, its massive body crashing down where Ethan had stood a heartbeat before. Shadowfang shoved him aside, flames flaring to shield against the blast. Rocks and dust filled the air, choking, blinding.
Ethan staggered to his feet, coughing, eyes burning. His sword gleamed faintly, the runes along its edge alive with the same light that crawled his veins.
You are ours, the voices whispered inside him. Strike with us, bleed with us, become us.
"No." He spat blood into the dirt. "I fight with my will. Not yours."
But still he raised the blade, and still the power surged, spilling through him like wildfire.
---
Hunters tried to rally, striking at the Shackleborn's legs, its chains, its burning skull. Their blades glanced off bone; their beasts were swatted aside like insects. The scarred hunter Ethan had saved earlier was hurled against a cliff, coughing blood, his wolf companion whimpering weakly beside him.
"Fall back!" someone cried.
But there was no place to fall. The rift pulsed wider behind the beast, vomiting more shadows into the night. If the Shackleborn was not stopped, the world itself would tear.
Lyra's serpent coiled around Ethan's arm, sparks searing his skin. Her voice was sharp with desperation. "You can't hold it back forever. You have to use the chains. All of them. It's the only way!"
Ethan's jaw clenched. He could feel Shadowfang pressing against his side, fire radiating like a heartbeat. The beast's golden eyes burned into his, a silent vow.
If he gave in, he might become the monster the Guild wanted. If he didn't, he might die—and worse, let the world burn.
"No," Ethan whispered again. His grip tightened on the blade. "We'll forge a new way."
Shadowfang roared, golden fire exploding from his form, merging with the light of the chains in Ethan's body. For the first time, the fire did not consume—it bound.
Man and beast moved as one.
---
They charged.
Ethan's steps struck the earth like drumbeats. Shadowfang's fire swirled around him, cloaking his blade in gold and silver. The Shackleborn's chains lashed, splitting the ground, but Ethan weaved through them, every motion guided by instinct and bond.
He leapt, sword blazing, and struck at the beast's skull. The impact rang like thunder, sparks cascading. The Shackleborn roared, staggering back. Hunters gasped in disbelief—its armor had cracked.
The scarred hunter, bloody but alive, shouted hoarsely, "He can wound it! Follow him!"
For the first time, the hunters surged behind Ethan instead of against him. Steel and flame rained against the monster, a storm that pushed it back step by step.
The Shackleborn shrieked, chains whipping wildly, but now Ethan heard something else beneath its fury—a tremor of fear.
---
High above, the Master of Chains stood on the cliffs, cloak rippling in the wind. His masked face tilted slightly, watching Ethan with silent calculation. A gloved hand flexed, and the rift writhed in response.
He whispered, unheard by the others, "So you choose rebellion over obedience. Then let us see if defiance can survive the weight of eternity."
The rift's glow intensified. The Shackleborn convulsed, its chains burning hotter, snapping with renewed strength. With one titanic swing, it swept aside half a dozen hunters, their cries silenced.
Ethan's eyes narrowed. His body screamed with exhaustion, but the bond with Shadowfang surged stronger, fueled by rage, by the will not to be caged.
"We end this—together!" he shouted.
Shadowfang roared, fire spiraling into a torrent that wrapped Ethan's blade. The chains beneath his skin blazed, no longer whispers but a roar of power he refused to kneel to. Instead of surrendering, he bent them—not into shackles, but into wings of light and flame.
For a heartbeat, Ethan wasn't just a hunter. He was something new.
---
He leapt higher than the cliffs, blade raised, wings of chain-fire streaming behind him. The Shackleborn reared, its thousand eyes blazing. Chains lashed upward to tear him down.
Ethan descended like judgment.
His blade carved through bone, fire searing through links, his roar merging with Shadowfang's. The impact split the night. The Shackleborn shrieked as its skull cracked open, light spilling from the wound.
The monster convulsed, chains snapping one by one until its massive frame collapsed, a mountain of broken links and bone sinking into ash.
For a long moment, silence reigned. Only the hiss of dying flames and the ragged breaths of survivors filled the air.
Hunters stared at Ethan, awe etched across bloodied faces. Some dropped to their knees. Others looked at him with fear sharper than before.
Because he had done what none of them could. Because he had bent the chains—and lived.
---
But Ethan's victory was hollow.
He looked up toward the cliffs. The Master of Chains was gone, the rift shrinking back into silence. Only the echo of that masked gaze remained, heavy on his shoulders.
"They'll come for me," Ethan murmured. Shadowfang pressed against him, warm, steady.
Lyra staggered to his side, her serpent dim but alive. Her eyes shone with both relief and dread. "They won't just come for you. They'll hunt you like they hunt every monster."
Ethan looked at the broken battlefield, at the hunters who still stared in silence.
"Then let them," he said, voice like steel. "If the Guild wants a weapon, they'll find something they can't control."
He sheathed his blade, fire and chain-light fading from his skin. For now.
Above the smoldering ruins of the Shackleborn, the wind carried the faint rattle of unseen chains. A promise. A warning.
And Ethan knew—the real hunt had only just begun.
---
Chapter End.
---