The abomination's movement was a slow, tectonic shift. Each drag of its stone-and-flesh bulk ground against the earth, a low, groaning sound that vibrated up through the soles of my boots. The green eye remained fixed on us, unblinking, radiating a cold, alien intelligence. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the thing's deliberate advance.
"Back," I hissed, taking a step backward. The knife in my hand felt pitifully small. "We need to get off the road."
Croft launched from my shoulder to a higher vantage point on a nearby rock outcropping. "It has seen us. It will not stop." His voice was calm, but I could feel the tension thrumming through our bond.
I retreated further, eyes scanning the barren hills. There was no cover. The abomination was halfway up the slope now, its form becoming more horrifically detailed. The black flesh pulsed between the stones, part of the landscape violently fused into something new.
The compass in my chest was a frantic buzz, pulling east, directly through the thing blocking our path.
"Can we fight it?" I asked, my voice tight.
"With what?" Croft replied, his gaze never leaving the monster. "Your knife would be a pinprick. This thing is a perversion of the land itself."
The abomination was twenty yards away. A low, guttural hum set my teeth on edge. One of its stone limbs rose and slammed down onto the road. The impact cracked the ancient stones and sent a shockwave that nearly threw me off my feet.
Panic lanced through me. I couldn't fight. I couldn't outrun it. My mind raced. The new abilities—the sight, the shadows. And then I remembered the weight on my finger.
The black ring felt cool against my skin. As fear tightened its grip, I focused my will not on the ring itself, but on the desperate need for a weapon. The response was immediate. The dark metal flowed like liquid shadow, reshaping itself until my hand gripped the hilt of a long, elegant sword forged from what appeared to be solidified night. It felt like completing a circuit—as if part of me had been missing and was now restored.
The abomination was ten yards away. It sensed the change. Its green eye narrowed, and the grinding hum rose in pitch.
"Distract it!" I shouted to Croft.
He let out a piercing cry and swooped at the thing's eye. As its attention shifted, I charged.
My first swing was too eager. The shadow-blade sheared through a stone limb, but the abomination barely flinched. Another limb, faster than I expected, slammed into my side. The impact threw me through the air, and I landed hard, the breath driven from my lungs. Pain flared along my ribs. The abomination was learning, adapting.
I rolled to my feet, gasping. This wouldn't be easy. The thing wasn't just mindless—it was cunning.
I tried using my shadow-form, dissolving as a massive limb descended toward me. But the moment I became insubstantial, I felt a terrible draining sensation. I couldn't maintain it for long. I solidified behind the abomination, driving the blade deep into what passed for its back. Black blood sprayed, sizzling where it hit the ground. The thing roared, a sound of grinding stone and tearing flesh, and spun with shocking speed.
For what felt like an hour, we danced our deadly dance. I would land a blow, shearing away a chunk of its form, only to barely evade a crushing counterattack. The shadow-blade was effective, but the abomination was vast, and my stamina was finite. A glancing blow from a stony appendage sent a jolt of agony through my shoulder. Another caught my leg, and I felt something crack. I was tiring, my movements growing slower, my reactions duller.
The abomination seemed to sense my weakening state. It pressed its advantage, herding me toward a rocky outcrop where I'd have no room to maneuver. Its green eye glowed with malicious triumph.
This was it. I was cornered.
As it reared up for a final, crushing blow, a memory surfaced—not a vision, but an instinct. The shadow-blade wasn't just for cutting. it was an extension of ones abilities and nature
Instead of trying to dodge, I planted my feet. I focused all the cold energy within me, all the purpose of what I was, into the blade. As the abomination descended, I didn't swing at its limbs or its body. I thrust the sword upward, directly toward its burning green eye.
The shadow-blade didn't pierce the eye. It seemed to absorb it. The green light was sucked into the darkness of the blade, and with it, a wave of violent energy shot up the sword and into me. It was so cold it burned, a pain that was also a release.
The abomination didn't scream. It simply... stopped. Its form froze mid-descent, then began to crumble. The stones clattered to the ground, inert. The black flesh dissolved into wisps of foul-smelling smoke. As the last of its substance faded, something fell to the ground where its core had been—a perfect sphere about the size of my palm, made of some smooth, dark material.
The sphere pulsed with a rhythmic light, beating like a living thing. With each pulse, it emitted a faint silver glow, similar to the soul-light I saw around living beings, but twisted, sickly. The light grew stronger with each pulse, as if whatever energy remained inside was desperately trying to burn itself out. Then, as we watched, the beats slowed, the light dimmed, and the sphere crumbled into fine, grey dust that scattered in the wind.
I collapsed to one knee, the shadow-blade clattering to the ground beside me before flowing back into its ring form. Every muscle screamed in protest. My ribs were on fire, my leg throbbed, and I was drenched in cold sweat. The fight had been anything but easy.
Croft landed silently beside me, his eyes fixed on the spot where the sphere had been.
"The light..." I panted. "It was like the soul-glow, but..."
"Corrupted," Croft finished. "Everything that thing was, twisted down to its very essence."
I looked east, toward the unseen Spires. The road was clear, but I was battered and bleeding. We had survived, but the cost was written on my body. The ring was power, but it was not invincibility. The shadows were a refuge, but not a permanent escape.
I limped forward, each step a fresh ache, deeper into the wounded night. The memory of the fading, pulsing sphere was a grim promise: every step toward my past would be paid for in blood and pain, and every victory would leave its own haunting echo.