The insect familiar returned in a blur of jittery wings, landing on Nyxar's shoulder with frantic clicks.
Its message was simple, almost comically so: Big thing.
Nyxar's black-glyph eyes narrowed.
"Big," he repeated in a voice as flat as cold stone. "Useful."
He snapped his fingers. The floating Grimarca Noctem swung open, ink-black pages yawning like a mouth. With a pulse of shadow, every skeleton and hound re-formed around him in rattling readiness.
"Show the way," he said to the insect.
It zipped forward, erratic and buzzing like a drunken scout. Nyxar followed without hurry, boots whispering over damp rock. The deeper they went, the stronger the smell: coppery, ancient, and thick enough to taste.
The Bone Yard
The cavern widened into a cathedral of silence.
Bones everywhere—thousands—strewn like a giant's dice. But these were not clean skeletons; they were pulverized, splintered, ground into pale gravel. Skulls lay in halves. Ribs twisted into corkscrews.
Nyxar tilted his head, the faintest shrug.
"Efficient."
The insect buzzed nervously, wings flickering.
A sound followed: a breath—low, massive, deliberate.
Nyxar melted into shadow before thought could catch up. His summons followed suit, fading into cracks and crevices. The cavern itself seemed to hold its breath.
The "Big Thing" Arrives
From the far darkness, it came.
A silhouette too large to make sense, shoulders brushing stalactites, eyes glinting with cold intelligence. Its fur shimmered like hammered steel, every movement sending tiny sparks of moonlight.
Nyxar's mind supplied no name.
He simply filed it under: Problem.
The creature sniffed, claws dragging sparks along stone.
Shadow Offensive
The Grimarca Noctem fluttered open midair, pages shivering with violet fire. Glyphs danced like living smoke. Nyxar's voice was a whisper of command.
From every shadow sprang his army:
Seven skeletal hunters, jaws snapping.
Two flame-eyed hounds, ribcages glowing blue.
They leapt from all directions, a sudden storm of rattling bone.
The steel-furred giant reared, let out a roar so deep the stalagmites trembled—and moved.
A single swipe of its paw vaporized the first skeleton into a glittering mist. Another backhand turned two more to chalk dust.
Nyxar, unimpressed, watched from the dark.
"Large. Slow. Bad temperament. Noted."
The Leap
The bear—whatever it was—turned in a killing circle, smashing shadows faster than they could reform.
Nyxar's moment came in the chaos of bone and fury. He sprinted low, a streak of black, and leapt.
The dagger—still dull, still stubborn—drove into the creature's back.
The blade barely sank an inch.
The bear responded with a roar that made his eardrums ache. Muscles like iron cables flexed beneath him, and the shock almost threw him free.
He clung on, cloak whipping in the wind of its rage.
"This is suboptimal," he said, as calmly as ordering tea.
The beast rolled, slammed against a wall. Nyxar vaulted clear, landing catlike beside a collapsing column of stone.
Collapse Strategy
Only nine summons remained, their bones cracked, flames guttering.
Nyxar glanced upward. The cave ceiling was a fractured sky of rock, thin and trembling.
A plan slid into place.
"Eyes. Nose. Anger it."
The remaining creatures obeyed without hesitation. Skeletons clawed at its face. The insect dived for the tender wet of its nostrils, wings like buzzing needles.
The bear roared again—this time a true earthquake. Stalactites rained down. The ceiling groaned like an old god waking.
Nyxar was already running.
The End of Shadows
Behind him, the world fell.
Stone split with a sound like thunder tearing itself apart. Dust and darkness swallowed the cavern in a single choking wave.
When silence finally settled, Nyxar stood alone in a narrow escape tunnel, cloak powdered in gray. The Grimarca Noctem floated beside him, pages fluttering.
Words bled across the parchment in living ink:
All summons destroyed.
One gained.
Destroyed summons ~100.
Gained summon: 1.
Total summons left: 1.
Nyxar raised an eyebrow.
"One," he repeated. "Efficient."
The insect—his sole survivor—landed back on his shoulder, clicking smugly.
Nyxar allowed the faintest curve of a smile.
"Congratulations," he said. "You are promoted."
Somewhere beneath the rubble, a muffled huff rumbled—low, distant, but alive.
The Steel Bear was not finished.
Nyxar's grin vanished.
"Of course," he muttered, and started sharpening his still-dull dagger on the nearest stone.