CHAPTER 2 — THE NIGHT THE BIRTHDAY DIED
1. THE LAST BIRTHDAY PREPARATIONS
Lyra Vorn stirred the berry stew—Alaric's favorite—one last time. The smell of honey and wildberries filled their small home. Fourteen candles waited on the shelf. Darek was polishing the carved wolf pendant he'd made for their son's fourteenth birthday.
Outside, dusk settled gently over Wulfen Strait. Fishermen sang as they hauled nets. Children's laughter echoed from the square. Everything was as it should be.
Then the world tore open.
A roar—not of beast, but of breaking reality—shook the village to its foundations.
Lyra dropped the wooden spoon. "Darek…?"
He was already at the window, face pale. "That came from the northern ridge."
Another roar, closer. Lanterns rattled. Dogs howled in primal terror.
"They're not back from the forest yet," Lyra whispered.
Darek grabbed her hand. "Stay behind me."
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2. RAVENMAW'S DESCENT
The creature that stepped into the village light was Corruption given form.
Ravenmaw stood twice the height of a man, its body a landscape of nightmares. Blackened flesh split over jutting bones. Crimson light pulsed through cracks in its skin like molten hatred. Its breath steamed with the smell of graves and lightning-struck trees.
But its eyes were the worst—yellow pools of intelligent madness.
Two hunters charged with spears. The first died mid-swing, carved from shoulder to hip. The second's spear shattered, then his body.
Panic erupted.
Lyra's perspective: She saw Old Man Heron's hut disintegrate under a single swipe. Saw the baker's daughter crushed under falling timber. Saw people she'd known her whole life torn apart.
Darek's perspective: He saw the eight Soul Seed warriors—the village's only trained defenders—form a desperate line. Saw Arkan Reld, their Spirit Vein warrior, lead the charge. Saw Ravenmaw barely notice them.
The beast moved through them like a storm through wheat.
Arkan's spear struck—and did nothing. Ravenmaw turned slowly, almost curiously, then slammed into him. The crunch of breaking ribs echoed over the screams.
Darek grabbed a fallen warrior's broken spear. "Lyra, gather who you can and—"
"It's coming here," she whispered.
Ravenmaw's burning eyes had found them. Not random destruction now—purposeful movement. Toward their home.
Toward Alaric's scent on their clothes.
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3. THE VORN FAMILY'S FINAL MOMENTS
Darek pushed Lyra behind him. "When I say run, you run."
"Not without you—"
"LYRA!"
The beast charged.
Darek thrust the spear. Ravenmaw snapped it like dry twig. One swipe sent Darek flying into the house wall. Ribs cracked audibly.
Lyra ran to him as Ravenmaw's claw descended.
The world became splintering wood and breaking things. The birthday table shattered. Berry stew spilled across the floor, mixing with something darker. Candles scattered, flames catching curtains.
Lyra crawled toward Darek, her shawl soaking up the red spreading beneath them.
Her final breath formed a name: "Alaric—"
Then silence.
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4. THE CHILDREN EMERGE
Alaric, Liron, and Maelo stumbled from the forest's edge just as the moon rose.
The silence hit them first.
No village sounds. No laughter, no chatter, no evening songs. Just… nothing.
Then the smell—smoke, yes, but underneath it, something metallic and rotten.
"The gate…" Liron whispered.
Where the village entrance had stood was only splinters and deep claw marks gouged into the earth. A Soul Seed warrior lay half-crushed against the remains of the fence, eyes staring at nothing.
Maelo's hand went to her mouth. Alaric just stared.
They stepped forward—and their boots sank into something warm and wet.
Blood. Not puddles. A river of it, tracing the path of destruction down the main road.
Every home told the same story in different ways: a door ripped from hinges here, a wall smashed there, a roof collapsed everywhere. The well overflowed—not with water, but with red streaks trickling down its stones.
Liron turned left and saw the family—mother, father, two small children—torn apart beside their burning home. He collapsed, vomiting.
Maelo knelt beside him, pulling him close, her own tears falling silently.
Alaric felt something break inside him. His birthday. His village. His world.
Everything gone.
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5. THE CORRUPTED RISE
A wet, dragging sound from the shadows.
A figure pulled itself from behind the old well. Once a man—now something else. Black-red veins crawled under pale skin. Jaw hanging unhinged. Eyes glowing sickly yellow.
It shrieked—a sound of pure madness—and charged.
Maelo yanked Liron aside just as the creature's claws scrapched where his throat had been.
More emerged. From broken doorways. From collapsed roofs. From burning homes. Dozens of them—former neighbors, friends, family—now twisted into nightmares.
Then a new sound: a deep, guttural roar from the village center.
A massive silhouette rose behind the burning houses. Twice human height. Muscles bulging unnaturally. Bones jutting through skin.
"Arkan…?" Maelo whispered, horrified.
The Spirit Vein warrior—or what remained of him. His transformation was incomplete, making it more grotesque. One arm twice the size of the other. Spine protruding upward. But still, on his torn uniform, a badge of the village protectors.
He roared again. Every corrupted villager shrieked in response.
A pack. With a leader.
"RUN!" Alaric screamed.
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6. THE HOUSE THAT WAS HOME
They sprinted past horrors Alaric's mind couldn't fully process. But one sight stopped him dead.
His home. Or what remained.
Walls split like broken bones. Roof half-collapsed. The birthday lamp outside flickered weakly, as if trying to fulfill its purpose one last time.
"Alaric, don't—" Maelo began.
He was already walking inside.
The stew pot lay overturned, berry stew mixed with dirt and blood. Shattered wooden bowls. And there—the carved wolf pendant, broken in two, warm not from fire but from the liquid soaking it.
His mother's shawl lay near the doorway, completely saturated. A handprint smeared along the floorboards, fingers dragging toward the exit.
A wet, choking breath from behind the collapsed wall.
Alaric tore at the rubble, splinters cutting his hands.
Darek lay there, chest crushed, blood bubbling at his lips with each ragged breath.
"Father…"
Darek's eyes opened—cloudy, fading. His hand rose slowly, shaking, to touch Alaric's cheek.
"You… must… run…"
"No! Maelo can help—she has herbs—"
"Alaric…" Maelo's voice trembled. "Nothing can fix this."
Darek coughed, more blood. "Your… mother…"
His eyes drifted toward the doorway. Lyra's hand protruded from debris, still.
Alaric's scream was raw, primal, the sound of his childhood ending.
Darek's grip tightened weakly. "Listen… You… live…"
His hand fell. His chest stilled.
Silence.
Then the ground trembled.
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7. THE MONSTER AT THE DOOR
Arkan stood outside what remained of the front wall.
His transformation was clearer now up close: chest slightly split, glowing red inside; left arm armored in bone plates; every breath releasing corrupted steam. But still—that torn village badge.
His yellow eyes found Alaric. Recognized him? Or recognized the Pure Energy radiating from him?
The beast snarled, a deep gurgling growl that vibrated the broken walls.
Maelo grabbed Alaric's arm. "WE HAVE TO GO!"
Alaric didn't move. Frozen. Broken.
Liron slapped him—hard. "ALARIC! MOVE!"
The shock worked. They bolted out the back as Arkan's fist smashed through the wall they'd just been standing against.
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8. THE CHASE
The corrupted pack swarmed after them, shrieking, clawing at everything in their path.
Alaric led them down narrow alleys, past burning homes, over collapsed fences. Every turn brought more horrors: a corrupted child crawling with backward joints, a former elder dragging itself by one arm, mutants twitching and screaming.
They reached the main road—and found it blocked. Dozens of corrupted villagers pouring from side streets, cutting off escape.
Trapped.
The circle tightened around them. Hissing. Clicking jaws. Yellow eyes glowing in the firelight.
Arkan stepped through the ranks, towering over his corrupted pack.
Liron sobbed, clutching his injured arm. Maelo stood back-to-back with Alaric. "What do we do?"
"Buy time," Alaric whispered.
"For what?"
He didn't answer. Because he didn't know.
Alaric grabbed a bent metal pipe from the debris. Raised it with shaking hands.
"You want us?" he said to the monster that was once their protector. "Then come."
Arkan charged.
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9. THE STAND
Alaric dodged the first crushing blow—barely. The impact shattered the ground where he'd stood.
He struck Arkan's knee with the pipe. CLANG—the metal bent. Arkan didn't even flinch.
A kick sent Alaric flying into a wall. Breath gone. Vision swimming.
Maelo screamed his name.
Arkan raised his massive arm for the killing strike.
Alaric looked at his friends. At the burning village. At the broken world.
"Not here," he whispered. "Not like this."
The arm descended—
BOOOOOOM!
A shockwave blasted corrupted villagers aside like leaves in a storm. Arkan stumbled back, roaring in confusion.
A figure landed between the children and the horde.
Tall. Cloaked. Radiating Pure Energy so potent it made the air crackle.
The corrupted hissed and backed away instinctively.
Arkan roared a challenge.
The figure slowly lifted its head. Eyes glowed with controlled, deadly Power.
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[END OF CHAPTER 2]