Soon, she noticed the tremors on the ground—but it was too late. The pale abominations were already crawling out of the ruins: some from beneath the earth, others from the rooftops or the crumbled buildings. The path Riven had once taken was now completely overrun. Glancing left and right, the creatures advanced rapidly, and she was nearly encircled. She looked down at the twin blades in her hand.
The first blade bore the symbol of a crescent moon, nestled just beneath the guard. Artisans inlaid the symbol in pale silver; it glowed against the darker metal, and tiny lines, like moonlight rays, encircled it. Though lacking the moon symbol, the makers built the second blade's thicker spine for parrying and close duels. Its ornamentation mimicked veins or roots—twisting in silent patterns like a coiled predator.
With a practiced motion, she brought the two hilts together. The mechanisms clicked—the twin blades locking into place to form a single, double-ended spear. One end glinted with the crescent symbol, the other with the coiled patterns. Balanced and deadly, the new form allowed her to move with fluid efficiency—perfect for cutting through waves of monsters.
She held it to her right and sprinted toward the path Riven once passed through, slicing through the monstrosities like she was cutting through butter. Riven had a bit of distance on the abominations, but it was slowly beginning to fade.
Riven sprinted through the broken ruins, boots skidding on loose stone. Behind him, she gave chase—silent but relentless. Pale abominations crawled from the cracks: one burst from the ground, claws raking the air; another dropped from a shattered rooftop, jaws wide; a third lunged from the shadows. Riven ducked, rolled, twisted past them all—never stopping.
But where he ran to survive, she moved to destroy.
They came from all sides—bursting from shattered windows, scrambling down crumbling walls, lunging from fissures in the earth. Nira didn't flinch.
In a single breath, her spear spun to life in her hands. She became a storm of silver and death—twisting low to evade one, pivoting on her heel as the weapon whirled around her like an orbiting blade. One end slammed into a creature's jaw; the other ripped through another mid-leap. She turned again—faster this time—the blades catching the faint glow of the ruins, making her look almost ethereal.
To the monsters, she was a blur. To the few that survived long enough to see her face, she looked like an angel—one sent not to save, but to kill.
But soon, the abominations became too many. Her pace slowed. The distance between her and Riven increased.
He looked back—but saw nothing behind him. Still, he could hear the clash of her blades.
He crouched behind a half-collapsed column, panting hard. Blood—black, and not his—coated his hands.
Five now. I've killed five of them.
At first, he told himself killing them was just to survive. But he knew he was lying. He had ended the ambitions and dreams of those he killed. He felt disgusted. He didn't like the idea of killing another human. But he had to survive. He wiped the grime from his face, sighed, and started running again. Nira, on the other hand, was plowing through the monstrosities like a farmer weeding a field. As she ran past a crumbling wall, one of the creatures lunged at her. She barely dodged the attack. This one was different. It had two heads, and instead of two arms, it had four—two at the front, two at the back. She struck it, but her spear bounced off.
"Tsk."
She ran toward a collapsing wall. Using it as a ramp, she climbed, moving as fast as she could. Her feet hit the surface in rapid succession, each step short and sharp as she angled her body forward for balance. The wall was falling apart, offering barely enough grip, but her momentum carried her. She kicked off higher with each step, muscles coiled tight, eyes locked on her target. At the final stride, she pushed off with explosive force and jumped—rotating mid-air, increasing her momentum to make the attack deadly.
She went straight for the neck.
The spear sliced through both heads in a single motion. As the monstrosity dropped, the surrounding others began to back off—afraid.
She gave a devious smile.
"Tsh. Even monsters know when to run. Great. That saves me a lot of trouble."
After a short while, she reached the column where Riven had once rested. She knelt, eyes scanning the dirt—his footprints still fresh. She followed them, slowly catching her breath.
Riven's sprint had turned into a stumble—each step heavier than the last. The kicks and punches Nira had given him were beginning to hurt. He placed a hand on a wall, breathing heavily, gritting his teeth from the pain.
Before he could move, a silver light flashed toward him.
He barely dodged.
Embedded in the ground before him was Nira's silver spear. In its polished surface, he saw his reflection—sweaty, eyes sunken with fatigue. He turned toward where it had come from.
There she was—calm. Her clothes were covered in black ichor, as was part of her face. She dashed forward, grabbed the spear, and sent an arc attack toward his head. He dodged by a hair and countered with a punch to her stomach—but before it landed, she kicked him in the jaw, sending him flying. She slowly moved closer.
"They said you were just a Firstborn. You've been way more annoying than you should be. I was supposed to be napping right now."
She stood over him, then raised the spear—stabbing into his left shoulder. He gasped in pain.
"I guess I shouldn't kill you," she said, her tone aloof, as if even this was a chore.
Riven grimaced through clenched teeth, blood pooling beneath him. Then—suddenly—he moved. He twisted, driving his heel into her knee. Not enough to cause actual damage, but enough to throw her off balance. She staggered, surprised. But this was all he needed. He rolled, dragged himself upright with a stumble, and bolted—his arm limp, breath ragged, boots pounding the stone. Behind him, she sighed.
"…Now I have to chase you again."
Blood dripped from his shoulder as he ran. The ruins blurred past—broken stone, jagged archways, shadows that reached like claws. Each step jarred his wound, but he didn't stop.
She walked slowly behind him, not rushing, not even trying to catch up. Her spear hung loosely in her grip, tip dragging along the ground with a soft scrape. Her gaze never left him. She moved like she had all the time in the world—like she already knew where he'd stop. Eventually, he reached a garden. The flowers were white, illuminated by the moonlight. The pale blossoms stretched as far as the eye could see. In the distance, a figure stood—he couldn't tell if it was human or something far worse, but he didn't care. Anything that could distract her was welcome.
"HEY!" he shouted.
At first, the figure didn't move. But slowly, it shifted—approaching.
He turned back—Nira stood at the garden's entrance. She pulled the two hilts apart, transforming the spear back into twin blades. She moved closer. The closer she came, the more he felt fear. She scratched her head.
"I really don't care why you ran from the Order. But I'd advise you came with me. It's best—"
Before she could finish, they heard it: the sound of metal dragging across stone. Slowly, the figure came into view. It was tall and skeletal, its dark-gray skin stretched taut over its body. Its arms were unnaturally long, fingers dragging along the cracked ground as it walked. A scythe scraped behind it, carving web-like paths into the stone. A chain trailed from the scythe, linked to its chest. Its head was bald, featureless—save for a cloth wrapped tightly over its eyes. Its mouth was bound shut with fraying rope. Deep cuts marked its limbs, stitched not with thread, but rope and wire—holding its form together like a crude patchwork. Riven staggered back, breath caught in his throat. The creature's head tilted—slowly, unnaturally—as if sniffing the air. Then it moved. The chain gave a single rattle. Then the scythe shrieked across the stone.
In a single, fluid motion—the Reaper lunged.