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Chapter 36 - Seeds of Doubt

The sun hung low on the horizon, bleeding its dying light across a sky bruised by smoke. Black Hollow's broken towers loomed behind them, shadows clawing at the edge of their vision.

Leo led the way, his machete strapped to his back, its rune a dull glow against the darkness. His breath came slow, each step heavy with exhaustion.

Kara walked beside him, her rifle resting across her shoulders, her eyes scanning the ruined road ahead. "We made it out," she muttered, her voice low. "But for how long?"

Jarek followed, his axe swinging at his side. His steps were steady, but his eyes were wary. "We killed the Herald," he rumbled. "But his master's still out there. The Fallen Star won't rest."

Aícha's staff glowed faintly, her eyes shadowed with fatigue. "We hurt him," she whispered. "But that's all we did. We hurt him."

Leo's jaw tightened. "And we'll hurt him again," he said.

Silence fell, broken only by the wind. It carried the scent of old blood, of burned earth, of a world that had seen too many wars.

They crossed a bridge of crumbling stone, its arches split by age and conflict. Beneath, a river ran black with ash.

Kara's voice was a knife. "You think any of this matters?" she asked. "Killing his Herald, saving a fortress that'll probably fall tomorrow. What are we even fighting for?"

Jarek's axe thumped against his palm. "For the ones who can't fight for themselves," he said.

Aícha's staff trembled, her voice thin. "For a world that's worth saving," she whispered.

Leo paused, his gaze on the horizon. "For each other," he said.

Kara's grin was slow, but it came. "Damn right," she muttered.

They walked on, the path winding through ruins and bones. Statues broken by time and darkness watched from the shadows, silent witnesses to a war that refused to die.

A shape moved ahead—a figure wrapped in rags, stumbling across the broken road.

Kara's rifle swung up. "Contact," she muttered.

Leo's hand fell to his machete. "Hold," he said.

The figure collapsed, a ragged moan escaping its lips. Leo stepped forward, his blade ready, and knelt beside it.

It was a boy—no older than sixteen, his face streaked with dirt and tears. His eyes were wide, terrified.

"Please," he whispered. "Help me."

Leo's chest tightened. "You're safe," he said softly. "Who did this to you?"

The boy's gaze darted to the darkness beyond the road. "They're coming," he sobbed. "They said… they said the light would die here."

Aícha's staff flared, her voice sharp. "It's a trap," she hissed. "They're using him."

Kara's grin vanished. "Bastards," she spat.

Jarek's axe swung into a ready position. "Then let 'em come."

Leo's eyes burned. "No mercy," he growled.

Kara's voice was a blade. "No surrender."

Aícha's staff glowed bright. "No darkness."

Leo's voice was iron. "No fear."

Shadows lunged from the ruins, black claws reaching.

And the battle began again.

The air exploded with screams and steel. Shadows poured from the ruins like spilled ink, shapes half-formed, eyes glinting with hunger.

Leo's machete leapt to his hand, its rune blazing like a sun in the night. His heart hammered, each beat a promise he refused to break.

Kara's rifle barked, her shots cutting shadows from the air. "Come on, you bastards!" she shouted, her voice raw with fury. Shell casings rained at her feet like dying stars.

Jarek's axe swung in wide arcs, each blow splitting darkness with a spray of black ichor. His breath came in ragged bursts, his eyes locked on the enemy. "No darkness!" he roared.

Aícha's staff flared, runes spinning like a sun. She moved like a dancer, each step a prayer. Her voice rose, a chant of old words that burned the shadows like fire. "No fear!" she cried.

The darkness lunged, claws scraping stone, voices whispering of betrayal and surrender. Leo felt it coil around his heart, cold fingers digging for his doubts.

"Leo," a voice hissed—soft, familiar. His mother's voice. "You failed me."

He swung his machete, the rune blazing. "No," he snarled. "You're dead. You've been dead for years."

The shadow screamed, dissolving like mist.

Aícha's staff cracked the air, her voice a steady song. "Hold the light!" she called.

Kara's rifle clacked empty. She drew her knife, her grin savage. "No mercy!" she spat, plunging the blade into a shrieking shadow.

Jarek's axe was a hurricane of steel, his steps a mountain that would not move. He swung, split a corrupted warrior from shoulder to hip, and let out a roar that shook the night. "No surrender!"

Aícha's staff flared, her voice a song of light. Her runes spun faster, weaving shields that deflected claws and spells alike. She moved like a dancer amid the storm, her face a mask of calm defiance. "No darkness," she whispered. "No surrender."

Leo's breath came in ragged gasps. "No mercy," he rasped, his blade a blur.

The corrupted fell around them, shrieking in agony, their bodies dissolving into shadows that fled into the night.

Silence fell, heavy as a grave. The clearing was littered with bodies—some too twisted to be called human, others the shattered remnants of warriors who had chosen darkness.

Leo stood at the center, his blade dripping black blood, his breath ragged but unbroken. His eyes burned with a promise. "We stand," he said. "No matter the cost."

Kara's grin was a pale ghost of itself. "We're still here," she said.

Jarek's axe rested on his shoulder, his chest heaving. "For now," he rumbled.

Aícha's staff dimmed, the runes fading. She looked exhausted, but her eyes were clear. "We have to move," she whispered. "Black Hollow is close, but the darkness will come again."

Leo nodded, his jaw tight. "Then we move," he said. "Together."

Because even in blood and ashes, they would not bow.

The wind whispered through the ruins, carrying the scent of old blood and dying fire. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving only the bruised light of dusk to stain the broken stones.

Leo crouched by the boy they'd saved, his machete resting across his knees. The boy's eyes were glassy, his breath shallow.

"Hey," Leo said softly. "Look at me."

The boy's eyes flickered, uncertain. "They said you'd leave me," he whispered. "They said… you'd leave us all."

Leo's jaw tightened. "They lied," he said. "We're still here. We don't bow."

Kara hovered nearby, her rifle dangling from its strap, her expression a mix of defiance and worry. "Poor kid," she muttered. "We can't save everyone, Leo."

Jarek sat on a broken column, his axe resting at his side. His eyes were dark pools of exhaustion. "We're not gods," he rumbled. "We're just men—and the darkness knows it."

Aícha leaned against a wall, her staff's light dim and tired. "And that's why it keeps coming," she whispered. "Because it thinks it can break us. And… maybe it can."

A hush fell over them.

Leo's gaze swept his team—his family. Each of them marked by scars, by loss, by shadows that would never truly leave them.

"We've come this far," he said, his voice low. "And we've lost a lot. But if we start doubting now, the darkness wins."

Kara's grin returned, tired but defiant. "Well then," she said, "no mercy."

Jarek's axe gleamed faintly. "No surrender."

Aícha's staff flared, its light trembling but steady. "No darkness."

Leo's machete rose. "No fear," he finished.

But even as the words left his lips, he felt the weight pressing down on them—the questions that no battle could answer.

Aícha stepped closer, her voice hesitant. "Leo," she said. "What if… what if we can't win this? What if the darkness is too strong?"

Leo met her gaze. "Then we make sure it remembers us," he said. "Even if it wins… it won't forget that we fought."

Jarek's laugh was a low rumble. "And that's a victory all its own," he said.

Kara's grin sharpened. "Hell yes," she muttered.

The boy's voice, soft and trembling, rose from the ground. "Will you… will you really fight for us?"

Leo's eyes burned. "Always," he said.

Because even in the seeds of doubt, even when the night crept closer, they would not bow.

The night deepened around them, the stars distant and cold. The path stretched ahead like a scar on the earth, winding through broken lands where the darkness had left its mark.

Leo walked at the front, machete slung across his back, its rune a soft glow against the night. Every step felt heavy, the memory of the battle lingering in his bones.

Kara kept pace beside him, her rifle slung at her shoulder. Her grin was a shadow of its old self, but her eyes burned bright. "So where to now, boss?" she asked.

Jarek's axe rested across his broad back, each step a promise of defiance. "We head east," he rumbled. "That's where the darkness gathers next."

Aícha's staff glowed faintly, her voice a whisper in the dark. "The Fallen Star's whispers are stronger there," she said. "I can feel them—like a wound that won't heal."

Leo's jaw tightened. "Then we go there," he said. "And we cut it out."

The boy they'd saved limped behind them, his eyes wide with exhaustion and fear. "Are… are you sure?" he asked, his voice small. "It's dangerous."

Leo turned to him, his expression softening. "We're sure," he said. "We're always sure."

Kara's grin flickered. "No mercy," she muttered.

Jarek's axe gleamed. "No surrender."

Aícha's staff flared. "No darkness."

Leo's voice was iron. "No fear."

They walked on, the darkness pressing closer with every step. The ruins thinned, replaced by a forest of dying trees that clawed at the sky. The wind carried voices—promises of power, of surrender.

Kara shivered. "They never shut up, do they?" she muttered.

Jarek's growl was low. "They're afraid of us," he said. "Afraid we'll burn them out."

Aícha's staff trembled. "Or afraid they'll win," she whispered.

Leo's eyes burned. "Then let them be afraid," he said.

They reached a crossroads where the trees bent low, their branches tangled like broken fingers. The boy's breath came in ragged gasps.

Leo turned to him, kneeling. "You have a choice," he said. "Come with us—or go back. But whatever you do, fight. Never bow."

The boy's eyes widened, tears slipping down his cheeks. "I'll… I'll fight," he whispered.

Leo stood, his machete a promise. "Then let's move," he said.

Because even in the seeds of doubt, even on the road forward, they would not bow.

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