Capítulo 1783: Story 1783: War for the Loomchild
The chamber convulsed as if reacting to the Sovereign’s rage. Walls of shifting mory folded inward, collapsing into jagged planes that warped gravity itself. Every echo—every hollowed form—let out a silent scream as the first wave charged.
Erian braced himself. “Hold the line!”
The echoes surged.
Marra was the first to et them. Her blades spun in tight arcs of steel and fury, slicing through hollow forms that shattered into fragnts of dark glass. She moved like a dancer born for battle—precise, explosive, relentless.
Tovin stood behind her, hands shaking violently as he channeled arcs of volatile energy. Bolts of crackling blue-white magic blasted through the swarm, illuminating the chamber in violent flashes.
“Why are there so MANY?!” he yelped.
“Ask their king!” Marra shouted, ducking under a lunging echo.
At the center, Lun conjured a shimring do of woven light, shielding the Loomchild’s cocoon. Threads of silver shot from their palms, fusing with the fragile shell to keep its flickering glow from collapsing completely.
“They’re draining faster than I can reinforce,” Lun warned. “The Sovereign is siphoning them directly!”
Erian’s jaw tightened. He sprinted forward, Dreamfire blazing. He carved a burning path through the echoes as he aid for the towering Hollow Sovereign itself.
The creature watched him with eyes like dead stars.
“YOU CANNOT UNMAKE NOTHING, LITTLE THREAD.”
Its limb—if it could be called that—lashed forward. Erian barely dodged as the ground where he stood exploded into a crater of screaming reflections.
He retaliated, hurling a wave of Dreamfire. The golden fla slamd into the Sovereign’s torso, burning away a chunk of void-flesh.
For a heartbeat, the room brightened.
Then the Sovereign reford—twice as large.
Tovin scread. “HOW IS THAT FAIR?!”
Lun called out urgently, “The Sovereign feeds on erasure! When you destroy it, it consus the act itself and grows stronger!”
“So we can’t kill it?” Marra snapped, driving her blade through an echo’s chest.
“We have to seal it,” Lun replied, sweat beading as they reinforced the Loomchild’s cocoon. “Cut it off from the Hollow’s source. Starve it.”
Erian’s eyes flicked to the Loomchild.
A faint flicker—a trembling hand—reached outward from the cocoon.
Hope.
“Lun! Can they still hear us?” he shouted.
“Yes!” Lun strained. “But they’re barely holding form.”
Erian raised his sword. “Then we give them sothing to hold onto!”
He slamd the Dreamfire blade into the ground. Golden light erupted outward, burning a circular barrier around them. Echoes recoiled, shrieking silently as the flas seared their hollow forms.
The Sovereign reeled, shriveling at the edges.
“YOU DEFY OBLIVION—POINTLESSLY.”
Erian glared up at it. “Maybe. But we’re very good at the pointless.”
Marra planted herself beside him. “Especially when it pisses off monsters.”
Tovin joined, though trembling. “I hate this. I hate all of this. But fine—let’s save the magic kid!”
Lun’s voice rose, resonant with power. “Together! Anchor the Loomchild’s threads! Feed them light!”
They stepped into formation—four against the infinite dark.
The Sovereign roared, the chamber collapsing into a storm of shadow and fractured mory.
And the war for the Loomchild began in full.
User Comments
0 comments from readers