They reached the tavern’s heavy oak door just as another wave of screams erupted from behind them.
Taeryn threw the door open and ushered the others inside, then slamd it shut and dropped the heavy iron bar into place. The thick walls muffled the sounds of the massacre but could not silence them entirely.
"The cellar," Taeryn panted, guiding them toward a narrow staircase that led down into darkness. "We’ll wait there."
anwhile, across the village square, Jaenor fought his own battle against panic.
His training had finally kicked in, but his first thought was not of victory or valor—it was of his family.
"Mother!" he shouted, his voice hoarse from the smoke that now filled the air. "Father! Where are you?"
He pushed through the fleeing crowd, his eyes scanning frantically for any sign of his mother and father.
The chaos was absolute—villagers ran in every direction, so carrying wounded loved ones, others simply running blindly into the night. The fiends moved among them like wolves among sheep, their multiple arms allowing them to strike at several targets simultaneously.
Then he saw them—Rosa, her blonde hair streaming behind her as she helped his aging father toward what she hoped was safety. But they were moving too slowly, and one of the fiends had noticed them.
"No!" Jaenor roared. In that mont, he ignored everything. Seeing his mother and father in danger made him snap; he ran and ran, adrenaline kicking in, and a faint hum of red-colored haze glinted around his hands.
He reached his family just as the fiend struck.
Garrick, despite his middle years, tried to shield his wife with his own body. The creature’s primary claws raked across his chest, tearing through his clothes and into the flesh beneath.
Sothing primal awakened in Jaenor’s mind—not the careful discipline of his training, but the raw, savage fury of a man protecting his blood. He spotted a broken spear shaft lying among the debris, its point still sharp and deadly.
Without thought, without hesitation, he snatched up the makeshift weapon and drove it deep into the fiend’s chest. The creature’s shriek was deafening, but Jaenor pressed the attack, using his full weight to drive the spear point deeper.
Black liquid poured from the wound, and the fiend’s four additional arms flailed wildly before going still. Then he pulled out the spear and stabbed it again and again.
The creature toppled backward, and black liquid sprayed all over.
"Father!" Jaenor gasped, dropping to his knees beside Father.
The old man’s chest rose and fell in shallow, labored breaths, and his shirt was soaked with blood.
"I’m... I’m well enough, boy," Father wheezed, but his face was gray with pain.
"Help up."
Jaenor and Rosa supported the wounded man between them, guiding him away from the center of the battle. They found shelter in a narrow gap between two stone houses, where the shadows were deep enough to hide them from the prowling fiends.
Tears trickled down her face as she saw her husband fighting for his life. She was holding his hand, telling him it was going to be okay. But it wasn’t. Jaenor knew that; he held back his tears, and his face turned red with anger. He couldn’t save his father; he felt like he was weak.
But even as they huddled in their hiding place, the battle continued to rage around them.
Lady Valara had gathered a small group of the most capable villagers—Gareth the hunter, Thomas the Reeve, and several others who had seen military service in their youth. They had ford a defensive line near the well in the village square, their backs to the stone structure as they faced the advancing fiends.
Valara’s origin power created arcs of orange haze, which cut the fiends, leaving trails of crimson light that seared the creatures’ flesh. But for every fiend that fell, two more seed to take its place. The villagers fought with desperate courage, but they were being overwheld by sheer numbers.
"Fall back!" Valara commanded, her voice carrying the authority of noble blood.
The survivors began a fighting retreat, but the fiends pressed them hard. Several villagers fell during the withdrawal, their screams adding to the terrible symphony of destruction that now filled the night air.
And still the slaughter continued.
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