Chapter 10 : Just visiting a friend...

Varek stared at the stranger, unease curling in his chest like smoke.

He spoke softly—more to himself than the others.

"Why do we have to fight him again? Maybe he can be reasoned with."

Even as the words left his mouth, he wondered if he believed them.

Maerros looked at him in disbelief.

"He broke the law. No one can enter temple grounds without authority from the Crown or the Council. If we let this slide, we’re telling everyone the law doesn’t matter. That we can't enforce it. No—we need to set an example."

Varek, still watching the foreign figure, replied,

"From what we’ve learned of him, he’s extremely dangerous. If we fall today, the Death Realm would be weakened beyond measure. That would open us to attacks from other realms. If there’s a way to resolve this without bloodshed—we should try."

Lysara sighed.

"Even though that sounds extremely boring… I agree. We should talk to him first."

"I think that’s the right approach as well," Akasha said.

Thorne, still in his giant wolf form, growled in quiet agreement.

Varek stepped forward.

The Entity tilted his head in curiosity, then walked forward as well, until they met in the center.

"Well, this is unexpected," Astraxian said, smiling. "I half-expected you to attack the moment you saw me—with that little battle formation and all."

Varek bowed slightly, one hand to his chest.

"I am Varek Draevenhol, second prince of the realm. Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"

The Entity studied him for a moment before answering.

"I am Astraxian. The 𐬀𐬢𐬭𐬀 𐬨𐬀𐬌𐬥𐬌𐬎. You may call me Warden."

He grinned.

The moment he spoke the title, the sound hit Varek like a weight behind the eyes. It wasn’t just a word—it was a pressure, a presence, something too old and too vast to be spoken aloud. The syllables scraped against reality like metal against bone. The others flinched. Maerros cursed under his breath. Even Lysara blinked, her aura faltering.

Varek staggered a half-step.

A sudden wetness bloomed under his nose and from the corners of his eyes. His ears rang. He reached up instinctively, fingers coming away red with blood.

He blinked, recovering quickly. Pulled a handkerchief from his coat and cleaned himself off with careful grace, refusing to let the pain show. But the wariness in his eyes deepened. He was certain that language was the same as the one carved into the temple stones and glowing on Elena’s brow.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Warden," Varek said. "I just wanted to ask what brought you to our realm—and specifically to this temple. And whether your business here is complete."

Astraxian glanced around, then toward the temple.

"I woke up in your realm a few years ago. There was no plan to come here. As for the temple—I visited to catch up with an old friend."

He smiled faintly. "I missed him dearly, you see."

Varek frowned.

"A friend? In the temple? But, no one resides there."

Astraxian laughed, but said nothing.

"It doesn’t matter," Varek continued. "If your business is complete, we’d appreciate it if you left the realm entirely. If it’s not—say what you need, and maybe I can help."

Astraxian tilted his head, thoughtful. His eyes glowed faintly as they drifted past Varek to the group behind him.

"Well, to be honest," he said, "there is a small matter you could help me with."

His gaze settled on the others.

"One of you should volunteer to come back into the temple with me. The rest may leave. Intact and whole."

Silence fell. Even the wind seemed to hesitate.

Varek blinked, unsure if he’d heard correctly. He looked back at the group, then returned his attention to Astraxian.

"Pardon me? I’m not sure I understand what you mean."

Astraxian’s brows lifted.

"What’s there not to understand? I want one of you to accompany me back inside. That’s not such a difficult request… is it?"

Varek’s body went still—tense as stone. Behind him, the others stiffened.

Maerros had drawn his axe.

Thorne's muscles coiled, ready to lunge.

The air around Lysara twisted chaotically.

"And why," Varek asked, hands resting lightly on his blades, "do you need one of us?"

Astraxian’s gaze dropped to Varek’s hands, his eyes narrowed for a moment then rose again to meet his eyes.

"That friend I mentioned? He needs a vessel. Something strong enough to carry him, to walk the world safely. And I really, really need him out of that temple. So..."

He smiled wider.

"I’ll have one of you eventually. But I’d prefer a volunteer. Otherwise, I’ll tear the rest of you to pieces until I get what I want. Do we understand each other?"

Varek stared at him as if he were mad.

"I’m afraid… that won’t work for us."

His pulse pounded in his ears. He didn’t break eye contact.

He reached for his swords—and in one fluid motion, drew them.

Twin blades, etched in radiant runes, shimmered in the dim light—symbols pulsing faintly, alive with a language too old for the living.

Astraxian’s smile vanished.

His gaze locked onto the sabers. He went still. Too still.

"...Where did you get those?" he asked.

The question cut through the tension like a blade.

Varek didn’t answer.

Astraxian took a half-step forward. His eyes gleamed with something almost primal—not fear, but recognition bordering on disbelief.

His voice dropped.

“…Those are mine.”

Varek blinked.

Astraxian stared at the swords like seeing ghosts forged into steel—memories made metal, too familiar to be mistaken.

"I carved those runes myself," he said.

Quiet. Flat. Absolute.

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate.

"Where did you get them?"

Varek didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Astraxian’s jaw tightened.

A pause.

"No matter."

His eyes lifted to Varek’s face—no longer distant or amused, but sharp as the steel itself.

"I’ll be taking them back."

before Varek could raise the swords, he saw a blur—something fast, impossibly fast—moving toward his face.

His eyes widened. And then—he vanished.

He reappeared, breathless, standing beside the group, swords drawn.

Maerros' jaw clenched. Lysara didn’t blink. Even Akasha seemed to exhale just slightly.

No one moved.

Astraxian looked at the empty air where Varek had stood, then toward the prince now at a distance.

"Gods," he muttered, shaking his head. "I hate people with spatial abilities."

The wind died.

Not slowed—died.

The kind of silence that didn’t belong to nature, but to something older. Something waiting.

Birdsong ceased. Not one flutter. Not one chirp. As if even the smallest creatures had sensed the shift and fled—or worse, gone still with fear.

Clouds hung motionless above, suspended like brushstrokes abandoned mid-gesture. The fire dulled to faint embers, its smoke rising in a straight, unbroken line.

The shadows stopped moving.

No footfalls. No rustling tents. Just the crackling tension of breath held too long.

It was as though the world had exhaled—and forgotten how to breathe in again.

Even time felt hesitant, like it wasn’t sure it wanted to see what came next.

Then—somewhere in the distance—something snapped. A branch. A signal.

The moment unpaused.

Astraxian disappeared.

Varek hadn’t taken his eyes off him. And yet, he had lost him.

It wasn’t teleportation. He would have sensed it. No—this was speed. Pure, impossible speed.

Astraxian reached them faster than sound. Ash and soil exploded into the air as he appeared in front of Varek, hand blurring toward his face.

Varek knew—if that hand touched him, it would be over.

He slashed upward with one blade and thrust the other in a piercing strike.

Astraxian twisted—no, folded—his form slipping past the blades with impossible precision. Not fast, not nimble. Inevitable. A man-shaped force that rewrote motion itself. He let the momentum carry him forward—to Maerros.

The axe came down, a brutal, two-handed cleave meant to split gods.

Astraxian stepped to the side and deflected it with the back of his hand.

The impact rang like a cracked bell. Metal sang. The blow was diverted just enough to miss, and in the same breath, Astraxian’s opposite fist slammed into Maerros’ stomach.

The force lifted Maerros clean off the ground. His body folded midair, thrown backward like a marionette whose strings had been cut by the hand of a cruel puppeteer.

He didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

Blades came for Astraxian's back. A white-furred titan lunged from the flank.

The wolf’s jaws opened wide, hunger and rage pouring out in breath hot enough to sear bark from trees.

Astraxian turned and caught the beast’s jaws with both hands.

The ground cratered beneath their feet.

He let the wolf’s weight shove him clear of the incoming swords. Varek blinked backward, teleporting just in time—not to save himself, but to avoid cutting the beast in half.

Astraxian’s boots carved trenches into the soil as he was driven back. He reached into the wolf’s mind—only to find no doors. No thoughts. Only instinct. Hunger. Pain. Fury.

He ducked low, letting the beast half-climb over him. Then, hands braced beneath its ribs, he heaved.

The wolf flipped, legs scything through the air, and crashed to the earth with a thunderclap that split trees from their roots.

That’s when Lysara reached him.

Her fingers brushed his side.

His coat burned away. Flesh blackened, hissing where her touch landed.

He turned and struck her across the face.

She didn’t fly—she vanished. The ground caught her like a hammer to stone, the impact digging a deep crater in the ground.

Varek reappeared to Astraxian’s right, blade descending like judgment.

Astraxian twisted—but Varek was already gone, a flicker between instants.

He appeared on the left. Both blades came down.

Astraxian raised a hand. A golden shield shimmered into being, not solid but heavy—as if the air itself had congealed into resistance.

The blades slowed, groaned, cut light instead of flesh.

He stepped sideways. Then punched.

The hit landed clean. Varek’s body folded inward, armor groaning. He was hurled into a tree that cracked in half on impact.

A thin fracture of gold bloomed across Astraxian’s face.

He looked up.

An axe screamed toward him.

He barely raised a wall of stone in time. The weapon shattered it—and he rolled aside, narrowly dodging the blade.

Another golden crack traced along his cheek.

Then—

A hand touched his shoulder.

His eyes went white.

Akasha had touched him. And dragged them both into her mindspace.

---

Astraxian turned.

They stood in a forest of mirrored trees and shifting sound. Roots surged from the earth—thick, veined cords that coiled around his limbs, binding wrists and ankles in a grip of will-made-wood.

Each tendril pulsed with power. The trees bent inward as if watching.

Akasha stood before him, arms raised, sweat trailing down her face, her body trembling.

He smiled.

His eyes ignited.

And the mindspace shattered like crystal under a hammer.

He grabbed the hand on his shoulder, bent, and hurled her over his back.

She struck the ground hard enough to shake the world. Her wings broke. Bones screamed.

And still—he didn’t let go.

Her eyes turned gold.

He forced her inward, mind folding like paper under flame.

She collapsed into her own prison.

But the delay had cost him.

The wolf struck.

Astraxian was flung through the forest, crashing through bark and bone, leaving a trail of ruined trees behind him. He came to a halt when he hit a boulder, making it crack. He lay on the ground momentarily stunned.

Then,

He rose, spitting blood, golden cracks webbing his skin.

“Oh, now I’m really pissed off,” he said.

His voice echoed with the distant resonance of others long dead. Voices. Forgotten, erased, yet speaking through him now in fractured unity, as if his fury had shaken loose their memories from beyond the veil.

He vanished.

And reappeared beside Maerros.

A beam of shadow launched toward him—a scythe of void.

Astraxian lit up. Light covered him like second skin. His body became a silhouette wrapped in a sun.

He walked through the beam.

The world behind him burned. The path split open, void roaring where trees once stood.

But he didn’t flinch.

He placed his hand on Maerros’ face.

And unmade him.

Screams tore through the air. Skin liquefied. Shadows bled. Power recoiled.

Then Astraxian let him fall.

He turned.

Varek and Lysara reached him again, the wolf close behind.

Lysara struck. Her hand slammed into his back.

The flesh split. A wound bloomed—

—but it wasn’t him.

She blinked.

It was Varek.

His back was blackened. Burnt. Shaking.

Astraxian had manipulated her perception. With Akasha unconscious, their mental defenses had collapsed. There was nothing left to shield their minds.

A hand reached for her throat, faster than thought.

Lysara took flight and turned sideways, panic igniting her eyes.

his hand found her shoulder instead.

Her arm vanished.

Not severed. Not burned.

Erased.

A portal opened beside Astraxian. A sword lunged through. It caught his brow, left a shallow cut.

Blood fell—thick and hot, trailing down his cheek like molten gold seeping from a cracked statue. It caught the corner of his mouth, lingered for a moment like a kiss from something ancient, then dropped to the earth, hissing as it touched soil.

Then—

The wolf. It hit him so hard he felt his bones rattle.

They crashed through the trees. Sound shattered. The air split.

Astraxian roared. Caught the beast’s jaw.

And he let the fury loose—a lance of light burst from his palms, a sunborne torrent so bright it scorched the air itself. The beam struck the beast like a divine harpoon, tearing through bone and sinew, carving holes through flesh as if unmaking the creature’s existence one cell at a time.

Its blood turned to mist. Its breath to steam. The beast loosed a sound—somewhere between a scream and a death-rattle—raw and ragged, as though its very soul had been scorched. The air quivered beneath the force of it, a howl not of pain alone, but disbelief. Of something ancient realizing, too late, that it could die.

They rolled. Crashed. Trees died.

Astraxian rose. Coat in tatters. Skin cracked with light.

He walked over. Grabbed the beast’s leg.

And snapped it.

“I see you again, pup,” he said, “and I’ll break every bone in your body.”

----------------------------------------

Back in the clearing—

Akasha stirred. Her vision was a smear of colors, the world spinning slow and wrong. Each breath stabbed her ribs, and pain clung to her spine like frost. She pushed herself upright, one trembling hand at a time, blinking through the blur. Her knees buckled once before locking. Pain coiled through every nerve, but she stood—barely—her silhouette wavering like smoke. She blinked away the fog in her eyes and turned her head, breath catching. From deeper in the forest came the distant crack of shattered trees and the guttural growl of Thorne's beast form—sounds that told her the battle had only shifted, not ended.

Lysara was staring at the void where her hand had once been.

Maerros was still screaming, half his face collapsed into raw, bubbling ruin.

Varek was swaying where he stood, blood slick on his lips, his breath ragged with every rise of his chest.

None of them were healing.

Then—

The growling became screams—long, guttural, filled with fury and pain.

And second later, Astraxian returned.

Coat torn. Hair wild. Blood on his face. Light leaking from the cracks.

He looked like vengeance incarnate.

And he was furious.

Varek opened a portal beneath Maerros. The man vanished.

Astraxian moved.

Another portal for Lysara.

Varek stepped back, barely dodging a fist meant to shatter his face.

She stepped toward the exit—

—but the portal flickered.

A twin formed beside Astraxian.

He had rewritten its path by altering his mind.

Varek tried to close it—too late.

A hand shot through.

Grabbed Lysara by the throat.

Dragged her out.

Her aura flared. His fingers blackened.

He didn’t care.

“If you don’t want what happened to your hand to happen to your head,” he said, “I suggest you stop struggling.”

She froze.

He looked at Varek. Then at Akasha.

And smiled.

“Let’s make a deal.”