Ascendant Beasts : The Voidcrest Prophecy

The fissure pulsed like an infected wound, its edges oozing tendrils of black mist that clawed at the sky. Thalia's boots crunched over frostbitten ground as she led the group closer, her father's silhouette now unmistakable—tall, gaunt, hands raised in a ritualistic chant that made the air hum. Cultists circled him, their bone masks gleaming under the fractured light of a dying sun.

Zane walked beside her, his breath visible in shallow bursts. Shadows writhed under his skin, restless and feverish. "If the Heart takes over—"

"It won't," Thalia interrupted, though she didn't believe it. The relic in her satchel burned against her hip, a constant reminder of her brother's ghostly plea. *Break the chain.*

Behind them, the Grand Marshal kept his spear low, eyes darting between the cultists and Zane. Vyrthax padded silently, his starry fur bristling.

The cultists' chanting crescendoed. Thalia's father turned, his hood slipping to reveal a face she barely recognized—sunken cheeks, eyes like smoldering coals, and a web of void rot spreading from his temples.

"Thalia," he rasped, voice echoing unnaturally. "You've inherited your brother's stubbornness."

She froze. "Why?"

"The Devourer isn't our enemy," he said, spreading his scarred hands. "It's a cleanser. The Primals' pact was a leash, but the Devourer… it frees us. Your brother understood that—before he lost his nerve."

Zane's snarl cut through the cold. "He's lying."

"Am I?" Her father's gaze flicked to the relic. "Ask the Veilwalker. Ask *him*."

The relic flared. Thalia's vision fractured—a memory not her own. Her brother stood in this very spot, screaming as their father forced the relic into his hands. *"Open the gate,"* her father had demanded. *"For our family. For power."*

Thalia staggered, nausea rising. "You used him."

"He was weak," her father spat. "But you… you've always been stronger."

The ground trembled. The fissure widened, its maw vomiting forth a swarm of shadowy constructs—skeletal wolves with eyes of static, their howls harmonizing with the cultists' chants.

Vyrthax lunged, tearing into the nearest wolf. "Go!" he roared. "Stop the ritual!"

Thalia sprinted toward her father, thorns spiraling from her fists. He waved a hand, and the air thickened, slowing her like she was wading through tar.

Zane's shadows lashed out, slicing through the invisible barrier. "Run!"

The Grand Marshal hesitated, then pivoted to face a pack of wolves closing in on their flank. "I'll hold them off! End this!"

Thalia reached her father, the relic's glow intensifying. He smiled, void rot cracking his skin. "You won't do it. You're still my little girl."

"I'm not." She plunged the relic into the fissure's edge.

Light exploded. The fissure shrieked, tendrils recoiling as the relic's energy surged through it like a toxin. Cultists collapsed, clutching their masks as void rot consumed them.

Her father stumbled, his form dissolving. "You… traitor…"

"You died in the mines years ago," Thalia whispered. "This is just a ghost."

His laughter echoed as he vanished, leaving only ash.

The fissure sealed with a thunderous snap, but the victory felt hollow. Zane collapsed, shadows retreating into his pores. The Grand Marshal stood amid wolf carcasses, his spear broken, face unreadable.

Vyrthax nosed Zane's limp hand. "Alive. For now."

Thalia knelt, her violet eyes reflecting the relic's dying light. "What happens next?"

The Grand Marshal tossed his shattered spear into the snow. "The Elite will come. They'll want answers. And him." He nodded at Zane.

Before Thalia could reply, the ground quaked anew. Miles north, another fissure tore open—larger, angrier. From its depths billowed a familiar, guttural roar.

The Devourer was evolving.

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