The stone statues, still unmoving, began to emit a low, resonant hum that filled the air, vibrating through the bones of everyone present. 

The sound wasn't just noise—it was invasive, reaching into their minds and dragging buried memories and emotions to the surface. The hum grew louder, and cracks began to form along the statues' surfaces, glowing faintly with a sickly, blackened gold light.

Then, as if in unison, the statues spoke—not with voices, but directly into their minds. 

The words weren't audible; they were felt, a chaotic flood of whispers and screams. Each of them heard something different.

Xertu heard the cries of those he had slaughtered in battle, their faces etched into the wings of the statues.

Sanaage heard the cold, mocking voice of someone he had once betrayed, their laughter ringing in his ears. 

Tina felt nothing—just silence, as though the statues couldn't penetrate her undead state. 

And Zach? 

He heard his own voice, screaming accusations at himself.

"You failed them. You failed them all."

Suddenly, the glowing cracks on the statues widened, and the figures began to move—not by walking, but by twitching and snapping their limbs unnaturally, as if their bodies were fighting their own rigidity. The wings unfurled with sharp, grinding sounds, releasing a spray of fine, ash-like dust into the air. The dust hung around Xertu and Sanaage, himmering faintly, and then it began to settle—on skin, on weapons, on the ground.

That's when it started.

The dust didn't just cling—it burned. 

It seeped into their pores like venom, igniting a creeping, corrosive pain that felt like acid eating away at their flesh and souls alike. Xertu dropped his halberd, clutching his forearms as black veins spidered up his skin, and his screams were guttural, primal. Sanaage fell to his knees, clawing at his chest as the dust burrowed into him, the veins spreading up his neck and across his face.

The statues didn't advance—they didn't need to. 

Their presence alone was enough to cause destruction. 

The ash-like dust began to distort reality itself, pulling fragments of the world around them into shifting, nightmarish visions. Zach saw the soil beneath his feet turn to a sea of writhing, blood-soaked hands clawing at him. The air was filled with the sound of children crying, of steel scraping against bone. The world twisted, yet Tina remained unaffected, standing amidst the chaos like a still, unyielding shadow.

Then, the statues began their true assault. 

Their wings beat the air, creating shockwaves that didn't knock them back but instead stole time. For every beat of their wings, a fragment of each person's lifespan was ripped away. 

Xertu and Sanaage aged visibly—lines forming on their faces, their hair turning gray. Zach felt it too, though he resisted, his hands gripping his claymore with desperation as the years tried to pull him forward.

And then the statues smiled.

Their mouths cracked open, revealing voids of swirling black and gold energy. 

They began to sing—not with melody, but with discordant, soul-wrenching notes that felt like the death cries of a thousand worlds. 

The sound didn't just hurt—it changed them. 

Xertu's eyes glazed over, his skin turning to brittle stone as if he were becoming one of the statues. 

"What's happening to me?!"

Sanaage's arms stiffened, his flesh hardening into a gray, marble-like texture, even as he screamed in defiance.

"I—I don't now!"

Zach, feeling the pull of the statues' horrific power, turned to Tina, his voice a desperate rasp. 

"Why aren't you... affected, Tina?!"

Tina looked at him, her expression cold and unreadable, before stepping forward. Her body began to stretch unnaturally, her limbs twisting and extending, her undead nature allowing her to reach the nearest statue. 

She didn't speak.

She didn't need to. 

Her hand plunged into the glowing crack on the statue's chest, and as she pulled, a blackened shard of light emerged, pulsating and writhing in her grip.

The statues froze, their hums halting for the briefest moment. 

Tina turned back to Zach, holding the shard aloft. 

"They could be possibly feed on your humanity, on your time, on your guilt, on your fate, on your humanity. But I'm not human. They can't touch me. You have to fight them—without fear, without anger. Only then, will you possibly survive."

The stone statues surged toward Xertu and Sanaage like silent predators, their twisted forms unfurling their wings as they began to circle their prey. 

The ash-like dust in the air thickened, making every breath feel heavier, sharper, as if the atmosphere itself wanted to carve them open.

Xertu stumbled back, his halberd shaking in his hands as his eyes darted from one statue to another. 

His voice cracked with desperation.

"Sanaage! Don't just stand there! Save me!" 

Sanaage, his machete trembling in his grip, looked back at Xertu with wide, bloodshot eyes. His mouth opened, but no words came at first. 

Then, as one of the statues extended its jagged, stone arm toward Xertu, he let out a choked cry. 

"Xertu! Hold on! I—"

He swung his machete in a desperate attempt to ward off the advancing statues.

But it wasn't enough.

One statue moved faster than they could react, its jagged claws slashing through Xertu's side. His scream was guttural, echoing through the ash-filled air as the veins across his body darkened, the corruption accelerating his transformation into stone. 

Xertu cried, reaching out with one trembling hand.

"Sanaage! Help me!" 

Sanaage lunged forward, his machete aimed at the statue holding Xertu. 

But before he could strike, another statue appeared at his side, its grotesque wing slamming into him with a sickening crack. 

Sanaage staggered, blood dripping from his mouth as he clutched his ribs. 

"Xertu... I..." 

His machete slipped from his grasp.

The statues descended like vultures, their claws piercing and tearing into Xertu and Sanaage. 

Their screams turned into gurgling cries as their bodies were torn apart, piece by piece. 

Xertu's eyes locked on Sanaage's one last time, a flicker of regret in his gaze before his face hardened, his expression frozen in terror as his body fully turned to stone. Sanaage met the same fate moments later, his form crumbling under the relentless assault.

Zach and Tina stood nearby, watching the statues kill their victims. 

Zach gripped his claymore tightly, his knuckles whitening as he turned toward the advancing statues. 

Without a word, he lunged forward, slashing through the closest one with a roar. 

The blade cleaved through the stone, creating a glowing crack along its chest. Zach followed through with a heavy kick, sending the statue sprawling before plunging his blade into the crack and wrenching free the shard. 

The statue collapsed into rubble instantly, its existence erased.

Tina moved with eerie precision, her body twisting and morphing as she stretched her arms across the battlefield. Her elongated fingers pierced the statues' glowing cracks, pulling shards out one by one in rapid succession. 

Each time, the statues crumbled to dust, their oppressive presence fading as the shards were removed.

Zach didn't stop. 

With every swing of his claymore, he felled another statue, yanking out the shards even as his hands trembled under the strain. His breath came in short, ragged bursts, but his expression remained steely, determined.

Then he made a mistake.

One of the shards he pulled out slipped from his grasp and fell into his palm. The moment it touched his skin, a burning sensation shot up his arm. 

He shouts.

"Arghh!"

Zach's eyes widened as he saw his hand begin to transform—the skin turning gray and hard, spreading like a creeping infection. He gritted his teeth and threw the shard to the ground, clutching his wrist as he staggered back.

The shard clattered against the stone floor, and as soon as it left his hand, the grayness faded. His skin softened, the stone-like texture retreating until his hand looked completely normal again. 

Zach flexed his fingers, testing them carefully. The pain was gone, but the memory of the transformation lingered.

Zach muttered.

"So. A human can't hold this thing. Otherwise, one might possibly turn into one of them."

Tina caught the shard effortlessly as it bounced toward her, her undead fingers curling around it without hesitation. She examined it briefly, unaffected, before turning her hollow gaze to Zach. 

"It doesn't affect me. I can hold them. You can't."

Zach nodded, flexing his hand as the grayness slowly receded. 

"Because you're an undead. That's an advantage."

Tina didn't respond, simply stepping past him and stretching her arms toward another group of statues. 

As she pulled shards from their chests, Zach tightened his grip on his claymore and steadied his breath. 

△▼△▼△▼△

The battlefield fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint sound of crumbling rubble as the last of the stone statues collapsed. 

The once-menacing circle of winged figures, unyielding and otherworldly, was now reduced to a scattered expanse of lifeless debris. Gray dust hung in the air like a veil.

Zach stood in the middle of the destruction, his grip on the claymore loose but firm enough to steady himself. 

He muttered.

"That should be all of them."

Sweat ran in thin rivulets down his face. His breathing was heavy, almost ragged, as though every breath he took had to claw its way out of him.

Tina, on the other hand, looked untouched by the ordeal. 

She murmured to herself as she flicks a fragment of stone off her shoulder.

"Good thing there's no sun in here."

Zach then starts to collaps but Tina caught his fall with her stretched, morphing arms, lowering him gently to the cold, blackened ground. He slumped forward, his claymore still clutched loosely in his hand. 

Tina, crouched beside him, tilted her head slightly.

"Amazing how you can keep up with me, captain of the Renaissance Band. That just amazes me."

Zach, still catching his breath, forced a weak chuckle. 

"Don't... don't give me too much credit. You're an undead. You don't feel exhaustion."

"That's true," Tina replied with a small smirk. 

"But it's not about that. It's about your persistence. It's admirable."

Zach straightened slightly, his voice growing firmer. 

"The others. Yzavynne, Qarek, Andhur, Gargeal, Leeani... they need our help. We need to find them. Quick."

He attempted to push himself to his feet, but his body betrayed him. His legs buckled, and he collapsed again. 

Tina's arms darted forward, catching him once more before he hit the ground.

"You should rest here," she said, her tone gentle but firm. 

"I'll go look for them. I'll be back before you know it."

Zach shook his head, his grip tightening on his claymore. 

"What? No. We can't afford to split up now. We'd be more vulnerable to the stone statues."

Tina raised an eyebrow. 

"We? Or do you mean you? I am not vulnerable. Not at all. Not even in the slightest. They weren't hurting me at all. But you?" 

She gestured to him with her claw-like fingers. 

"You were almost caught. Almost turned into one of them."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, studying him. 

"Somehow, you're not affected by the aging at all. Unlike those two..." 

His brow furrowed. 

"The aging..."

"Yes," Tina continued, standing straighter. 

"I just find it intriguing how you weren't affected at all. Not like those two."

Her words triggered something in Zach's mind, a flicker of memory that tugged at the edges of his thoughts. 

Zach remembered the shard—the one the stone statues had handed him. A brief flash of their cryptic words and their cold, unmoving gazes played in his mind.

He muttered.

"I don't know too. Wait, the shard. Those statues gave one to me back then."

Tina's expression sharpened. 

"What shard?"

Zach glanced at her.

"The shard, no. No. It might not be. Never mind that."

He exhaled deeply, shaking off the memory as best he could.

"I'm unsure myself. But that's not what matters right now. What matters is finding them."

Tina regarded him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she gave a small nod. 

"Hmm. Everyone has secrets. I respect that."

She straightened fully, her gaze sweeping across the eerie landscape. 

"But you're right. The others. We need to save them. Especially those two. Why did you even make them come with you?"

Zach frowned. 

"Who?"

Tina replied, her tone shifted slightly, carrying a hint of familiarity and fondness. 

"Seraphina and Lyra. I've known those two for two decades, back when we were building EmberWind Village. Killian, Micah, Haerak, and I... we were all there. Those two? They're reckless. Always have been. They might be in trouble as we're speaking right now."

Zach's jaw tightened, his resolve sharpening. 

"See? We need to go and find them now."

Tina raised a hand, her voice calm but firm. 

"Take a breath, Zach. I can feel your emotions rising again. You need to calm down. Otherwise..."

Zach took a deep breath, forcing himself to exhale slowly. He nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. His gaze lifted, scanning the sky above.

"We can't stay here for too long," Zach said finally.

"Time's moving forward. Everything's unknown. We don't even know how time passes by in this place. We don't even know if we can survive a whole day here, wherever this is. Whatever this is."

"You're impossible, you know that? But fine. Let's make a deal. You catch your breath, and I'll keep watch. Once you're ready, we'll move together. Agreed?"

Zach hesitated for a moment before nodding. 

"Agreed."

Zach gave her a weary nod, leaning back against the jagged roots of a nearby tree. His grip on his claymore remained firm, even in rest. 

The two of them sat in uneasy silence, the weight of the unknown pressing heavily upon them.

Zach shifted slightly on the jagged root, the coarse texture pressing against his legs, his claymore resting heavily across his lap. 

His eyes lingered on the lifeless moon above, its pale light casting soft yet haunting shadows against the blackened trees. 

He broke the silence first, his voice low, as though speaking louder would shatter the fragile moment. 

"The dead bodies I saw earlier... the soldiers from Drakonium. They're all dead because of the—"

Tina interrupted, her tone almost matter-of-fact.

"Because of the stone statues? Definitely. Those crows feast on whatever's left of the bodies—the ones the statues torment, taunt, and kill. What a horrific fate. Well... at least for them."

Zach frowned, his gaze falling to the dark soil beneath their feet. 

The words hung in the air like an unwanted truth, settling heavily between them. His voice was softer now, almost hesitant. 

"I hope they're doing all right. Despite all this... godly madness."

Tina tilted her head slightly.

"Your band and the others?"

Zach murmured.

"Yes."

Tina folded her arms, leaning casually against one of the jagged, dead trees.

"Once you're ready to go, we'll find them. Quick."

Zach didn't respond immediately. His grip on the claymore tightened slightly, as though the weight of their mission had settled onto his shoulders all at once. 

But instead of words, he simply nodded, his eyes flickering to Tina's for a brief moment of silent understanding.

And then Zach noticed them—crows, their black forms stark against the pale sky, circling ominously not far from where they stood. His stomach tightened as his gaze followed their slow descent. 

They landed in clusters, perching hungrily on the gruesome, twisted remains of Xertu and Sanaage. The sound that followed—wet, tearing, the snap of sinew and bone—sent an icy shiver down his spine.

He turned his head away for a moment, swallowing hard. 

But he couldn't ignore it. 

His gaze was drawn back to the grisly scene, where the crows feasted without hesitation, their claws sinking into bloodied flesh, their beaks tearing away pieces of the already disfigured bodies.

Zach's voice broke the stillness.

"They didn't deserve this. Not like this. Even if they were enemies... no one should meet an end like that. No one should become food."

He inhaled sharply, forcing himself to steady.

Tina watched him carefully, her expression unreadable. She remained silent for a long moment, the only sound around them the macabre feast of the crows. 

Then, she spoke, her tone softer than usual.

"Fate doesn't wait for righteousness or wickedness to decide who deserves what. It simply devours. Just like those crows." 

She tilted her head slightly toward the carnage.

"Life and death—they're not opposites. They're two halves of the same coin, flipping endlessly. What matters is what you do while the coin is still in the air."

Zach exhaled slowly, the weight of her words settling on him like the gravity of their situation. His eyes flickered back to the crows for one last glance before he forced himself to look away, rising to his feet. 

The claymore felt heavier in his grip.

"You're right," he said finally, his voice steadier now. 

"But still... I can't help but feel—" 

He paused, shaking his head as though trying to dislodge the thought. 

"Never mind."

Tina gave a faint smile, a rare expression for her. 

"You feel because you're alive. And you'll keep feeling because it's what keeps you fighting. Just don't let it drown you."

Zach gave her a sidelong glance, his lips curling into the faintest hint of a smirk. 

"You sound almost wise."

Tina chuckled, a light, airy sound that somehow cut through the heaviness of the moment. 

"Almost?"

He muttered.

"It's in the way you talk—like your words belong to an age older than any of us."

Tina smiled faintly, brushing off the remark with a light shrug. 

"Maybe it's because I'm older than you think, Captain. Or maybe I just sound old to you."

Zach let out a quiet laugh, the sound carrying a rare note of ease in the desolate world around them. 

"Ha ha. Maybe."

He shook his head, adjusting the weight of the claymore in his grip. 

The two of them began to move, their steps slow but deliberate as they left the crows and their grim feast behind.

Above them, the stark white sky stretched on, endless and unyielding. 

The pale moon watched silently, casting its cold light on the desolate land. But for the first time since entering this godforsaken place, Zach felt a faint flicker of resolve—not just to survive, but to find the others. 

To keep going.

To fight fate, one step at a time.

△▼△▼△▼△

A soldier lay sprawled on the blood-soaked ground, his legs gone, the stumps still oozing. 

His breaths came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving, his lone eye wide with desperation. The other eye socket was hollow, its edges blackened and raw, the damaged tissue wobbling grotesquely as he blinked. His scar-covered body trembled, his voice barely above a whisper as he struggled to form words.

Eldritch towered above him, his dark figure framed against the faint glow of an eerie, distorted sky. 

His spear was planted firmly into the ground beside him, the tip stained with dried blood. His face twisted into a mask of disdain, his eyes cold and unyielding, reflecting the smoldering embers of long-buried rage.

Eldritch's voice was low, steady, and razor-sharp, each word cutting deeper than any blade.

"You really think I'd fight for your king? For your pathetic kingdom? You really think a man like me—one from a kingdom you spat on, called savage, treated as less than human—would lift a finger for you?" 

He took a step closer, his boots crunching against the bone fragments littering the ground. 

"No."

The soldier flinched, his trembling hands clawing weakly at the dirt. 

Eldritch loomed over him, disgust radiating from his presence like a storm cloud. 

"I know what your people did to my daughter when we visited your 'civilized' land. You butchered her. Tore her apart. Her and my wife. Animals don't make cuts that precise. Animals don't leave a man alive to hear their laughter, to see his family's blood stain the cobblestones. That was you. Your people. Your kingdom."

The soldier shook his head desperately, his voice hoarse and pleading. 

"No! No, it wasn't us! It wasn't us! It was our king—Ybael! Yes! He planned all of it! Please... mercy... have mercy!"

Eldritch sneered, the corner of his mouth twitching in contempt. 

"Mercy? For you? After what I've seen, after what I've suffered?" 

He laughed bitterly, the sound devoid of humor. 

"Spare me your lies, soldier. You're all the same—empty, dull-headed fools who blindly follow orders, slaughtering the innocent for the whims of a tyrant. You disgust me."

He paused.

"But... perhaps you're not lying. Perhaps it really was your king. Ybael. And now you betray him? You would sell out the man you bled for, the man you killed for?"

The soldier writhed on the ground, his hands clawing at the earth.

"Please! It's true! He'll kill me if he finds out! I was just following orders! He'll—"

Eldritch cut him off, his tone unnervingly calm. 

"If he finds out, he'll do worse than kill you. He'll strip away your remaining limbs. Pour that cursed liquid into your veins that keeps men alive no matter the pain. He'll watch as pigs rip chunks from your body, bit by bit, their filthy mouths tearing into your flesh while you beg for death. He'll laugh, watching you rot in agony."

The soldier wailed, his cries echoing in the silence.

"No! Please! No!"

Eldritch leaned closer, his voice dropping to an icy whisper. 

"But that won't happen. Because I'll end your misery here and now. I'll spare you the indignity of living as the filth you are."

For a moment, Eldritch hesitated, his grip on the spear tightening. 

A memory flickered in his mind—his daughter's laughter, her small hand clutching his. The warmth of his wife's embrace. The images were sharp, vivid, and searing. His knuckles turned white as he forced the thoughts away, his jaw clenching. 

He murmured, barely audible, before driving the spear downward.

"I'm sorry."

The sharp tip pierced through the soldier's skull. 

Blood and brain matter spattered across the ground, and the soldier's body convulsed before falling limp. Eldritch wrenched the spear free, its tip now gleaming with fresh gore.

He straightened, his gaze sweeping across the field of carnage. 

Thousands of corpses lay scattered like broken dolls, their twisted, bloodied remains painting a horrific tableau. The air was thick with the stench of decay, the distant cawing of crows the only sound.

Eldritch muttered to himself as he stared at the lifeless soldier. 

"Andhur was right. Sparing him back then... it wasn't a mistake. The Renaissance band is out of this. They're smarter than they look. They fight and kill only those who recklessly follow the manipulative orders of corrupted kings like Ybael. They know the difference between fighting for survival and fighting for tyranny."

He lifted his head, his eyes burning with resolve.

"Now," Eldritch said, his voice a low, menacing growl. 

"Only a thousand more of your men are left, Ybael. What will you do now? With almost no men to manipulate under your disgusting, apathetic, non-human behavior?"

He stepped forward, his boots crushing the brittle bones beneath him as he disappeared into the haze of the battlefield, leaving behind a sea of the dead.

═════ ◆ TO BE CONTINUED ◆ ═════