They all stared in terror.
There it was.
A Brute-class demon.
At least twenty meters tall, its grotesque frame loomed barely humanoid. Gnarled antlers—like bleached, twisted tree limbs—arched over its hunched back. Six limbs writhed from its bulky torso: two massive arms gripped war hammers fashioned from shattered beast skulls, while two smaller limbs flexed three-fingered claws that dragged against the ground. Its skin hung in greasy folds, riddled with patches of tangled hair.
Beneath that corrupted flesh, faces screamed in silence some human, others animal, many too warped to identify.
Its face bore no eyes, no nose, no ears. Only a single, warped smile split its head. From that mouth, it breathed fire.
The flame roared out like a tidal wave.
Ka'shala moved instantly. Twin sand-shields erupted upward, encasing her and Chief In'ang in a protective dome. The inferno struck, blasting heat through the air. Her spires of sand rose in counter, funneling the fire through glass-lined tunnels that hissed and shattered from the pressure. She inhaled, then exhaled flames of her own, turning sand to glass in a war of elements.
In'ang charged, riding atop his Greste, the beast's plated hide glowing with protective marks. He raised his massive glaive, deflecting a hammer strike that shook the earth. His mount staggered, its hooves skidding in the dirt under the force before buckling to its knees.
The tower trembled, vibrations humming through the stone, echoing all the way to the ninth floor.
Suren's Mark flared. His breath caught.
Time Remaining: 00:02:49
"Just three more minutes," Suren said quietly.
Kru'an stormed forward and seized him by the collar, lifting him off the ground with one hand.
"Three more minutes to what?" he growled.
He turned, stepping toward the edge of the tower—dangling Suren over the side. Wind whipped around them. Suren kicked his legs, trying to brace his feet on the ledge. His hands clung desperately to Kru'an's massive arm like an octopus latching onto a rock.
"The—The Ethos pool!" Suren shouted, panicked. "It needs three more minutes to fill at the substructure!"
Ni'nan stepped in, his bow drawn, an arrow nocked—aimed directly at Kru'an's temple. Za'tan moved beside him, reaching out to steady Suren, trying to pry him from the commander's grip.
"What do you think you're doing?" Ni'nan demanded, voice like steel.
Rickon and Ti'chan drew closer, standing behind him in silent support. Across the floor, Tinkwick stood frozen, legs trembling, clutching a jagged piece of ore treating it as a lucky charm.
Kru'an didn't flinch. His tone turned colder.
"Without the chiefs or elders here, I am the highest-ranking member of this tribe. My word is law. So the two of you, back down."
Za'tan hesitated—his hand still stretched toward Suren. His grip faltered.
"I only take orders from the Chief," Ni'nan replied flatly.
He didn't lower the arrow. He didn't blink.
Za'tan exhaled, then planted his feet and seized Suren's arm, bracing him. Kru'an stared hard into Ni'nan's eyes, for a long time neither moved nor backed down.
Then he pulled Suren back in, dropping him unceremoniously to the floor.
"There will come a day," Kru'an said, voice low but full of fire, "when the Chief will lead us to ruin. And he won't be there to protect you."
He turned his back on all of them, staring out over the battlefield below—his arms crossed behind him, his massive frame silhouetted by the flickering tower light.
Rickon and Ti'chan knelt, helping Suren to his feet. His chest rose and fell rapidly. He watched Kru'an's broad back, jaw clenched, fists trembling at his sides.
"Are you okay?" Rickon asked.
"I'm fine," Suren replied, not taking his eyes off Kru'an's back.
Ni'nan lowered his bow, glancing over the ledge at the battle raging below. More imps flooded the base of the tower like ants swarming a wounded beast.
"Don't worry. I'll report this to Chief In'ang," he said coldly.
Then, with a cutting tone, he added, "Oh, senior member… while you're up here basking in the starlight, our warriors are dying below—buying time for the others to reach this tower."
He let out a sharp whistle.
Down below, the battlefield was a mess of shattered limbs and pools of blood, both beast and Igin lay slain.
Meanwhile, back at the battlefield, glass spires and fires raged on, as sand moved as if flowing water. Yet the brute still stood, towering, unconquerable. An enormous glass spike jutted from its shoulder, but it seemed unfazed.
Suren's mark pulsed.
Time Remaining: 00:00:00
The Tower of Astrum Ruin has found balance
A low vibration spread through the floor.
Then—
A shockwave of pure light burst outward from the tower's peak. The beacon pulsed like a heartbeat, sending waves of radiant energy cascading in every direction.
Demons caught in the blast shrieked as their bodies ignited in silver-blue flame. The corruption blanketing the land dissolved, scoured clean by the light. Even the afflicted tribes people were cleansed by the wave.
The sounds of whispering vanished.
Tower of Astrum Ruin
Status: Complete
Ethos Pool: 1000/1000 Strands
The brute-class demon staggered, its flesh sizzling as layers of fat burned away—revealing raw, sinewy muscle beneath. Many faces embedded in its skin vanished one by one, consumed by the light.
But it did not fall.
Instead, it roared.
The brute grew leaner, faster—more dangerous. Its hammers came down with thunderous force, smashing the battlefield. Sand spiraled into molten glass. In'ang and Ka'shala were hurled aside like broken dolls by the next shockwave, their mounts crumpling beneath them.
From the ninth floor, Kru'an turned, his face contorted with rage.
"Look what you've done!" he shouted, stomping toward Suren. "I knew this tower would be the end of our tribe!"
He raised his weapon.
"I'll destroy it—and you along with it!"
But Suren didn't move. He sat cross-legged at the tower's center, one palm resting on the pole, eyes closed. His Mark blazed—brighter than ever before.
Synchronization Complete
"Radiant Construction," he whispered.
A shimmering astral wall snapped into place in front of Kru'an, stopping him cold. The warrior slammed into it, stunned. As he turned to go around it more snapped into place, trapping him in a glowing box as his fist slammed against the wall but he failed to destroy it.
"Look!" Tinkwick shouted, pointing toward the battlefield.
All eyes turned.
Above the brute-class demon, arches of glowing energy formed in the air, radiant constructs mirroring the tower's design. One after another, they dropped like divine judgment.
The first caught the demon's arms, pinning them wide. It snarled, pulling against them, cracks spread across the ethereal binds.
Then more constructs followed, slamming down on its legs, its shoulders, its horned skull. The brute howled, its twisted smile pouring out flames as it snarled.
Seeing their chance, the tribal chiefs rose to their feet, bruised and bloodied. In'ang gripped his glaive with both hands as Ka'shala formed new spires of sand behind her. Together, they charged for the killing blow.
The brute-class demon shrieked, rattling the bones of all who heard.
It unleashed a final torrent of flame, a desperate gout that forced the chiefs to leap aside. Fire licked the battlefield, melting sand to glass.
Then something changed.
The faces on its body, those haunting, silent visages, began to vanish one by one, dissolving into curling tendrils of smoke. Its towering form began to shrink, its mass collapsing in on itself until only skin and bone remained stretched across a large frame.
The air thickened with smoke.
The whispers surged, louder than ever, scraping at the minds of all who stood near. They clawed at the soul, language just beyond comprehension.
And then—
Silence.
The smoke vanished in an instant, as if inhaled by the night.
So too did the demon.
No trace.
Only scorched earth, shattered spires, the stench of sulfur remained, and the tower of astral constructs.
"Is it finally over?" Tinkwick whispered, peeking over the battlements. The last of the astral constructs faded into glimmering motes, dissolving like stardust into the wind.
"Yeah… I think so," Ti'chan replied, still gripping his scimitar. His gaze stayed fixed on the blackened battlefield. "But what happened to the demon?"
Near the center of the floor, Ni'nan prodded at the astral wall still holding Kru'an in place. He glanced over his shoulder.
"The demon retreated into the Abyss while the balance was still unstable," he said, voice calm but heavy.
"I thought they were just… mindless," Rickon muttered, wiping sweat and soot from his face.
"Only the lesser ones," Ni'nan replied. "Even they know when to flee. But the higher demons… they're not just beasts. They know when to wait."
He turned fully, his expression unreadable. "You all stay here. I'm going to escort the chiefs back."
He cast one final look at Kru'an—still trapped behind glowing walls—then gave a sharp whistle. Warriors from his squad fell in beside him. Moments later, they were galloping off into the glass-strewn battlefield.
Several tense minutes passed.
Then came the return.
Ni'nan rode at the front, flanked by warriors, supporting the injured Ka'shala and In'ang between them. The tribal leaders, though battered and bruised, held themselves with quiet pride as they dismounted at the base of the tower.
Without fanfare, they began giving orders.
Warriors from both tribes dispersed, heading out in waves. Some returned with wounded survivors, others with wrapped bodies on the back of their mounts. The dead were placed with reverence in two lines at the base of the tower, one for each tribe.
A solemn air fell, as the sun started to rise above the horizon and the stars retreated to their place of rest.