The Canyon. Night.
The hunters stood at the edge of the canyon, their red eyes burning in the darkness.
Three of them—more solid than before, their bodies no longer translucent, their features sharper, more defined. They had been waiting. The portal's return had strengthened them. They were almost whole.
Grog's hand tightened on his sword. The berserker stirred, restless, hungry. The red crept at the edges of his vision.
"Stay back," he said. "All of you."
William stepped forward, his sword drawn. "We're not leaving you."
"You're not leaving anyone." Grog's voice was firm. "But this is not your fight."
Ken moved to stand beside him, his bow in his hand, an arrow nocked. "It's all our fights."
The lead hunter tilted its head. "The berserker. The prince. The scout. The mage." Its eyes moved to Ken. "And the traitor."
Ken's jaw tightened. "I'm not a traitor."
"You left us." The hunter's voice was thin, cold. "You killed our brothers. Our sisters. You think you can come back?"
Ken raised his bow. "I'm not here for you."
The hunter smiled. "You're here to die."
---
The portal shimmered behind them.
The tear in the world pulsed, dark and hungry, the edges crackling with energy. The air around it was cold, thin, hard to breathe. From the darkness beyond, something moved.
Mirena raised her staff. "We need to close it. Now."
The hunter laughed. "You can't close it. It's already open."
Grog stepped forward. "Then we'll send you back through it."
The hunter's smile widened. "You can try."
---
The first creature stepped through the portal.
It was not like the others—not a scout, not a hunter. It was a warrior. Bigger, stronger, faster. Its skin was gray, mottled, covered in scars and plates of bone. Its limbs were thick, corded with muscle, ending in claws that gleamed in the dim light. Its head was low, its jaw wide, its teeth rows of razored bone.
Its eyes were red. Burning.
It roared.
The sound was physical, a wave of force that shook the ground, that sent the horses rearing, that made William stumble. Grog stood his ground, his sword raised, the berserker screaming in his blood.
"Now," he said. "Fight."
---
The battle was chaos.
Grog met the creature head-on, his sword carving deep gashes in its hide. It was strong—stronger than anything he had faced—but he was stronger. The berserker was awake, the red was everywhere, and he was not alone.
Ken moved like smoke, his arrows finding the creature's eyes, its throat, its joints. Lira shot from the edge of the canyon, her arrows punching through armor, through bone, through flesh. Mirena's spells lashed at the creature, slowing it, weakening it, driving it back.
William fought beside Grog, his sword steady, his back straight. He was not as strong, not as fast, not as skilled. But he was there. He did not run.
The creature fell.
Grog stood over it, breathing hard, his sword dripping with dark blood. The red was fading, the berserker settling.
More were coming.
---
The second creature stepped through the portal.
And a third.
And a fourth.
The hunters watched from the shadows, their red eyes gleaming, their smiles wide. The cult watched from the cliffs above, their faces hidden, their hands steady.
Mirena raised her staff. "We can't hold them. There are too many."
Grog looked at the portal. At the creatures pouring through. At the hunters watching. At the cult waiting.
"We don't have to hold them," he said. "We just have to close the door."
Ken moved to stand beside him. "How?"
Grog met his eyes. "Someone needs to go through. Close it from the other side."
---
The creatures charged.
Grog met them, his sword singing, the berserker screaming. Ken fought beside him, his knives flashing, his body moving like water. Lira shot from the edge, her arrows never missing. Mirena's spells held the line, shields and wards and bursts of light.
William fought with them, his sword steady, his back straight. He was wounded—a gash on his arm, a cut on his cheek—but he did not fall.
The creatures kept coming.
And from the shadows, the hunters watched.
---
One of them fell.
Not a creature—one of the company. Lira stumbled, an arrow in her shoulder—not from the creatures, from the cliffs above. The cult was shooting.
She fell.
Ken was there, pulling her behind a rock, pressing his hand against the wound. "Stay down."
Lira tried to rise. "I can fight."
"You can bleed." Ken's voice was firm. "Stay down."
---
Grog saw her fall.
The red surged. The berserker screamed. He turned toward the cliffs, toward the cult, toward the people who had shot her.
The hunters stepped into his path.
"Not yet," the lead hunter said. "The door isn't open. Not fully."
Grog raised his sword. "I don't care."
The hunter smiled. "You will."
---
From the portal, something else moved.
Not a creature—something larger. Something darker. The air grew colder, the shadows deeper, the wrongness thicker.
Vorlag was coming.
The hunters stepped back, their red eyes gleaming, their smiles wide. "He's here."
Grog looked at the portal. At the darkness beyond. At the thing that was coming.
"Not yet," he said.
He stepped forward.