The deeper they pushed into the Arora Forest, the thicker the undergrowth became.
Lyra used her curved staff to push aside a heavy curtain of hanging moss, her blue eyes scanning the dense timber. "We need to be more careful here. The canopy is too thick to spot aerial threats."
As if summoned by her warning, a sharp screech echoed through the trees.
Resting on a high oak branch just twenty yards ahead was a Razorwing. Its organic steel feathers glinted dangerously in the dappled sunlight.
"That is our dinner," Lyra declared softly, lowering her staff. "Stay back. I am going to cast a paralytic poison—"
If it flies, we lose it, Ravon thought.
Before the word 'poison' fully left her mouth, he funneled Motion mana into his legs and launched himself from the brush.
He closed the distance in a blur, springing high into the air. He brought his enchanted sword down in a lethal, two-handed vertical chop. The Razorwing shrieked, snapping its metallic wings forward like a shield.
CLANG.
A shower of bright orange sparks erupted as enchanted steel collided with organic iron.
Using its free wing, the beast slashed upward like a scythe. Ravon twisted mid-air, narrowly dodging the razor-sharp edge, and landed heavily on the forest floor.
The Razorwing took flight. Hovering just above the canopy, it beat its steely wings with terrifying force, generating a localized, concussive gale. The wind tore through the clearing, ripping saplings from their roots and threatening to blow Ravon straight backward into a rock wall.
Gritting his teeth, Ravon drove his sword straight down into the dirt. He gripped the hilt tightly, using the anchored steel to keep himself from being blown away by the blistering gust.
CRACK.
A blinding flash of blue-white lightning split the sky. The bolt struck the Razorwing directly in the chest. The monster stiffened, its steel feathers conducting the electricity perfectly, before it plummeted out of the air and slammed lifelessly into the dirt.
Ravon pulled his sword from the ground, brushing dirt off his knees. He turned to Lyra. "I was fighting that!"
"Interrupting?" Lyra fumed, marching out from the brush. "You are the one who interrupted! I was seconds away from quietly putting it to sleep, but you, absolute muscle-head, attacked without thinking!"
Ravon didn't have a good defense. He sheathed his sword, pulling the hunting knife from his belt pouch. He knelt beside the roasted bird and began the messy work of digging out its mana core.
He had just wiped the pale stone clean when Lyra violently grabbed his collar.
Without a word, she yanked him backward, dragging him deep into a thick patch of briar bushes.
"What happened?" Ravon whispered.
Before she could answer, a suffocating, crushing pressure slammed into him. It felt as if a physical boulder had been dropped onto his spine, pressing his chest hard into the dirt. He couldn't breathe. The air turned blistering hot.
An enormous, sprawling shadow washed over the forest floor, completely blocking out the sun.
Struggling against the invisible weight, Ravon forced his head up. Soaring silently over the tree line was a colossal Red Dragon, its crimson scales radiating waves of visible heat. It was the largest living thing Ravon had ever seen.
It took a full minute for the beast to vanish over the horizon. The crushing weight vanished with it.
Ravon gasped, rolling onto his back. "What was that pressure?"
"That was an S-rank adult Fire Dragon," Lyra breathed, her face pale. "And the pressure you felt was just its leaking mana."
"Leaking mana?"
"Most A-rank monsters, and all S-rank monsters, constantly bleed their raw aura into the surrounding environment to intimidate prey," Lyra explained, smoothing the wrinkles from her black dress. "Monsters do not have the cognitive discipline to control their cores like humans do. Their mana spills over naturally."
"Doesn't that exhaust them?"
"Their natural recovery speed vastly outpaces the leak. They never run dry."
A thrill of excitement sparked in Ravon's chest. "Can I learn to do that?"
Lyra let out a dry, mocking laugh. "A rookie like you who only knows basic elemental spells cannot intentionally leak an aura. It requires a staggering, near-mythical reserve of energy. By the way, what is your core composition?"
"I have all seven energies," Ravon answered honestly. "But Emotion is the dominating attribute."
Lyra stared at him. She blinked once, then twice, before a highly amused grin spread across her face. "That was actually a good joke."
"I'm not joking."
"So, Mister Prodigy," she teased, tapping the side of her head. "If you possess all seven elemental energies—something that hasn't been documented in centuries—why in the world are you fighting with a beat-up old sword?"
The taunt hit a nerve, but not the one she intended.
Ravon looked down at his calloused hands. His mind flashed back to the day he had accidentally unleashed that terrifying, uncontrollable tornado of pure power, and Lila screaming as the vortex began to pull her in.
I use a sword because my magic destroys everything it touches, he thought, the familiar guilt tightening his throat.
He didn't reply. He simply turned and started walking deeper into the forest.
Lyra watched him go, her smirk widening. "The answer is: you don't have all seven energies," she called after him, laughing lightly as she followed.
By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, they stumbled upon the crumbling remains of an ancient, moss-covered stone structure.
"We will camp here," Lyra declared, dropping her staff. "Clear those loose rocks from the center."
Glad for the distraction, Ravon hauled the heavy debris out of the ruined courtyard. Lyra sparked a quick fire in the clearing. The warm yellow flames pushed back the evening chill.
Ravon walked over to a fallen stone pillar near the edge of the light, gripping the edge to roll it away from their sleeping area.
A freezing, unnatural breeze brushed against the back of his neck.
In the center of the camp, the warm orange campfire instantly burned a sickly, glowing blue.
"Ravon, get away from there!" Lyra shouted, her voice laced with sudden panic.
Before Ravon could turn, a skeletal hand draped in a rotting gray sleeve erupted from the shadows behind the pillar. It clutched a rusted sickle. The curved blade sliced cleanly through Ravon's shirt, biting deep into his back.
Searing agony flared down his spine. Ravon threw himself forward, rolling frantically across the dirt to put distance between himself and the pillar.
A levitating figure drifted out of the dark. It wore a tattered, moth-eaten cloak that hid its face in absolute shadow. A faint, ghostly blue aura radiated from its bones. It held two rusted sickles, drifting silently above the grass.
"It's a Wraith," Lyra said, gripping her staff tight. "An A-rank undead."
Ravon pulled one of his basic healing potions from his belt pouch, popping the cork with his thumb and downing it in one gulp. The deep gash on his back fused slowly. "Where did it come from?"
"It didn't come from anywhere. We walked into its grave," Lyra answered, her eyes locked on the hovering spirit. "People who die violently in ancient ruins sometimes warp into Wraiths after a few centuries."
"Can we beat it?"
"Its power level depends entirely on the energies it commanded in its past life."
Ravon didn't wait to find out. Drawing his sword, he flooded his golden core, channeling the red light of Strength. He charged the undead monster, swinging his blade in a brutal horizontal arc.
"Idiot!" Lyra screamed. "We need a plan!"
"I'll distract it, you finish it!" Ravon yelled back.
The Wraith raised its left sickle, blocking the heavy steel strike effortlessly. With its right hand, it thrust the second sickle straight toward Ravon's ribs.
Ravon vaulted to the right, dodging the lethal point.
The Wraith vanished into a puff of blue flame.
Behind me. Ravon spun on his heel just as the Wraith materialized at his back, its sickle slashing downward.
Ravon countered, driving his enchanted blade straight into the creature's skeletal forearm.
To his absolute horror, the steel encountered no resistance. The sword passed cleanly through the bone and aura as if hitting nothing but fog.
The Wraith's sickle, however, was incredibly solid. The rusted blade slashed across Ravon's right hand, cutting deep into his knuckles. He hissed in pain, his grip on his sword slipping.
"Physical attacks do not work on spirits!" Lyra shouted from the campfire.
"Thank you!" Ravon yelled sarcastically, scrambling backward. "Your timing is impeccable!"
"Whatever!"
I have to use magic. Ravon raised his bleeding hand, firing a compressed water bullet followed instantly by a roaring fireball.
The Wraith tilted its hooded head. It completely ignored the spells, raising its empty left hand and snapping its skeletal fingers.
An invisible, iron grip clamped perfectly around Ravon's throat.
His breath was cut off instantly. His feet left the ground. He kicked wildly in the air, clawing at his own throat as the psychic ability levitated him higher, choking the life out of him.
"Burn!" Lyra commanded.
She thrust her staff forward. Two blazing birds crafted entirely of condensed fire shot from her orb. They slammed into the Wraith's chest, detonating on impact. The psychic grip shattered. Ravon crashed into the dirt, coughing violently as oxygen rushed back into his burning lungs.
The Wraith let out an ear-piercing, high-pitched shriek.
A blinding headache spiked behind Ravon's eyes, feeling like long needles being driven into his temples. From the blue aura of the Wraith's scream, dozens of pitch-black, floating spirits materialized in the air.
"Those spirits are carrying volatile, random spells!" Lyra warned, pressing a hand to her bleeding nose. "Do not let them touch you!"
A black spirit darted toward Ravon. He dove sideways. The spirit phased into the stone pillar behind him. A second later, the entire pillar detonated in a violent explosion of fire magic, showering the courtyard in shrapnel.
Chaos erupted. The spirits swarmed the ruins like homing missiles. Where they landed, random elemental chaos followed. Trees burst into flames, the ground was pierced by high-speed water spears, and localized tornadoes ripped through the brush.
Ravon rolled, ducked, and sprinted, his Speed enchantment pushed to the absolute limit as he narrowly dodged the explosive barrage.
Across the camp, the Wraith bypassed Ravon entirely. It materialized directly in front of Lyra. The invisible psychic grip clamped around her throat, hauling her violently into the air.
As she struggled, her boots kicking the air, a stray black spirit brushed against her shoulder.
A blinding bolt of lightning discharged directly into her body.
The psychic grip vanished. Lyra plummeted, hitting the stone floor hard.
"Lyra!" Ravon shouted, sprinting toward her while dodging a volley of wind blades.
She didn't stay down. Using her staff as a crutch, the little witch dragged herself upright. Her silver hair was singed, and blood dripped from her chin. Her blue eyes burned with absolute, furious authority.
"Judgement."
The yellow orb atop her staff expanded. A wave of blinding, warm golden light washed over the entire ruined courtyard.
The moment the holy light touched the black spirits, they dissolved into harmless vapor. The light slammed into the Wraith. The undead monster shrieked in genuine agony as the golden magic ignited its ethereal cloak, burning away the blue aura and scorching its bones.
The light faded.
The Wraith dropped to its knees, smoking and heavily damaged. But as Ravon watched, the blue fire sparked back to life. The scorched bones began to mend.
"Give me three minutes," Lyra choked out, planting her staff firmly in the dirt. She closed her eyes, her lips moving rapidly in a silent, complex incantation.
"Three minutes. Got it!"
Ravon stepped between the little witch and the regenerating monster. He didn't have heavy offensive magic, but he had volume. He rapidly chanted, unleashing a relentless, rapid-fire barrage of basic fire and water balls.
The Wraith deflected most of the spells with its sickles, but the sheer volume overwhelmed its defense. Two fireballs slipped past its guard, splashing harmlessly against its ribs. The damage was virtually zero, but the annoyance factor was immense.
Behind Ravon, the bright yellow light of Lyra's orb was slowly bleeding away, replaced by an inky, suffocating darkness.
The Wraith sensed the escalating threat. Ignoring Ravon completely, it raised its sickles and drifted rapidly toward the vulnerable spellcaster.
"No you don't!" Ravon intercepted the charge, crossing his sword to block a brutal sickle strike meant for Lyra's neck. The impact drove him to one knee, but he held the line, firing three water bullets directly into the Wraith's hood to force it backward.
The air pressure in the ruins plummeted.
Lyra opened her eyes. They were entirely pitch black.
"Abyssal Vestibule."
Absolute, dead silence crashed over the forest. The crackle of the blue fire, the rustling leaves, even the sound of Ravon's own heartbeat completely vanished.
A thick, oily black smoke poured from Lyra's staff, pooling in the center of the ruins. From the smoke, a towering double door slowly materialized.
Ravon backed away, his blood running cold. The heavy frame of the door wasn't carved from wood or stone. It was constructed entirely of writhing, grasping hands. Skeletal hands, rotting hands, tiny baby hands, and slick, dark tentacles formed the gruesome casing. Carved into the surface of the doors themselves were thousands of terrifying, coiled snakes.
With a heavy groan, the doors cracked open.
Inside the gap, the endless void of the underworld waited. Hundreds of glowing, mismatched eyes blinked in the darkness, turning their gaze upon the courtyard.
"RUN!" Lyra screamed.
An astronomical suction force erupted from the gap. The wind shrieked, dragging loose rocks, dirt, and uprooted bushes straight into the open maw.
Ravon scrambled backward, digging his boots deep into the earth to fight the terrible gravity.
The Wraith, hovering closest to the gate, caught the full brunt of the pull. The undead monster shrieked, burying its sickles deep into a heavy stone boulder to anchor itself against the furious suction.
The wind stopped.
From the pitch-black gap in the doors, the sound of weeping children and manic laughter echoed into the night.
The doors swung wide open.
A wave of pale, rotting hands and thick, spiked tentacles exploded outward. They wrapped violently around the Wraith, grabbing its bones, its cloak, and its skull. The monster fought wildly, slashing with its sickles, but the sheer number of appendages overpowered it.
Two stray tentacles lashed out, snapping toward Ravon's ankle. He brought his sword down, severing the slick appendages before they could drag him into the dark.
The Wraith lost its grip. With a final, terrifying shriek, it was ripped from the boulder and dragged headfirst into the abyss.
The doors slammed shut with the finality of a tomb. The smoke cleared, and the gateway dissolved into nothingness.
In the center of the camp, the sickly blue campfire instantly reverted to warm, crackling orange flames.
The silence of a peaceful night returned to the Arora Forest.
Ravon's knees gave out. He collapsed onto the grass, his chest heaving, his sword slipping from his bloody, battered hand.
A few feet away, Lyra dropped her staff and fell heavily to her knees. A violent, rattling cough seized her small frame, and a thick stream of dark blood spilled past her lips, splattering against the dirt. She collapsed onto her side, her face terrifyingly pale. Her mana core wasn't just drained—it was completely, dangerously empty.
"Lyra!" Ravon choked out, trying to force his exhausted arms to push him up.
She weakly raised a trembling, gloved hand to stop him. She wiped the blood from her chin, leaving a dark smear across her cheek. "I'm... fine," she wheezed, her voice barely a whisper.
Ravon let himself fall back onto the grass, staring up at the stars. "We were about to die."
"Not until I achieve my goal," Lyra breathed, her chest rising and falling with shallow, painful effort.
Ravon turned his head, looking at the exhausted, bloodied silver-haired girl. "What is your goal?"
"To master every supreme magic," she answered. It was weak, but laced with absolute, unbreakable resolve. "And every forbidden magic in this world."
Ravon thought about the terrifying door made of hands, and the things waiting in the dark behind it. "What kind of spell was that?"
"An advanced forbidden magic. From the Underworld tier."
"Well," Ravon breathed out a long sigh, letting his eyes fall shut. "It was pretty cool."
A faint, tired laugh escaped Lyra's lips. They didn't bother setting up the camp or placing the defensive barrier. Utterly spent and battered to their absolute limits, the swordsman and the little witch let the warmth of the normal fire pull them into a deep, dreamless sleep on the hard earth.