NOVEL NEXT Chapter 8: Surviving the Maw
CHAPTER 8 – Surviving the Maw
Night fell in the trial's warped realm—or at least, something akin to night. The sky was a deep, bruised purple, streaked with ribbons of shimmering light that resembled an aurora. Lyrien and Reynard pushed forward, guided only by the pale glow of drifting mana wisps. Each breath felt thick with magic, and the air hummed with an underlying energy that set their nerves on edge.
They trudged through a narrow canyon, its walls marked by arcane runes that pulsed like faintly beating hearts. Every so often, a swirl of wind carried distant screams or roars—other recruits battling for their lives. Lyrien's mind churned with worry for Elyreina. Where had she ended up when the ground split beneath them? Was she safe?
Reynard stumbled over a loose rock, barely catching himself against the canyon wall. "Sorry," he muttered, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I'm not used to traveling like this for days on end."
Lyrien offered him a weak smile. "No one is. This entire trial is designed to push us beyond our limits."
As they continued, the canyon widened into a bowl-like depression. Towering spires of stone jutted skyward, forming what looked like a natural amphitheater. At its center was a swirling vortex of dark mist, crackling with arcs of crimson lightning. The hair on Lyrien's arms stood on end. Something about that vortex felt profoundly wrong.
Reynard inhaled sharply. "We should go around it. I've heard rumors that the Arcaneum seeds these areas with corrupted mana to see how we react."
Before they could backtrack, the vortex pulsed. A colossal shape emerged, dragging itself from the mist. It stood on four muscular legs, each the size of a tree trunk, and its head was adorned with twisted horns. Black scales covered its hide, and its maw dripped with a glowing, acidic saliva that hissed upon contact with the ground.
Lyrien and Reynard exchanged a single terrified glance. Then, almost by unspoken agreement, they bolted for cover behind a fallen spire. The beast—something that resembled a massive draconic hound—let out a roar that shook the very stones beneath them.
"This is bad," Reynard whispered, his voice trembling. "I don't think we can outrun it."
Lyrien peered around the edge of the spire. "We might have to fight," he said grimly. "But we need a plan."
The creature snorted, spraying acid onto the rocky floor. It began to circle the spire, each step rumbling like distant thunder. Lyrien clenched his fists, summoning a flicker of flame. He could feel his magical reserves waning. Days of constant tension and battles had worn him down.
Reynard drew his rapier, the once-gleaming blade now scuffed and scratched. "I'll distract it," he said, trying to steady his shaking hand. "If you see an opening, aim for the eyes or the soft tissue under its neck. That's usually a weak point."
They waited for the beast to lumber closer. Then Reynard dashed out, shouting and waving his sword. The monster's head snapped toward him, eyes glowing a baleful red. It lunged, spitting a stream of acid. Reynard dove to the side, rolling across the ground in a clatter of armor.
Seizing the moment, Lyrien sprinted forward. He summoned every ounce of will he had left, conjuring a concentrated burst of fire around his dagger's blade. With a desperate leap, he slashed at the beast's flank. The flames cut into its scales, eliciting a furious roar. It whipped its massive tail, catching Lyrien off-guard and sending him crashing into a stone pillar.
Dazed, Lyrien gasped for air. His vision blurred at the edges, and his chest throbbed—a reminder of his ticking clock. Across the clearing, Reynard continued to engage the monster, but it was clear he was outmatched. The beast batted him aside like a toy, sending him sprawling.
"Come on, Lyrien," he muttered to himself, forcing his legs to move. "Get up."
He rose unsteadily, blinking away the pain. The monster towered above Reynard, preparing to deliver a killing blow. With a shout, Lyrien unleashed another blast of flame, this time aiming for the creature's face. The fire struck its left eye, and it recoiled with a shriek of agony.
Reynard scrambled out from beneath it, coughing and wounded but still alive. "We need to finish this!" he yelled. "Or it'll just hunt us down again."
Summoning his courage, Reynard lunged once more. His rapier found a gap beneath the creature's jaw, piercing through thick sinew. The beast thrashed, nearly crushing Reynard underfoot, but Lyrien followed up with a final thrust of his flaming dagger into the open wound. There was a sickening hiss, and the monstrous hound collapsed, its death throes shaking the ground.
For a moment, neither boy spoke. They stood there, panting and covered in grime, their hearts pounding. The vortex of dark mist flickered behind them, as though sated by the violence it had witnessed.
Reynard broke the silence first. "Are you…are you okay?" he asked, pressing a hand against his bruised ribs.
Lyrien nodded, though his vision still swam. "I'll live. But we can't stay here."
They limped away from the amphitheater, every muscle aching. Though they had emerged victorious, the fight had taken a heavy toll. Lyrien could feel the strain in his magical core; his reserves were dangerously low. Reynard, too, looked pale and unsteady.
They continued onward in search of a safer area to recover. Eventually, they found a small alcove nestled between two leaning spires, shielded from the open terrain. Collapsing against the stone, they shared what little food and water they had left. Lyrien closed his eyes, his thoughts drifting to Elyreina. He pictured her fighting somewhere in this warped domain, facing dangers as harrowing as theirs—or worse.
"How much longer is this trial?" Reynard asked, wincing as he probed a bruise on his shoulder.
"Five days total in here," Lyrien replied wearily. "We might be nearing the third day. Or the second. It's hard to keep track."
Reynard exhaled, a shaky laugh escaping him. "Feels like weeks."
A faint glimmer caught Lyrien's eye. On the ground lay a single, shimmering crystal shard, likely a fragment of the beast's magical core. He picked it up, feeling a faint warmth pulse through it. Perhaps it was a sign that they were growing stronger—or maybe just a reminder of the horrors they had to face.
In the distance, the trial's environment rumbled again, shifting for the next challenge. They both knew there would be no true rest until the final day. But for now, they had each other's backs, and that small comfort felt like a lifeline in a world gone mad.
As Lyrien drifted into a fitful sleep, he silently prayed Elyreina was safe. He also wondered if, by the end of this trial, he'd have enough time left to see whatever solution Professor Marlowe and the Grandmaster might offer. With a heavy heart and a body bruised inside and out, he resigned himself to the next wave of trials—whatever form they might take.