Boundless Evolution: The Summoning Beast

Thump! Thump! Thump!

The three knocks became pounding.

Outside, a voice barked through the rain, loud and official, "Inspection! Open up!"

Another shouted, "By order of the Defence Order of Nareth District, this structure is to be searched!"

The words echoed with forced civility, but the weight of boots and metal made the intent clear—they weren't here to inspect; they were here to seize. Beneath that official tone lay the rough impatience of soldiers who already knew what they would find.

"Shit..." Kieran cursed, his face immediately switching from the previously relaxed demeanour to complete seriousness, "We need to leave now."

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Wood rattled in its frame as the old barn quivered beneath the weight of fists and boots. The voices outside grew louder, overlapping in a chorus of threat and authority.

"Inspection detail! Present yourselves!" shouted one.

Another added, "You have ten seconds before we force entry!"

Bennet's pulse thundered in his ears. His thighs slightly ached from crouching too long; a cold sheen of sweat ran down his back despite the chill in the air.

The scent of damp wood and his own leather boots filled his nose as he tried to steady his breathing. He flexed his legs once, feeling pins and needles shoot through his calves, then forced his body to move.

Bennet hurriedly got on his feet, immediately grabbing his daggers as he turned to Kieran, "I presume you have an escape route. What do we do?"

Kieran didn't answer immediately.

He was listening—to the shuffling of feet outside, the clink of weapons, the rhythm of boots on mud.

"At least eight," he muttered. "One captain, probably two lancers… damn it."

A voice shouted from outside—harsh, commanding, "We know you are in there! Open now or we will force our way through!"

Kieran's hand shot up in warning as the hinges groaned.

"Lantern," he hissed.

Immediately, Bennet blew the light out with a sharp breath. The flame vanished, plunging the barn into a darkness so heavy they could hear their own hearts.

Outside, confusion rippled. "The light went out!" someone barked. "They're inside—cover the windows!"

Torchlight flickered along the cracks in the boards as more soldiers gathered, their shadows long and restless.

One of them knocked again, slower this time, almost mocking, "Final warning! Come out with your hand in the air!"

Inside, Bennet's breathing had steadied into soldier's calm.

He could make out Kieran's silhouette crouched by the rear wall, one hand pressed flat to the planks, testing them.

"Still loose," Kieran whispered, "If we're lucky, the wind covers the noise."

"Luck hasn't been generous lately," Bennet muttered.

Outside, the captain's voice cut through the storm, "Enough of this. Break it down."

"Breach team ready!" another voice replied.

The first impact came like thunder—wood splintering into a spray of sharp fragments that stung their faces. The crossbeam groaned and bent, dust raining from the rafters and coating their tongues with grit.

Bennet flinched, instinctively shielding his eyes as a shard sliced across his sleeve.

Kieran coughed once, the air thick and choking with old hay and smoke, the sound of the second strike immediately came rattling their bones as the whole frame shuddered.

Wood splintered. Dust fell from the beams above them.

"Stay close," Kieran said, keeping his voice low but sharp, "We're ghosts, Benny—nothing more."

Another crash. The crossbeam cracked. The sound of steel and rain and shouting blurred together.

"Now!" Kieran barked, the command cutting through the chaos.

He seized Bennet by the wrist, pulling him toward the back wall where he'd already loosened the boards.

"This way!" he hissed, shoving his shoulder into the wood. The frame groaned, cracked, and splintered under his strength.

Outside came the final shout: "Push! By order of the Razi Inquisition—break that door down!"

The third strike shattered the crossbeam. The boards split apart with a splintering crack that echoed like thunder through the empty village. The whole barn shuddered as the door gave way.

"Go, Benny—move!"

Bennet ducked through first as the final board snapped. Kieran followed, twisting sideways through the gap just as soldiers surged forward, armour scraping, torchlight spilling through the ruin.

"After them!" shouted the captain from within, "They're escaping through the rear!"

The two men hit the cold night air together, stumbling over wet grass. The dew clung to their boots, and the chill felt like knives against their skin, but Kieran didn't slow.

"Keep running!" he barked, taking the lead now, his instincts raw and sharp from years of evasion.

Behind them, torchlight burst through the ruin of the barn. Dozens of voices roared in unison, "After them! Don't let them reach the fields!"

Night stretched wide and heavy around them, the air thick with dust and the scent of cut wheat. The fields were dry and brittle, the stalks whispering as they ran.

Every step cracked the earth beneath their boots. Bennet could feel it—each echo carried farther than he liked.

"Move!" Bennet barked, dragging Kieran forward through the maze of half-harvested fields and low fences.

The cold air burned their lungs as they darted between furrows, chased by the metallic rattle of armor and shouts in the distance.

The village behind them was alive with alarm—bells clanging, dogs barking, torches spreading like fireflies across the lanes. Windows flickered open as startled faces peered out before vanishing again. The night had turned into a manhunt.

Kieran stumbled once, catching himself on Bennet's shoulder. "How—how did they know?"

"The boy," Bennet spat, scanning the horizon. The words came out harsher than he intended, and guilt followed fast behind.

The memory of the boy's face flickered in his mind—nervous, too thin, eyes wide in a way that reminded him painfully of Lucas. The lad couldn't have been older.

For a moment, Bennet's throat tightened.

"The one in the alley," he finished, voice quieter now, almost regretful, "He must've reported us."

A flicker of torchlight ahead forced them to veer left. They vaulted a fence and dropped into a dry patch of tall grass that rustled with each hurried breath.

Dust rose around them, mingling with the faint scent of straw and smoke.

Behind them came the unmistakable rhythm of pursuit—boots pounding on packed earth, the creak of crossbows being drawn, and orders shouted over the crackle of torches.

"They're ahead! Cut off the ridge!" someone bellowed. Another voice followed, "Archers—take the hill!"

Arrows hissed past them, one snapping through a patch of dry wheat so close Bennet felt the vibration through his arm. He ducked, shoving Kieran toward a low ridge.

"Keep low!"

The night pulsed with heat from torches and the shimmer of distant fires. Shadows chased shadows.

"North side!" Kieran shouted, scanning the terrain with a familiarity born of years surviving here, "There's an old granary past the ridge—ditch runs behind it. We take that route!"

Bennet nodded and followed Kieran as he sprinted first, boots crunching hard soil.

They ran in rhythm, breath and heartbeat in sync.

Kieran pointed ahead, shouting over the noise of pursuit, "Stone wall past the ditch! Once we cross, the ground splits!"

"I'll take left," Bennet called back.

Kieran jumped the ditch first, landing on a slope of gravel and dry reeds. Bennet followed, sliding in beside him. Arrows hissed again, punching through the reeds with a sound like cracking whips.

A torch spun through the air and shattered against a wagon, sending glowing embers scattering.

For a moment, the night blazed orange, illuminating the chaos—their pursuers scrambling across the ridge, shouts echoing like a tide.

"Hay cart by the wall!" Kieran barked, "Use it for cover!"

They reached it together. Bennet braced the cart while Kieran slashed the binding ropes. The bales toppled over, collapsing into the path in a cloud of straw and dust that glowed red under torchlight.

"Fall back!" someone shouted, coughing as the air filled with grit. Confusion rippled through the soldiers.

Kieran grinned through the dirt on his face, "Gotten better since the academy, haven't I?"

Bennet smirked, "Even a granny could've beaten you back then."

"Still the same reckless strategist," Kieran said, laughing as they broke into another sprint.

"Reckless works," Bennet shot back, eyes narrowing as torches spread behind them.

But it seemed as if the chase wasn't over. The soldiers were adapting, splitting into smaller lines to flank them.

Orders carried on the wind: "Spread out! Don't let them vanish into the rows! Check the ridge and the mill!"

The sound of boots and metal echoed through the farmland, mixing with the cries of startled birds taking flight. Each second stretched long; each breath felt borrowed.

Then came the break—the sharp discord of voices arguing in the dark.

"Tracks east!" shouted one soldier.

"No, north, by the old well!"

Kieran slowed, glancing back, "They've lost our trail."

Bennet turned just long enough to see the torchlight diverge, soldiers splitting in different directions, their formation broken.

"For now," he said.

"Good enough for me." Kieran's tone softened with cautious triumph. He pointed toward a rise in the land, "There's a ravine just beyond that slope. Once we're down, they'll never find us."

They climbed the hill, every muscle screaming, the night pressing close around them. At the top, the lights behind had faded into distant specks, their pursuers scattered and confused.

They stood there for a moment, surrounded by silence broken only by the rustle of dry leaves and the hum of insects.

"Looks like we made it," Kieran breathed, half a laugh, half disbelief.

"For now," Bennet replied, scanning the horizon.

Kieran gave a short, quiet chuckle, "Then we keep moving."

Together they slipped down the far side of the ridge, vanishing between rows of shadowed wheat. Behind them, the soldiers' shouts dwindled into uncertainty, their torches dying one by one until the fields returned to darkness.