Chaosbound: Elarith Chronicles

Legends in Action (Or Not)

The van screeched to an abrupt halt, jostling Clyde in his seat. "Alright, we're here," Darktide announced, a distinct edge of excitement in his voice. "I'm setting the van to camping mode!" He began flipping switches and adjusting controls with practiced ease. Clyde watched, mesmerized, as the Camper3 unfolded. Compartments whirred open, gear seamlessly adjusted itself, and the vehicle transformed into a fortified shelter—a brilliant blend of engineering genius and practical design.

Ripclaw yawned, stretching his arms above his head as he stood. "Ah, don't wait for me. I'll be looking for something to do." And with that, he vanished—literally. Clyde blinked, startled by the sudden disappearance. It was as if Ripclaw had melted into thin air.

Aqua rose from her seat, her tone calm and steady. "I'm off. I'm going ahead—you'll hear from me." She stepped out of the van, her movements efficient and precise. Clyde watched her go, remembering the briefing and Aqua's reputation for infiltration and intelligence gathering. Still, the casual way she handled her task only added to the surreal atmosphere.

Darktide moved to the back of the van, his focus shifting to setting up camouflage. Clyde observed him with a mix of relief and confusion as he meticulously worked to blend the vehicle into its surroundings. Rocks, branches, and foliage were arranged with an artist's touch, transforming the Camper into a natural part of the terrain. At least he's doing something, Clyde thought. But why are they all so relaxed? Shouldn't we be preparing? Isn't this a mission?

Finally, Phantomblade opened his eyes, stretching with slow, deliberate movements. His calm gaze settled on Clyde for a moment before he stepped outside. "Ahh, I feel like I want to drink," he murmured casually, his tone betraying no urgency as he began setting up a fire.

Clyde remained frozen, watching Phantomblade build the fire with quiet precision, setting up a small area for roasting supplies pulled from the van's storage. Minutes stretched on, and the dissonance between Clyde's expectations and the Shadowblades' behavior grew stronger. Are they really legends? Is this how they always operate?

Twenty minutes later, Phantomblade motioned for Clyde to join him. "Sit," he said simply, holding out a steaming cup. The fire crackled softly as Clyde hesitated before moving to sit beside him.

The drink was surprisingly sweet, its warmth spreading through Clyde's chest as he took a cautious sip. Phantomblade leaned back slightly, his sharp gaze relaxing. "Sweet drinks," he said, his tone light. "I prefer them over anything else."

Clyde studied him, feeling both puzzled and intrigued. The quiet moment was entirely unexpected, much like everything else about the team. Though doubts lingered in Clyde's mind, a small flicker of understanding began to form. Perhaps this was just how legends operated.

Shadows in Motion

The fire crackled softly, its warm light dancing across Phantomblade's face. Clyde sat beside him, still holding the unexpectedly sweet drink. The taste was rich and comforting, a stark contrast to the weight of the mission. Clyde sipped cautiously, watching Phantomblade, whose gaze remained fixed on the flickering flames.

Phantomblade broke the silence, his voice low and steady. "What brought you to the Royal Vanguard, Clyde? What's your purpose?"

The question caught Clyde off guard, but after a moment's hesitation, he found himself answering honestly. "At first, I just wanted to study. To learn about the world. I was curious—about everything. I didn't have any grand aspirations. But then... everything just connected."

Phantomblade glanced at him, his expression calm and patient, encouraging Clyde to continue.

"It's hard to explain," Clyde said, his tone thoughtful. "The more I learned, the more I was drawn to the mysteries of this world. And through those mysteries, I saw the Vanguard's real mission—saving people, protecting them from things they couldn't fight alone. It wasn't my calling, not at first. But it became a drive. I realized that by helping the Vanguard, I was helping the people."

Phantomblade nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Everyone eventually finds their purpose," he said. "It might take time, and it's not always clear at first. But what matters is how we approach it—and how we act upon it. Yours is truly valiant, Clyde. Never doubt that."

Clyde felt a warmth beyond the fire's heat, an admiration stirring in his chest. He had always respected the Shadowblades as legends, but in that moment, Phantomblade felt... human. Someone who carried immense strength not just in his actions, but in his presence. Clyde began to understand why the others followed him without hesitation. There was a gravity to Phantomblade—calm, unwavering, and deeply admirable.

The quiet moment shattered abruptly. Phantomblade stretched, rolling his shoulders as he stood. His expression shifted, his calm giving way to a sharp, focused energy. "You should hide for a while, Clyde."

Clyde blinked, confused. "What do you mean? Hide from what—"

Before he could finish, a shadow moved at the edge of the clearing, its presence twisting the very air. Clyde felt a chill race down his spine as a figure emerged, its form both human and grotesquely malformed. Its jagged edges shimmered unnaturally, its movements unnervingly fluid. It looked like a horrifying amalgamation of a Malifuge and something far worse.

The Malus tilted its head, its gaze fixing on Phantomblade. Its voice was guttural, distorted. "I've found you."

Phantomblade exhaled, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade. "You're late. I was expecting you."

Clyde staggered back, his heart pounding as the creature lunged. Phantomblade met the attack head-on, his movements impossibly fast. The clash sent a shockwave rippling through the clearing, and Clyde could only watch as the two exchanged blows with an intensity that made his head spin.

The Malus was relentless, its strikes shaking the ground as it fought to overpower Phantomblade. But the leader of the Shadowblades was unshaken. His blade moved like a phantom itself, his shadows twisting and multiplying as they joined the fray. In a blinding display of precision, Phantomblade summoned his clones, their forms striking in perfect unison. The creature screamed as it was overwhelmed, its body sliced into pieces.

The fight was over in moments. Phantomblade sheathed his sword, his movements unhurried, as though the battle had been nothing more than a routine task. Clyde stared, stunned. It wasn't just a victory—it was overkill.

Before Clyde could fully process what had happened, Aqua appeared at the edge of the clearing, holding a small device. Her expression was calm, her voice steady as she spoke. "Boss, I've got it. Everything Arkan said I would find—it's all there."

Clyde blinked, struggling to piece together her words. "What... what's happening?" he muttered under his breath.

Ripclaw emerged moments later, his grin wide as he glanced at the remains of the Malus. "Ah, Boss, you finished it already? I was supposed to take that one out."

Phantomblade's faint smile returned. "This one seemed faster than you. It slipped past your sight."

Ripclaw shrugged, unconcerned. "Fair enough. Anyway, I cleaned up the area. There were eight Sovereign Malifuge. Stronger than expected, but they're all gone."

Phantomblade nodded, a glint of pride in his eyes. "Good work."

Ripclaw glanced around. "Where's Darktide?"

Phantomblade chuckled softly. "He said he wanted to eat some boar, so I think he's hunting."

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Ripclaw groaned, flopping down beside the fire. "Ah, too slow. I'm hungry. Oh well, I'll just join you for drinks, Boss."

Clyde sat frozen, his mind racing. Everything around him was a whirlwind of action and efficiency, yet he felt completely out of sync. Did they... did they already start the mission? Was it already over before I even realized?

He stared at the Shadowblades as they settled into their strange, relaxed rhythm, realizing that their unorthodox style belied a level of competence and synergy that was almost incomprehensible. For all his confusion, one thing was certain—he had never encountered anything like them before.

Mission Complete

Clyde sat near the fire, still clutching the sweet drink Phantomblade had handed him. The warmth of the flames flickered softly across the clearing as Aqua scouted ahead and Ripclaw disappeared into the shadows. It was quiet now, peaceful even, yet Clyde couldn't shake the strange feeling in his chest. He still didn't understand what kind of people the Shadowblades were, but somehow, they operated so seamlessly it felt unreal.

The sound of heavy footsteps snapped Clyde out of his thoughts. Darktide emerged from the tree line, carrying an enormous bull effortlessly across his shoulders. Clyde's jaw slackened as he watched the towering figure stride into the camp like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Ah, sorry for keeping you waiting," Darktide said apologetically, lowering the bull with surprising gentleness. "I couldn't decide whether to hunt a bear, bull, or a boar."

Ripclaw, who had just returned to the camp, snorted loudly. "You know bears aren't edible, right?"

Darktide blinked, his expression innocent, almost childlike. "Really? But... I've been eating them my whole life."

Clyde stared at him, completely dumbfounded. Ripclaw doubled over with laughter, clutching his stomach. "Oh man, this guy! Seriously, Darktide, who eats bears?!"

Aqua, returning just in time to hear the exchange, smirked faintly as she sat down. "Darktide's diet isn't normal," she said dryly, motioning toward him. "Look at him. He basically doesn't even look human."

Darktide tilted his head thoughtfully, as though considering her words. "I don't see the problem," he said simply, pulling out a knife and getting to work on the bull. The sheer innocence in his tone made Clyde's head spin.

Who are these people? Clyde thought, glancing around the camp. Phantomblade remained calm as always, stirring something near the fire. Ripclaw was still laughing, Aqua was scrolling through her notes, and Darktide was humming quietly as he began preparing the food. It was peaceful now, with laughter breaking through the night, but Clyde couldn't understand how this casual group accomplished missions so effortlessly.

The day had been surreal. Clyde still couldn't believe they had finished the entire mission in less than twenty-four hours. If it were me, Aurel, and Kirin, he thought, it would've taken months. But they made it look easy. How is that even possible?

As the smell of cooking meat filled the air, Clyde stared into the fire, his thoughts swirling. The Shadowblades were unlike anything he had ever seen—a mixture of chaos, camaraderie, and unparalleled efficiency. And while he still couldn't make sense of them, he couldn't deny the undeniable pull they had. Somehow, even amidst the laughter and absurdity, they felt unbreakable.

Perhaps, he thought to himself, there was more to them than he could see now.

Dinner with Legends

The scent of roasted meat filled the clearing as Darktide expertly turned the spit over the crackling flames. The bull he'd hunted was nearly done, its juices sizzling as the fire licked at the edges. Darktide leaned back with a grin, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Food's almost ready!" he announced proudly.

Before Clyde could respond, a voice spoke right beside him. "Oh nice, I'm hungry."

Clyde flinched violently, almost spilling the drink in his hands. "Whoa!" He whipped his head around to find Arkan sitting casually next to him, legs crossed and arms resting limply on his knees. Clyde's heart raced as he gawked at the man who had seemingly materialized out of nowhere. "How are you doing that?!" Clyde demanded, eyes wide. "How long have you been here?"

Arkan tilted his head slightly, his expression blank as usual. "Maybe five minutes ago," he replied in a monotone voice, the words spilling out so quickly it took Clyde a moment to process. "Anyways, I'm hungry. I could eat a whole bear."

Clyde's brow furrowed. "Wait... you eat bear too?"

Arkan glanced at him, blinking as though the question was absurd. "Who doesn't?"

Darktide perked up at the exchange, pausing mid-motion as he glanced at Aqua and Ripclaw. His expression was one of vindication, as though Arkan's response had just proven a long-standing point. "See?" Darktide said, gesturing dramatically with his knife. "Everyone eats bear!"

Ripclaw, leaning lazily against a nearby tree, smirked. "Uh-huh. Sure, Darktide. 'Everyone.' Next you'll tell me it's normal to eat rocks too."

A Strategy Revealed

The roasted bull was finally ready, and Darktide proudly carved off the first pieces, handing them out to the team with surprising precision for someone his size. Clyde sat awkwardly in the circle, unsure of whether this was supposed to be a mission briefing or a casual dinner. But then Arkan spoke up, his tone flat and fast as always.

"Aqua, did you get it?"

Aqua barely looked up from her tablet, tossing a small leather-bound journal into the center of the circle. "Got all of it. You were right about those Divinants," she said. Her tone was calm, but there was a sharp edge of satisfaction in her delivery.

Clyde blinked as Phantomblade calmly flipped through the journal, handing it off to Ripclaw, who grinned wickedly at some of the pages. It was detailed, a record of transactions between an elusive group suspected of creating chaos across the region. The implications made Clyde's stomach twist.

Ripclaw leaned back, flipping the journal closed. "Well, you were wrong this time, Arkan. There's only Sovereign Malifuge on the other side—nothing special at all."

Arkan didn't flinch. His response was blunt. "Well, my bad." He shrugged faintly and then stood up, his gaze sweeping the environment as though searching for something specific.

Clyde watched him closely, noticing how Arkan's otherwise lethargic demeanor shifted to quiet precision as he scanned the area. Suddenly, Arkan's gaze settled on the remains of the creature Phantomblade had defeated earlier—the Malus, now nothing more than a crumpled heap of jagged flesh.

"Ahh," Arkan murmured, his tone neutral. "So he fell for the trap."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Clyde froze, the realization hitting him like a thunderbolt. Wait... Arkan planned all of this? It was him? He's really the strategist? But how? How did he know about the Divinants? About the Malifuge? Did he predict all of this? Or... is it some kind of gift? Foresight?

As if reading his thoughts, Arkan suddenly turned to Clyde. His expression was blank but focused, as though zeroing in on Clyde's very existence. "No, I read all your reports," Arkan said, his tone rapid and monotone. "It's actually thanks to you that we managed to do this. Without your reports, it would've taken forever."

Clyde blinked, stunned. "Wait, what—" Before he could form a coherent thought, another realization hit him. Can he even read my mind?

As if on cue, Arkan added casually, "No, I can't read your mind." He pointed briefly at Clyde's face. "Your face says it all."

Ripclaw snorted into his drink, nearly choking on laughter. Darktide chuckled quietly, shaking his head as he carved another piece of meat. Aqua's smirk grew slightly wider as she glanced at Clyde over the rim of her cup.

Clyde stared at the fire, his thoughts swirling in chaos. These people... they're unbelievable. And somehow, as absurd as it all felt, he couldn't help but admire the strange brilliance of their dynamic.

The Grand Plan

Days blurred into weeks as the Shadowblades carried out mission after mission, dismantling chaos at a dizzying pace. Clyde, still adjusting to the sheer efficiency of the team, found himself narrating his experiences in his head as a way to process it all.

In a matter of days, we've accomplished what would've taken months for my old team. We've killed Malus, uprooted organizations aiding the Abyssals, and stopped gatherings that seemed to be happening almost everywhere. How is this even possible? They make everything look so easy—like they were born for this.

The missions were relentless, yet Clyde noticed the unshakable rhythm of the Shadowblades. Their dynamics, unconventional as they seemed, had a strange elegance to them—a blend of chaos and precision that Clyde could hardly wrap his head around. And at the center of it all was Arkan, the strategist who had proven time and again that his mind was nothing short of brilliant.

Now, huddled together in the camper van, the team leaned in as Arkan stood before them to discuss his grand plan. Clyde, sitting near Aqua, felt the weight of the moment settle over the group. Even Ripclaw looked unusually attentive.

Arkan's monotone voice filled the room as he began. "Okay, this will be our hardest mission yet. Everything we've done—all the missions we've completed—they've been linked to the Abyssals controlling things in the shadows."

He paused briefly, scanning the faces around him before continuing. "We're lucky they haven't directly interfered. My guess? The Abyssals are preparing for something. They're simulating for war, but they're not really building an army—at least, not in the conventional sense. Second, the Abyssals are everywhere. It's likely they're holding positions of authority in human society, pulling strings we haven't seen yet. Third, and most important, I believe the Abyssals are the final evolution of the Malifuge."

Clyde's eyes widened, leaning forward as Arkan's words sank in. "From Malifuge to Sovereign Malifuge to Malus, their final form is the Abyssal," Arkan explained. "If they're experimenting with the Sovereign Malifuge, it means they're trying to force evolution—to speed up the process of creating Malus. As far as we know, Malus are the first stage where they acquire intelligence. They're almost indistinguishable from humans in this form. Lucky for us, I think they've failed at their experiments... for now."

Clyde shook his head, still amazed, and his admiration for Arkan only grew. The strategist had an uncanny ability to see through people, events, and possibilities with a clarity Clyde couldn't fathom. He leaned back, watching the team as they began preparing for their hardest mission yet. Somewhere deep down, Clyde felt the stirrings of confidence within himself. He might still be figuring out his place here, but he wasn't going to let Phantomblade—or the Shadowblades—down.