NOVEL NEXT Chapter 45 – The Hollow Gaze
Recap – Chapter 44:
The Tower fell silent, but silence never meant safety. Jemil's victory was tainted by the sudden disappearance of their enemy's corpse, leaving behind only claw marks burned into the floor and a strange sigil that pulsed faintly with black light. The air carried a chill — as if something, or someone, was watching.
The cold didn't creep in.
It slammed into Jemil's skin like icy water, threading up his spine until it made his teeth ache. Every instinct screamed that the fight wasn't over — that this was not the stillness of peace, but the breath before another strike.
His wives stood ready, each one gripping their weapon tighter, eyes sweeping the shadows.
No movement. No sound.
Then… a whisper.
Low, hoarse, and unmistakably aimed at him.
"Jemil…"
He turned sharply. The shadows shifted along the wall, pulling themselves upward like they were alive. A face began to take shape — hollow eyes and a mouth stretched into a grin too wide for any human.
Liora took a step forward, but Jemil raised a hand.
"Don't." His voice was steady, but his heart thudded.
The shadow-face blinked — not with eyelids, but by simply vanishing and reappearing closer. It studied him, the grin widening.
"Finally… the Summoner comes to me."
The temperature dropped further, so sharp it burned to breathe. Frost began to creep across the floor in thin, spiraling veins.
Behind him, Nyara's claws scraped the stone. "Jemil… that thing isn't flesh. It's the Tower's will given form."
The shadow-face tilted, as though amused.
"Not the Tower's will. Its hunger."
Before Jemil could answer, the tendrils of darkness coiled down from the grin, slithering toward his feet. Instinct told him to move, but his boots were already heavy — glued to the frozen floor.
Zyra's eyes flashed gold. She leapt forward, blade drawn, slashing through the tendrils. They recoiled with an inhuman hiss, yet instead of falling away, they multiplied, weaving into a spiral that circled the group.
The grin whispered again, louder now, echoing in their skulls instead of the air.
"Floor after floor you climb… but you don't see. You are being gathered, piece by piece."
Jemil narrowed his eyes. "Gathered… for what?"
The face leaned closer, stopping inches from his own, the darkness trembling as though barely holding shape.
"For the feast."
Every wife reacted at once — weapons flaring, claws ready, magic boiling in the air — but the shadow-face vanished, and the frost shattered under their boots like brittle glass.
Only the sigil remained, still glowing faintly. But now, in the center of its spiral, something else had appeared:
A key.
Black. Cold. And breathing.
Jemil stepped forward slowly, every instinct screaming trap. The wives fanned out around him, their stances tense and ready.
The black key sat on the floor, its surface shifting as though it were made of liquid shadow. With each breath Jemil took, it pulsed — in time with his heartbeat.
"That thing is alive," Aria whispered, her fox ears flattening. "Keys aren't supposed to breathe."
"It's not a key," Nyara corrected sharply. "It's a gate disguised as one."
Jemil crouched and reached out, but the moment his fingers were an inch away, the air exploded with a snap. The key's shadow surged upward, wrapping around his wrist like a living chain.
Zyra slashed at it immediately — but her blade passed through without resistance. The shadow simply reformed, gripping tighter, pulling Jemil toward the sigil.
"Jemil!" Liora's voice was almost a growl. Her hands blazed with emerald fire as she hurled it into the chain, scorching its surface. The shadows screamed, and for a moment, the grip loosened — but not enough.
The sigil beneath them began spinning, faster and faster, its spiral lines glowing like molten gold. The cold air turned hot in an instant, as if the floor was now breathing in heat from somewhere below.
"Cut it! Burn it! Do something!" Aria shouted, darting forward with her twin daggers.
But Jemil stopped them all, his voice calm but firm. "No. If we destroy it, we might destroy the path it opens."
"You're thinking about using it?!" Nyara's tail lashed behind her. "It's a predator, Jemil. Not a tool."
The chain tightened again, this time tugging harder — enough to make Jemil stumble toward the spiral's center. The wives immediately grabbed his shoulders, trying to pull him back, but the sigil's pull was stronger.
The key's surface shimmered, and a whisper seeped into all their minds at once:
"Come to the feast."
The spiral gave one final lurch — and in a blink, the world around them collapsed into darkness.
The first blur broke from the shadows with the sound of tearing air.
Jemil barely brought his blade up in time. Steel screamed against something far harder — a claw, curved like a scythe, sparks cascading as the impact drove him half a step back.
The creature landed in full view, and the sight froze the breath in his chest.
It wasn't a wolf. Not entirely. Its frame was vaguely lupine, but it moved wrong — joints bending at unnatural angles, muscles rippling beneath fur made of black smoke. Its eyes were pits of molten amber, each blink releasing thin trails of steam.
"Smoke Wraiths," Nyara breathed, her voice low. "Hunting phantoms. They're not supposed to exist outside the Abyssal Floors."
"Guess someone forgot to tell them that," Jemil gritted, pivoting just in time to block another strike from the side.
The second Wraith slammed into his guard, its claws biting into the earth like knives. Liora's chains shot past him, lashing around its throat, but the creature simply twisted, phasing through them like mist.
"They're incorporeal?!" Liora snapped.
"No — they're shifting!" Zyra barked, lunging forward. Her blade struck deep into the Wraith's shoulder — and for a split second, the thing bled. Black ichor hissed against the ground before the wound sealed, fur reforming into smoke.
A low, hungry growl rumbled from the treeline. Dozens of amber eyes flickered into view.
"Not two," Aria said, her bowstring drawing taut with a metallic creak. "Twenty."
The Wraiths began to spread out, circling the group in a perfect ring. Their bodies flickered in and out of existence with every step, like lanterns sputtering in the dark.
Jemil tightened his grip, his voice low but steady.
"Stay tight. Don't let them separate us."
The whisper returned — not from the mask this time, but from everywhere at once.
"Run, prey. Or be devoured."
The Wraiths lunged in unison.
The forest erupted.
Black shapes surged inward, claws flashing like silvered lightning. The first impact knocked Liora off her feet, her chains whipping wild as she rolled clear of a raking strike. Aria's arrows became streaks of white flame, piercing through heads and throats — but every Wraith she felled melted and reformed, charging again.
Nyara spun low, her dagger slicing a tendril clean through, only for another to materialize from thin air.
"They're regenerating faster now!"
A claw came for Jemil's ribs. He stepped into it, parrying so hard the shockwave cracked the nearest tree.
"Then we hit harder."
Zyra roared — not in words, but in raw, primal fury — and her sword erupted with fire. She cleaved one Wraith from skull to spine, the flames searing its body to nothing. For one heartbeat, hope flared.
Then the ground trembled.
Something massive was moving beneath them, shifting the earth like water. Wraiths stopped mid-attack, their heads tilting toward the disturbance. One by one, they backed away, vanishing into the shadows as if summoned elsewhere.
The silence was worse than the fight.
A single, enormous claw — big enough to wrap around a house — broke through the dirt in front of Jemil, black as the void and dripping with molten gold.
Nyara's face paled.
"That's… not supposed to be here."
The ground split open.
A massive form began to rise, obscured in swirling smoke and fire. The air turned suffocatingly hot, like the breath of a forge god.
And then it spoke.
"Summoner… you've strayed into my den."
ext Chapter Preview – Chapter 46: The Den of Ash and Gold
The earth groans, and the forest breathes smoke. Beneath Jemil's feet, roots snap like brittle bones as something vast and ancient forces its way to the surface. The First Wraith — a predator born in the Tower's deepest dark — emerges in a crown of molten gold and burning ash, its voice shaking the air like the toll of a war drum.
But it is not just power that radiates from it… it is recognition. It speaks Jemil's name as if carved into its very memory, as if their fates were entwined long before his climb began.
Around him, the wives brace for the unknown — Zyra's sword shimmers with volatile fire, Nyara's blades hum like venomous serpents, Aria's bowstring trembles, and Liora's chains coil in anticipation. Yet something about this enemy is different. It does not rush to kill. It watches. It studies. It waits.
Whispers curl at the edges of Jemil's mind — promises of forbidden truths, the scent of ancient bargains, and the shadow of an even greater threat lurking beneath the Tower's design.
One wrong question could provoke it.
One wrong answer could bind him to it forever.
And if the fight comes… the forest itself may burn to cinders.
Call to Action:
The First Wraith does not just guard its den — it guards a truth older than the Tower. Step into Chapter 46, where molten claws, ancient oaths, and the weight of destiny will collide. Every strike will scorch, every heartbeat will matter, and Jemil must decide whether to fight the beast… or listen to it.