These Hallowed Bones - [Monster Evolution, Dark Fantasy, Heroic Undead]

Silence presses in from all sides, a weight of water and final endings. The Leviathan's bulk sinks through the flood, a dead mountain returning to the depths within the water summoned around Haven. Beside it, the corpse of the armored whale floats, its massive form showing the battle's scale.

I stand on the creature's hide as it descends, black ichor streaming from where Aeternus pierced its center. The water accepts its offering without ceremony. No grand collapse, no final roar.

Only the inevitable surrender to the depths.

Through the mirk, I see her.

Another herald emerges from where she had hidden, but this one lacks the terrible presence of her predecessor. Where the first commanded tidal waves with practiced authority, this one struggles to maintain her form.

Translucent flesh ripples uncertainly. Tentacles writhe without coordination.

Her voice carries across the water, high and desperate.

"The waters will not stop." She raises both arms, straining against forces beyond her comprehension. "The ritual continues. Haven will drown."

The Arkashoth fragment disagrees, this one is not yet ready for such power.

The master's death left gaps in the working she cannot fill.

But she tries anyway.

The flood surges higher, reaching higher stones on Haven's walls. I hear shouts from above.

Emmy's voice among them, directing archers to higher positions. The Hallowed Legion maintains formation despite the water that rises above them.

They do not need breath. They do not face drowning.

I wade toward her through the carnage, my massive frame parting debris with each step. A half-sunken war barge blocks my path, its siege tower listing drunkenly, crew scattered by wolf and spear.

I place one hand against its hull and shove. The vessel capsizes completely, spilling the last of its corrupted cargo into the Hunt's waiting claws.

The herald sees my approach and panics. Her concentration fractures as she attempts to direct the flood against me specifically.

The water rises around my legs, then recedes, then surges again. A tidal chaos that speaks of power wielded beyond its wielder's skill.

"You should not exist," she shrieks, her form becoming more transparent with each failed manipulation. "The dead do not walk above the tide."

The flood wavers as her control slips. Salt spray crashes against my frame, seeking purchase on bone that refuses to yield. The water's touch carries corruption, but the divine forging holds. Veradin's work cannot be undone by desperate magic.

Around us, the Drowned Kingdom's forces scatter. Their vessels list and founder without proper coordination. Corrupted marines swim frantically toward distant shores, their formation shattered by the Hunt's relentless pursuit.

The herald raises her hands higher, veins of dark power coursing through translucent skin. "I will not fail like the others."

But failure writes itself across her strained features. Blood seeps from her eyes as she forces power through channels too narrow to contain it.

The Arkashoth fragment recognizes the signs. Overextension. The magic tears her apart from within.

In that moment of weakness, I lunge forward, closing the distance in three massive strides.

Aeternus cleaves through salt spray. The blade cleaves her through the middle.

Unlike her predecessor, she does not transform into something greater. She simply splits apart into bloody brine.

Around me, the battlefield empties. Corrupted vessels founder or retreat, their crews scattered by wolf and blade. The Wild Hunt flows between the wreckage, ensuring nothing that breathes corruption survives.

The skeletal wolves bound across floating debris. The Wild Hunt pauses on a broken mast, blue flames meeting my gaze across the dark water. A silent understanding passes between us.

Her hunt is complete.

With deliberate force, I push away from the sinking corpse, my movement sending clouds of ichor billowing into the water. I do not swim. The concept is foreign to these bones.

Instead, I walk.

Step by step, the water level drops around me, not from my passage, but as the herald's magic unravels, the unnatural flood receding back in on itself.. The plains re-emerge, drenched and steaming, littered with battle's debris.

The Hallowed Legion has already begun its work. Skeletal warriors move through the muck dispatching the last stragglers. The Captain, stands atop the Leviathan's half-submerged corpse, directing his forces with silent gestures.

His twelve-foot frame commands respect even from the titans among our ranks. Where the Legion's warriors were shattered, their bones have already knit back together, their purpose undiminished by temporary dissolution.

I walk toward Haven's walls. Defenders line the wall.

They watch my approach, weapons lowered but not yet set aside. They have witnessed impossible victory, but the victor remains the incarnation of their nightmares made guardian. Commander Ikert stands at the main gate, her armor streaked with mud.

She waits. her expression unreadable. I stop before the walls.

Behind me, the Legion reforms its ranks. The Wild Hunt's alpha lopes to my side, her skeletal frame dripping with the black blood of her prey. She waits, her burning gaze fixed on me, a silent question in her stillness.

The gates remain closed.

Then I see her. Emmy stands on the ramparts, her bow unslung, her face pale. She is not looking at me, but at the alpha wolf beside me.

Her eyes, once filled with a child's unshakable faith, now hold a different light.

The cold certainty of a truth finally understood.

She knows.

I reduce my form, bones condensing and folding until I stand fifteen feet tall, still imposing, but no longer the divine colossus that fought the Leviathan. I approach the wall alone, my wings tucking close. Commander Ikert does not move.

"The Drowned Kingdom's assault is broken," I say, my voice carrying across the muddy field. "Their herald is dead. I have broken their ranks, their leviathan, their forces."

"We saw," Ikert replies, her voice tight. "We also saw your new reinforcements."

I do not need to follow her gaze.

I know she means the wolves.

"They served their purpose," is all I say.

"Emmy knows," she says quietly, her words almost lost to the wind. "She recognized them. Or at least, she recognized what they are."

The flowers I had placed at the memorial wall lie trampled in the mud of the courtyard, their pale petals crushed beyond recognition. I look up at Emmy, her small figure rigid against the battlements. She meets my gaze, her expression a mask of grief and betrayal.

"Tell me," she calls down, her voice clear and strong despite the distance. "Tell me the truth this time. All of it."

Within my core, the fragments stir. Carida's essence pulses with the need for honesty. The Arkashoth knowledge whispers of consequences.

The balverine fragments, still connected as we are, the alpha's own, remain silent, offering no justification. They are what they are. The choice, as always, is mine.

"The truth is a heavy burden," I say. "Some knowledge wounds more than any blade."

"I am a soldier of Haven," she retorts. "I have seen my friends die on these walls. I have put arrows through things that once wore human faces. Do not mistake my grief for weakness."

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She is right.

She has earned the truth, however sharp its edge.

"Your father," I begin, my voice carrying the weight of confession, "died fighting balverines. The same balverines whose bones now form the Wild Hunt. I killed them after they killed him. I claimed their remains to strengthen my frame."

"Their instincts, their predatory nature, now serve Haven."

The words hang between us.

The truth, stark and brutal. Emmy does not flinch. Her knuckles are white where she grips the stone, but her gaze remains steady.

"And you," she says, her voice dangerously quiet. "You carried the alpha's bones. The one that led the pack that killed him."

"Yes."

There is no sense in denying it.

"So every time you fight, every time you hunt, you use the strength of my father's killer."

"I use the strength of a monster to be a better monster. Her nature is unchanged, only her target."

"Redemption," she whispers, the word tasting like ash in her mouth. "You offer my father's murderers redemption through service."

"I offered them nothing," I say, my voice cutting through her accusation. "I am the one who commands the bones I choose. I take what serves my purpose. I control what was once beyond control."

The alpha beside me remains motionless, a weapon waiting for my will. "Their redemption was never the point. Only their usefulness."

She closes her eyes for a long moment. When she opens them again, the anger has faded, replaced by a deep, hollow sorrow.

"I need to see her," she says. "Up close."

Commander Ikert starts to object, but I raise a hand.

"Alpha," I call, not with my voice, but with the silent command that binds us. "Approach the wall."

The Wild Hunt alpha comes away from her pack and lopes toward the gate. She stops directly below Emmy, her skull tilted upward. The blue flames in her sockets burn with the same cold light as my own.

Emmy looks down at the creature, at the fangs that tore her father's life away. She studies the bone structure, the powerful limbs, the predatory stillness. For a long minute, no one speaks.

Haven's defenders watch in silence.

Commander Ikert stands beside Emmy, her hand resting on the young archer's shoulder.

"Can she hear me?" Emmy asks finally, her voice barely a whisper. "The alpha. Does she remember?"

"The bones remember everything. The hunt. The kill. His courage in the end."

Emmy takes a deep breath.

"Do you remember my father?" she asks the wolf.

The alpha's skull dips once, a slow, deliberate nod.

"Was he brave?"

Another nod.

"Did he suffer?"

The alpha's flames dim. A pause that stretches like a held breath. Then, reluctantly, another nod.

Emmy's face crumbles. The mask of stoic resolve she has worn for weeks, months, finally cracks. Tears stream down her cheeks, cutting clean lines through the grime and mud.

"I have believed in you all these years," she whispers, her voice breaking. "When everyone else called you monster, I called you my knight. When they said you would never come back, I waited for you to return."

She looks from me to the alpha, then back again, her small frame shaking. "I defended you to everyone. I told them you were different. That you were good."

The word comes out like a sob. "But you carry his killers. And she remembers watching him die."

The alpha remains motionless beneath the wall, her burning gaze fixed on Emmy's anguish.

"Can you," Emmy's voice drops to barely a whisper. "Can you make the pain go away?"

Commander Ikert steps closer to her, alarm flashing across her features. "Emmy, what are you asking?"

But I understand. The Arkashoth fragment stirs, recognizing the request. Ancient knowledge surfaces, memories of civilizations that chose forgetting over suffering, peoples who traded pain for peace.

"The memory of his suffering," Emmy continues, her words tumbling over each other. "When I close my eyes, I see him dying frightened and alone. I see her jaws around his throat. I cannot look at you, I cannot think without seeing it. Can you take that away?"

"Emmy, no," Ikert says sharply. "Your grief is vital."

"My grief is destroying me," Emmy cuts her off. "I cannot function. I cannot aim properly. I freeze when I see wolves, even dead ones that fight for us."

She looks directly at me, desperation naked in her voice. "I do not want to forget him. I want to remember his smile, his terrible jokes, the way he taught me to throw stones. But every time I try to think of the good times, I see her teeth in his neck instead."

The power stirs within me. Lethe. The aspect of transformation that can shape memory as easily as bone.

"You ask me to reach into your mind," I say carefully. "To change what you remember."

"Please."

The word comes. "I just want to remember my father without always seeing, thinking of how he died."

The choice stretches before me like a path through darkness. I could reach into her mind, sever the threads that bind joy to horror, let her remember only warmth without the cold shadow of death. But that would not be mercy.

That would be theft.

"Come down," I say softly.

Commander Ikert moves to stop her, but Emmy is already walking toward the gate mechanism. Her footsteps ring against stone as she descends the wall stairs. The massive gates groan open just enough for her small form to slip through.

She stands before me in the mud and debris, her archer's uniform streaked with grime, her young face aged by grief and revelation. The distance between us feels vast despite the few feet of space.

I begin to change.

My draconic wings fold inward, the massive bone structure compressing and reshaping. The towering frame that commanded the battlefield diminishes, my spine shortening, my limbs drawing inward. The divine proportions that faced leviathans reduce to something more human in scale.

Fifteen feet becomes ten. Ten becomes seven. Seven becomes five.

I settle at her height, eye to eye, my form now that of a skeletal knight who could walk beside her rather than tower above her. The blue flames in my sockets burn gentler, no longer the fierce conflagration of divine purpose but something quieter, more personal.

My bones smooth over, the jagged edges of battle-worn calcium becoming clean lines. The texture shifts from the rough hewn appearance of war to something almost polished, respectful of this moment.

Emmy watches the transformation without flinching. She has seen me change before, though never quite like this. Never with such deliberate care.

When the reshaping completes, I extend one skeletal hand toward her. She studies my fingers, clean bone wrapped in faint shadow, no trace of the claws that tore through monsters moments before.

"I will not steal your pain," I tell her, my voice now level with hers rather than booming down from above. "But I can share something else."

She nods and steps forward, closing the distance between us. My hand settles gently against her forehead, bone touching warm skin.

Through that connection, I offer not forgetting, but perspective. The memory of courage that faced death without surrender. The love that drove a father to throw stones at monsters to protect his child.

Through the touch, I guide her memory gently backward. Not erasure, never that, but a reordering of what comes first. The power of Lethe flows between us, careful and precise.

I do not remove the darkness, but I dim its hold over the light. When she thinks of Merik now, her mind will turn first to spring mornings in Joist. The smell of fresh bread from their kitchen.

His laugh when she missed the target with her first stone. The way he lifted her onto his shoulders after chores before the dark.

The memory of his death remains intact, but it no longer drowns out everything else. It becomes what it should be, the end of his story, not the entirety, not the definition of it.

Emmy's eyes flutter closed as the transformation settles into place. Her breathing steadies. The hard lines of grief around her mouth ease slightly.

"Better?" I ask quietly.

She nods, tears still wet on her cheeks but flowing slower now. "I can see him smiling again."

The alpha steps closer, her massive skull lowering toward Emmy. For a moment, predator and daughter of prey regard each other. Then Emmy reaches out one trembling hand and touches the bone of the creature's muzzle.

"Thank you," Emmy finally says.

Behind us, Haven's defenders watch in silence. I step back, my reduced form moving carefully in the churned mud.

The connection between us fades, but the reordering holds.

Emmy's memories have found their proper weight.

She looks up at me, her eyes clearer than they have been and steps away from the alpha, her hand trailing along bone one final time. Commander Ikert approaches, her relief evident. She places a protective hand on Emmy's shoulder, but the young archer no longer needs shielding.

"What happens now?" Commander Ikert asks.

I gesture toward the battlefield where my forces stand in reformed ranks with the Captain. The Hallowed Legion maintains their positions despite the mud and chaos. The Wild Hunt circles at the field's edge, patient killers waiting for command.

"They remain," I say. "The Legion guards your walls. The Hunt culls the darkness beyond them. Both serve Haven and guard it now."

"And you?" she asks.

"I leave at dawn."

My voice carries across the muddy field, final and absolute. The words settle over Haven's defenders like a shroud, heavy with implication.

Commander Ikert's grip tightens on Emmy's shoulder. "For how long?"

"Until the darkness is purged."

I gesture toward the endless distance.

The truth hangs between us. I may never return. Emmy steps forward, her reordered memories allowing her to speak without the crushing weight of grief.

"Will you come back?" she asks.

I look down at her, this child who once walked fearless beside my bones, who kept faith when others wavered. The honest answer would wound her. Some travels only go one way.

"If my purpose allows it," I say instead.

She nods, understanding what I cannot say aloud. Some battles have no victorious return.

Only endings.

I turn away. The Legion awaits my command.

The Captain stands at their head, his cracked skull showing his own resilience. We are an army of broken things, yet we are unbroken in our purpose.

The Drowned Kingdom's assault has been repelled, but the Drowned Kingdom still exists. The Flesh Sculptors' ritual lies in ruin. The balverine hamlet is ash.

The Demon Duke's fortress is a tomb. Each victory carves a small space of safety in a world consumed by darkness.

But it is not enough.

The true source of corruption remains untouched.

The Demon King waits. The World Tree still weeps poison into the earth.

These are not battles for Haven's defenders.

They are hunts for Death's Champion.

My Legion cannot follow where I must go next. Their purpose is to guard these walls, to protect the life that endures behind them.

I sheathe Aeternus, the blade settling across my back.

"Captain," my voice carries across the silent battlefield.

He steps forward.

"The Legion will hold this perimeter. Defend Haven's walls against all threats. Maintain vigil."

The Captain's skull dips once.

He understands his duty.

I turn to the Wild Hunt. "Continue as you have done, range beyond the walls. Cull the corruption that festers in the wildlands. Let no monster grow strong enough to threaten this place."

She acknowledges with a low growl, a sound of stone grinding against bone. Her pack shifts behind her, ready to run.

My gaze sweeps over them one last time, the skeletal army I awakened, the monstrous pack I claimed. They are my instruments, my legacy, the guardians who will stand watch while I hunt greater darkness.

I turn away from Haven, my back to the walls I am sworn to protect. The path ahead leads into the corrupted heart of the world, toward threats that even gods have fled.

Alone.

As I was in the beginning.

As I must be at the end.

My first step leaves a deep print in the muddy earth. My new form carries a weight beyond bone and armor.

It carries the hope of a broken world.

The hunt continues.