Page 159 of Elemental Becoming
Dozens of fire orbs bloom to life as fire wielders and channelers react on instinct. Their flames cast wavering pools of light across the darkness while others rush to ignite the torches lining the walls.
The floor beneath our feet begins to ripple, the shadows stretching unnaturally across the marble like living things.
“What’s happening?” I whisper, though I already know the answer.
Before he can respond, the grand doors slam open with a deafening crash, and oily shadows spill into the ballroom, their forms wraith-like, dragging darkness behind them.
A wave of suffocating dread floods the hall, chilling the air, twisting it until every breath feels like inhaling ice.
The celebration splinters into chaos.
The Shadow Forces are here.
Thane moves instantly.
He releases my hand only long enough to draw a narrow blade from his waist, a sharp flare of steel catching what little light remains, before stepping directly in front of me.
“Form a perimeter!” he barks, his voice cutting cleanly through the panic. “Get the civilians behind the pillars and shields. Now! Protect them from the Fellborn!”
Warriors surge to respond, trained instinct overtaking fear even as panic spreads through the ballroom. Some guests scream. Others freeze.
The Fellborn spill into the ballroom like a living shadow, their twisted forms bleeding through the open doorway, humanoid but grotesquely wrong. Their bodies stretch unnaturally, limbs elongated beyond human proportions, their joints bending in ways that defy nature.
They move with an eerie, fluid precision. Too controlled. Too deliberate. Like marionettes pulled by unseen strings.
The flickering candlelight glints against their curved obsidian claws as they drag them across the marble floor, carving deep trenches through the polished stone as though it were soft clay.
Some stride through the doorway. Others crawl across the floor in jerking, unnatural movements, while a few seem to emerge directly from the shadows themselves. Their feet make no sound as they advance, their silence more unsettling than any battle cry.
Their mouths twitch with anticipation. Jagged, needle-like teeth gleam in the dim light as their lips peel back, revealing uneven fangs made for rending flesh, tearing bone, and feasting on whatever remains.
The air itself feels wrong around them. Corrupted. The stench is unbearable, like rotting flesh.
Their movements are calculated, each step measured asthough savoring the slaughter before it even begins. They weave through the panicked crowd with terrifying grace, clawed hands striking through fabric and flesh alike.
Screams echo as the shadows move like liquid darkness, fast and relentless. They rush toward the guests.
A noble lunges with a blade, but it only gets stuck in the creature’s torso. The man stumbles backward, his hand now empty, staring in horror at the Fellborn standing in front of him. It rakes its clawed hand across his face. Blood erupts along his face, deep gashes splitting skin from temple to jaw.
He screams. Then collapses to the marble floor, clutching his ruined face while rivulets of red stream through his fingers.
But he doesn’t have a chance to get up. To flee. In seconds, he vanishes beneath a swarm of Fellborn, his screams cut off abruptly beneath the writhing shadows.
A cluster of Fellborn descend on a group of guests, claws shredding flesh, teeth tearing and devouring.
Consuming.
My stomach twists violently, nausea climbing my throat at the sight, the sound, the scent of it.
This is not a battle. It’s a massacre.
Rian’s voice cuts sharply through the maelstrom. “Protect the civilians! Don’t let them get overwhelmed!”
“Get them to the outer rooms! We need to evacuate them now!” Rowena shouts, her voice slicing through the roar of battle.
Several thunderous roars split the sky.
All around me, guests freeze instinctively, heads snapping upward. I look up toward the ceiling.
