"Fill the girls in once we start the mission. I don't want to discuss it in our psi-com—Sophie will hear."
Cane understood her well. If Sophie thought he was doing something too dangerous, she'd try to stop him… and she'd definitely involve Telamon.
"You got it, brother." Fergis exhaled. "We're gonna do it, then? Kill Terror? The Commander of the Terror Legion?"
"Yes," Cane replied. "He came after us with that Strix. Now it's our turn."
Cane got up early and showered, tightening the buckles on his stealth gear and double-checking the fit of his heartguard. A knock broke through his focus. He opened the door to find Fergis, Dhalia, and Clara—all serious, all ready.
Cane stepped aside and ushered them in. "Thanks for helping me."
"We're a team," Clara said, holding a small satchel of snacks.
Dhalia entered behind her, her raven-feather cloak trailing behind like a shadow ready to take flight.
Fergis placed a hand on Cane's shoulder. "Let's do this."
"In you go." Cane brought them into the ringworld with a thought, then waited.
A few minutes later, a rift opened in his dorm room. Cane activated his stealth field and stepped through.
At the edge of the neutral zone, Cane broke into an easy jog, following the river upstream. The plan was simple: hit the camp at sunrise, just as the light broke over the horizon and people were waking, disoriented and vulnerable.
He slowed as familiar terrain rose around him—uneven ridges, broken scrub, loose soil. Time for speed to give way to silence.
Dropping to his stomach, Cane low-crawled up the last slope and crested the ridge. He lifted his spyglass and studied the camp layout.
The forge was dark. The lean-to where Jonas had been spotted showed no movement. Elohan's intel was spot on. Four ravens were perched at different corners of the camp, watcher-silent and still. The morning was just beginning—chopping wood, quiet curses, barking dogs.
Then, movement.
From the lean-to stepped a massive figure.
Cane's heart twisted at the sight of his old mentor. Jonas Ironfist's once-thick mane of red hair had been shaved to the scalp. New scars marked his broad chest and arms—recent scars, not yet healed. He moved with a slow weight, dragging a shackle bolted to the ground by a long iron spike.
The sight filled Cane with equal parts rage and grief.
He studied the binding—runed, dark, foul. Cutting it would alert Terror before they were ready.
"I'll let Dhalia deal with the ravens first," Cane whispered.
Cane withdrew silently down the slope and summoned Dhalia from the ringworld.
She appeared already stealthed, crouched low. It took her only a moment to assess the terrain.
Cane: Top of the hill—you'll spot the ravens. We should be safely out of range.
Dhalia: Got it.
She moved upward with practiced ease, picked a safe line to prone out near the crest, and peeked into the camp. Dawn was just breaking, the sun casting glare off the tents and armor. She squinted, scanning.
Dhalia: There's one... and the second.
She kept tracking—eyes sharp, breath steady.
Dhalia: Located the last two.
Her irises turned black as pitch, and for a long moment, nothing happened—until all four ravens slowly turned their heads skyward, locking onto empty air as if mesmerized.
Dhalia: I got them.
Cane: Follow me.
The two stealthed figures slipped through the perimeter like shadows. They kept low, weaving between crates and canvas, moving past half-awake soldiers and idling guards.
Jonas was working—shoveling coal into a cart. Nearby, an assistant rummaged through a leather satchel, back turned.
Cane dropped beside the spike. Corruption pulsed through the chain—an oily taste filled his mouth just from being near it. He reached out, feeling the decay in the runes. Carefully, he avoided the glyphs and willed the spike to narrow and retract silently from the earth.
Cane: Putting you back in. I'm making the move. Fergis briefed you?
Dhalia: Yes. We're ready.
Cane approached Jonas from behind. One last scan of the surroundings—and then he bent low and grabbed both the chain and the man.
With a silent flash, Jonas and the shackle vanished into the ringworld.
Cane didn't hesitate. He shifted mid-run, his movement more a blur than a sprint—disruptions in the air where he passed drew momentary glances from the alert, but no alarm was raised.
He drew Starstrike.
At full speed, Cane reached Terror's tent. The blade slashed down, parting the canvas like silk. He stepped inside.
Terror sat cross-legged at the center, eyes closed, meditating. They opened as the blade sliced in—black eyes locking instantly onto the invisible intruder. His expression passed through surprise, confusion, and… joy.
"You've come to me…" Terror whispered, his voice soaked in rot. The air itself recoiled.
Cane didn't answer. He summoned his team and shifted forward.
The trio appeared instantly, already moving on instinct.
White fire exploded from Fergis—
BALEFIRE.
Clara's blunderbuss thundered—
BOOM.
A cloud of fog burst outward, flooding the tent, hiding movement, warping sound.
And in the center of it all, Starstrike drove deep into Terror's gut.
The dark figure looked down, mouth half-open, caught between surprise and amusement.
"Ha... hahaha... You think I can be killed by spells and blades? You have no—"
His words cut off. His eyes darted lower. Realization bloomed—followed by terror.
Cane's sword hadn't moved.
His other hand had.
It was buried deep in Terror's side, the cold iron ring blazing with activated energy.
"NOOO—!"
Terror's scream tore through the camp, a wave of pure dread. Everything in the tent was blasted back—except Cane, who held firm, unmoved.
Terror aged in an instant. His body cracked, withered, twisted—then shattered like dry bark.
Ash and dust spiraled away on the wind with a final, broken wail.
Gone.
Cane groaned, staggering as pain flared through his arm and chest.
Cane: Check the corpse. Tear the tent apart. We don't have much time.
Dhalia: Ravens incoming. I'll keep them occupied.
Cane: Fine, you're with me. The rest of you, check the tent.
Fergis: Found a few things—runes, supplies, maybe a ledger. But there's a rune portal in the corner. I can't disable it from here.
Cane nodded, then froze.
His eyes narrowed. Color drained from his face. "Shit... not good."
Fergis and Clara turned sharply toward him.
Fergis: Problem?
"Yes. I can't access the ringworld."
Cane held up his hand.
From elbow to fingertips, it was skeletal—an emaciated claw of bone. The rings he wore now looked garish, wrong.
He tried pulling them off. They wouldn't budge. Locked tight.
Cane: Stealth up. We're leaving together. Dhalia—you'll have to manage the watchers.
They all shimmered and vanished, except one.
Clara: Oh no... My heartguard's down. It must've been the blast.
Cane: Fergis, check the rune.
Fergis dropped stealth, scanning it with all senses sharpened.
Fergis: It's gone. Completely erased.
Cane: Stand by.
Cane raised Starstrike, aiming the blade toward his own bony fingers.
Clara leapt forward, grabbing his arm.
Clara: No! I'll run for it. You guys stealth and escape while I draw them away.
Cane: That isn't an option.
Dhalia: Neither is cutting off your hand.
Fergis pointed at the glowing rune etched into the far corner of the tent. "Brother... that's an option."
Cane's face twisted. "That could lead anywhere... better to lose the hand."
Dhalia stepped beside him, firm. "It's still alive. I won't let you cut it off while there's a chance to heal it. I say we take the portal."
Clara and Fergis both nodded.
Cane: Fine. Follow me.
They stepped onto the rune—
—and vanished just as dozens of armed figures crashed into the ruined tent.
An instant later, four figures staggered into a cold, dim chamber.
Torches flared to life around them as if sensing blood.
Shadows leapt across obsidian walls etched with runes and shot through with dark veins. One exit. A massive door. Zuni Empire crest carved in iron.
At the center stood a round table, six high-backed chairs, and a glowing map of the known world.
Fergis: I feel like more effort could've gone into decorating.
Clara: Yeah... this is creepy.
"What the hell is this?" Clara walked to the table. "That's a map of the realm... wow."
Dhalia's voice cracked slightly. "This is the Zuni Empire's Council Chamber. We must've come through Terror's personal portal."
Cane moved fast toward the massive door. "Fergis!"
Fergis: I'm on it! He dropped to examine the portal rune they'd arrived through. "It's still active—pulling power from this room. I can shut them down here."
"Leave one for an exit," Cane said. "Unless you want to fight our way out."
He placed his good hand on the door, ignoring the pain from his ruined arm. The metal thrummed with defensive runes—deadly ones.
Carefully, he began fusing the door into its frame, threading metal into the surrounding walls and floor, sealing it shut.
Fergis: Disabling now... got Terror's first.
He moved to the next portal. "Which one do we leave?"
Cane glanced at the cluttered shelves. Scrolls. War maps. Books. Dozens.
"Clara—take everything you can carry."
Clara opened her ring and started sweeping the table clean.
Dhalia examined the chairs. "They're marked. This one says 'Tyrant Bex.'"
Cane glanced up, nodding. "That portal's our way out. Bex was taken out by Cane's Folly. His fortress in Vesh was turned over to the Alliance as part of the War Pact amendment. Should be safe."
Clara didn't hesitate. She stuffed the map, the chairs, and every scroll in sight into her storage ring. The table vanished last.
Fergis: Final portal locked down. Only one left.
Only one choice.
The portal once connected to the Black Legion Commander. Now leading to a fortress reclaimed by the Alliance.
They didn't know what awaited them on the other side.
But it had to be better than here.