The Anomaly's Path

The female demon’s voice cut through the heavy silence of the ruined orphanage like a blade scraping against bone, sharp and wet and full of mocking amusement.

"...And who might you be, little one?"

I did not hear her.

My ears were ringing, filled with the echo of screams that had already faded, and my eyes were fixed on something else entirely—on Elder Marta’s body lying crumpled on the floor in a way that made my stomach turn and my throat tighten.

Her white dress was no longer white. It was soaked red from her chest down to her knees, the fabric clinging to her body in wet, dark folds. The blood was still spreading, creeping across the floorboards in slow tendrils that seemed to search for something else to stain.

Her eyes were open.

They were staring at nothing. Her lips were slightly parted, frozen in the middle of a word I would never hear, a prayer I would never know, a goodbye she had tried to speak before the demon’s hand had torn through her chest and ripped the life out of her.

She had been alive a moment ago. She had been on her knees, her lips moving without sound, her eyes finding mine across the room. And now she was... gone.

Just like that...

Just like everyone else this night had claimed.

A soft footstep sounded behind me.

"Leo, why are you just stand—" Mia’s voice trailed off. I heard her breath hitch, a small, strangled sound that died in her throat.

Then, she screamed.

It was not a loud scream. It was raw and broken, torn from somewhere deep inside her, from a place she had probably forgotten existed until this moment. She fell to her knees beside Marta’s body, her hands hovering over the old woman’s face, too afraid to touch and too desperate to look away all at once.

"No. No, no, no." The words tumbled out of her between sobs, each one wetter and more broken than the last. "Marta. Marta, wake up. Please.... Please wake up!"

She pressed her hands against Marta’s chest, over the wound, over the place where the demon’s hand had been buried up to the wrist.

Her palms began to glow with that soft, warm light I had seen before—the light of her Soul Weaving, the power that drained her life every time she used it, the power she was terrified of losing herself to.

"I can heal you," she whispered, her voice cracking like thin ice under a heavy foot. "I can fix this. Just hold on. Just—"

The male demon moved.

He took a step toward her, his massive hands reaching out with the casual indifference of someone picking fruit from a tree, and something in my mind snapped back into place.

The fog that had settled over my thoughts lifted. The numbness that had crept into my bones faded.

And I moved before I could think.

My hand found Tempest’s hilt. I drew it.

Click—shing!

The blade left the scabbard, sharp and clean, a note of defiance in a room full of death. I stepped between the demon and Mia, my katana extended, the tip pressing against the demon’s chest hard enough to push him back a step.

He looked down at the blade, then at me, a slow, dark grin spreading across his face. "Oh? So, there is someone here with a bit of bite."

I did not lower my sword. My hand was steady even though my heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat, even though my vision was blurry at the edges from exhaustion and grief and the sheer weight of everything that had happened tonight.

"Mia, get behind me," I said. My voice was low and hard, vibrating with a rage I didn’t know I possessed. "Now!"

She looked up at me, her face wet with tears, her hands still glowing, her eyes wide with a confusion that made my chest ache. "But Marta—"

"She is gone, Mia!" The words tasted like ash in my mouth, dry and bitter and wrong. "There is nothing you can do for her. Get behind me!"

She stared at Marta’s face for a long moment, at the open eyes and the blood that would never stop staining that white dress.

Then she stood up, her legs shaking so badly I thought she might fall, and moved behind me. Her hand found the back of my shirt and gripped it so tightly I could feel her nails through the fabric, digging into my skin like she was afraid I would disappear if she let go.

I looked at the demons standing in the ruins of the orphanage.

At the female with her sharp teeth and wild eyes, her grin wide and hungry and full of something that looked like joy. The male stood there with his stone-crushing hands, his knuckles cracked and bleeding, his face blank and unreadable.

There were some shadows behind them, where more figures moved and swayed, their eyes glowing faintly in the dim light, their hands gripping the children I had failed to protect.

"Who are you people?" I asked. My voice was steady, but I could feel the weight of their stares pressing down on me.

The female demon laughed. It was a soft, crazy sound, like glass breaking under a slow pressure, like wind howling through a cracked window.

"I am Silla, and this brute is Grog. We are the ones who are going to burn this village to the ground, little one. And we want that little girl with you." She stepped closer, her eyes tracing over my face like she was appraising a piece of meat, and her smile widened. "But you... you are interesting. I like your face. Maybe I will keep you as a pet."

I felt my lip curl into something between a sneer and a grin. "You? Keep me as a pet?" I let out a short, mocking laugh.

"I know I am handsome—I do not need a mirror to remind me—but a woman like you could never touch something this divine. You are not worthy of even looking at me, let alone owning me. And of course, you cannot take the girl with you. She is not yours to take."

Silla’s smile faltered for just a moment, and something dark flickered in her eyes.

"Bold words for someone about to die. But don’t worry, that can be arranged."

She took another step toward me, her fingers twitching at her sides, and I knew I had pushed her far enough. Any more and she would attack without giving me time to prepare.

I looked past her, toward the shadows where the other figures stood. "Where are the kids?"

Silla tilted her head, amused by the sudden shift in my tone. "The children?"

"Do not play dumb, you know what I mean. The children from this orphanage. Where are they?"

She gestured lazily toward the back of the room, where the shadows were thickest. "Back there, caged like the little animals they are. Voss wants them alive, so they are alive. For now..."

My stomach turned, but I kept my face steady.

Two of the shadowy figures stepped forward, dragging their captives into the dim light, and I saw them. Lily. Tobin. Sera. The other children from the orphanage.

All of them huddled together on the floor behind a makeshift barrier of broken furniture and shadowy guards. Their faces were pale as death, their eyes wide with a terror that made my chest feel like it was caving in.

One of the shadow figures had a hand on Lily’s shoulder, keeping her in place. She was crying silently, tears streaming down her cheeks, her small body shaking with every sob.

My grip on Tempest tightened.

...I will get them out, I told myself. I will get all of them out.

"Let them go," I said.

"Why would we do that?" Silla tilted her head, her smile never wavering. "They are the whole point of this, little one. Voss needs them. Fresh bodies and young cores. They were perfect for his experiments. And that girl..."

Her eyes flicked to Mia, who was still standing behind me, her hand gripping my shirt. "...she is the real prize. The Soul Weaver user. Voss has been looking for someone like her for a very long time."

I felt Mia’s grip tighten on my shirt.

My eyes widened slightly. How did she...?

"How do you know about her power?" I asked, my voice low and cold. "No one knows about her abilities. How did you find out?"

Silla’s smile widened, and she let out a soft, mocking laugh. "Oh, little one. You think secrets stay buried forever? Someone in this very village sold her out for a handful of coins. Someone you probably know. Someone you probably trusted."

She tapped her chin with a bloodstained finger. "Information is a currency, just like gold. And there is always someone willing to trade."

My blood ran cold.

Someone in the village. Someone who knew Mia, who knew about her power. They had leaked the information. They had sold her to these monsters.

Someone betrayed us...

I did not have time to figure out who did it. All I could do was stand here, with my sword in my hand, and try to protect the people I still could.

"You are not taking her," I said, my voice hard. "...And you are not taking the children."

Silla laughed. "We will see about that."

My grip on Tempest tightened until my knuckles turned white and the leather of the hilt creaked under my fingers. "You are monsters."

"We prefer the term ’survivors.’" The male demon cracked his knuckles, the sound loud and sharp in the silence. "But call us whatever you like. It will not change what happens next."

"Try and stop us, pet," Silla hissed.

I knew I could not win.

The knowledge settled into my chest like a stone, heavy and cold and immovable.

They were two whole ranks above me, maybe more—Expert Low, both of them, while I was still Adept Mid, still struggling to master techniques. The gap between us was not a gap at all. It was a canyon, a chasm, a wall I could not climb no matter how hard I tried.

I could feel it in the way they moved, in the way their mana pressed against my skin like a physical weight, in the way my instincts screamed at me to run, to hide, to do anything except stand my ground and fight.

However... I could not let them leave.

I could not let them take the kids or let them hurt Mia.

The first shadow figure came at me from the left, his blade aimed at my throat, his movements fast and precise. Adept High—stronger than me, faster than me, but not by so much that I could not see the openings in his guard.

I raised Tempest to block, and the impact jarred my arms, sending a shockwave of pain through my elbows and shoulders.

I countered. My blade cut across his arm, and he hissed in pain, dark blood spraying from the wound and splattering across the floor. He stumbled back, clutching his arm, but he did not fall.

Another came from the right, swinging a jagged blade at my ribs.

I swung Tempest in a wide arc, forcing him back, and the sound of steel meeting steel echoed off the walls.

A third tried to circle around behind me, but Mia screamed a warning, and I spun, my blade catching the figure across the chest. He went down with a grunt, clutching at the gash I had left behind, blood seeping through his fingers.

I did not kill them. They were too many, and I was too slow, and every swing of my sword drained more of my already dwindling mana.

But I cut them, hurt them and made them bleed.

The female demon watched with amusement, her head tilted, her eyes following my every move like she was watching a particularly entertaining performance.

"He is fast," she said.

The male demon nodded. "But not fast enough."

My arms were burning. My mana was low, the pool in my core feeling shallower than it had all night, and I could feel the edges of exhaustion creeping into my thoughts.

My head was throbbing from the teleports I had used earlier, and I could feel blood trickling from my nose, warm and wet on my upper lip. I could not keep this up for much longer.

A shadow figure lunged at me, and I sidestepped, bringing Tempest down on his shoulder.

The blade bit deep into his flesh, and he fell to his knees with a scream that echoed off the walls and mingled with the crackle of the flames outside. I pulled my sword free and kicked him aside, and he did not get back up.

The female demon clapped her hands slowly, the sound mocking and deliberate.

"Impressive," she said.

I turned to face her, my chest heaving, my vision blurry at the edges, my sword heavy in my hand. "Come and fight me yourself," I said, and my voice came out ragged, broken, barely more than a whisper. "Stop hiding behind your minions."

Her eyes narrowed. "You want to fight me?"

"I want to cut that fucking smile off your face, you ugly bitch."

The male demon stepped forward, his massive frame blocking the light. "Let me handle him."

"No." The female demon’s voice was sharp, and something flickered in her eyes—anger, maybe, or wounded pride. "He insulted me. He is mine."

She moved.

I barely had time to raise my sword. Her strike was fast—faster than anything I had faced before, faster than the Thorn-Hides, faster than the Spine-Cutter, faster than anything I had trained against in the jungle.

The impact jarred my arms and sent a shockwave of pain through my elbows, and I stumbled back, my feet slipping on the blood-slick floor.

"Too slow," she hissed, swinging again.

I blocked but the impact sent shockwaves through my arms, and I felt something in my shoulder pop.

She swung again. I blocked. My vision blurred at the edges.

I could not keep up with her. She was too strong, too fast, too experienced. Every strike pushed me back another step. Every block sent fresh waves of pain through my body. My arms were screaming, my legs were shaking, and I could feel my mana reserves dropping with every passing second.

I was not going to last much longer. I needed an opening....

I try to provoke her.

"Your face is truly ugly," I said between breaths, the words coming out ragged and broken. "I take back what I said. I would not want you as a pet. I would not want you at all. I have never seen anyone as ugly as you. Did your mother drop you on your head, or were you just born that way?"

Silla’s eye twitched, her eyes flashed with anger. "What did you say?"

"You heard me." I ducked under her swing and stepped inside her guard, close enough to smell the copper of old blood on her breath."

"You are not pretty as you think. I would rather kiss a Needletooth than look at your face for another second. My eyes are burning. I think I am going blind just from staring at you. Please, for the love of everything holy, put a bag over your head. Or better yet, just leave. Leave and never come back. That would be the greatest gift you could ever give me."

Even the male demon and the other figure trying to control their laugh.

She screamed and gave them a sharp look, then lunged at me, wild and reckless, her strikes losing all form and precision in her rage.

A small smile appeared on face. Good, she fell for it.

I activated Spatial Slip.

My sword vanished from my hand, and for a moment, I felt the familiar emptiness in my palm, the strange weightlessness of holding nothing while my blade traveled somewhere else. The female demon’s eyes went wide as her strike passed through empty air, her momentum carrying her forward off balance.

The blade reappeared behind her, and I felt it cut across her back as it teleported, felt the resistance of skin and muscle giving way under the edge. She stumbled forward, her hand flying to the wound, her eyes wide with shock and pain.

"You little—"

The male demon caught her before she could fall. His eyes were fixed on me, cold and calculating, and for the first time, I saw something in them that looked almost like respect.

"Clever," he said. "But cleverness will not save you."

He raised his hand to strike—

...And then the air changed.

It grew heavy, thick, suffocating, like someone had dropped a blanket over the entire room.

The temperature dropped so suddenly that I could see my breath misting in front of my face, white and ghostly in the dim light. The hair on my arms stood up, and my skin prickled with a cold that had nothing to do with the weather.

Everyone froze.

The flames outside seemed to dim. The screams in the distance faded to nothing. Even the shadows stopped moving, as if they were afraid of whatever was coming.

A figure walked through the smoke and flames, slow and unhurried, his footsteps steady and deliberate.

The firelight danced across his dark cloak, and the smoke parted around him like he was walking through water, like the flames themselves did not dare touch him. His boots crunched on the broken glass and rubble, and the sound echoed in the silence like a drumbeat counting down the seconds until the end.

He stopped in front of me.

He was tall, with brown hair that fell across a face that was sharp and angular, handsome in a way that felt wrong, like a portrait of someone who had died a long time ago. His eyes were dark, almost black, hollow and obsessive, and they were fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin crawl.

A thin scar ran down his cheek.

He looked at me for a long moment, his dark eyes tracing over my face like he was memorizing every detail.

"So," he said, and his voice was soft and cold, like ice forming on a still lake. "...You are Roran’s disciple."

I did not lower my sword. My hand was shaking, but I kept it steady, kept the blade pointed at his chest. "Who the hell are you? And how do you know my name?"

The man smiled. "I am Kael," he said. "Roran’s first disciple. His one and only true disciple."

My blood ran cold. I had heard that name in Roran’s story. He is Roran student who had killed his wife and murdered his unborn child.

"You are the one who killed his wife."

Kael’s smile did not waver. "No, you are wrong. I freed him from weakness...."

My grip on Tempest tightened until my knuckles turned white. "You are an insane bastard."

"Perhaps." He tilted his head, his dark eyes never leaving mine. "But I am also the one who will bring him your head. I promised him that. I want to see the look on his face when he realizes that everyone he loves dies because of him... again."

I felt my heart pounding in my chest. My mind was racing, searching for a way out, a way to save the kids, a way to protect Mia.

But there was nothing.

No escape or miracle. Just me and this man and the sword in my hand.

"Do not worry," Kael said, as if reading my thoughts. "I will not use my full power. That would not be fair. You are weak. I want to see how long you last."

He paused, a cold smile spreading across his face. "Roran said I will not come back if I fight you. Let us see how you will stop me."

He raised his hand. "Come at me with everything you got."

I did not hesitate.

I lunged with everything I had left. I moved faster than I ever had, aiming straight for his throat. Kael didn’t even draw a sword. He simply stood there and watch me coming at him. My blade stopped an inch from his neck.

He had caught my wrist.

His grip was like iron, cold and unyielding, and I could feel the bones in my wrist grinding together under the pressure. I tried to pull away, but I could not move. His fingers were wrapped around my arm like a vise, and no matter how hard I struggled, I could not break free.

"Fast," he said. "But not fast enough to kill me."

He twisted.

I felt something snap in my wrist, felt the bones shift and grind against each other, and pain exploded up my arm—white-hot and blinding, so intense that I screamed. My sword fell from my hand and clattered to the floor, the sound loud and final in the silence.

Kael shoved me back. I stumbled, barely keeping my feet, my arm hanging limp at my side, the pain throbbing with every heartbeat.

"Again," he commanded.

I picked up my sword with my left hand. It felt wrong, heavy and awkward, the balance off, the grip unfamiliar.

But I did not have a choice. I attacked again, swinging wildly, aiming for his side, putting every ounce of strength I had left into the blow.

He sidestepped. His movement was so smooth, so effortless, that I barely saw it. His fist connected with my stomach, and I doubled over, gasping for air. The impact drove the breath from my lungs, and I felt something crack inside me—a rib, maybe, or something worse.

"Again."

I swung at his head. He ducked under the blade and kicked my legs out from under me. I hit the ground hard, my head bouncing off the floor, and for a moment, everything went white.

"Again."

I pushed myself up, grabbing my sword with my left hand. I swung wildly, but he sidestepped me with effortless grace, his fist slamming into my ribs. I heard them crack. I hit the floor, tasting the metallic tang of blood in my mouth.

I looked at the kids. Lily and Tobin and Sera, huddled together in the shadows, their faces pale with terror, their eyes wide and wet. Mia, standing behind me, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wet with tears she was trying not to shed.

I could not give up...

I stood up.

Kael sighed. "You are stubborn," he said. "I will give you that."

He moved in a blur.

I did not see the strike. I only felt a sudden, strange lightness. I watched, in slow-motion horror, as my right arm—the one I had used to hold my sword, the one that had trained for months—flew through the air.

A hot, red arc of blood sprayed across the air.

For a moment, I did not feel anything.

The pain was too big, too vast, too much for my brain to process. I stared at the empty space where my hand used to be, at the blood pouring from the wound in thick, pulsing waves, at the white of bone peeking through the torn flesh.

Then it hit me.

The pain came rushing in like a flood, overwhelming and inescapable, and I screamed.

I fell to my knees, clutching the stump of my arm, and blood poured through my fingers, hot and slick, pooling on the floor beneath me. The pain was everywhere—in my arm, in my chest, in my head—and I could not think, could not breathe, could not do anything except scream and scream and scream.

Kael stood over me. His face was calm, almost bored, like he had done this a thousand times before.

"...You are weak," he said. "That is why they will die."

He kicked me in the chest.

I flew backward and hit the wall. The impact drove the air from my lungs, and I slid down, leaving a trail of blood on the wood. Kael walked toward me. He grabbed me by the hair and lifted my face to his, his grip tight and painful.

"I promised Roran I would bring him your head," he said, his voice soft, almost gentle, like a parent comforting a child. "But first, I want him to watch you break."

He turned to look at the kids.

"Those children. Your friends. They are going to die because of you."

My heart stopped. "No." The word came out as a whisper, broken and desperate. "No, please. They... they are children. They have nothing to do with this...."

Kael grinned. "So what?"

I stared at him. "...Huh?"

"So what if they are children?" He walked toward the huddled group, and the shadow figures parted to let him through. He grabbed Maya by the arm and dragged her forward, her small legs kicking, her voice begging him to let her go. "They are weak. That is all that matters."

"Please. Stop it! Take me instead!" I tried to crawl, but Kael pinned me down with his boot. "Please, do not. I will do anything. Just let them go."

Kael stopped in front of me. He held Maya by the back of her neck, forcing her to look at me. Her face was wet with tears, her eyes wide with terror, her small body shaking.

"This is your distraction?" Kael sneered, looking at the crying girl. "This pathetic thing?"

"Please—"

He raised his sword.

Maya screamed. "Leo! Save me! Please, Leo! Its hurt Leo. Its hurt so much."

I lunged forward, I try to crawl but my body would not move. My arm was gone. My strength was gone. I could only watch the horror in front of me.

He raised his sword.

"NO!"

The blade came down. Maya’scream was cut short. Her small body crumpled, the blood spreading in a dark, glistening stain across everywhere. Her eyes were still open, fixed on mine.

Save me, Leo...

I hadn’t saved her. I hadn’t saved anyone.

The world went quiet.

_

I lay there, the world turning gray.

Blood.

So much blood.

It was everywhere—on the ground, splattered across broken walls, pooled in cracks and craters like crimson water after a storm.

The air was thick with it, heavy and copper-sweet, coating my tongue with every ragged breath I fought to draw. The stench of death clung to everything, so overwhelming it was almost a taste, almost a texture against my skin.

I tried to move. Pain exploded through my body—white-hot, agonizing, everywhere at once. I looked down.

My right arm is gone. My left arm hung at a wrong angle, bones shattered into jagged pieces that pushed against the skin from inside. My chest rose and fell in shallow, rattling gasps that sounded wrong, wet, like breathing through a straw filled with fluid.

I could only feel the cold creeping in.

...Ah.

This is it.

I could not protect anyone.

Pieces of people who used to be alive, who used to have names and families and dreams. Torn apart. Ripped open. Scattered across the ground like someone had spilled a bucket of broken dolls and walked away.

Everyone I’d ever known. Everyone I’d tried to protect.

All dead.

All gone.

All because of him.

A figure moved at the edge of my vision.

I forced my head up. Every movement was agony, fire racing through my nerves, muscles screaming in protest—but I did it anyway.

He stood there at the edge of the carnage.

My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth would crack.

You.

I tried to speak. Tried to curse him, to scream at him, to demand answers, to do something. But all that came out was a wet, broken rasp, blood bubbling on my lips with every failed word.

He raised his sword.

The blade caught the dim light—cold and sharp and beautiful in its terrible purpose. It gleamed. Waited. Hung above me like the answer to every question I’d ever asked.

"...I can’t believe he chose you." The voice was calm, almost tired. "What a disappointment."

The sword rose higher.

"You’re not special. You’re just the last one left."

I stared at him, at the sword gleaming in the dim light, the death waiting for me with open arms. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice whispered that this was it—the end of the road, the final page, the last breath.

...How did everything go so wrong?

Marta... Maya... Torben... I’m sorry.

I promised to protect you. I promised to be the storm that washed this filth away.

But I was too weak...

I am just a disappointment. I’m sorry, Roran.

...I’m sorry, Mia.

I am sorry everyone...

Mom. Dad. Mia. Lyra. Nova.

I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise...

A tear slipped down my cheek—warm against skin gone cold. I didn’t remember when I’d started crying.

....Maybe I’d been crying this whole time.

My hand curled into a fist, nails biting into my palm hard enough to draw blood.

I looked up at him and poured everything I had left into that stare—weeks of training, months of hope, years of finally believing I could be something more.

All of it, right there. He just watched. No anger, no satisfaction—just the mild boredom of someone finishing a chore. Then his lips curved into something almost like a smile.

"Finally."

The sword came down.

The sword came down in a silver arc. I closed my eyes, waiting for the end.

CLANG!

The sound of steel meeting steel was a thunderclap in the silent room. Sparks flew, stinging my skin. The killing blow never landed.

I forced my eyes open.

A back stood between me and death.

A broad, powerful back covered in a dusty, worn cloak that smelled of smoke and cheap ale. It was a back that had carried the weight of a thousand failures, yet it stood unmoving against Kael’s blade.

My voice was a broken, wet whisper.

"...Roran."