Raven threads wove across the endless chasm, drapes of strung silk. It glistened with crystal droplets along the edge. Fragile, trembling things. Occasionally, one would plink into the lake.

  And then another.

  The slow sound mixed with hoarse breathing. The girl’s shoulders rose and fell slowly, crooked limbs entangled with a marionette. Her neck snapped sideways, at an inhuman angle.

  Then, her bones began to creak like unoiled cogs, resounding around them.

  Her eyes snapped wide, like hollow saucers, unblinking. Black hair shot toward Ian mercilessly, and he skidded underneath, thrusting up his duel daggers. Strands fluttered, but more emerged. Like grasping hands enveloped in fiber, clawing for his flesh.

  Ian’s dampened clothes clung to his body. It itched. A putrid stench wafted across, humidity and rot. Decay and death.

  Across him, William engaged furiously with more whipping strands. She claimed the centerpiece of the cavern, creaking low. A slice of blood cut into William’s cheek, and he stumbled. He thrust up an arm and fired his gun.

  The muzzle hissed, bullets pounding. Water splashed.

  And it wouldn’t cease.

  Ian slammed a foot against the water as pain erupted from his bleeding shoulder. Her hair came endlessly, and at their pathetic rate, losing would be the only conclusion. Ian hated losing.

  Thus, he pivoted. Stumbled and made a mad dash to a certain useless figure who’d been spectating.

  Victor arced an amused brow as Ian’s arms reached out, fingers driving into the other’s broad shoulders. It was a punishing grip. Then, he propelled himself over backwards, arcing in the air. Mid-flip, their eyes locked briefly.

  Ian mouthed a silent demand. “Make yourself useful.”

  Victor’s lips curled. Behind Ian’s swinging legs, arrows of dense, wiry black soared. Spears propelling toward them.

  Ice flickered in Victor’s cold eyes, pulsing like a heartbeat. The needlepoint, a millimetre away from piercing his eye, seized suddenly. Frost flaked in the desolate air, and all heat plummeted. Ice cracked, chasing up the strands—

  —And devoured the dangling girl.

  A harrowing wail clawed out of her throat as she thrashed. But the ice was unforgiving. Merciless. It froze the length of hair in its vice, and with a sharp snap, it shattered into a thousand shards.

  Like a hailstorm collapsing against the shallow lake.

  Ian smacked away the hem of the billowing cloak, squatting behind Victor. Goosebumps chased up his torn arms. “So, you’re not entirely useless,” he said. “I almost thought you were just pretending to have any significance.”

  Victor’s eyes sliced sideways, and he snapped his fingers. An ice flower fragmented together, twined sheets of gossamer petals. And, to the echoes of the girl’s screams, he offered it to Ian.

  “Didn’t I demonstrate my capabilities on your body, the other night?”

  Recalling the sickening surge of energy—that hideous, nauseating—

  “I can hear the excessive adjectives crowding your mind, Guide,” said Victor.

  Ian glowered. “There’s nobody else as deserving of them as you.”

  Victor only smiled, crushing the flower in his pale fist. Then, a screech akin to a wailing dog cleaved through them, coming from a flailing William. “Hello?” he shouted, panting. “I’m still here—currently dying, but I would rather not be! Some help might be appreciated.

  He screamed again, ducking beneath another volley of hair, and sprinted away.

  Ian cocked his head to Victor, channeling his inner arrogant bastard. Cosplaying Victor, in other words. “You heard him. If you can blabber, then make yourself useful.”

  A bored hum. “You and I are both aware of the likelihood of that.”

  Indeed, perhaps Victor appeared kinder, more interested in offering useless flirtatiousness, but that hollow gaze had not changed. He was no ally—not one Ian could rely on. It was easy to forget that, sometimes.

  He stretched up his arms, a sharp pain throbbing in his calf. Flesh revealed beneath a ghastly laceration, but he ignored it. Instead, he held out his palm demandingly. “Make me a weapon.”

  Victor’s gaze dipped. He loomed hauntingly, perhaps contemplating ways to make him suffer. But his ice carried properties that surpassed Ian’s tools, and he insisted upon milking that useless Esper dry.

  “Lovely Guide, what do you believe ice is made of?”

  “Nothing I’d care for you to spend,” said Ian.

  Elemental and biological abilities had limitations. For example, William’s innate strength allowed for only three uses of his speed—but a more gifted individual, with the same manifestations, might be able to use triple that.

  Life wasn’t equal. Nobody stood on the same podiums—but that didn’t mean they couldn’t claw their way up it.

  Elementals stole resources from the earth, stronger in their elements. But those at the peak of ability could draw substance from tiny fragments.

  The lake lapped at Victor’s pretentious clean shoes. And the blood in his veins. That was Victor’s source, though reaping his own vitality threatened a loss of control and energy.

  The Esper’s smile remained a thin sheet of ice.

  Ian stared unflinchingly. Often, he wondered, just what it would take to dissect this person whole, to take him to pieces. To melt this iceblock into water, and evaporate that too, until nothing remained. But it wasn’t the time for such thoughts.

  “Enough chatter,” seethed Ian.

  William was doing well enough, but without Victor, their chances remained slim.

  Victor’s hands were stuffed in his coat as he leaned over, shadowing Ian. Darkness made his pale gaze into something ethereal. Frost-bitten. Their lips were short of touching, one mistake away from feeling.

  “You could let him die,” and it came as a silken coax, threaded with velvet strings, “you could stay here, in my protection, and guarantee your survival.”

  This was the devil trying to tempt others into hell. A personal one of his own making. Perhaps this was the way Victor stewed discord, shattering alliances into nightmares of distrust. Certainly, Ian had no intentions of playing a martyr.

  He needed only to take that cold palm and make another gamble. To die to the Rifts, or this man.

  “You’re tempted,” said Victor pleasantly.

  Ian scoffed, shaking his head. “Maybe. That’s because I know the consequences—and how much of a bastard you are. Had it been somebody with a drop of morals, I’d reject it.”

  At that, the Esper chuckled faintly. “Do you claim to know me?”

  “Better than you do.” Ian raised his palm again, lifting his cold glare. “Weapon. Now.”

  Victor drew away, tantalizingly slow. For a second, Ian’s heart skipped, and he suspected the Esper to disappoint him. But then, a sliver of ice sliced across Victor’s palm, hovering over Ian’s. Claret dripped maddeningly, and with every splatter, a thin pole emerged.

  It was covered in clusters of ice, forming a hideous shape. Victor snapped his fingers once, and the outer layer of frost shattered.

  Revealing a frosted blade.

  “Damn attention-seeking brat,” hissed Ian, gripping it.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Of course, I am seeking your attention, Guide.”

  An excess of nonsense threatened to short-circuit Ian’s brain, and his limited capacity had no room for stupidity. Ignoring Victor, he dashed toward the battling William, lifting the sword over his head.

  It was feather in his hands. A cold reminder scalding to his skin.

  He swung, and it pierced through the rivers of hair like butter. The screams resounded, and his movements came as impossibly frenetic. William flashed a thankful smile and temporarily set aside his grievance at their mingling.

  The streams of hair grew sparser with their joint attacks. Water rippled violently, blurs of blood and gloom.

  William jerked, forced to use his ability a second time as he shot beneath her dangling legs. A toe jabbed into his mouth, and he choked. He dove down, rolling into a wall.

  He gagged, heaving. All color leeched from his face. “Oh god, that’s disgusting.” He wiped his mouth aggressively, squinting as blood pebbled into one eye. “I’ve never been into feet, and today is not the time to start.”

  It was an offering, a weary joke to deflate their streaks of injury.

  Ian drove the sword across the floating leg. It popped off, blade slicing through the joints, and thudded into the lake. Another agonizing screech hammered. She thrashed, nearly kneeing his temple. Dodge, evade, and roll.

  Her displeased wails resounded around them.

  The girl nursed her bleeding stump, wriggling in the air like a caterpillar caught in a web. Soon, she'd resume her attacks, more relentless than before. Ian clicked his tongue, taking an opportunity to rush to William.

  The young Esper raked a trembling hand through damp hair. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Ian. If I had been a more powerful Esper—”

  “You’re enough,” interrupted Ian. He heaved, clutching tightly at the sword as he glanced backward. Murky water splashed against his ankles. “What’s the use of a powerful Esper who prefers to squat and shit on the sidelines, like a coward?”

  William’s eyes darted over to Victor, leaning patiently with crossed arms. He smiled.

  Always smiling.

  William shuddered, clutching his ribs. “Hey, this isn’t a good time, but what’s your relationship—”

  “Duck!” Ian slammed the blade upward, just over William’s head. The creeping strands wilted, and he circled the younger man, lunging for the girl.

  He didn’t allow another opening, mercilessly slicing. The hair had thinned, and the girl curled into a bony ball, levitating in the air. She sobbed into her knees. The remaining hair cascaded over her shoulders, drooping pitifully over the valley of her protruding spine, as if cradling her.

  Then, it shot out in dozens. Extending to every corner.

  William was pinned by the back corner, and Ian narrowly evaded on that aimed for his throat. He could barely see through the density of ebony string.

  “If you’re done shitting,” he called out, in the direction of the entry, “make yourself useful!”

  A laugh echoed. “As my Guide demands.”

  Once again, two glowing blue circles pulsed in the darkness, and the temperature plummeted to freezing lows. Water rose in fine droplets, fragments that shuddered and froze. They flattened into thin snowflakes and continued to climb, condensing into a large ball above her head.

  William shuddered, and Ian scolded the goosebumps skittering across his skin.

  The girl lifted her head with wide, terror-stricken eyes and sobbed more loudly. Her lips parted. "You don't understand," she whispered, a slither in their ears, a song of sweet grief and mocking. "You who have rejected evolution."

  Victor smiled, a flash of his teeth revealing. In the shadows of the cave, the girl’s hollow eyes rolled up. Above her, the snow fell away to reveal a long, deadly spear. An executioner’s sentence.

  "No, no, no! I want to live! I want to—" her voice trembled.

  "Perhaps soon," said Victor softly. "The world will begin anew."

  The spear descended at unstoppable speeds, and the girl's wails exploded. Strings of hair scattered, slapping against the water in long, tearing ropes. Blood splattered. In the aftermath, the Esper gazed coldly at the sphere that took the space where the girl had been.

  It was pitch black, stealing all light from its space.

  A black so dark, even the reflection of light couldn't pierce it.

  Footsteps erupted from behind them, a mad dash to the sphere. Luis, left in shambles, dragged his broken body with a maniacal laugh. "That sphere! That core!"

  From the walls, shadows peeled away in grotesque shapes, lumbering towards them. Above the core, the portal opened, a hypnotizing swirl. But the girl had only been the beginning—Ian saw faces of the beasts, creatures hobbling towards them in a drooling horde.

  "Leave it!" snapped Ian, dashing towards the portal. They could only use the core as a foothold to reach the portal—otherwise, they wouldn’t reach it. Victor's ability could help, but the likelihood of that Esper willingly saving lives wasn't worth considering.

  But the fool didn't listen, bound to the obliviousness of arrogance.

  Ian lunged for him as he raised his hands out in worship. He was too late—Luis is an Esper, regardless of his character. He cradled the core to his chest as Ian grabbed him, slamming them both to the wet ground.

  Anger boiled in Ian's chest, a simmering resentment waiting to unleash.

  “You damn fool!” seethed Ian.

  His fist drove into the man's gaunt face, blood slicking his knuckles. Luis struggled wildly, flushed with humiliation and pain, as he narrowed his swollen eyes to the Guide above him.

  That face, he realized. Sharper and sterner, but like a blooming flower.

  There was a fire in Ian’s ebony gaze that sparked a desire for dominance, fear, and anger.

  Mania twisted in Luis’ eyes. “Hers was innocent,” coughed the man, slumping against the lake before hooting laughter shook his body. “Yours is much more twisted. Your eyes… those accursed eyes! How I’ve wanted to pluck—!”

  His words stuttered off, gurgling. Red-hot flames clouded Ian’s senses.

  Ian slammed the man's head down. “Don’t speak of her with your filthy mouth!”

  "I see! I see! Another pathetic story of vengeance?" The main choked, rolling his head against the thin water. His cheeks swelled with blood, and Ian's violence did not cease. "Hahaha! I can't blame you! She was a beautiful, pretty, and innocent thing, enough to even seduce her blood—!"

  He gargled, words bubbling in his throat as his eyes went impossibly wide.

  Ian slumped, arms falling at his side. His anger soared in his limpness, and water boiled viciously, steam rising to the surface. But he didn't feel it.

  Not the heat against his skin—only the burning erupting from his chest.

  It reminded him of Victor. Sheer madness.

  William wheezed, dropping a knee to the scalding water. His skin immediately turned pink, raw, and agonized. "Ian!"

  Sounds faded to nothing in Ian's muted ears.

  He was weightless, senseless, and all he knew was this scorching heat bleeding into his veins, pressed against the wild thundering of his heart. He tasted iron and licked it. A glaze took to his dark eyes—dark satisfaction. He wanted to let this burning loose.

  He wanted everything to burn.

  At the side, a sheen of ice appeared over William. William gasped, swallowing air as he jerked sideways. Victor, with a hand in his pocket, held the other out to face Ian. But his brows had knitted a fraction as all his ice melted in Ian's proximity, as if an invisible flame ate it away.

  A fire scalding enough to melt his ice.

  At that thought, a spark flickered at Ian's back. Then another, and another, until it engulfed him, twisting and twining into a pair of morbid wings drooping at his arched spine.

  Victor had always been called the devil, and he'd accepted it.

  Why deny something he'd never seen?

  But in this second, he thought he couldn't have been such a creature, a sinning devil from the temptations of hell. The old texts read of a fallen angel—beautiful and damning.

  Ian's eyelashes fluttered, scarlet coiling in his pupils.

  Beneath him, Luis' face had blistered and boiled, a mass of flesh squishing together. But Ian took no notice of him, unmoving in his trance.

  Against the sizzling water, the black core steamed—it was burning, only inches away from Ian's fingers.

  His head slowly rolled sideways, taking the core into his vision. The steam rose, seeping around them. Ian's hair sat in a nest, and a strange mark scorched his cheeks, like the aftermath of tears.

  Shakily, he reached for the core, and all the energy that raged within it.

  William had barely caught his breath from the ice shield, clutching his chest painfully. Sweat pooled down his skin, and his eyes widened. Red and blue, fire and ice entangling in a mad frenzy, chaotic energies clashing in a hurricane.

  Escape, William realized, could only be a pitiful dream.

  But more than that, he feared the pulsing sphere now cradled in Ian's hands. With every second that passed, every brush with Ian's skin, the energy soared.

  Fleshy, burning wings curled at Ian's back, tearing through his clothes. He was morbidly fascinating in ways beauty couldn't describe. He wasn't beautiful—but William couldn't look away.

  He gritted his teeth, grinding down until he tasted iron on his tongue.

  Perhaps this was the salvation many had been waiting for—the catalyst to dismantle their corrupted world. William was certain of it. He'd known it from their first encounter.

  Ian possessed something that would bring about great change.

  Although he didn't know if it would be for better or worse.

  Victor neared the curled body, standing expressionless against the burning water that gnawed at his skin. "Ian. Release that core."

  Ian dazedly turned at the Esper's voice, and his hands lowered. He blinked mindlessly.

  Around them, monsters were rapidly approaching, peeling from blood-soaked waters and the crevices in the shadows. The core attracted them—and the rippling portal that led to their escape.

  Terrible, hideous beasts clamored over each other in hordes. Soon, they would spill from that portal if no other living things claimed it.

  William couldn't let that happen.

  More than that core, Ian's strangeness, or any salvation that might come, the other side of that portal housed his lover. A pink-haired man who waited with a smile worth more than a thousand lives. A thousand suns.

  Sylvan had always been William's salvation, ruined world or not.

  One foot splashed on the water, now a barren ground carved of fire and ice. One step, and his body propelled forward, past the shards of ice crisscrossing against his skin, and through barriers of scraping heat licking his skin.

  Agonizing pain erupted, thrashing under his skin, and screaming at him to cease. To run away. It was a pain unlike anything he'd ever known before.

  Consuming. Haunting.

  Ian's head turned toward him, and he gritted his teeth. He lunged, one hand outstretched, and snatched the core. It was burning, burning, burning, so hot and so painful and—

  "I'm sorry, Ian," rasped William.

  Perhaps nobody would leave this Rift alive.

  The monster stampede swarmed them, and William wrapped his arms around Ian tightly. This older Guide. This comforting Guide. In another life, perhaps they could've been good friends.

  Perhaps they could've been close to siblings.

  Ian's eyes trembled as William squeezed, the core boiling between them. It burned brighter, all light consuming, and seared the world until everything went white.

  A vacant, endless white.

  Everything burned away into a soundless space, a boundary between life and death. Ian was floating, drifting in emptiness, with the imprint of a pair of desperate arms ghosted around his body.

  The heat never ceased.

  Now, a quiet slumber beat in his stomach, a warmth that sometimes ached in his heart.

  When he opened his eyes again, darkness surrounded him.

  His body was bound in suffocation, and when he tried to move, pressure forced him straight. His eyes fluttered, adjusting his vision. Then, his eyes snapped open.

  There he sat, in a straitjacket in an abyss of black.