Darryl blocked the incoming claw strike with his short sword, the impact sending a jolt up his arm, before he drove his boot forward and launched the wraith away from him.
Even as it flew back, he rolled instinctively, the ground scraping beneath him as three more wraiths hurled themselves toward where he had just been. A small frown creased his face as he rose smoothly to his feet, then leapt high above them.
He landed behind them in a blur of motion.
Three heads slid cleanly from their bodies, hitting the ground a split second before the rest of the forms unraveled, fading into smoke along with them.
Then, just as it had for the last few minutes, every wraith Darryl had cut down by the dozens began to reform.
Black mist twisted and condensed, skeletal limbs clawing their way back into existence as they surrounded him once more.
Darryl looked distressed for only a fraction of a second.
Then they lunged.
The wraiths crashed into him all at once, drowning him beneath their overwhelming numbers, claws ripping and tearing at the boy with feral intent.
Or at least, what they thought was him.
When there was no resistance, no sensation of flesh giving way beneath their strikes, the wraiths hesitated. They stepped back just in time to see the boy's form shimmer faintly, distort, and then vanish entirely.
Left behind was a red, plump pumpkin, gently wafting crimson mist.
Boom!
The pumpkin detonated violently, the explosion ripping through the cluster of wraiths and shredding them in an instant. The black mist was blown apart, scattering briefly before rushing back in to reclaim the empty space.
Several meters away, Darryl stood firmly in front of Emilia and Mira, his posture steady despite the chaos around them.
"That was a good job, Mira," Darryl said, genuine praise in his voice.
Mira looked away quickly, trying, and failing, to hide the faint red hue creeping onto her cheeks.
Emilia rested a hand on the girl's shoulder, her gaze never leaving Darryl.
"Can you go again?" she asked calmly. "Or do you need to rest?"
Darryl shrugged, a habit he seemed to be unconsciously picking up from his captain.
"I've still got plenty of fight left for a few more rounds," he said. "Especially if we keep using your plan."
Emilia allowed a small smile to form on her face, confidence quietly settling in.
"Alright then. Let's go again. You'll have to run across the port this time."
Darryl nodded once before taking off, his boots barely touching the ground as he blasted forward. Emilia raised a small eyebrow at the faint gust of wind that followed in his wake, the air itself disturbed by the sudden burst of speed.
Darryl rushed ahead, weaving cleanly through clusters of wraiths as, for the fourth time since they had landed, he put Emilia's plan into motion.
No matter how many times Darryl cut them down, the wraiths simply reformed, their regeneration tied directly to the amount of damage inflicted upon them.
Simple, fatal wounds had the wraiths reforming almost instantly, their bodies pulling themselves back together as if nothing had happened. Pulverizing their heads delayed them by only a few seconds. Destroying half their bodies bought several dozen seconds at best before the black mist dragged them back into shape.
Which was why, with Emilia's plan, they could buy themselves at least two full minutes before the wraiths reformed.
Darryl didn't need to look back, but he did anyway.
Several dozen globs of black mist rolled after him, accompanied by just as many wraiths clawing their way forward, their forms stretching and warping as they chased him down.
He felt water splash against his boots as he sprinted across the port, keeping a steady distance between himself and the pursuing mass. The sound of his footsteps echoed sharply against stone and wood, mingling with the hiss of the mist behind him.
Once he was certain he had gathered a large enough number of wraiths, Darryl made a sharp turn around a massive pillar near the docks. The wraiths and mist followed immediately, turning as one as he doubled back toward his previous position.
As he neared the others, Darryl slowed just enough to strike. He began hacking at the wraiths that had closed the distance, moving too fast for them to block or parry. His blade flashed as he cut through them, his superior speed and ki sense allowing him to slip past their claws with ease, each dodge measured and precise.
By the time the rest of the wraiths caught up to him, Darryl performed a small hop backward. His ki sense confirmed what his eyes couldn't see—that he had leapt cleanly over Mira's pumpkin, hidden beneath Emilia's illusion, while an illusion of himself remained standing in place, staring down the horde.
The wraiths wasted no time, lunging at the illusion of Darryl in a frenzy, tearing into it as they tried to destroy him.
Under the cover of Emilia's illusion, Darryl sprinted back to their position just as Mira activated her magic.
The pumpkin detonated.
The explosion ripped through the clustered wraiths in an instant, shredding them apart as black mist scattered violently before being momentarily blown away.
The mist rushed back in faster this time.
It poured into the empty space left behind by the explosion, crawling along the stone and water like a living thing, thicker and more agitated than before. The air grew colder by the second, breath fogging as the harbor lights dimmed beneath the encroaching darkness.
Mira shivered slightly, one hand going to her chest.
Emilia caught her immediately.
"Easy," she said quietly, steadying her. "You're doing well."
Mira nodded, swallowing hard. "I know, it's just... This is the first time for me... Fighting, and it's something so horrible. What if I'm," she whispered before catching sight of a shimmer ahead of them just as Darryl appeared out of under Emilia's illusion.
"That should buy us around a minute." Darryl said as he spun his sword. "From what I can sense it seems like Captain's clearing any of these things that got past us... And they're not reforming either."
Emilia raised an eyebrow. "Really now. So his AntiMagic works on wraiths as well."
Mira blinked. "If they work then why isn't he clearing them all by himself? This is scary." She shivered. 'It keeps reminding me of that place in prison.'
"My guess is that he's using this as another training session. He did this before too. Really did not like it." Darryl grumbled.
A sudden wave of whispers caused Darryl to turn, eyes scanning the harbor.
"They're coming back faster," Darryl said, keeping his voice level. "The mist's getting denser."
Emilia followed his gaze. Shapes were already forming again, too quickly. Skeletal silhouettes clawed their way out of the fog, more numerous than before, their movements more coordinated, less mindless.
"A sudden increase in its response," Emilia murmured. "Or they're being pushed."
The sound of hooves echoed for only a fraction of a second.
Then Darryl moved.
He twisted sharply and drove his foot into Emilia's side, knocking her cleanly into Mira. Both girls tumbled backward just as Darryl spun and raised his sword to blo...
Boom!
The impact detonated against the ground like a thunderclap. Dust and shattered stone erupted outward as the force of the collision shook the port beneath them.
Emilia rolled hard, coming up on one knee, while Mira hit the ground less gracefully, skidding across the stone before coming to a stop in a tangled heap.
When the dust began to settle, the scene became clear.
Darryl lay on his back, teeth clenched in strain, arms locked as his short sword trembled violently. Pressed down against it was a massive glaive, its blade black and jagged, radiating a demonic presence that seemed to crush the air itself.
The weapon was forcing him down, inch by inch.
As the dust cleared further, Emilia's eyes widened slightly as she finally saw their attacker.
Mira went pale.
Her breath caught in her throat as pure, instinctive terror seized her body.
Towering over Darryl was a monstrosity, an unholy fusion of horse and rider. There was no flesh to be seen. Both mount and rider were entirely encased in black iron plates, their forms brutal and imposing, as if forged for war and nothing else.
Green fire burned within the hollow eyes of the rider's helm, the eerie glow piercing and unnatural. Even when Mira knew that gaze wasn't fixed on her, she still felt it, pressing into her very being, searing through her soul and filling her with an ancient, suffocating dread.
Emilia narrowed her eyes, her expression tightening as she assessed the threat.
Darryl, on the other hand, only grunted, staring straight up at the creature pinning him down, refusing to look away despite the crushing weight bearing against his blade.
The black mist around them churned violently, coiling and twisting as if alive. Then it whispered and screamed.
"Heeeecaaaariiiim."
The name echoed through the fog, carried by countless voices all at once.
And in that instant, everyone knew the name of exactly who stood before them.
"Oh? A child?" The words were guttural, each syllable dragging itself free as though surfacing from some dark, endless depth. "I come here hoping to find the warrior holding back the mist… and I see a child. Are you a squire?"
Mira nearly screamed at the sound of his voice. She curled in on herself, hands clutching at her head, eyes squeezed shut as she prayed, desperately, that whatever that thing was would disappear the moment she dared to look again.
Darryl's arms shook violently now, muscles screaming as the full weight of Hecarim pressed down on him. The black glaive ground closer and closer, its edge humming with oppressive power.
He must be talking about the captain, Darryl realized through gritted teeth.
His eyes narrowed as he focused, ki sense flaring despite the pressure. 'His ki is wrong… twisted. And it's so cold.' A grim certainty settled in his chest. 'He's stronger than Miss Shyvana too.'
Then his jaw tightened. 'But he's still no match for the captain. Stupid man-thing.'
The glaive crept nearer, its shadow swallowing his face.
'But before the captain gets here…' Darryl inhaled sharply. 'I'll surpass my limits.'
The ground beneath him suddenly gave way.
The stone softened instantly, swallowing Darryl whole as if it were nothing more than loose sand. Hecarim's glaive slammed down where he had been, striking bare earth with a violent crash.
For the first time, Hecarim seemed surprised.
A deep, distorted laugh rolled from his helm.
"A special child then."
Clang!
His hind leg buckled violently.
Hecarim turned, green fire flaring brighter within his helm as he looked down.
Darryl stood at his flank, sword buried deep into the black iron of Hecarim's left hind leg. The force of the strike had been enough to bend the metal inward, the impact ringing sharply through the air.
Hecarim tilted his head slightly, curiosity threading into his voice.
"Oh?" Hecarim's gaze lingered on the bent armor for a moment longer than expected.
Then he laughed.
It was a low, rolling sound, heavy with age and contempt, like iron grinding against iron deep beneath the earth.
"So you can bite," he mused, shifting his weight. The warped plate slowly straightened with a groan of metal, green fire bleeding through the seams as the damage repaired itself. "Interesting."
Darryl clicked his tongue and leapt back just as the glaive swept sideways.
The weapon carved through the air where his head had been a heartbeat earlier, the sheer force of it ripping the air apart. Water from the docks surged upward in a crashing wave before falling back down in heavy sheets.
Darryl skidded across the ground, boots digging in as he barely kept his balance.
'Too strong. Fast too.'
Hecarim did not pursue immediately. He turned his massive frame slowly, hooves cracking the stone beneath him as he faced the boy again. The black mist thickened around his form, curling like a loyal hound at its master's feet.
"You reek of training," Hecarim said. "Yet you lack the weight of true war. You are not the one."
Darryl wiped blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and raised his sword again, stance low and steady despite the tremor in his arms.
"Yeah," he muttered. "I get that a lot."
Hecarim's helm tilted slightly, amused.
"You step toward death without hesitation," he said. "Either you are brave… or you do not yet understand despair."
"Ah, despair." A carefree voice reached them. "Haven't heard those words in a long time. Vetto was such a problem back then."
Darryl's face brightened with a smile. "Captain!"
"To Darryl. I see you've gotten stronger. Good job." Asta gave him a thumbs up. "You too, Emilia. Mira, you all did great jobs."
Hecarim turned to the newcomer, a short young man with wild gray hair and a black cloak over his right shoulder. Hecarim's gaze was drawn to the sword in his hand, a slight wariness creeping in.
The black metal drank in the surrounding mist unnaturally, the green fire in Hecarim's helm flickering as if reacting to something it did not fully understand.
Darryl hurried back toward the others, positioning himself just slightly ahead of Emilia and Mira, though his shoulders finally relaxed.
"So you're the one leading the mist, huh?" Asta said, taking slow, deliberate steps forward.
Hecarim let out a low chuckle, the sound reverberating through his iron frame. "In a sense. I am Hecarim. I am the Shadow of War." The green fire within his helm flared brighter. "Who is the warrior that stands before me?"
"You can call me Asta," he replied easily. "Captain of the Black Bulls. The future Wizard King."
He glanced briefly past Hecarim, toward where his squad stood, then looked back, expression sharpening. "Looks like you've been taking good care of my squad."
Asta raised his sword and pointed it straight ahead. "Allow me to return the favour."
Hecarim reacted instantly.
The glaive came down in a brutal arc, faster than before, aimed to cleave Asta in half. The air screamed as the weapon descended, pressure crashing outward from its path.
Bang!
The impact echoed across the harbor like a bell struck by a god.
For a split second, everything went silent.
It took Hecarim a moment to realize something was wrong.
He was flying. No, he had been sent flying.
His massive form tore through the air before slamming hind-first into the stone, the ground shattering beneath the impact as he tumbled messily across the dock. Cracks spiderwebbed outward, water splashing violently nearby.
Almost instantly, black mist surged around him.
Hecarim vanished.
A heartbeat later, his form reappeared several meters away, rising from the mist back onto his hooves as if nothing had happened. He straightened slowly, one heavy hand moving to his chest.
His fingers traced the surface of his armor.
The black iron plate was dented.
Deeply.
The indentation was unmistakable, clearly the shape of a clenched fist.
He had been punched.
And sent flying.
Him, the Shadow of War. A being whose strength eclipsed that of mortals, whose charge had shattered armies and trampled heroes into dust.
He stared at the dent a moment longer, a low growl reverberating from within his black iron plates.
He felt his black iron order forming behind him and allowed himself a low chuckle. "Interesting." He spoke at last.