The night wind grazed through the shattered remains of the outpost as Aren and Lirien stepped inside, their boots crunching over fragmented stone and scorched dust. Despite the half-destroyed walls, something about the place felt too quiet—unnaturally free of lingering magic, as if someone had cleaned the battlefield of its residue.
No corpse.
No blood.
Not even a trace of where the demon horde had come from.
It was simply… emptiness carved into ruin.
Fenn paced ahead of them, sniffing little fragments of air before growling under his breath. His tail was stiff, ears upright—he sensed something the two didn't.
Aren tightened his grip on his sword.
Lirien whispered, "Something stripped this place clean. If this was a demon attack, their corruption should've lingered."
"Unless someone purposely removed it," Aren replied.
She nodded grimly. "Which means the mastermind is still several steps ahead of us."
Deeper inside the outpost, the hallway narrowed, shaped like a ribcage of cracked stone. Aren's torch flickered as they passed abandoned barracks. Metal scraps lay scattered—broken armor, a snapped spear, a dented helmet—yet no bodies.
Like soldiers had simply vanished.
They approached the command room. Its door hung unhinged, blown inward by a force that felt magical but… muffled. Aren sensed a pressure in the air—like his mana could breathe easier here, but not in a good way.
"Someone used a compression spell," Lirien murmured, touching the doorframe. "This wasn't an attack meant to kill. It was meant to… erase."
Fenn pawed at the doorway, whining sharply.
Aren entered first—blade raised—only to find the room in pristine condition compared to the rest of the base. The desk stood untouched, papers neatly stacked. A map hung on the wall, secured with pins. Books lay sorted on shelves, clean and undisturbed.
It was as if the chaos outside refused to enter this one place.
"That's not normal," he muttered.
Lirien walked deeper in, gently brushing her fingers across the map. "This room was protected by a deliberate spell. Look—no dust, no scorch marks, nothing."
Aren moved behind the main desk. At first glance, the papers seemed like standard reports: supply lines, patrol routes, shifts, and encoded messages. But one sheet, partially tucked under a pile, caught his eye.
It was a ledger entry. The ink was fresh.
He unfolded it.
His stomach dropped.
---
**"Deployment: Batch No. 47
Subject: 'Soldier Enhancement—Phase 3'
Status: Approved
Destination: Northern Front—Coordinates Redacted
Notes: 'Assets transferred to the Supervisor.'"**
---
Lirien leaned closer. "What… is this?"
Aren read the rest—teeth grinding.
"It's not demon activity. It's human experimentation."
"By the kingdom?" she whispered.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Aren clenched the paper harder. "This handwriting… I know it. It's General Calder's."
Lirien's eyes widened. "The same man who ordered the Legion Assault on your home?"
He didn't respond. The memory of burning homes and fallen villagers resurfaced, but he pushed them down. Now wasn't the time to drown in anger.
"Why would Calder be involved in this?" Lirien asked softly.
Aren glared at the ledger. "Because he's not just a general. He's been orchestrating something larger behind the scenes—and this proves it."
The outpost wasn't destroyed by demons.
It was cleansed to hide evidence.
Lirien skimmed more documents. "Aren… these aren't just tests on soldiers. Look—this one mentions 'Arcane Conduits'. And another: 'Manavore Integration'. That doesn't sound like normal enhancement."
"Because it isn't." Aren's voice hardened. "These experiments turn living beings into mana-consuming weapons. If Calder succeeded, he could field an army stronger than demons."
"And no one would be able to stop him," Lirien finished.
Fenn suddenly barked toward the back corner of the room.
Aren and Lirien snapped toward the sound.
There—behind the shelf—was a hollow patch in the wall.
A hidden compartment.
Aren pulled the shelf aside with both hands, the old wood scraping against stone. A faint blue light seeped from a rectangular panel embedded in the wall.
Lirien whispered, "A glyph lock… ancient elven design."
"How do we open it?"
She approached, eyes narrowing. "Normally with an authorized mana signature. But I can try forcing it."
Aren stepped aside. She placed her hand on the panel. Mana surged between her fingers—green light swirling, cracking against the blue glyph until—
FWOOM.
The lock shattered like glass, dissolving into shimmering dust.
Inside the alcove was a crystal cube about the size of a human head. Its surface flickered with embedded runes. A memory crystal. A forbidden one.
The last person who touched it was clearly in a hurry—they left fingerprints smudged on the surface.
Aren lifted it carefully. "This crystal… it holds recordings. Probably the truth they wanted to erase."
Lirien took a breath. "Play it."
Aren channeled mana into the cube.
It sparked—static filling the room—then projection light expanded above it, forming a blurred image.
Slowly, a figure materialized.
General Calder.
His voice emerged—cold, calculated, unmistakably real.
---
"This batch shows promise. The elven catalyst stabilized the conduit's flow. The survival rate is now fifty percent. Proceed to Phase 4."
---
Aren froze.
"Elven catalyst…?" Lirien whispered, voice trembling.
But the recording continued.
---
"I want the next subject delivered by morning. The Supervisor will ensure no traces remain. If the northern elves resist, use leverage. Their forest has… sentimental value."
---
Lirien's breath shook. Her hands curled into fists.
"He's threatening my people."
Aren felt her mana flare, lighting the room in sharp emerald.
Calder's recording continued, but the voice shifted—someone else spoke.
A hooded individual. The Supervisor.
The voice was distorted, but it carried a chilling casualness.
---
"The erasure team has finished their sweep of Outpost 12. No bodies left. No evidence left. Only the ledger remains—per your request."
---
Aren and Lirien exchanged looks.
Someone wanted that ledger to be found.
But before they could question it further, the image crackled again, and a third figure entered frame.
A man in chains.
Wounded.
Barely standing.
Aren's heart dropped when he recognized him.
Commander Brax.
His mentor.
Bloodied, broken, but alive in the recording.
Calder grabbed him by the hair, forcing him to look at the crystal recorder.
---
Calder: "Look at it, Brax. Watch what your kingdom will become."
Brax: (weakly) "You… monster…"
Calder: "History will call me a savior."
---
Then Calder raised a blade.
The recording cut abruptly.
Silence swallowed the room.
Lirien whispered, "Aren… Brax isn't dead. Calder kept him alive."
Aren's pulse pounded, rage clawing deep inside.
If Brax was alive—tortured, held by Calder—Aren had more reason than ever to keep going.
But before he could speak, Fenn growled again—louder, more urgent.
He faced the entrance.
A shuffle echoed in the hallway.
Not demon steps.
Not soldiers.
Whispers.
Dozens of them.
Lirien lifted her bow, mana crackling at the tips of her fingers.
"Aren," she muttered, "we have company."
The voices grew clearer—chant-like, rhythmic.
Not human.
But not purely demon either.
Something in-between.
Aren's grip tightened around his sword. "This place was cleansed. But we weren't the only ones who noticed."
The whispers grew louder, echoing like overlapping voices from multiple throats.
Then the first figure stepped into view.
Its eyes glowed faintly blue. Not demonic red. Not human brown.
Artificial.
Manufactured.
A soldier—simple armor, but its veins pulsed with shimmering mana. Its skin bore glyph engravings like scars. Its pupils were dilated and unfocused, like it saw everything and nothing.
Lirien shuddered. "A conduit soldier…"
The creature twitched as if being controlled by an unseen puppeteer.
Then more emerged.
Six.
Ten.
Fifteen.
All walking in sync. All radiating unstable mana signatures that made the floor vibrate.
The Supervisor's "assets."
Aren whispered, "These are what Calder made from his experiments."
Lirien gritted her teeth. "These are victims."
The soldiers halted in the doorway, bodies stiffening as though receiving instruction through invisible strings.
Their mouths opened.
In perfect unison, a distorted, many-layered voice emerged:
---
**"Return the crystal.
Eliminate witnesses."**
---
"Aren," Lirien said quietly, "we can't fight all of them in close quarters."
"I know."
"Then what's the plan?"
He glanced at the crystal cube.
This device held every crime they needed to expose Calder. They couldn't let it fall back into enemy hands.
Aren slid the crystal into his satchel.
Then pointed at a narrow back exit—a small doorway half-hidden behind collapsed shelves. The map earlier had shown it led to an old escape tunnel.
"We run," he said. "Now."
The conduits suddenly shrieked—high-pitched, metallic—and charged.
Aren grabbed Lirien's hand.
"GO!"
They sprinted through the hidden corridor as the outpost shook with the force of the conduits slamming inside the command room. Dust rained from the ceiling, stones groaning under stress.
The tunnel descended underground, damp and narrow. Aren held the torch forward as they ran, Lirien right behind him, Fenn dashing ahead with sharp barks.
The conduits' footsteps echoed overhead—rapid, heavy, unnervingly synchronized—as if tracking them through the walls.
"Aren!" Lirien yelled over the noise. "They're triangulating our position!"
A shriek echoed directly above them—then the ceiling cracked.
CRACK—THUD—BOOM!
A conduit soldier dropped into the tunnel ahead, body sparking with blue mana.
It lunged.
Aren swung immediately—blade clashing against its arm, metal screeching as mana discharged in a violent burst.
The soldier staggered back—but didn't fall.
Lirien released an arrow. It pierced the conduit's throat, magic bursting on impact—but instead of bleeding, the creature convulsed, its mana unstable and wild.
Aren yelled, "Take it down before it explodes!"
The creature's veins glowed bright blue.
TOO LATE.
BOOOOM!!
A shockwave blasted them backward, the tunnel collapsing partially behind.
Aren shielded Lirien with his body from debris, taking dust and stone against his back.
Fenn whined frantically beside them.
Lirien coughed, pushing rubble aside. "Are you—?"
"I'm fine," Aren said quickly, even though his back burned.
The tunnel ahead was still open—they could continue.
But the conduits above were now digging directly downward.
Dozens of them.
Aren grabbed Lirien's hand again. "We move. Tunnel exit is close."
As they ran, the oppressive mana pressure intensified—the conduits tracking them with precision. Aren could feel the floor trembling from multiple impact points.
Lirien wasn't wrong. They weren't alive. They were controlled.
A hive.
Directed by someone with absolute command.
Someone close.
After several minutes of sprinting, the tunnel opened into an underground cavern leading to nature-lit ruin. Fresh air hit their faces.
"That's the exit!" Lirien shouted.
They burst into the open—to a clearing surrounded by ancient elven stones. The moonlight poured through the gaps in the canopy.
Aren stopped—breathing hard, scanning their surroundings.
No conduits yet.
But then—behind them—the tunnel entrance exploded outward.
A massive plume of dust burst into the clearing.
And out stepped the Supervisor.
A cloak as dark as a starless night.
Mask etched with arcane lines.
And behind him, the puppeted conduits, marching in tight formation.
The Supervisor's voice was calm, unshaken.
---
**"Return what you stole, Aren.
You were not meant to survive."**
---
Aren stepped forward, sword drawn.
Lirien lifted her bow, mana crackling around her.
Fenn growled, tail bristled.
Aren met the masked figure's gaze—voice steady, resolute.
"No."
The Supervisor raised a single finger.
The conduits responded instantly—charging forward with inhuman precision.
Lirien whispered, "Aren… this fight…"
He nodded.
"Yeah. It's going to be hell."
But neither backed down.
The clearing ignited with magic.