The Dyrheim lunged with startling speed—its whole body a streak of pallid sinew and frost slicing through the dim tunnel.
Gavin tried to shout, "Lux—run!" but the word barely formed.
His lips twitched.
No sound came.
Whatever that thing had done it still held them.
The creature's eyes—those brutal, glassy discs, had struck him and Varik moments before like a hammer of ice and it was like drowning in cold fear. Now their limbs refused to obey, muscles numb and locked in place. Even breathing felt like pushing air through stone.
Varik strained to move beside him, jaw clenched so tight a thin line of blood crept from the corner of his mouth. He fought to move even a finger. Nothing.
They were trapped.
The Dyrheim's claws scraped across the concrete, its gait accelerating as it set its sights on Lux—the only one still able to stand, the only one left moving.
Lux stumbled backward, terror widening his eyes. "G-Gavin…?"
Gavin managed a tiny shake of his head, barely perceptible. He forced his lungs to draw in what air they could and pushed out a whisper that felt like ripping cloth
"Run."
But Lux didn't run.
He was tired of running, of being a burden.
He steeled himself with resolve.
The Dyrheim's pace quickened, frost hissing off its limbs as it closed the last few meters. Its breath came in raking clouds, its jaw splitting open in a grotesque grin of fangs and frost-rimed bone. Each step made the tunnel shake.
Varik let out a broken grunt, trying to lunge forward, but his arms buckled uselessly beneath him.
"Lux—" he rasped, though it came out as little more than a breath.
The beast leapt.
And something inside Lux surged yet again.
Not in rage.
Not in bravery.
In sheer frustration and refusal to watching the people he cared for watch him die and feel sorrow while he stood helpless.
Heat pulsed from deep in his chest once more but unlike the times before, this was fully intentional.
First a spark.
Then a thrum.
Then a blinding, rippling force.
The air around him rippled outward in a sudden shockwave of warmth—so abrupt and violent that the ground trembled. The Dyrheim, mid-pounce, slammed into the invisible barrier of heat with a muffled crack, its icy hide steaming as the temperature around it spiked.
The creature recoiled, shrieking in disbelief, skidding sideways across the tunnel floor. Its limbs spasmed, frost melting into rivulets. The glare's hold over Gavin and Varik loosened, just slightly—enough for their fingers to twitch, enough for Gavin to drag in a full breath instead of half.
"Lux…" Gavin coughed, trying to move but failing again.
The Dyrheim staggered back to its feet, dazed. For the first time, fear glinted in its crystalline eyes.
Lux didn't understand what he'd done—only that the heat inside him hadn't stopped. It swelled, pressing outward, begging to be unleashed again.
The Dyrheim shook off the last of the heat wave, ice hissing across its limbs, and its gaze snapped back to Lux.
The boy tried to unleash his mysterious power once again, but the warmth was flickering off his skin sputtered like a flame drowning in its own fuel—too bright, too unstable. It tremored out of him in uneven pulses, not strong enough to form another shield.
"N-No—" Lux gasped, clutching at his chest.
The heat inside him clawed for release, but the rest of him was shutting down. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't control it. Could barely stand. His body was failing.
The Dyrheim lunged.
Lux raised his hands in instinctive defense—
—but nothing came out.
The creature's claws tore up dust as it closed the distance.
A sharp metallic whistle cut through the air.
A metal pipe spun end-over-end and slammed into the ground between them with a harsh clang, just inches from the beast's face.
The Dyrheim jerked back in surprise, its charge faltering.
Lux blinked, stunned—and his eyes tracked the pipe's trajectory back to where Varik knelt, one arm still half-slumped, chest heaving.
His fingers were trembling, but his grip had been steady enough for that throw.
Varik wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand. "Hey," he croaked, voice raw but aimed at the monster, "eyes over here you fugly mutt."
His legs wobbled as he tried to stand, the last threads of the Dyrheim's glare loosening around him.
Not fully recovered—just first. Earlier than he should've been.
The Dyrheim hissed, turning toward him.
And in that moment of shifting focus, Gavin sucked in a full breath.
The paralysis snapped. The fear vanished.
He didn't waste a second
.
"Varik—down!" he barked, voice hoarse.
Varik dropped instinctively.
Gavin bolted forward—a blur of motion for a man whose body had been paralyzed moments before. His sprint wasn't elegant, but it was powerful, his strides digging deep into the ground.
He hit the Dyrheim shoulder-first with enough force to jar the air, driving the creature back several feet until its spine cracked hard against the tunnel wall. Gavin was shocked by his own strength.
It was no secret that he was stronger than anyone his age thanks to his build but this was different, almost beyond human.
The impact echoed like a detonation.
The Dyrheim reeled, disoriented; Gavin staggered but held himself upright with a grunt. He shook the pain off quicker than most would've even processed it.
Lux stared wide-eyed. Gavin… shouldn't have still been standing after taking a hit like that. But he was—and moving.
"Varik!" Gavin shouted.
Already on it.
Varik broke into a run, ducking under the creature's sweeping claws. He darted around behind it, movements tight and economical despite the lingering stiffness from the glare. He grabbed the fallen pipe on his way, spinning it once in his hand to adjust his grip. Varik was faster than he usually was but he did not let his thoughts wander.
Gavin pinned the Dyrheim's chest with both arms, bracing his legs, locking it in place.
Varik struck first—jabbing the pipe hard into the sensitive joint beneath the beast's ribs. A burst of ice steam shot out. The Dyrheim thrashed, but Gavin dug his heels in and pushed harder, teeth bared, muscles taut like cables and a flicker of light in his eyes.
"Lux!" Varik called without looking. "You good?"
Lux forced himself to his feet, still shaking but breathing steadier. "I—I can help!"
"Don't use the heat!" Gavin barked.
Lux froze. "I can't. It's… I can't control it right now."
"Then stay behind me," Gavin ordered, shifting his stance as the Dyrheim twisted viciously against his hold.
The creature reared its head. Gavin hauled it sideways , slamming its skull into the wall. A web of cracks splintered outward. The beast sagged, stunned.
Varik used the opening—vaulting onto its back, gripping a ridge of bone, and driving the pipe straight into the gap between two frost plates. He twisted hard but the beast did not fall yet
"DAMMIT," Varik groaned
"DIE YOU DAMNED MUTT," Varik roared, his eyes ignited, using all his strength he pushed the metal pipe deeper into beast.
Deeper and deeper until—
Something deep inside the Dyrheim cracked—loud, brittle, final.
The beast roared.
Gavin shoved with everything he had—driving the creature to the floor as its legs gave out. Varik hopped off just before it collapsed, landing in a rough roll and skidding to a stop beside Lux.
A final twitch ran through the Dyrheim's limbs… then faded.
Silence stretched.
Gavin leaned against the wall, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. "Everyone alive?"
Varik wiped sweat and grime from his brow and fell to his knees. "I sure as hell don't feel like it."
Lux stared at the fallen monster, then at the two older boys—shaking, relieved, overwhelmed. "I… I'm sorry. I couldn't control it. I thought—"
Gavin ruffled his hair gently, despite the blood and bruises coating his arm. "You did fine, Lux. We're breathing. That's what matters."
Varik nudged the metal pipe with his foot, eyebrows raised. "Lucky toss?"
Lux looked between them, a strange flicker of realization crossing his features.
Lucky.
Maybe.
Or maybe something else.