Chapter 23: Rise of the Night
The dying embers and thick smoke that coated the air made it hard to breathe. The heat was vicious, clawing at their skin with an unbearable intensity.
It was a hellish condition to be in—especially when everyone was disoriented.
"If you are still alive, move away from the smoke to the walls!" Redrics' voice tore through the chaos, a desperate beacon in the suffocating haze.
He could only hope the children would hear him.
Blood seeped from his shoulder, staining his fingers as he clutched at the wound. The impact of blocking that fireball had not only burned through his sleeve but also chipped his sword—something that should have been impossible.
What in the name of the queen is going on?
Redrics fought against the panic rising in his chest. His hands were trembling, betraying his struggle to keep his composure. Disgraceful. A high-ranked Exorcist, shaken by mere bloodlust and a few streaks of fire?
No.
He clenched his fists, summoning his Mana, forcing it to surge through his veins. Almost instantly, the fear that had gripped him like chains began to unravel.
Just as he suspected—it was a trick. A mental attack meant to break their will.
Whoever their enemy was... they were cunning.
---
Asher pressed himself against the cold stone wall of the Oramon Monastery, his eyes locked onto the massive craters in the ground still spewing smoke.
Fey mimicked his every move, while a few others—less than a dozen—had already reached the walls, tending to their wounds in silence.
But still, there was no sign of Nimora.
Had she been hit?
Or was she on the other side of the wall?
Asher swallowed hard, his concern for her gnawing at his insides.
---
Meanwhile, deep within the thick pillars of smoke, Nimora moved with slow, deliberate steps. Her posture was relaxed, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword. Her eyes, however, were locked onto a singular point—the wall to her left.
She had escaped the attack without a single scratch. It wasn't luck, but skill—secrets learned privately from her mother.
Just as she was about to take another step, her foot hit something.
A bump.
Her balance wavered for a second.
"What the hell?" She scowled, prepared to kick whatever it was aside when—
"P—p—please, help me."
A voice.
Weak. Trembling. Soaked in fear and devoid of hope.
Nimora's expression remained blank as she peered down. A young girl lay on the ground—half-burnt, broken, barely clinging to life. Her legs were gone, torn from her body in the explosion. A pool of blood expanded beneath her, dark and glistening.
"I—It... hurts. Please—help me."
Her plea was barely above a whisper, but Nimora heard it.
And all she could think about... was putting her out of her misery.
"If that's the case," Nimora muttered, her fingers tightening around her sword as she unsheathed it with her left hand. "I will claim your soul."
GRUCCK!!!
Ding! Ding! Ding!
Nimora froze.
A scowl formed on her lips.
"Fuck."
---
Back at the walls, Asher's grip on his sword tightened.
The explosions had ceased, yet the eerie silence that followed felt far worse.
Follow curr𝒆nt nov𝒆ls on fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com.
His eyes darted across the monastery grounds, his body rigid, waiting—expecting.
"What's wrong?" Fey asked, noticing his tense posture.
He needed answers. The air was too thick with uncertainty.
Asher didn't look at him.
"No time to explain. Just be silent and ready to run as fast as possible. If anything happens—anything—even if you lose sight of me, get to that Oramon and get the fuck out of here."
Fey stiffened at the weight of Asher's words. His fingers instinctively curled around his sword's hilt.
Whatever was about to happen... it wasn't going to be good.
---
"Is everyone okay?!"
"Redrics! It's us! Where are you?!"
The desperate shouts rang through the air, cutting through the smoke.
"We are the exorcists stationed outside! If you kids can hear my voice, follow it! Keep moving towards me!"
A glimmer of hope.
At the monastery entrance, four exorcists stood, each bearing wounds and burns from the attack, their eyes scanning the destruction.
They had figured out how to block the Red Storm's mental attack with Mana—that's why they were here. That's why they had come to get the children.
Hearing their calls, some students wasted no time, sprinting toward them. Others hesitated, but as they saw no immediate danger, they too began to run.
Fey was about to move when Asher's hand latched onto his wrist, forcing him to stay put.
'This might seem like a great opportunity to go, but trust me, those guys will regret it.'
---
Just before the doors, the exorcists stood their ground.
One of them, a man named Mark, continued calling out.
"Come to me! Follow my voice!"
The kids ran faster.
Six had reached them already.
Everything was going as planned.
Until—
GRUCCK!!!
A deafening, high-pitched roar.
And then—
A notification.
Mark paused mid-sentence, his mouth clamping shut.
His hand instinctively lowered toward his sword.
But he never got the chance to unsheathe it.
Something—something blue—pierced through the thick smoke.
It moved so fast, like a bullet tearing through the air.
A blur—then darkness.
Mark's eyes barely had time to register the creature before—
CHOMP.
A sickening crunch.
A grotesque crack.
Bone. Skull. Flesh.
Shattered. Devoured. Gone.
The children and the remaining exorcists froze in sheer horror.
The headless body stood for a moment, blood spurting from the ragged stump of its neck—before collapsing onto its knees.
And before them, towering over the corpse, was it.
A monstrous being, exuding a dark, pulsating aura.
Rows upon rows of jagged teeth glistened under the glow of the dying embers.
A beast none of them had ever seen before.
"What the hell?! MARK!!!"
One of the exorcists screamed, drawing his blade.
Too late.
The creature moved—swift and merciless.
Its massive claws sliced through his throat in a single motion.
The exorcist gasped, his hands flying to his neck as blood gushed from the deep wound.
His body collapsed within seconds, his life snuffed out.
The remaining exorcists stood frozen.
Their swords trembled in their grips.
The children, once filled with hope, now stumbled backward in terror.
A single girl fell to the ground, her legs giving out beneath her.
Her lips parted—her voice cracking—
"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!"
Her scream split the air, shrill and piercing.
A scream of pure, unfiltered fear.
The children still racing toward their supposed saviors stopped.
Their wide eyes flickered to the blood-red notification they had ignored in their panic.
[Wave 2]
[Rise of the Night Terrors]