Hovan leaned close again, voice tight and controlled, barely audible above the hiss of rain. "We fight our way through the demons on the hill behind us and run," he whispered urgently, "We can't win here—not against Baragor and his disciples. Not without the weapon. But if we work together, we might make it out alive."

Raelyn swallowed hard, feeling her pulse thunder with dread. She gave a faint nod, the motion barely perceptible. The thought of fleeing felt bitter, but Hovan was right. Survival meant the mission still had hope.

But Baragor's voice drifted across the storm once again, smooth and cutting through the rain. "Tell me, Raelyn, did you really think you could move unseen through Bromaric? Did you truly believe Lucifer guided you safely through the dark?"

Raelyn's stomach twisted sharply, her breath catching in her throat. The tone in Baragor's voice unsettled her greatly. She tried desperately not to let her emotions show on her face.

Baragor stepped closer, his thin lips curling upward. "No, my dear. It was me. I've been guiding you from the very start."

A cold wave crashed through Raelyn's heart, her body rigid, disbelieving. "You lie," Raelyn managed, her voice thin. She clung desperately to her faith, even as Baragor's smile widened with cruel satisfaction.

"Do I?" Baragor asked, his voice heavy with mockery. "How else do you think you reached the weapon so effortlessly? Did you truly believe my demons wouldn't have noticed you?"

Raelyn tried to deny it, but doubt gnawed at her chest. Had their passage through Bromaric truly been too simple?

"You still don't understand, do you?" he murmured softly, as though disappointed. "I've known every step you've taken since you first crossed into Bromaric."

Raelyn's breath froze in her throat. Around her, she felt the stunned silence of her companions, the tense, shared disbelief that held them rooted.

She shook her head slightly, desperately, refusing to accept it. "You're lying," she whispered, trying to convince herself more than him. Her fingers curled reflexively around the locket, searching for the familiar warmth, the reassurance that Lucifer had guided her. That her path had been true.

"No, Raelyn." Baragor continued. "My demons stood aside because I commanded it. You were meant to find the weapon, to retrieve it for me."

Baragor's gaze softened further, cruel amusement glinting behind his eyes. "But I couldn't have done it without you. Your kindness. Your compassion. Your naïve, trusting heart."

His eyes flashed sharply through the storm, piercing straight into her. "Massah," he said simply, as if that explained everything.

Raelyn's blood turned to ice. "Massah?" Her voice cracked in disbelief. She glanced down immediately, searching for the trembling imp behind them. But he wasn't there.

"No..." she whispered, dread crawling up her spine.

Movement caught her eye. From behind Baragor, Massah stepped out slowly. Rain streamed down his bald head, his wide eyes filled not with fear but something far worse—glee.

"Massah did good?" he asked eagerly, gazing up at Baragor.

Baragor smiled indulgently and reached down, patting the imp's head in twisted affection. "You did wonderfully."

Hovan's curse was low and venom-laced. "You lying little shit," he growled. "We should've gutted you the moment you opened your sniveling mouth."

Rakz snapped his jaws with a wet crack, a savage sound that cut through the storm. His growl deepened into a low, vibrating snarl, claws digging furrows into the mud as if barely holding himself back.

Sylvy stepped forward, blades angled down at her sides but trembling with rage. Her soaked hair clung to her jaw, her eyes glowing with fury. "I told you what would happen if you betrayed Raelyn." she hissed. "I'm going to carve your name into the dirt with your own bones."

Raelyn felt the betrayal strike deep, tearing at something inside her. Her chest tightened painfully, guilt flaring like wildfire through her veins. It had been her idea to trust Massah, her compassion that had put them all at risk.

"It's my fault," she murmured, her voice breaking. "I should've known."

Benji stepped closer immediately, gripping her shoulder firmly. "No," he growled fiercely, eyes locked on Massah. "That worm fooled us all."

Lira, usually so calm and gentle, now trembled visibly with anguish and betrayal. "How could you, Massah?" she called, her voice strained with pain. "We trusted you! We protected you!"

Massah's gaze swung back to the group, and Raelyn recoiled instinctively. The creature's demeanor had changed utterly. Gone was the trembling coward who hid at their heels. Now his red, clammy skin stretched across his impish features in a wicked grin, eyes gleaming with pride and cruelty.

"Massah is done being weak," the imp declared, straightening to his full height—still small, yet brimming with dark confidence. "Baragor promised Massah strength. No more hiding, no more cowering."

Raelyn felt sick at the joy in his voice, twisted and perverse.

Benji stepped forward, rage etched sharply across his face. "Raelyn has shown you nothing but kindness, and this is how you repay her? You would have been dead at the hands of the elves if it weren't for her."

Massah only shrugged, his smile widening. "People always underestimate small, frightened Massah. No one thinks tiny Massah can hurt them. But now they will learn. Now Massah will make them afraid."

Raelyn watched him in horror, despair heavy in her heart. The imp's betrayal cut deeper than any blade. Trust had been their strength, their bond forged in trials—but now it felt like a glaring vulnerability. To be used against them.

Baragor looked back to Raelyn, triumphant yet somehow sympathetic in his cruelty. "You see? This outcome was inevitable. Your faith blinded you, your kindness betrayed you. The world you cling to is weak, flawed. It must end."

Raelyn said nothing. Words felt empty now, her hope fraying dangerously thin. All around her, the rain continued to fall, uncaring of her turmoil, indifferent to their pain.

Baragor's pale hand gently stroked Massah's head once more, the gesture disturbingly affectionate. Then his cold gaze slid back to Raelyn, his smile patient, almost parental in its twisted mockery.

"You must understand," he said softly, almost soothingly. "Massah was never my primary plan—but he made an excellent contingency. When you freed him from the elves in Misty Woods, I saw clearly the shape of your heart—soft, kind, trusting. Precisely what I needed."

Raelyn's stomach churned violently, shame rising like bile. Her breathing quickened. Had her compassion truly brought them here, to ruin?

Baragor continued calmly, savoring her unraveling. "When Abigor nearly caught you, I sent Massah to warn you. If Abigor succeeded, the weapon would be lost—but if he failed, I would still gain something valuable: your trust in Massah."

Raelyn remembered it clearly. A shivering Massah begging for them to believe him, warning him of the demons chasing them. She'd believed the imp. Defended him. He hadn't just saved her and Hovan, but Benji's family too.

She hadn't known—hadn't even considered—that she was playing straight into Baragor's hands.

Raelyn clenched her jaw, the shame biting deep, but Baragor went on before she could find words to answer.

"I had hoped," he said, voice almost wistful, "that you might accept my offer when Folainn and Fiovana confronted you in Flatrest. It would have been a simpler path."

Folainn scoffed loudly, shaking his rain-soaked blond hair. "You had your chance to join the winning side. Now you get to die with the rest of them."

Benji stiffened beside Raelyn, teeth bared, but Baragor continued smoothly, silencing further interruption with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I sent Massah to deliver a second warning, hoping it would solidify your trust in him. Massah was my insurance, in case you refused my offer and managed to escape Flatrest."

Raelyn could barely breathe. Her knees felt weak and the blood drained from her face.

"When I heard you'd entered Bromaric," Baragor continued, voice calm, eyes glittering, "I knew it was time for Massah to rejoin your side. He was instructed to do whatever it took—earn your trust, keep you close—and when you finally found the weapon, inform me."

Raelyn swayed, dizzy with horror, feeling the storm churn around her as if mirroring her anguish. Guilt twisted sharply inside her chest, choking, suffocating. It had all been her fault. Every decision she had made, every kindness she had extended—exploited, manipulated.

Baragor stepped closer, his voice low and smooth. "So you see, Raelyn...Lucifer never guided your path. I did."

"No," Raelyn whispered, desperate to deny it, but no further words came. They shattered within her throat, leaving only hollow silence.

"Raelyn, don't listen to him," Hovan said sharply, turning slightly toward her. "The locket chose you. Lucifer left this path open for you. You found the weapon—against all odds."

Raelyn's gaze met Hovan's for an instant, and his conviction steadied her heartbeat just enough to stand straighter, to draw breath despite the crushing despair. Her fingers curled tight around the locket, seeking warmth, seeking reassurance.

Baragor studied them for a long moment, then spread his arms slightly, voice gentle yet edged with threat. "It doesn't have to be this way. One last time, Raelyn—I will offer mercy. Give me the weapon, and your friends live."

Raelyn opened her mouth, but words failed her completely. The weight of decision pressed on her chest, heavy as the storm overhead, drowning her voice before it could rise.

She wanted to believe—in the mission, in the gods, in Lucifer. That he was still watching. That all of this had purpose. But Baragor's words echoed through her, poisoning the edges of her faith. Every revelation struck like a hammer to stone, fracturing her certainty. Every choice she'd made had led them here. To this hill. Surrounded. Trapped.

Her heart raced, throat tight with guilt, shame and fear. She tried to push it down, to summon some spark of resolve, but her mind was already spiraling.

She searched the rain-blurred horizon for another path—for some way out that didn't end in blood—but found only the ring of demons.

To go forward meant risking all of their lives. To run meant surrendering the weapon, and perhaps the future of Unevia with it.

It was Hovan who spoke again, his voice clear, strong, defiant. "If you want the weapon, Baragor—come and take it yourself."

Benji stepped forward first, his father's sword gleaming beneath the lightning. "My father died fighting your demons," he said, his tone sharp, eyes locked on Baragor. "I'll finish what he started."

Sylvy tilted her head, twin blades gleaming. "You attacked our home. Burned our trees," she said coolly. "And you expect us to let you get away with it?"

Lira placed a hand lightly on her sister's arm, grounding her, then lifted her gaze to Baragor with quiet intensity. "You preach ruin," she said softly, "but we stand for life. That's what makes us stronger."

Thomrik grunted, his warhammer resting across his shoulder, runes flaring beneath the downpour. "You think this ends with you getting the blade?" He let out a joyless chuckle. "That's rich. You'll taste dwarven steel before you lay a finger on it. We stand with Raelyn."

Even Danio stepped forward, soaked to the bone, Snapstaff trembling slightly in his grip. His voice was shaky—but there was fire in it. "Well," he said with a half-mad grin, "guess I'm dying heroically after all. At least we're amongst friends."

Rakz hissed low, taking his place in front of Raelyn with teeth bared, his growl rising in tandem with the group's defiance.

And Raelyn, surrounded by their unwavering loyalty and strength, felt something stir inside her.

Baragor sighed, almost disappointed, as though their defiance was little more than an inconvenience. "Very well,"

Before he could speak again, Massah tugged impatiently at the edge of Baragor's soaked cloak, eyes bright with twisted eagerness. "Wait—Master Baragor," he squeaked excitedly. "Massah knows. About the weapon."

Raelyn's heart froze. The imp's smile turned malicious, eyes glittering as they met hers. She felt the ground tilt beneath her, dread flooding her veins.

Baragor turned slowly, one thin eyebrow arching with mild interest. "Yes, Massah? What is it?"

Massah pointed one long finger accusingly at Hovan, his voice rising shrilly above the storm. "Can't use weapon! Wouldn't respond to magic. Massah saw! They have no power. Can't wield it!"

Baragor's expression shifted in an instant. The thin veil of disappointment melted away, replaced by something sharp, eager, and cruel. His lips stretched into a slow, pleased smile. "Is that so?"

Raelyn's breath quickened, her panic surging. They had lost their only advantage, their bluff stripped away by Massah's spiteful betrayal. She felt exposed, raw, helpless.

Yet Hovan didn't flinch. His voice rang out immediately, deep and commanding, as if he had been expecting this moment all along. "The weapon doesn't need magic," he said confidently. "It's magic comes from the rock in its center. It answers only when truly needed."

Raelyn turned sharply toward him, surprise flickering through her, yet she caught the subtle warning in his eyes. She forced herself to appear steady despite her spiraling fear.

Baragor watched Hovan closely, head slightly tilted, measuring his words. The faint smile didn't falter, but his eyes narrowed in calculation.

"A compelling claim," he said slowly. He raised his hand again, gesturing fluidly toward the mass of demons waiting in silent anticipation. "But I prefer to see such power for myself."

At his signal, a single massive demon stepped forward from the ranks. Its blackened hide shone slick in the relentless downpour, grotesque muscles rippling beneath its twisted flesh as it moved. Crimson eyes—wide, burning, and unblinking—fixed hungrily upon Hovan and the weapon in his hands. Each heavy, deliberate step shook the sodden earth beneath Raelyn's feet, resonating deep in her bones like thunder.

She swallowed hard, fear rising anew, praying silently that Hovan's desperate gamble would somehow prove true. "Hovan," she breathed urgently, desperation evident, "we don't even know if the weapon will work..."

Hovan didn't turn toward her, his gaze locked grimly on the approaching demon. "Only one way to find out," he muttered, his stance firm, weapon gripped tightly. "We tried magic. It failed. Now—we test it the old-fashioned way."

Sylvy moved swiftly, stepping toward Hovan to join the fight, but Thomrik's hand snapped out, halting her with surprising gentleness. "Hold, Sylvy," he warned, shaking his head firmly. "We don't know what that weapon might do. It's power could be devistating. Being close to it when it activates could be dangerous."

Sylvy's jaw tightened, eyes flashing with frustration, but she stayed her ground, muscles coiled with tension. Her breath came in tight, sharp huffs, clearly hating every second of restraint.

Thomrik released the elf and his eyes fixed on Hovan, jaw clenched. "I don't like it either, but Hovan can handle himself."

Sylvy's gaze didn't leave Hovan. Rain streamed down her face, but her expression was carved in stone.

"Don't do anything stupid," she said quietly. "You're not allowed to go dying on me."

Hovan glanced back over his shoulder, the barest flicker of warmth touching his hardened features. He gave her a nod—small, firm, meaningful.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said.

Then he turned to face the demon, weapon of the gods raised, alone beneath the storm.

Hovan stepped forward alone, sword raised, the weapon of the gods heavy in his grip. Raelyn watched him, throat dry, pulse racing. She tried to steady herself, to find strength despite the storm of fear tearing through her.

"Be careful," she whispered helplessly, feeling powerless, praying the gods truly hadn't abandoned them.

Hovan surged forward, a streak of grim determination beneath the storm-darkened sky, the gods' weapon clenched tightly in both hands. Rain cascaded off the blade, its polished edge glinting beneath flashes of lightning. Thunder crashed overhead, echoing Raelyn's pounding heartbeat.

The demon lumbered forward to meet him, huge and grotesque, each powerful stride churning the earth beneath its massive feet. It swung a heavy claw toward Hovan with deceptive speed, forcing him to dive aside. The massive talons narrowly missed, spraying mud and stones through the air. Hovan rolled swiftly back to his feet, blade poised.

Raelyn's breath caught sharply in her throat. "Come on," she whispered desperately, willing the weapon to respond, to ignite with power. "Please."

Hovan lunged again, a fierce cry tearing from his throat as he swung the sword in a wide arc. The blade sliced across the demon's thick, gnarled arm, opening a shallow gash that spat dark, oily blood across the rain-soaked ground. Raelyn's heart leapt—expecting, hoping—but the gems set into the weapon's guard remained lifeless, the blade still silent.

The demon roared in fury, seemingly unaffected by the superficial wound. Its massive frame twisted, and another powerful claw crashed downward toward Hovan's head. He sidestepped at the last moment, slamming into the muddy ground before springing back up, breathing heavily now, his eyes narrowed and fierce.

"Why won't it do anything?" Sylvy hissed beside Raelyn, her blades gripped so tightly her knuckles whitened beneath the driving rain. "Come on, Hovan."

Raelyn barely heard her. Her eyes were fixed on Hovan as he ducked beneath another furious swipe of claws, then surged upward, striking again and again, each blow ringing out sharply against the demon's hardened skin. Despite his strength and precision, every strike was shallow—mere scratches upon the beast's thick hide.

The demon lunged again, mouth agape, teeth glistening like jagged shards of obsidian. Hovan twisted desperately aside, stumbling back with heavy breaths, barely avoiding the bite. Blood mixed with mud now streaked across his leather armor, his expression growing grim, frustration etched deep in his brow.

Raelyn's pulse raced painfully, dread tightening her chest. Nothing was happening. The weapon, meant to save them, was doing nothing.

"Please..." she pleaded once more, desperate hope draining swiftly from her voice.

Suddenly, Hovan seemed to abandon waiting for the weapon's power. With a roar of raw determination, he leapt onto the demon's hunched back, clinging tightly as the beast bucked wildly beneath him. He raised the sword, both hands gripping the hilt with desperate strength, and drove the blade down with every ounce of force he could muster.

The blade plunged deep, sinking into the demon's back just below its thick neck, puncturing through grotesque muscle and bone. A deafening scream erupted from the beast as it reared, spinning in agony, its massive claws swiping frantically through the air. Still, the blade remained silent, even as the demon thrashed and shrieked, eventually sinking to its knees, blood pouring in thick streams.

Finally, with a violent, shuddering convulsion, the demon toppled forward into the muck, its body quivering once, then going utterly still. Hovan yanked the sword free, staggering slightly as he slid down from the demon's lifeless back. He stood breathing hard, shoulders heaving, face slick with rain and blood, eyes shadowed with grim realization.

Raelyn's heart sank heavily, dread curdling in her stomach. She stared numbly at the silent blade as Hovan turned back toward them, exhaustion and disappointment clear upon his face.

"It doesn't work," she whispered, horror filling her voice. "The weapon—it doesn't respond to us."

Across the battlefield, Baragor stood unmoving, rain streaming down his hollowed cheeks. A slow, triumphant smile curled at the corner of his mouth, his dark eyes gleaming as realization dawned.

"So," Baragor said. "It seems your god has truly abandoned you... while mine still whispers."

He raised his staff slowly, deliberately, the black stone at its crown pulsing, alive with sinister light. The demons surrounding him began to stir, a hungry anticipation rippling visibly through their grotesque ranks.

Baragor's gaze sharpened, his voice suddenly booming through the downpour.

"Kill them. Bring me the blade."

The demons erupted, roaring in feral triumph, the circle breaking into a chaotic charge. They surged forward in a wave, claws raking earth and air, howls piercing the storm.

Hovan sprinted back toward the group, boots sliding through mud, his expression fierce and grim.

"Form up!" he shouted, voice clear and commanding despite his exhaustion. "Protect Raelyn! This is where we make our stand!"

Benji was already moving, stepping protectively in front of Raelyn, blade raised and ready. Sylvy joined Hovan at the front, twin swords flashing, body poised like a coiled serpent. Lira inhaled deeply, raising her palms skyward as her eyes closed, ready to call upon the storm's raw power. Danio planted his feet, staff leveled in front of him, his breathing ragged but determined.

Rakz positioned himself directly at Raelyn's side, teeth bared fiercely as he roared defiantly at the approaching horde.

Raelyn drew a breath, heart hammering in her chest. Her fingers clenched tight around the locket, searching for strength within the cold metal, within the bond she shared with those around her.

Their stand had come.

Whether it meant life or death, victory or ruin—they would face it together.