Chapter 61: Summoned
Edward lunged forward, blade drawn back for the killing strike.
Auren knelt before the altar, blood pooling around his knees, a wild grin still carved across his face. The crimson lines burned through the floor, flaring brighter with every beat of Edward’s heart.
He was one breath away from ending it—one swing from stopping whatever madness the ritual had become—when the world sround him detonated.
Every crimson ring across the city ignited at once.
Flames erupted through stone and timber, bursting upward in pillars of red fire. The church shook violently, its stained glass windows shattering into shards of molten light.
Then came the explosion.
The blast tore through the chamber like a storm. Edward was thrown back, his body hitting the floor hard enough to crack the stone beneath him. He caught only glimpses of movement—his shadow summons throwing themselves over him, their bodies splitting into ink and smoke as the roof caved in.
The world collapsed in noise and heat, followed by complete silence.
Edward coughed, dragging air into his lungs as dust and ash filled them. He forced himself upright, vision blurred. The ceiling was gone, replaced by an open sky bleeding red from the burning city beyond. His shadows—what remained of them—rippled faintly, their forms struggling to stay intact.
The altar was shattered, the runes that had burned there now nothing more than faint scars in the floor.
And Auren was gone.
Edward’s chest tightened. His summons turned the rubble aside, searching, but there was nothing. Not even blood. The air still pulsed faintly with crimson light, as if mocking his failure.
Outside, the sounds of battle still raged. The clash of steel. The roar of men.
He stepped through the ruined doorway, the church’s once-grand hall now half-buried in debris. Flames painted the streets in shades of scarlet, shadows twisting like ghosts along the walls.
Then, sound of horns echoed around him. Deep and powerful, cutting through the chaos.
Edward moved toward the sound, slipping between the burning wrecks of homes and the bodies that filled the streets. The smell of blood was overwhelming—iron and smoke. But beyond the ruin, he saw them.
The royal cavalry.
Silver armour gleamed under the firelight. The crest of the crown shone bright even through the ash.
At their head rode Prince Arthur, his blade drawn, eyes locked on the burning skyline.
The moment his gaze found Edward, his horse slowed. The prince dismounted, boots striking the stone with a heavy thud.
"Edward?" he said, disbelief and exhaustion mingling in his tone. "What in father’s name happened here?"
Edward wiped the dust from his face. "A summoning ritual. The Crimson Oath used the entire city as a conduit."
Arthur’s expression hardened. "Summoning? Summoning of what?"
"I don’t know, Lord of dead... undead or something like that," Edward said, pausing for a moment," Auren started it, he’s a complete lunatic." Edward added as he looked toward the center of town, where the light still pulsed faintly through the smoke. "If it’s not stopped, this entire region,perhaps even the whole kingdom will fall."
The prince looked past him, toward the ruined skyline. "Then we end it before it spreads."
Before Edward could reply, the ground trembled again.
A sound like rushing wind filled the air—a low, gathering roar that built into a scream.
All at once, the flames that had shot skyward twisted together, streams of red fire connecting high above the city like veins. The light pulsed once—then all of it burst downward in a single strike, slamming into the heart of Ashenhold.
The impact shook the ground beneath their feet. A wave of force tore through the streets, throwing men and horses off balance. Edward shielded his eyes as the blast of heat rolled over them, the shadows around him coiling defensively.
When the light finally dimmed, a crater stood where the central square had once been—its edges glowing red-hot, smoke coiling like serpents from its depths.
And at its center stood a figure.
It wore black armour that shimmered like obsidian, etched with faint runes that glowed from within. Its helmet concealed its face entirely, no features visible beneath the slit of its visor. A longsword, broad and heavy, rested in its hand, its blade faintly steaming in the cool night air.
The figure raised its gauntleted arm and in that moment, every corpse in the city twitched.
The dead moved first in silence—their fingers curling, their jaws creaking open.
Then, all at once, the streets erupted in motion. Fallen rebels, Crimson Oath soldiers, even royal knights that died—all rose together, their eyes burning faint red.
And then they charged.
Arthur stumbled back, horror flashing across his face. "What the—"
"Get ready!" Edward barked.
His summons flared around him, the remnants of his soldiers regrouping.
The shadow warrior took shape beside him, massive and jagged, while his shadow assassin crawled from the ground, its blades covered by shadows.
"Form the line!" the Lord Commander of the royal guards roared, spurring his horse forward. "Drive them back!"
The royal guards raised their shields, a wall of steel forming as the undead surged forward. Spears thrust into the first wave, impaling bodies that refused to die. Arrows darkened the sky, cutting through ranks of shambling corpses, but every fallen enemy simply rose again, twisted by crimson fire.
Edward joined the fight, his shadows weaving through the chaos. He reached toward the dead, pulling the flickers of their souls into himself, forcing them into shape. One by one, spectral forms emerged—soldiers of black mist standing beside him.
But it wasn’t enough. For every spirit he raised, the figure raised tenfold more.
The balance was collapsing.
Arthur fought near the front, his blade cutting through undead like lightning. "Can you stop it?" he shouted, slashing through a ghoul that tried to grab his horse’s reins.
Edward shook his head, forcing his will into the growing tide of shadow. "Not yet. That thing—it’s not Auren. It’s something else."
"Then we kill it."
The Lord Commander drove his horse forward, his white cloak torn and scorched. He charged straight for the figure in black armour, his greatsword glowing faintly with white mana. The two met with a sound that cracked the air.
Steel met steel.
The commander’s strike was heavy enough to split a boulder, but the black-armoured figure caught it with its blade, the impact sending sparks and shockwaves through the street. The commander snarled, pressing harder, but the figure didn’t budge. Its strength was unreal—calm and utterly unyielding.
The two weapons locked, a storm of energy radiating from the clash.
Then the figure pushed back.
The commander’s horse reared, nearly throwing him, but he landed on his feet, rolling away just in time to avoid a downward slash that cleaved the cobblestones apart. The shockwave hurled bodies in all directions.
"Hold the line!" he roared, even as he raised his weapon again. "Don’t let it break through!"
Edward’s shadow warriors moved in tandem, joining the assault. One lunged from the flank, blade raised high—but the figure turned, catching the strike on its gauntlet. Its other hand moved faster than Edward could track, crushing the shadow’s head in one motion. The summon dissipated into smoke.
Edward flinched, feeling the backlash tear through his mind. He steadied himself and sent the shadow assassin forward, its blade tore toward the figure’s unguarded back.
It struck true—steel sinking between the armour plates.
The figure didn’t react.
Instead, it reached back, grabbed the assassin by the neck, and slammed it into the ground with enough force to crack the stone. The summon almost shattered, its shadows spilling across the ground.
Unwilling to lose it Edward dismissed it before the doubledged sword fall where the summon just laid.
Arthur leapt into the fray, joining the commander. His sword flashed with golden light as he struck at the creature’s flank. Sparks erupted as the blade met armour, carving a shallow line that bled dark, viscous smoke instead of blood.
The figure turned its head toward the prince, and for the first time, Edward saw movement behind the visor—a faint glow, like eyes opening in the dark.
The air thickened.
Every corpse in the area froze mid-motion.
Then, in perfect unison, they screamed again—a sound that rattled through bone and stone alike—and surged toward the living with twice the fury.
The royal lines faltered. Horses panicked, men screamed, and the sky filled with the smell of burning flesh and ozone.
Edward raised both hands, calling forth every ounce of power he had left. His shadows erupted outward, forming a dome that shielded a group of surviving soldiers from the advancing dead. The pressure crushed at his chest; his vision dimmed at the edges.
"We can’t hold this!" Arthur shouted, blocking another swing. "Edward—what do we do?"
He didn’t answer. His gaze locked on the figure as it clashed again with the Lord Commander. The commander’s strikes grew desperate, his mana flaring with each swing, but it wasn’t enough. The black-armoured figure caught his sword one last time, twisted—and shattered it.
The commander fell back, his weapon broken in half. Before he could recover, the figure drove its blade forward, piercing through steel and flesh alike.
Arthur shouted his name, but the commander’s voice never came.
The figure withdrew the blade slowly, letting the body fall. The commander’s blood hissed as it touched the red-lit ground.
Edward’s heart raced. The air shook as the figure raised its sword again—this time pointing it toward them.
Every corpse in the city turned its head in unison and charged toward them.