The shockwave faded.

  The demons Tim had hurled backward with his first eruption of fury were already dragging themselves up from the scorched earth, snarling, shaking off ash, their bone?forged armor cracking and reforming with sickening pops.

  They had felt his power.

  And they wanted more.

  Seven new shapes emerged from the burning treeline, drawn by the roar that had shaken the forest. Ten in total now, towering, twisted silhouettes framed by fire, their molten veins pulsing with hunger.

  Tim’s armor pulsed crimson in answer.

  His rage sharpened.

  His grief ignited.

  The first demon lunged.

  Tim didn’t hesitate.

  He swung.

  A crescent of blue?white energy, tore from his blade, slicing through the demon’s torso and sending its upper half spiraling into the flames.

  The remaining nine roared.

  Tim answered with a roar of his own, raw, primal, shaking the burning trees.

  They charged.

  He moved.

  Two demons he had blasted earlier lunged again, bone?blades slicing through the air. Tim ducked beneath the first strike and countered with a sweeping strike, the crescent wave carving through both attackers in a single, blazing arc.

  The third demon, the one whose armor still smoked from the shockwave, leapt from above.

  Tim didn’t look.

  He simply raised his hand.

  The air warped as Tim manipulated the gravity around them.

  The demon froze mid air, limbs trembling as the crushing field collapsed around it. Bones cracked. Armor buckled. The creature’s body folded inward with a wet, sickening crunch.

  It hit the ground in a heap. An oily substance seeping from its remains.

  The remaining demons circled him, snarling, adapting, coordinating. Their movements grew predatory, a pack closing in on prey they now understood was far more dangerous than expected.

  Tim’s armor shifted, plates sliding, locking, glowing with crimson fury.

  One demon rushed him.

  Tim sidestepped, grabbed it by the jaw, and slammed its head into the ground so hard the earth cracked. Before it could fall, he hurled it into another demon, knocking both into a burning hut.

  He didn’t wait.

  He sprinted forward, boots leaving craters in the dirt, and plunged into the flames. His sword carved through the fire, through flesh, through bone. The hut exploded outward as he burst through the other side, dragging a demon by the throat.

  He threw it into the air.

  Jumped after it.

  And split it in half mid flight.

  The last of the four tried to flee.

  Tim extended his hand.

  A beam of searing blue light erupted from his gauntlet, piercing the demon’s spine and pinning it to a burning tree. The creature writhed, shrieking, until the flames consumed it.

  These were the strongest.

  They approached slowly, cautiously, their armor glowing with infernal sigils, their claws dripping with venomous shadow.

  Tim’s breath came heavy.

  His muscles trembled.

  His heart ached with fear for Elora, for Elor, for the children, for the elders.

  But his resolve did not waver.

  The first demon struck with blinding speed.

  Tim blocked with his forearm, the impact sending a shockwave through the ground. He countered with a knee to its ribs, cracking the armor, then drove his elbow into its throat. The demon staggered.

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  Tim seized its horns.

  And tore its head free. Gore splattering across his armor but quickly evaporated, sizzled away by his crimson glow.

  The second demon roared and charged, its claws glowing with dark magic. Tim’s armor shifted, forming a shield across his chest. The claws struck, sparks flying, but Tim held firm.

  He grabbed the demon’s arm.

  Twisted.

  Snapped.

  Then plunged his sword through its heart.

  The last demon hesitated.

  It saw the bodies of its kin.

  It saw the crimson glow of Tim’s armor.

  It saw the fury burning in his eyes.

  It turned to flee.

  Tim vanished.

  A burst of light, a flash of displacement, and he reappeared behind the creature. His blade swept horizontally, clean and merciless, severing the demon in two.

  Silence fell.

  Only the crackle of flames remained.

  His scanner flickered through the carnage, a storm of blue fire sweeping over the ruins, searching, screaming, demanding to find Elor. To find Elora.

  Tim moved through the devastation like a force barely contained. His boots crashed against the earth, leaving craters in the dirt with every step. The ground trembled beneath him, echoing the tremor in his chest.

  The elves he passed, those still breathing, watched him with a mixture of awe and terror. They had seen him fight. They had seen the crimson blaze of his armor, the way his blade carved through demons like a living storm. They had seen wrath given form.

  His armor still shifted with the remnants of that fury, plates rippling with each pulse of his grief. But even in his rage, he had shielded them. He had carved paths through the chaos, fought not only for vengeance but for the living, for the ones who still clung to life amid the ruin.

  The battle’s cacophony still rang in his ears, a twisted melody of pain and fury and love. Love for the people who had welcomed him. Love for the forest that had become his home. Love for the ones slipping through his fingers like dying embers.

  The absence of his mentor and his beloved tore at him like a wound that refused to close. But he clung to hope with the same desperation that had fueled his sword.

  The last demon crumpled before him, its body twitching once before the flames consumed it entirely.

  Silence followed.

  Tim stood over the ruins, breath ragged, chest heaving as the adrenaline drained from him. His armor dimmed, the crimson glow fading back into its default blue. Exhaustion clung to him like a second skin, but the pain in his body was nothing compared to the hollow ache in his heart.

  His hand shook as he activated his scanner again. The blue glow illuminated the devastation, revealing the truth he wasn’t ready to accept.

  Too many were gone.

  Too few remained.

  His knees buckled.

  He sank to the ground, eyes locked on the readout, the weight of his failure crushing him.

  “Elor… Melmenya…”

  The whisper barely escaped his lips, broken, fragile, caught between fear and grief. The rush of battle left him like a tide pulling away from the shore, leaving behind something raw and wounded.

  His limbs trembled. His mind screamed for strength. But his body was failing him.

  And yet… his X?O frame hummed.

  A soft, steady pulse.

  Energy coiling inside him, refusing to let him fall.

  He drew in a deep breath. The chill of the night filled his lungs, pushing out the suffocating sorrow.

  He would not stop now.

  He would find them.

  All of them.

  He forced himself to his feet. His movements were slow, heavy, every muscle protesting. The surviving elves watched him, wide eyed, unreadable. Fear. Reverence. Grief. All of it reflected in their gazes.

  His fire had burned away, but something else remained, a soft blue glow wrapping around him, a beacon in the wreckage of everything they had lost.

  The burnt out hut loomed ahead, its skeletal frame barely holding together. Tim stepped inside. The charred beams groaned under his weight. Smoke curled through the air, thick and suffocating, mixing with the unmistakable scent of death.

  The survivors huddled together in the shadows, their faces carved with pain, their bodies shrinking away from the world.

  They looked at Tim as if he were one of the demons.

  Tim’s heart clenched.

  “I am still Timotei,” he said, voice rough and raw from battle cries. Beneath the damage, beneath the agony, warmth flickered, a familiarity begging them to remember him.

  “Your friend. Your protector.”

  He lifted his hand. His armor shifted, peeling back to reveal the healing emitter beneath the plating. A soft hum filled the room. Blue light pierced the smoke, breaking through the darkness.

  He moved among them, steady and gentle. The light washed over their wounds, knitting broken bones, sealing torn flesh, easing pain where the world had offered none.

  The elves met his gaze. In their eyes he saw himself, sorrow, devastation, unspoken grief.

  His touch was more than healing.

  A silent apology.

  The survivors trickled back into the clearing, moving slowly, carefully, as if each step through the wreckage required more than strength, it required will.

  Tim stood at the remnants of the village well. His reflection warped in the water below, blurred by smoke and drifting ash. His hands moved on instinct, lowering a bucket, drawing water for those who needed it. His body worked, but his mind remained trapped in the storm of grief and determination.

  He had won the battle.

  But victory had never felt so hollow.

  As he turned, something glinted through the haze, a delicate shimmer catching the moonlight.

  He moved toward it, boots crunching against burned earth. He knelt, brushing away soot and embers.

  A necklace. The one he had crafted for Elora.

  His pulse thundered as he lifted it, cradling it in his palm. The woven vines. The intricate leaves. The metal still warm with memory.

  Untouched by fire.

  Untouched by destruction.

  As if waiting for him.

  His breath shuddered. He closed his fingers around it, gripping it too tightly, as though he could summon her back by sheer force of will.

  But the truth settled like a blade in his chest.

  She wasn’t here.

  He was alone.

  A wave of determination surged through him, burning away the numbness. She had to be out there. She had to be alive.

  He would find her.

  Tim rose and strode toward the gathering elves, every step sharp, decisive. He handed a water skin to a young warrior, their fingers trembling as they accepted it.

  “I seek Elor and Elora,” Tim said, voice firm despite the raw edge.

  The words hung heavy in the air.

  “Their absence is a storm in my heart. Did any of you see them?”

  The elves exchanged glances, hope, sorrow, uncertainty flickering across their faces. Tim’s grip tightened around the necklace, the vines pressing into his palm.

  One finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

  “They led the children and elders away. We stayed behind to fight. To cover their escape.”

  The words hit him like a blow.

  Elor had led them away and Elora had gone with him.

  They were still out there.

  Tim nodded slowly, gaze locked on the young warrior.

  “Thank you,” he said, voice hoarse but resolute. “So they are still out there.”

  He exhaled, steadying himself.

  In his heart, the fire reignited.

  He would find her.

  He had to.