He couldn't hesitate any longer. Every second counted, and the horde was already beginning to regroup.
"I'm going." Gaël's voice sliced through the air, sharp with resolve. "I'll take the alley over there."
Kaëlan stepped forward, his shield already raised.
"I'm coming with you..." A firm grip stopped him cold. Cassandre had seized him by the collar, her steely gaze silencing any protest before it could leave his lips.
"No. You're staying with me." Her voice allowed no argument. "Rai, back to the rooftops. Hold the high line with Astraéa. Kaien, go with that reckless youth," she added, nodding toward Gaël, who was already sprinting toward the alley he intended to defend. "I'd prefer to bring him back to the Academy in one piece."
Kaien raised an amused eyebrow and smiled.
"He won't get a scratch, ma'am." A wink later, he dashed off, his coat flaring in the wind as he moved to cover Gaël's back.
By the time Gaël reached the second access to the lower city, the dark tide had surged once again, flooding the narrow streets like a starving wave. To his left, the third street was nothing but a slaughterhouse. Corpses, both human and Infested, carpeted the ground in a grotesque tableau. Some creatures were already scaling the barricades, tearing the iron gate from its rusted hinges, infiltrating the city's arteries like poison seeping through veins.
But most of the abominations surged straight toward Gaël, drawn to him like moths to a hidden flame, as if his Tranchant shone for them with an invisible, irresistible light.
They could feel his blade, its cut, its fracture.
And yet, just as the jaws of death were about to close in, silhouettes emerged from the ashen mist, where the alleys faded into shadow.
Warriors. Massive blades slung with swagger, worn like declarations of defiance. They stepped in without hesitation, crashing into the horde with brutal efficiency, no flair, no mercy. Their battle cries tore through the night like lightning across a storm-filled sky, screams of defiance, of rage, of existence.
"Brothers of Fenrir, with me!" one of them roared, his voice ringing out like a hammer on an anvil.
Gaël's breath caught for the briefest of moments.
"The Brothers of Fenrir… Brann's imitators."
Those who had taken his name as a banner. Who either revered him... or parodied him. But Gaël had no time to dwell on it. The horde was already regrouping, more furious than before.
He tightened his grip on his sword. His heart beat like a war drum, each pulse echoing through his palms. The invisible weight of responsibility pressed down on him, a burden he could no longer ignore.
He was a swordbrother. One of the few warriors fated to fight the spawn of the Black Moon. He could not shine less than the others.
The moment stretched. The world wavered, and Gaël felt the Severance sing through him. He drew a deep breath, letting his mind attune to the resonance of the perfect cut.
Then he struck.
His crude blade sliced through the air in a clean arc, a white line flaring in the night. The steel met no resistance… and the shadow collapsed. A creature with a twisted frame toppled backward, cleaved by a single precise stroke, its body unraveling with a shriek that tore at the silence.
A shiver ran through the ranks of the new defenders. The Brothers of Fenrir had seen it.
One of the warriors, his face streaked with blood and sweat, stared at Gaël with a mix of disbelief and awe. His grin stretched into a fierce expression, teeth bared in the heat of battle.
"Nice cut." He spun his weapon once in his hand, watching the fleeting glint of black blood drip along the edge of his blade. "Didn't know we had a Brother of Fenrir already stationed here."
'I'm not one of you,' Gaël wanted to say, but held his tongue.
The man's eyes lingered on Gaël's stance, the poised tension in his limbs, the precision in his strike.
"But you're not alone anymore. Your blade's still raw, but that cut…" He inhaled deeply, something strange flickering in his gaze. "For a moment, I thought I saw the legend."
With a leap, he hurled himself forward. His blade tore through the air in a sweeping arc, a brutal trajectory of raw steel. The impact rang out like thunder, sending dark shards scattering through the hazy alleyway. A creature crumpled beneath his strike, torn apart in a grotesque, twisting dance. And yet, despite the precision, despite the power behind it… something was missing. And Gaël knew what it was.
It wasn't the Severance.
But there was no time to dwell. A crawling tide surged toward them, teeth, limbs, shadows, a black sea intent on devouring everything in its path. Even the space around them seemed to shrink beneath the pressure of its coming.
Kaien was there beside him, his blade tracing tight, rapid arcs in a deadly dance. His breath came fast, his eyes blazing with an eager, reckless fire.
"Things are heating up," he said with a crooked grin, sweat streaking his flushed face. He nodded toward the shifting darkness ahead. "Alpha's on the move."
And Gaël felt it, something was approaching.
Not just a threat. A presence.
It moved with the weight of a verdict already rendered, slow and implacable. The air thickened, saturated with unseen tension. Even the shadows recoiled. Even the Brothers of Fenrir, those fearless warriors, froze, breath held, muscles locked.
A shape emerged from the moving gloom, its body swaying like a mirage caught between two realities, blurred, imprecise, untouchable. This was no longer a beast. No longer merely Infested. Not even a typical Altered.
No… this was an Altered at the threshold. A creature of in-between, teetering on the edge where monstrosity brushes against awareness. One step further… and it would become an Hollowborn.
A cold chill coiled down Gaël's spine.
Then, silence fell, heavy as lead.
Gaël tightened his grip on his blade. His fingers, stiff with tension, trembled, not from fear, but from clarity. He understood exactly what this meant.
This fight was his.
His trial.
His own threshold.
And deep within, he knew, with terrifying certainty: if he fell here, now… it wouldn't be just his life extinguished.
The entire city might fall with him.