Shattered mask

The sound came first.

Heavy. Wet. Wrong.

Six shapes emerged from the darkness at the far side of the shattered bridge—slouched figures with twitching limbs, their hollow sockets gleaming with that same distorted light. Dreadspawn. Six of them.

They hadn't jumped yet. Not yet. But they could.

And they would.

Riven's breath hitched. His leg pulsed with fire, every heartbeat thudding in the wound like a drumbeat of death. He leaned against the jagged wall, blood seeping from beneath the cracked edge of his mask.

The Phantom turned her head sharply, violet eyes narrowing beneath her own veiled helm. She took one step back, gauging the distance from where they stood on this side of the broken span to the approaching threat on the other.

"Can you run?" she asked.

Her voice was calm, but this time... not cold. There was urgency in it. Frustration. A crack in the mask she always wore.

Riven looked up at her through the blur of pain and sweat. His lips curled in a snarl.

"What do you think?" he snapped. "Want me to grow wings?"

The Phantom said nothing.

Behind them, one of the Dreadspawn tilted its head too fast. Its limbs spasmed like a marionette's, and then it let out a long, guttural groan that felt like laughter.

Not real laughter. But it felt like it was laughing.

And that was worse.

The Phantom moved.

She didn't argue. She didn't hesitate.

She threw a shard behind them—salvaged from the earlier battle. It embedded into the cracked stone where the old bridge's remains jutted into their side. A second later, the air hummed. Faintly.

The core detonated.

Not with flame, but with a pulse of concussive force that sent dust and shards cascading into the void. The impact widened the gap between the bridge's two halves, stalling the Dreadspawn for precious seconds.

Then she grabbed Riven.

He shouted in surprise as she hoisted him over her shoulder like a sack of bloodied iron. Pain flared again. His hand twitched toward his sword, but she was already running.

Stone blurred beneath them. Columns passed. The walls wept dust.

Riven hated it. Hated being carried. Hated the weakness. Hated the way his breath came ragged, helpless.

But the sounds behind them grew louder.

Scraping. Clicking. Footsteps—faster than footsteps should be.

And then—

A whisper from Riven through clenched teeth. "Wait… wait. One of them. The arm. You saw it, right? Spear-shaped bone. Sharp as shit."

She didn't slow.

"Cut it off next time," he hissed. "I'll use it."

Still, she said nothing. But a glance flickered down to him. Just for a moment.

A claw slammed into the wall beside them—too close. One of the Dreadspawn had jumped. Not all six. But enough.

This was no longer an escape. It was a hunt.

The bridge was gone now. This was the old city approach, half-collapsed. It narrowed.

Then—light.

Faint. Sickly. But light.

A ruined archway stood ahead, the gate to the outer edge of the City of Silence. Its spires loomed beyond, silent and waiting.

The Phantom didn't stop.

She burst through the arch just as a Dreadspawn lunged—and the stone behind them collapsed with its weight.

They tumbled forward, rolling across broken marble.

Silence returned.

Riven lay on the ground, coughing. His mask buzzed faintly as his body shook from the pain.

The Phantom stood still for a moment, her back turned to the shattered entry. Then slowly, she looked down at him.

Riven raised a bloody hand, gritting through his teeth.

"Next time," he muttered, "I'm bringing my own damn spear."

She didn't respond.

The City of Silence had welcomed them.

And it was watching.