Chapter 30:The Endless void
The sky trembled above the ruin, stained violet by stormlight, thunder like the slow turning of some colossal god's jawbones grinding stone to powder. The air was thick—alive—with static tension, as if the world itself had taken in a breath and was waiting, still and wide-eyed, for what would unfold.
Vera's boots dragged against the ancient flagstones as she staggered to a halt, eyes narrowed to slits. Her body stiffened, every muscle coiled like a drawn bowstring. "That—That's one of the Goblin Ancients," she breathed, but the words tore from her lips in a ragged rasp, louder than a scream, raw with disbelief and dread. In the same heartbeat, her sword was in her hand, steel unsheathed with a whisper that grew into a low, haunting hum. Runes ignited down its fuller in pulses of blue fire, ancient glyphs flickering like the heartbeat of a dragon.
She dropped into a low stance, her feet braced, cloak billowing behind her, every inch the soldier-scholar of the Seventh Storm. But the flicker in her eyes—panic edged with awe—betrayed what she couldn't say aloud. She recognized it. Not just the type, but the name.
Grem blinked at her in almost comic silence, yellow goblin eyes wide with surprise, pupils shrinking into tiny black pinpricks. He looked from her to me, then back, his mouth half-open as if to ask whether this was some kind of prank.
My heart stuttered. "Wait, hold up," I said, stepping closer to her side, voice low and disbelieving. "You're telling me you actually know what that thing is?" I pointed directly at the creature in question, who was now nervously adjusting his own oversized ears.
"That thing?" I repeated. "Right there?"
"Who doesn't?" Vera snapped, her grip tight on the sword's leather wrap.
"They're myth turned bone. Creatures more chaotic than Dragons, more unpredictable than even the basilisk's. Their potential is limitless—some say infinite. Ever-evolving. Forgotten horrors."
Her words crackled with tension, but her voice held no malice—only fear. Not fear of battle, but fear of reverence. The way one fears a god made manifest.
Grem's demeanor shifted like the wind catching fire. He gasped dramatically, placing a clawed hand to his chest. "M–me?" he choked, as if wounded. Then his shoulders straightened, and a smug, princely grin crawled across his face. "Yes! Me!" He strutted forward, chin raised so high he looked in danger of falling backward. "I am Grem! The Gilded Spawn of the Void Depths! The Eternal Enigma! The Velvet Glutton of All That Is Unseen!"
He twirled mid-step like a circus ringmaster, arms spread wide to display his full goblin glory. "See, Wicked Master!" he cried toward me. "Behold! Finally, a woman with eyes worthy of gazing upon my resplendence!"
Before I could muster a response, Grem's eyes snapped to Vera's—dark, calculating—and his voice dropped into something eerily solemn. "You," he said, voice low and echoing in the now-silent courtyard, "have awakened the Lightning Physique."
Vera blinked, taken aback. "Wait—what?"
Grem didn't answer. Instead, he dropped with sudden precision into a cross-legged posture on the flagstones, like a monk preparing for ritual. Then, with a flick of his claw, space itself tore behind him. The air split down the middle like silk being ripped, exposing a spinning vortex: a void rift, jagged at the edges and seething with the scent of ozone and burnt blood.
Without hesitation, he plunged his arm in.
Out flew a rust-eaten helmet, a glass jar full of squirming, semi-luminous eyeballs, a withered hand clutching an extinct coin. Then—
"Aha!" he roared, dragging forth a weapon taller than himself. The katana gleamed, its blade pure obsidian black, yet pulsing with inner light—veins of lightning crackling within as though the storm had been captured and imprisoned inside. The hilt was wrapped in scaled sinew, slick and warm, and even from ten paces away, I felt it breathing.
The moment Grem lifted it clear of the rift, the world shifted. The sky moaned. Air pressure plummeted. skin broke into gooseflesh. She felt something move—something ancient—behind the clouds.
He turned and walked with impeccable grace toward Vera.
She didn't budge. Her blade, still drawn, now crackled with lightning of its own. Her new physique was reacting to the katana like a tuning fork to its source. Her hands trembled not from fear, but from a current running through her soul itself. The blade she held was humming in resistance, defiant. She was a conduit, the storm her marrow.
"For you," Grem said gently. "A gift. Recognition for your wisdom."
Lightning split the sky.
A bolt fell like a divine spear—but Grem had already moved. Then another. And another. He danced between them like a waltz, never stepping twice in the same place. Child's play.
In the blink of an eye, he appeared beside her and tapped the flat of her sword.
CRACK—KRAKOOOOM!
Her blade shattered, fragmented into five molten shards that rocketed into the air like angry stars. A wave of pure energy burst from the core, knocking dust into clouds and throwing small stones from their roots.
When it cleared, Grem stood exactly where he had been, not even his nose hair ruffled. He exhaled calmly.
"Scrap metal," he muttered. "Unfit for you. Stunted your glory."
Vera stood frozen, hands gripping empty air. Her breath hitched, chest rising and falling with tremors, her wide eyes reflecting the sword he now held out. But beyond the shock, I saw it—underneath everything—the blooming of awe. Her lips parted slightly. Her shoulders lowered. That blade called to her.
Grem bowed so low it was ridiculous, then rose with a grin that showed far too many teeth. "This one," he whispered, "belongs to you. Feed it well."
The katana purred in his hand.
It knew her.
And then—Vera didn't take it. I did.
"Hahaha, wonderful!" I clapped, stepping forward and lifting the weapon from his hands. The energy bit into my palm. "Antrushiba. The Lonely Path of the Sword," I murmured reverently, feeling the name echo in my blood.
"MASTER, DROP THAT!" Grem shrieked, eyes bulging as he leapt and clawed it from me.
"Before your other weapon eats it! You lunatic!"
Even as he snatched the blade, the gauntlet on my left arm woke.
Metal peeled out like petals unfolding. The black gauntlet surged up past my elbow, throbbing, pulsing. The air chilled.
"I remember the stars Gt when they bled. Feed me, and I will remember you too." came its voice. Spoken. Audible.
Everyone heard it.
Grem skittered back three paces. "H-How much blood have you given that thing!?" he hissed.
I stared down at the gauntlet. Its surface shimmered like wet stone. I flexed my fingers and felt it groan in hunger. "Just a few bodies," I said casually.
"But, Grem," I turned toward him, voice tightening, "you made these weapons. Why do they posses life?"
Grem's eyes widened.
"He can sense it?" Grem murmured. "Even Thorax couldn't. Not even your ancestor…"
He swallowed, then straightened. "Yes. I made it. And others like it. But that gauntlet… that one was never meant to exist. It was born wrong. It's not just a weapon—it craves. Flesh. Steel. Blood. Souls. Anything."
In my head, Vivi spoke, her voice low and laced with knowing dread.
"He speaks the truth. That gauntlet… it devours everything. Weapons are meant to destroy other weapons. But this one? It consumes both flesh and forge alike."
Grem nodded solemnly. "Your ancestor feared it. Refused to wear it. But you—" he snorted softly, "—you're a lunatic."
He thrust the katana back into Vera's hand.
Vera blinked, like someone reentering her body after an out-of-body vision. She hadn't moved during the exchange, only listened, heart thudding. No one had ever trusted her enough to speak openly, let alone of such powerful relics. And yet here these two stood, talking secrets as if she were kin.
Why? she wondered. Why we were so… comfortable?
She looked down at the blade now in her grasp. The grip warmed beneath her touch, as though it recognized her soulprint. She traced a finger down the carved line of ancient script along the flat of the blade. Every symbol shimmered, not with magic, but with memory.
"This… is beautiful."
For the first time in years, a weapon had been given to her—not assigned, not earned—but given. By choice. By respect.
And for the first time, she didn't want to let go. Not of it. Not of him.
The gauntlet pulsed. The storm above rolled. And Vera, still as stone, whispered not aloud but inside her chest:
"With him, my soul is still. Let them come.
No one would harm me again."