CHAPTER 1586: STORY 1586: THE SHATTERSTORM

The horizon dissolved into movement—an ocean of faceless bodies, sliding forth from the fissures in endless silence. The land shook beneath their sheer weight, the glowing cracks webbing outward until the whole plain throbbed like a single wounded heart.

Kael’s blade-shard burned weakly in his hand, its light guttering like a dying star. He steadied himself, scars on his skin blazing brighter than the weapon itself. “Too many,” he muttered. “We’ll be buried.”

Elara pulled the boy close, clutching him so tightly her arms trembled. His glow flared against her chest, beating out of rhythm with her heart. She whispered into his hair, desperate: “Don’t let them take you. No matter what happens, stay mine.”

The widow pressed her torn palms flat against the ground. Heat roared up her arms, her body trembling with its pull. The fissures whispered to her without words, offering both power and hunger. Her eyes filled with firelight as she mouthed, It calls for blood.

The scarred woman spat on the earth, jabbing her broken spear into the glowing cracks. A ripple shot outward, and the ground split wider, belching up molten light that scattered the nearest faceless. She laughed savagely. “Then we’ll feed it until it chokes.”

The farmer struck his drum with both hands, each blow slower, heavier, reverberating through the fissures. The faceless nearest to him twitched as though the rhythm unraveled their balance. He changed the pattern, faster now, and half a dozen collapsed into heaps of shivering dust. But each strike drained him, his shoulders sagging, sweat pouring down his face.

Kael charged into the swarm, blade-shard raised. Every swing shattered bodies into cascades of shards, but each reformed taller, stronger, hungrier. His veins burned like molten fire, his voice breaking into a hoarse roar. “Come on, then! Break me and be broken with me!”

The boy wriggled free from Elara’s arms, stepping forward despite her cries. His glow built higher than before, jagged pulses stuttering like a broken heartbeat. The faceless turned as one, drawn to him, their hollow forms quivering in anticipation.

He screamed again—raw, unshaped fracture. This time the light didn’t just burst outward; it threaded into the fissures, racing across the entire land. Towers shuddered violently, their leaning bodies snapping into collapse, raining stone into the faceless horde. The earth itself seemed to scream in resonance.

The faceless shrieked soundlessly as cracks spread across their glasslike skins. One by one they shattered—not reforming this time, but unraveling into streams of star-lit dust that spiraled upward into the bleeding sky.

The Unborn’s whisper rippled through the storm of breaking forms, weaker, more furious:

“Fools. Each shatter unbinds me. Each fracture opens my cage. You do not win—you deliver me.”

The widow collapsed, blood dripping from her palms. She mouthed through shuddering lips: We’re freeing it.

Elara grabbed the boy, shaking him, tears streaming. “Stop! You’ll tear the world apart!”

But the boy’s glow did not fade. It pulsed harder, faster—until the land itself cracked wide with a deafening roar, spilling light like rivers of broken stars.

Kael turned, face half-lit, half-shadow. He spat grit from his mouth and lifted his blade again. “Then we’ll fight the world itself, if that’s what’s left.”

And the shatterstorm raged on.