Single for Eternity
Chapter 118: An Eye

Chapter 118: An Eye

The massive figure finished emerging from the glyph, its grotesque form crackling with eldritch energy.

As its clawed limbs scraped across the bone-laden earth, it released a piercing, distorted scream that fractured the silence—a cry so unnatural it sent tremors through the very fabric of the aether.

The scream wasn’t merely sound. It was felt—in the lungs, in the bones, in the soul.

Seren’s crimson eyes flicked toward the boy beside her, her breath shallow from fatigue and frost. Her lips quivered—half with restrained anger, half with grim amusement.

"You ran," she said coldly, her voice tight with both accusation and relief. "Why are you here now?"

Einar rubbed the back of his neck, offering a sheepish smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I mean... I needed a breather. I did fight a lot before all this."

Seren’s expression didn’t soften. Her gaze returned to the battlefield littered with corpses, many of them still twitching with residual necrotic energy. She swept her sword to the side, flicking off frozen blood.

"A lot of people died," she said sharply. "Maybe you could’ve saved them."

Einar didn’t flinch. His shoulders rose in a casual shrug. "Didn’t know them. And let’s be honest—what if I stayed and got killed too?" His tone was light, but beneath it was an edge. "Dead heroism doesn’t mean much."

Seren stared at him, searching for something—disappointment, perhaps. But instead, a faint, sardonic smile tugged at her lips.

"You came back anyway. What now, then?" she asked. "You came for me?"

Einar’s eyes drifted to the towering Horror, its skeletal wings unfurling like a cathedral of death. Then he looked back at her.

"No," he said plainly, shaking his head. "I couldn’t find a way out. So I figured... helping you is the only way I survive this mess. You’re the strongest one left standing."

It was brutally honest.

And Seren appreciated that.

No flowery lies.

No pretenses.

Just cold logic.

She exhaled slowly, her breath misting in the chilled air. Her gaze returned to the abomination, its maw stretching impossibly wide, limbs twitching like puppets on frayed strings.

"Then let’s get it done," she said simply.

Einar grinned, more fiercely now. "Yeah. Let’s do this."

Crimson aether exploded from his body, wild and untamed. It crackled along his limbs, coalescing into the shape of a weapon—a jagged, organic blade pulsing with chaotic life.

His Symbiote, born of chaos and survival, snarled as it fused to his hand like a living gauntlet.

Beside him, Seren raised Dissonance. The silvery blade shimmered, and with a single flick, it ignited with pure, resonant aether—light and tone converging into brilliance.

Cold winds gathered around her, sharp as razors.

The ground trembled as the Horror moved again, its massive body dragging a tide of corrupted aether with it.

Bones cracked under its weight. The sky above darkened further, the glyphs above shifting in response to the looming clash.

They didn’t hesitate.

Seren and Einar stepped forward at the same time, their movements synchronized not by training, but by shared resolve.

Then—they ran.

Two streaks of color and intent.

Red and silver.

Chaos and stillness.

Shadow and defiance.

They charged straight toward the horror, blades raised, voices silent.

The monster took a step forward. Its grotesque mouth opened once more—not to scream, but to speak.

What came out wasn’t a word, but a chorus of death rattles and distorted memories, thousands of voices compressed into one.

It lunged.

The ground shattered beneath it. The sky flickered above. And then—

Einar and Seren moved.

He darted left, skidding through the bone-drenched field with reckless momentum, his chaotic blade dragging behind him and tearing gouges in the earth.

Seren leapt high, spinning through the air like a comet, Dissonance flashing arcs of silver light as she descended.

The creature’s claws lashed out—one toward each of them.

Einar ducked beneath his, twisting mid-slide and flinging a surge of chaotic energy upward.

The blast didn’t follow a trajectory—it curved, warped, and bent space itself before slamming into the monster’s limb.

The claw spasmed, turning inward briefly before snapping back into place.

Seren, in midair, dodged hers with a pirouette, slashing across the joint and leaving behind a trail of fracturing aether.

Upon landing, she pivoted and struck again—once, twice, thrice—each movement like a note in a melody of death.

But the creature barely flinched.

It roared again, this time with true fury. Its body twisted unnaturally, a new limb sprouting from its back—an elongated appendage made of overlapping skulls, screaming as it whipped toward Einar.

Einar caught the attack with his blade, chaos meeting chaos. The impact blasted him backward, skidding through bone and ash—but he remained standing, grinning through a bloodied lip.

"Okay," he said, rotating his neck with a crack. "Now it’s getting fun."

The sky cracked above them—the undead glyph still pulsing. Malthorn stood at the far end, arms crossed, watching like a conductor admiring the crescendo of his orchestra.

Seren dashed toward Einar, landing beside him. "Got a plan?"

"Yeah," he muttered. "Hit it harder."

Seren didn’t argue.

Together, they surged again—light and shadow, steel and storm.

But neither of them noticed—

Far above, high beyond the glyph—

Something else was moving.

Watching.

A second presence. Not Malthorn’s. Not the beast’s.

Something ancient.

Waiting.

The clouds pulsed—

And an eye blinked open.

...

Above the battlefield—a realm already twisted by death and aether—a single, massive eye blinked open amidst the swirling clouds.

It was not formed of flesh or bone, nor of magic or metal, but something far older. Something primordial.

It observed.

And it waited.

Below, Einar and Seren continued their onslaught, a blur of silver and chaos striking against the abomination born of Malthorn’s glyph.

Each blow reverberated across the field, carving craters in the earth, spraying shattered bone into the air. But no matter how many limbs they severed, how many wounds they carved—it kept reforming.

The creature was regenerating.

Worse still, it was learning.

Seren’s third strike, a spinning arc of aetheric brilliance, was caught. The abomination’s tendrils wrapped around her blade mid-swing.

Before it could pull her in, a blast of chaotic energy slammed into its torso—Einar, panting and bloodied, emerged from a haze of smoke with his symbiotic blade thrumming in his grip.

"Don’t die," he said, flicking a glance at her. "You have to defeat the horror first."

"I don’t plan to die," Seren replied coldly, wrenching her sword free. "I still have a lot of things to accomplish."

Their banter masked the tension. Both of them were running on fumes.

Einar’s Chaos was volatile—it fought him as much as it fought for him. Each swing chipped away at his mind, and already, black veins of distorted aether were spidering across his arms.

Seren, for all her precision and mastery, was wounded—her arm still bore the rot Malthorn’s earlier spell had inflicted, and her movements were slowing, ever so slightly.

The creature surged again. Now faster. Now crueler.

It split its body into two halves—one lunging toward Einar, the other toward Seren. A feint. A trap.

Einar responded first—launching himself into the sky with a chaotic burst that shattered the terrain beneath him. He flipped, twisted in midair, and drove his blade downward in a reverse arc.

Seren didn’t back down either—she sprinted into the second half’s strike, sliding beneath it and unleashing a horizontal slash that cut deep into its core. Silvery aether cascaded behind her like a comet trail.

The creature screamed.

For the first time—it reeled.

But then...

It laughed.

A low, wet, gurgling sound like multiple voices choking on their own tongues.

Its body pulsed—and from its back, new appendages burst forth.

Too many.

They twisted, curled, reached out not to strike—but to consume.

The air itself began to break apart—like reality was being unraveled.

Einar landed hard beside Seren, barely dodging one of the writhing limbs.

"Okay," he said, breath ragged. "We might be in trouble."

Seren clenched her jaw. "Understatement."

Then they both felt it.

Something cold. Ancient. Watching.

They turned their heads skyward—both squinting through the chaos-churned sky.

The eye.

It gazed down upon them, unmoving, yet filled with purpose.

Einar froze.

Something deep inside him shivered. Not from fear—but recognition.

"...That thing," he whispered. "It’s not with Malthorn."

Seren’s voice dropped. "Then what is it?"

Before he could answer, the glyph above the battlefield cracked.

Not shattered—cracked—as if something unseen had pressed against it from the outside.

And then—

The eye moved.

It shifted from side to side, then fixated solely on Einar.

A pulse of soundless noise boomed through the sky, and a fragment of dark light descended from above—neither solid nor energy, but essence. It struck Einar squarely in the chest.

He staggered.

The Chaos inside him flared—roared—and then fell silent.

His blade stilled.

The black tendrils retreated.

And in that silence... a new symbol etched itself into his left palm.

A swirling glyph. Resembling neither death nor life.

But both—Ouroboris.

Seren stepped closer. "Einar—what the hell was that?"

He stared at his hand.

"I don’t know."

The abomination screamed again and charged.

Seren tensed.

Einar didn’t.

Instead, his body moved on its own.

No excess motion. No wasted breath.

He raised his blade—calmly.

And cut.

The attack never landed.

Instead, a rippling distortion cleaved the monster’s path in two—not through sheer force, but by removing its momentum from existence. As if the very concept of movement was denied.

The creature’s limbs tumbled to the ground in chunks, unable to reform.

Seren’s eyes widened. "What was that?"

Einar didn’t answer.

He wasn’t smiling anymore.

The eye in the sky slowly blinked.

And for a heartbeat—the world itself paused.