Reaper of Iron and Blood

The inside of Bygrun Hold was as grim as I'd expected. What remained of the ceiling had long since collapsed, leaving jagged beams and broken stone jutting out like bones from a half-rotted corpse. Water dripped from cracks in the walls, pooling in uneven puddles that mirrored the faint, flickering light of torches jammed into crude sconces. The air was damp and heavy, and every step I took stirred up the smell of mildew and decay.

Skarnvalk's runes dimmed slightly as I moved farther into the ruins, the hammer seeming to draw in the atmosphere around it, as though preparing for what was to come. The mercenaries outside had been just the outer layer, the first test. I knew the deeper I went, the stronger the resistance would become. Varrik wouldn't leave his hoard unguarded.

The corridor led to a large chamber, the centrepiece of which was a raised dais. Atop it sat a stone pedestal carved with ancient, angular runes that glowed faintly with a sickly green light. Around the room, more mercenaries stood watch, their weapons drawn and their eyes fixed on the entrance. But it wasn't just hired muscle this time. I could feel it before I even stepped into the light—a presence, cold and invasive, pressing against the edges of my mind.

Standing on the dais, hunched over the pedestal, was a figure cloaked in tattered, rune-covered robes. He didn't look up as I entered, his fingers tracing the glowing runes on the stone as if memorising their shape. This had to be Varrik, the ruin hunter Corvin had warned me about. His aura was palpable, a mixture of ruin energy and something darker—something that didn't belong to any ruin master I'd ever heard of.

The guards stiffened as I approached, but I kept my steps slow and deliberate, Skarnvalk resting against my shoulder. "Varrik, I presume?" I called out.

The cloaked figure finally turned, and I caught a glimpse of his face. His skin was pale, almost waxy, and his eyes glowed faintly green, the same hue as the runes on the pedestal. He smiled, but it was the kind of smile you saw on a snake just before it struck.

"You've come a long way, dwarf," Varrik said, his voice smooth and calm. "I take it you're the one who made such a mess outside."

"I've made worse messes," I replied. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

Varrik's smile widened. "Do? I'll admit, you've disrupted my work. But you're just a blacksmith with a fancy hammer. This—" he gestured to the pedestal—"is far beyond you. Walk away now, and I might let you live."

I barked a laugh. "I've heard that one before. Let's skip the part where you pretend I have a choice and go straight to the part where I smash that thing into gravel."

The guards closed ranks, moving to block my path. Their faces were hard, determined. Varrik gestured idly, and I saw something shift in the shadows behind him. A shape, larger than any human, stepped into the torchlight. It was one of those things Corvin had described—twisted, unnatural, its flesh a patchwork of scars and metal plates. Its eyes glowed green, just like Varrik's.

"Meet my latest creation," Varrik said, his voice laced with pride. "A testament to what the forge-stone can do."

I tightened my grip on Skarnvalk and let the hammer's runes flare to life, their pale light cutting through the sickly green glow. "Nice toy," I said, rolling my shoulders. "Let's see if it breaks as easy as the others."

With a sharp motion from Varrik, the creature roared and charged. The guards moved to flank me, and the room erupted into chaos. Skarnvalk's runes burned brighter as I stepped forward, ready to turn this chamber into a blood-soaked anvil.

The creature came at me in a blur of muscle and metal, its roar reverberating through the chamber. It moved with a speed that belied its size, each step shaking the cracked stone floor. As it closed the distance, I swung Skarnvalk in a wide, brutal arc, the hammer's curved blade catching the light as it descended. The runes flared, casting their cold glow over the beast's twisted form.

Skarnvalk's head smashed into the creature's shoulder, the force of the blow cracking the metal plate that covered its flesh. It staggered, roaring in pain, but it didn't stop. It lunged again, claws raking through the air, and I barely managed to sidestep, the wind of its swipe brushing against my face.

I brought the hammer down again, this time aiming for the exposed joint beneath its chest plate. The impact sent a shockwave up my arms, and the creature reeled backward, its movements more erratic now. But it wasn't just the hammer doing the work—the runes etched into its surface flared brighter with each strike, their glow eating away at the sickly green light that surrounded the beast. Skarnvalk wasn't just breaking the creature's body; it was unraveling the corrupt energy that bound it.

The guards were on me next, their steel catching the torchlight as they rushed in. I spun, Skarnvalk cutting a vicious arc through the air. The curved blade at the hammer's top met a mercenary's sword, shattering it and sending shards flying. I followed up with a crushing blow to his chest, the runes glowing white-hot as they drove him to the ground. Another guard came at me from behind, his spear thrusting toward my back. I shifted Skarnvalk into my left hand and threw one of my rune-carved spikes with my right. The spike flew true, embedding itself in the man's throat before he could take another step.

There was no grace to it, no elegant choreography—just raw, brutal combat. Blood and black ichor slicked the floor, and the chamber echoed with the sounds of steel on steel and bone shattering under the hammer's weight. Every movement was calculated to break, to destroy, to end the fight as quickly as possible. Skarnvalk felt alive in my hands, each swing fueled by the weapon's will as much as my own.

The creature charged again, its massive arm sweeping down like a battering ram. I braced myself, driving Skarnvalk's butt into the floor and using the haft to deflect the blow. The impact sent me sliding back a few paces, my boots scraping against the stone, but I held firm. I stepped forward, planting my feet, and swung Skarnvalk upward. The curved blade bit into the creature's neck, carving through metal and sinew. The sickly green glow in its eyes flickered, then dimmed. It collapsed, its corrupted body crumbling into the dirt.

Varrik watched, his expression shifting from confident disdain to thinly veiled anger. "You're good," he said, his voice still calm but edged with something darker. "Better than I thought. But you're still just one man."

"Yeah?" I said, stepping over the creature's twitching remains. "And you're still just a pompous bastard playing with power you don't understand."

His smile returned, but it didn't reach his eyes. He raised a hand, and the runes on the pedestal flared. The air grew heavier, colder. A pulse of energy radiated outward, shaking the walls and extinguishing the torches. The chamber plunged into darkness, save for the green glow of the pedestal and the pale light of Skarnvalk's runes.

Varrik stepped down from the dais, his hands moving in intricate patterns, shaping runes in the air. "You've made it this far," he said, his voice rising above the hum of the runes. "Let's see if you're as good as they say."

I gripped Skarnvalk tighter, the hammer's hum turning into a steady vibration. "Oh, I'm better."

And then he attacked.

Varrik's runes lashed out first. Threads of green light spiraled toward me, twisting like snakes, their ends flaring with a hungry, sickly glow. The air around them felt heavy, oppressive, as if the energy itself wanted to crush me. I raised Skarnvalk in both hands, its runes blazing white-hot as I swung. The hammer carved through the tendrils, severing them with a flash of light and a crackling sound that made my teeth vibrate.

"You've been playing in the ruins too long," I growled, stepping forward. "You're not a ruin master—you're just a scavenger who found a bag of tricks."

Varrik's expression twisted into a snarl, and he snapped his fingers. More runes appeared, forming a latticework around his hands and feet. The lines flared, and in an instant he shot toward me, faster than any man had a right to move. I barely had time to swing Skarnvalk up in a defensive arc. His outstretched hand met the haft of my hammer, and the impact rang out like a bell. Sparks flew, and I felt the floor beneath us crack from the force.

The sheer power in his strike pushed me back, my boots scraping against the stone. Varrik grinned, his teeth sharp in the pale green light. "Not bad," he said. "But let's see how well you do without that hammer."

He moved again, his motions blurring, and suddenly he was at my side. I barely managed to twist away as his fist came down, cracking the stone where I'd just been. I swung Skarnvalk in a low arc, aiming for his legs, but he leapt back with inhuman agility, the runes on his feet flashing as he landed.

This wasn't a simple mercenary or a mindless creature. Varrik was a ruin hunter who'd clearly spent years steeped in the wrong kind of power. The runes he used were unstable, corrupted by the same green energy that flowed through the pedestal. But unstable or not, they were dangerous.

"Enough of your games," I snapped, driving forward with Skarnvalk raised high. The runes flared brightly, the hammer's curved blade slicing downward in a powerful, cleaving strike. Varrik crossed his arms in front of him, a shield of green light materialising just in time to absorb the blow. The shield shattered, sending shards of light scattering like broken glass, but he didn't fall.

He countered with a rune-covered dagger that seemed to appear out of nowhere. It came in fast, aiming for my ribs. I twisted and brought Skarnvalk's haft up just in time, the dagger's edge glancing off the rune-carved wood. The impact sent a shiver up my arms, but the hammer's runes flared brighter, feeding on the conflict.

I stepped into his guard, driving Skarnvalk's butt into his midsection. The force sent him stumbling back, but not far enough to give me the upper hand. He moved like a man possessed, his runes trailing faint, ghostly afterimages as he darted around me. Each attack came faster than the last—slashing, striking, forcing me to parry again and again. My muscles burned, sweat running down my face, but I held my ground.

Finally, I saw an opening. He lunged too far, overextending for a strike at my shoulder. I pivoted, bringing Skarnvalk down with all my strength. The hammer's curved blade bit deep into his rune-covered arm, cutting through the corrupted light like a knife through cloth. Varrik screamed, his energy flaring chaotically, and I followed up with a bone-crushing swing to his chest. He flew backward, crashing into the pedestal with a sickening thud.

For a moment, the chamber was still. Varrik slumped against the pedestal, blood seeping from his arm, his breathing ragged. The green glow of the pedestal began to flicker, unstable and fading. I stepped toward him, Skarnvalk still in hand, its runes pulsing in time with my heartbeat.

"Looks like you're out of tricks," I said coldly.

He coughed, his head lolling forward. "You… you don't understand what you're doing. If you stop me, they'll just send more. The Path never ends."

"Good," I replied, raising Skarnvalk for the final blow. "Let them come.

I kept my grip steady, Skarnvalk humming with anticipation. But just as I prepared to strike, the pedestal behind Varrik let out a low, ominous groan. Its green glow began to pulse erratically, and cracks spidered along its surface. Whatever energy he'd been channelling was now destabilising—fast.

Varrik laughed weakly, blood flecking his lips. "You think you've won? The Path isn't about one man. Kill me, and you'll just be the first to fall when they come."

I scowled. The pedestal's glow was growing brighter, more chaotic, and I could feel the pressure in the room shift. The air felt thick, heavy, as though the energy itself was about to collapse. If I smashed the pedestal now, it might unleash something worse than Varrik.

Time to get creative.

I stepped back, lowering Skarnvalk slightly, and quickly scanned the chamber. My eyes fell on the remnants of one of the broken statues by the entrance—specifically, the ancient iron chains that had once bound its arms. The metal was corroded, but it still held a faint trace of runework. Old bindings meant to keep something contained. I'd seen chains like those before, long ago, in the deep forges of Karaz Tarul.

Without wasting a moment, I darted toward the statue, wrenching a length of chain free. The iron links groaned, their ancient rune etchings flaring faintly as I dragged them across the chamber floor. Varrik watched me with a mix of confusion and rage, his voice hoarse. "What… what are you doing?"

"Improvising," I muttered.

I wrapped the chain around the pedestal, looping it tightly until the entire structure was encased. The ancient runes on the iron began to glow in response to the pedestal's chaotic energy, forming a crude containment field. It wasn't perfect—hell, it probably wouldn't hold forever—but it would buy me time to deal with Varrik without triggering a catastrophic meltdown.

The pedestal's glow dimmed slightly, the cracks stopping their spread. I let out a sharp breath. Good enough.

Varrik's expression shifted from confidence to fury as he realised what I'd done. "You can't stop it! You can't stop the Path!"

"Oh, shut up," I snapped, turning back toward him. "You're not the Path. You're just a small piece of it. And now you're a piece I'm going to break."

I approached him, hammer in hand, and swung Skarnvalk with precision. Not to kill him outright—no, that would be too easy. I brought the hammer's blunt side down on his remaining arm, shattering bone and rendering him helpless. He screamed, the sound echoing through the chamber, but I didn't flinch.

"You're going to talk," I said, my voice low and cold. "You're going to tell me everything about the Path. Who's next, where they're operating, and what their endgame is."

Varrik groaned, his head drooping as blood pooled beneath him. "I'll tell you nothing…"

I leaned in, pressing the curved blade of Skarnvalk close to his neck. The runes flared, casting a sharp light across his pale, sweat-slick face. "Oh, you'll talk," I said with a grim smile. "Because if you don't, I'll keep you alive just long enough to wish I hadn't."

His eyes darted around the room, no doubt realising there was no escape. The chain-wrapped pedestal pulsed steadily, the faint rune-glow reminding him of his failure. He was cornered, outmatched, and broken.

"Fine," he rasped. "I'll talk. But it won't do you any good. The Path is bigger than you. Bigger than anyone."

"Then start small," I said. "Tell me who to kill next."