Chapter Twenty-Six:

  “Holding the Line”

  The Hall of Whispers held its silence.

  Lanterns swayed on quiet chains, their flames flickering with the weight of unspoken prayers. Outside, the drums had started—the slow, steady rhythm of war rolling through the stone like a heartbeat growing louder. It was not a just a summons. It was a countdown.

  Haru spun one of his daggers between his fingers, the metal catching the dim light. "Anyone else feel like we should’ve gotten paid in advance for this?"

  Kei snorted, leaning on his claws. "You’re assuming we live to collect."

  Kaori shifted against a pillar, arms crossed. "Maybe don’t jinx us before the blood starts flying."

  Akira stood in silence, his katana already drawn. Its edge rested against his palm, like a memory he no longer questioned. "Superstition? Didn’t take you for the type."

  Takeshi flexed his shoulders, his fur bristling. "Superstition’s a blade. Better to carry one than walk unarmed."

  Rai checked the pins on her war fan, then exhaled slowly. Her voice was calm steel. "The time for nerves has passed. Focus now."

  John said nothing at first. He looked around the circle—Players, warriors, fighters forged by fire and grief. Not one of them untouched. Not one of them backing down.

  "We stand," he said simply, "or we fall."

  Yumi glanced over, her expression tight but sure. Foxfire curled around her knuckles. "Then let’s make sure we stand. Yeah?"

  The wind swept through the corridor, sharp and sudden. It rattled the lanterns and bent the flames sideways. A breath from the world outside.

  They moved.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Not with shouts. Not with speeches.

  Just the quiet certainty of people who knew the next steps would cost them everything.

  They stepped forward.

  And the fire went with them.

  The corridor exploded with noise.

  Corrupted surged from the smoke, their twisted forms glistened with a tar-like sheen, as if oozing from within. Their flesh cracked in luminous fault lines, leaking pulses of dark violet light. Eyes like burning coins, mouths stretched wide in soundless shrieks. Some still wore pieces of armor from lives long gone—fragments of clans and memories that no longer belonged to them.

  "Form up!" John shouted, Twin Fangs already burning with light. "Hold the line!"

  Takeshi and Kaori took the front, shoulder to shoulder. Their blades flashed through the dark, anchoring the center. Haru and Kei flanked left, their speed a blur of steel and claw. Rai’s fan caught the wind and carved a wide arc of space. Akira moved like a ghost behind them all—cutting only when it counted.

  Somewhere above, RW’s flame flared once—watching, bearing witness.

  The corrupted swarmed, a tide of limbs and shrieking malice. John and Yumi fought back to back in the heart of the formation—his Twin Fangs carving arcs of silver fire, her foxfire lashing out like chains of light. They moved in rhythm, instinct over thought, covering each other’s blind spots without a word. The defenders did not break.

  Haru's daggers danced, cutting into joints and throats, moving too fast for the eye to follow. Kei stayed low, slashing tendon and knee, his body a blur of motion and restraint. Rai struck high, then vanished. Kaori tackled a shrieking brute head-on, taking it down in a crash of claws and blade.

  A dozen fell. Then two dozen.

  But more came.

  John parried three strikes in quick succession, one of the blades sparking off his shoulder plate. Yumi moved beside him, foxfire flaring as she scorched an incoming crawler into ash.

  "They just keep coming!" Haru called out. “We need a breach!”

  Kaori’s voice rang out. “Takeshi!”

  Takeshi and Kei met eyes. No words passed between them.

  Kei nodded once. “Clear a path.”

  Takeshi stepped forward with a growl. His spear surged with spectral light, and in the next moment, the entire frontline buckled under his weight. He cleaved through four enemies with one motion, breaking their advance.

  “Now!” he roared.

  Kei launched into the gap, flames igniting along his claws. One after another, the corrupted fell back, scattering as the two carved a burning corridor through the darkness.

  "Move!" Rai commanded.

  The rest of the group surged through the path left behind—John, Yumi, Akira, Kaori, Haru.

  Behind them, the walls shook.

  Takeshi glanced back only once. “This is our choice,” he said.

  Kei bared his fangs. “Make it count.”

  They turned to face the tide.

  And held.

  The group pressed on. But the sounds behind them—Takeshi’s roars, Kei’s fire, the chorus of steel—faded one by one, swallowed by distance, and the dark.

  No one looked back.

  They couldn't.

  Because they already knew.

  Takeshi and Kei were gone.

  And the front was still ahead.