Chapter 59: [WE NEED A PLAN]

“Caelen!” Eli’s voice tore through the choking dust, raw, desperate, sharper than the ringing that still screamed in his ears.

No answer.

’Shit. Fuck—fuck! Shit!’

“Caelen?! Are you—are you okay?!”

The silence pressed in, thicker than the priest’s looming shadow. His Danger Detection wasn’t shrieking anymore—but that was worse.

’He should’ve tanked that. He always tanks it… he’s fine. He’s—he has to be fine… right? …but that hit—’

Eli’s chest heaved, pulse hammering against his ribs like it wanted out. If Caelen wasn’t answering, there was only one explanation.

He was hurt. Badly.

Eli’s throat burned with the urge to look, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t. The gargoyles were still in front of him—stone claws frozen mid-strike, wings stretched wide, jaws agape. Inches away.

His instincts screamed that the moment his eyes slipped off them, they’d shred him alive.

Grinding his teeth, Eli shifted just enough to catch the edge of the crater in his peripheral.

Dust still swirled in heavy sheets, the fractured wall sagging inward where Caelen had been smashed.

The priest hadn’t moved since the strike. It loomed there, chain swaying in eerie rhythm, one hand slack at its side, the other half-curled against its chest. But its eyes—its eyes never left him.

Patient.

Calculating.

’Why? Why does it stop sometimes? Not hesitation—restraint. It’s like it’s bound by something. This isn’t random—it’s deliberate.’

“Caelen!” Eli shouted again, his voice cracking against the stone chamber.

Nothing. Just the groan of stressed rock.

Then—the rubble shifted.

The wall bulged outward. Broken stone tumbled down in a cascade of slabs, rolling across the fractured floor. Dust split apart as a figure forced himself upright, broad shoulders shaking free of debris.

A guttural groan rumbled low and sharp, echoing across the chamber. Pained—but alive.

Relief slammed through Eli so hard he nearly buckled, breath leaving him in a sharp gasp. His knees wanted to give.

’He’s alive. Thank god, he’s—’

Then he saw it.

And relief turned to dread.

“…Oh, fuck.”

Caelen rose slowly, every movement deliberate, heavy, dragging against gravity itself. Dust peeled from him in cascading sheets, and what it revealed wasn’t the familiar solidity of flesh and muscle.

Cracks.

Thin, jagged fractures scored his arms, carved across his collarbone, streaked along the side of his neck like splintered glass webbing out of control.

And from within those cracks—light.

Not blood. Not heat. Light.

Golden. Radiant. Blinding.

It bled through his skin in pulses, faint at first—then swelling, growing stronger, in rhythm with his breaths. Each inhale stretched the fractures wider, each exhale flared the radiance brighter, molten veins spreading like fire beneath glass.

The light wasn’t chaotic. It was controlled. Patterned. A design too precise, too flawless for chance. Lines etched themselves into him with every beat of his heart, tracing muscle and tendon, shaping his frame into something not human but divine.

Eli’s mouth went dry, eyes locked wide. His chest lurched with awe and fear colliding in equal force.

’This… this isn’t just damage. That’s—’

The Golden Aura Drive.

The divine engine that only manifested once Caelen’s body brimmed past its breaking point, pain and power fusing into radiance that could scour the battlefield clean.

It meant one thing.

Caelen had already stored enough damage to make the priest crumble into dust with one hit, if and only if, he hit the priest right.

“Caelen, how are you doing?” Eli’s voice cut across the chamber, sharp but steady—his gaze glued to the gargoyles frozen in front of him. His lungs burned, his throat raw, but his eyes could not slip away.

A ragged breath answered him first. Then Caelen’s voice, strained, gravel scraping in his tone.

“I…” He sounded heavier, dragged down by exhaustion. “I won’t be able to take any more hits. I’ve reached my limit. The next one—I’ll take it all. Full damage.” His words echoed through the chamber, rough and deliberate, carrying weight despite his fading strength.

Eli’s chest tightened. He’d known it was coming—he could hear it in Caelen’s voice, the pain buried under steel.

’So he really is at his breaking point…’

“Okay,” Eli muttered, forcing calm into his words, though his pulse thrashed in his throat. “Just a bit more. Attack him—but start avoiding, too. We wait for the perfect opening. We need one clean chance to make sure he crumbles and dies.”

For a moment, silence stretched. Then—boom. Heavy, pounding footsteps cracked against the fractured floor. Caelen was moving again. Charging.

The sound was like a war drum—each step carrying the weight of a man throwing himself at death with no hesitation.

The priest stirred. Its towering body leaned forward, chain-hand rising again, but this time its motions weren’t sluggish. The massive rosary swung up in a wide arc, stone links rattling like the grind of ancient gears.

The air vibrated.

Eli’s Danger Detection spiked instantly—white-hot, urgent.

“Caelen, from the right—!”

But Caelen was already leaping, boots kicking off from the fractured stone, a burst of dust exploding in his wake. He cut upward in a sharp arc, sword blazing in his grip.

The priest’s chain snapped downward to meet him, each bead moving with the weight of a collapsing building.

The two collided.

Steel screamed against stone. The impact thundered like lightning in Eli’s skull. Caelen’s blade dragged sparks as it clashed against the descending rosary, his body twisting midair as he deflected it just enough to shift its killing arc away from his chest.

The redirected bead slammed into the ground instead, erupting in a geyser of shattered stone.

Caelen landed low, knees bending to absorb the shock, golden cracks across his body flaring brighter at the force. He didn’t pause—he launched forward again, sword flashing with savage precision.

“Three cuts! Left arm! GO!” Eli shouted.

Caelen obeyed in perfect rhythm. His blade carved through the priest’s forearm in rapid succession—slash, slash, slash—chipping away stone chunks that rained down in a jagged storm.

The priest bellowed—not with sound, but with a deep, vibrating groan that rolled through the chamber walls.

Then its free hand swung.

“DOWN!” Eli roared.

Caelen dropped instantly, the priest’s massive palm whooshing overhead like a guillotine. The gust of displaced air alone was enough to whip Eli’s hair across his face and send rubble tumbling.

The priest’s strike cratered the floor behind Caelen, gouging it open like paper.

Eli grit his teeth, muscles rigid.

’One mistake and he’s gone. We cannot afford a mistake now.’

Eli’s lungs burned, every breath dragging like fire as he scanned the priest’s towering frame. His eyes darted over every swing of the chain, every grinding shift of its massive arms—desperate for a rhythm, a flaw, the smallest hesitation that could be exploited.

There had to be something.

A blind spot. A delay. Anything.

But then—his blood iced over.

Danger Detection spiked, not from the gargoyles, not from Caelen—From himself.

Again.

And then—movement.

The free hand. Once again, it moved towards Eli.

It snapped upward. Not sluggish. Not heavy. But fast. Blindingly, impossibly fast.

Coming for him.

’Too fast—fuck, it’s too fast—!’

Eli’s warning never left his throat.

A sudden blur of heat and steel seized his waist, clamping him tight. His stomach lurched, air ripped from his chest as the world tilted violently beneath him.

His boots left the cracked floor in a rush of dust and stone.

Caelen.

The hunter’s arm was wrapped around him, locking him in place as his body propelled them both backward in one clean, explosive leap.

Golden fissures crawled across Caelen’s skin, glowing brighter with every pulse, every strain of his muscles as they escaped.

“Got you.” Caelen mumbles.

The priest’s colossal palm obliterated the ground they’d just vacated. Stone erupted like shrapnel, shards slicing through the haze, the sound booming like a building collapsing in on itself.

The shockwave rattled Eli’s ribs, stealing his breath, his vision blurring from the violent lurch of motion.

Relief never came. He wanted to feel it—needed it—but the moment his brain caught up to Caelen’s hold, the sound hit him.

Grinding. Screeching.

Stone, moving.

Eli’s eyes snapped wide.

The gargoyles.

They surged forward in unison, no hesitation this time—fangs bared, claws carving fresh trenches in the fractured floor. Their stone wings snapped open, the gust of displaced air hitting Eli’s face like a storm.

And Caelen, burdened with Eli in his arms, couldn’t retreat. He had no choice. No distance. Only one path left—straight through.

The hunter’s golden cracks burned hotter, pulsing like molten fire beneath his skin. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing with battle-hardened fury as he faced the swarm head-on.

And the priest—

Stopped.

Its colossal hand froze mid-air, chain slack at its side, body going still as if petrified once more.

Waiting. A predator withdrawing, calculating, as if letting its minions strike first.

Eli’s throat scraped raw as he forced out the words. “That was close…”

His voice was a whisper, nearly drowned out by the thunder of approaching wings and gnashing stone teeth. His pulse roared in his ears.

“We need something—we have to figure something out.” His gaze clung to the gargoyles, frozen only under his stare, but every muscle in his neck ached from holding steady. “It targets you at random moments… and then it goes for me. I can’t protect myself, and you—” his words cracked, “—you can’t watch the gargoyles and the priest at the same time.”

’He’s right. We need a plan. A real one.’

But as Eli’s words trailed off, his eyes were already dragging upward—drawn against his will.

The priest was staring back at him.

Not Caelen. Not the frozen gargoyles.

Him.

’Has…it always been looking at me like that?’

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