The Essence Flow

Chapter 177: Breathing Down Their Necks

Deyar's breath came in visible puffs as he swiped a forearm across his brow, his muscles burning with exertion. The air around him crackled with residual cold, remnants of his last glacial barrier now reduced to puddles and slush underfoot.

He should have been the perfect counter to this invasion.

Years of rigid discipline—of waking before dawn to freeze waterfalls mid-cascade, of sculpting ice bridges over molten rock—had honed him into a master of terrain control. Against a horde? He could have flooded the courtyard in permafrost, trapping every last wolf in a forest of frozen statues.

But now?

His Essentia pooled shallow in his veins, drained from hours of clashing with Jyn in their usual midnight spar. Across the battlefield, Jyn looked no better—his lightning flickering weakly between strikes, his usual cocky smirk replaced by gritted teeth.

They still fought. Of course they did.

Deyar's boot slid back as a wolf lunged, his dagger of ice forming a heartbeat too slow—the blade shattered on impact, forcing him to pivot and drive his knee into the beast's ribs instead.

Jyn's spear of lightning impaled another, but the bolt fizzled mid-air, leaving the wolf twitching but alive—forcing a second, messier strike.

Every movement was calculated, conservative, their usual flamboyant techniques pared down to brutal efficiency.

(Should've rested.) Deyar thought bitterly, watching another wave emerge from the treeline.

(But where's the fun in that?)

Jyn’s fist caved in a wolf’s skull, the impact sending cracks through its corrupted bone. His lightning, usually a storm contained in his veins, now barely flickered across his knuckles—just enough to make the creature jolt, not enough to fry it to ash.

"Okay…" He sucked in a sharp breath, kicking another beast back. "I definitely didn’t have ‘Corruption’ on my academy bingo card tonight."

Deyar’s ice spears erupted from the ground, their edges razor-sharp but sluggish, missing the lethal precision he was known for. A wolf impaled itself through the shoulder instead of the heart, still snarling as it dragged itself forward.

"We should’ve stopped when we saw those weapon-crazed students," Deyar muttered, wiping frost from his brow. His Essentia was running on fumes, each spear smaller than the last.

Jyn barked a laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Yeah, that was our first clue this wasn’t just some dumb rebellion."

Deyar’s jaw tightened. They’d expected chaos. Maybe even bloodshed. But this?

The barrier falling.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Corruption spreading like a plague.

It made no sense. For years, the Corruption had been dormant, contained to the blighted wastelands of Solaris—a graveyard kingdom no one dared touch.

And now it was here.

Breathing down their necks.

The infirmary hallway should have been safe.

Elliot’s arm hooked under Lyris’ uninjured shoulder, supporting her weight as they moved. Her breath came in shallow hitches, the fabric around her wound sodden and dark.

Then—snarls erupted from the shadows.

Wolves poured from side corridors, their violet-veined muscles twitching under mangy fur.

Elliot shoved Lyris behind him

, his body crackling to life with arcs of blue-white lightning.(Where the hell did these come from?)

His fist smashed forward, a Thunder-Strike so concentrated it pierced clean through the first wolf’s skull—then kept going, impaling two more in a grisly line. The smell of ozone and burnt flesh filled the air.

(Corrupted animals…) His mind raced. (Only read about these in histories of the Corruptor Era.)

A memory flashed—Stoneveil’s labs, the Circle’s twisted experiments on humans.

(Did they try it on beasts too?)

(And worse… did it work?)

Behind him, Lyris gripped her injured arm, fingers trembling. "Elliot, I can—"

"You’re injured." His voice left no room for argument, even as he pivoted, his next strike caving in a wolf’s ribcage.

Lyris watched, her lips parting slightly.

(I knew he was strong… but this—?)

Every movement was brutal precision, his lightning domain never wavering, his breaths still even. The wolves fell like wheat before a scythe.

(He lives up to the stories… and then some.)

Elliot's internal lightning crackled one final time, searing through the last wolf's skull. The creature collapsed—again—its body twitching unnaturally even in death.

This was the second time he'd put them down.

And they'd still gotten back up.

"They're sending a message," Elliot muttered, his voice low and grim. His eyes tracked the violet veins pulsing sluggishly in the wolves' corpses. "Letting the world know exactly what they can do now."

Lyris stepped closer, her injured arm cradled against her chest. "So the Circle of Ourothan is real," she murmured. "I thought they were just a cult—some fanatics who vanished when the Corruptor fell."

Elliot's jaw tightened. "Yeah."

A beat of silence.

"I've... encountered them before."

He didn't elaborate. Didn’t mention that Towan and him almost died a couple times against them.

Sylra blurred through the academy grounds, her feet barely touching the earth as wind coiled around her like a second skin. The labyrinthine halls would’ve slowed her down—so she cut straight through the training yard, where the open space usually meant uninterrupted speed.

But tonight, the yard was a slaughterhouse.

Wolves packed the dirt field, their matted fur bristling with unnatural energy, violet veins pulsing beneath their skin like infected roots.

(Where the hell did all these come from?!)

Her hand slashed sideways, and a scythe of wind split the pack in two, sending limbs and gore spraying across the sand. Another flick of her wrist, and a gale-force kick shattered a wolf’s skull mid-leap, the impact echoing like a cannon shot.

(This isn’t right.)

She wasn’t struggling. Far from it. Every movement was lethal grace, her wind carving through corrupted flesh like parchment. But for every beast she felled, three more seemed to emerge from the dark.

(Too many. Too damn many.)

A vicious pivot, and another cyclone of blades erupted around her, reducing a charging wave to chunks of meat.

(I’ll be stuck here all night at this rate.)

Her eyes darted toward the distant dorms building—where she needed to be—then back to the endless tide of fangs and fury.

A sharp exhale.