THE CRIMSON PANTHEON

The sound of Ronan’s ribs breaking was louder than the thunder in the torn sky.

Crack. Snap.

The sickening noise echoed in his own ears, followed instantly by a wave of pain so intense it made his vision flash pure white. He flew through the air, thrown like a broken ragdoll, and crashed hard into the cold, wet mud.

He tried to gasp for air, but his lungs refused to work. Instead of oxygen, a thick, warm liquid bubbled up his throat. He coughed, and dark red blood sprayed across his pale lips and down his chin. He was choking on his own blood.

Above him, the sky was wrong. It was not the familiar dark blue of a midnight sky. It was a chaotic, bleeding purple. Great tears in the clouds swirled like bruised wounds, flashing with unnatural red lightning. The world had ended not long ago, and this sky was the proof. The Veil that protected their world had shattered, letting the nightmares in.

The ground shook.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Heavy, massive footsteps stepped closer. Ronan forced his heavy eyelids open, fighting through the blinding pain in his chest. Through the smoke and falling ash, the monster appeared.

It was an Abyssal Troll. The creature was a walking mountain of ugly, grey muscle. It stood over ten feet tall, its thick skin covered in bony spikes and dripping with dark slime. Its eyes glowed with a hateful, burning red light. In its massive, clawed hand, it held a giant club made from a broken stone pillar. The Troll let out a roar that smelled like rotten meat and old blood.

Ronan lay in the ruins of what used to be a beautiful sanctuary. Once, this place was a holy temple filled with white marble pillars, golden statues, and peaceful prayers. Now, it was a graveyard of broken stone and burning wood. Flames licked at the fallen statues of forgotten gods. The air was thick with the smell of smoke, ash, and demon blood.

He tried to push himself up, but his arms trembled and gave out. His left arm was badly cut, and his chest felt like it was trapped under a heavy boulder. Every heartbeat was pure agony.

"Ronan!" a voice screamed.

It was a beautiful, desperate sound cutting through the chaos.

Olivia.

Before the Troll could raise its stone club to finish Ronan off, a flash of bright orange light exploded in the dark. Olivia leaped over a fallen pillar, her long silver hair flying wildly behind her. She was a fierce swordswoman, her body covered in sweat, dirt, and minor cuts, but she moved with the grace of a dancer. In her hands, she gripped a long steel sword.

Usually, her sword burned with bright, hot magical fire. It was a gift from her bloodline, a rare magic that kept them alive for the past few weeks of this hellish apocalypse. But now, as she swung the blade at the giant Troll, the fire was weak. The flames flickered and sputtered, looking like a dying candle in the wind. She was running out of energy. She was running out of magic.

Clang!

Olivia’s sword struck the Troll’s thick, grey skin. The weak fire burned a small line across its arm, but it did not cut deep. The monster roared in anger rather than pain. It swung its massive arm back, trying to swat her away like a small insect.

Olivia ducked under the wild swing. She spun around, driving the tip of her sword toward the back of the Troll’s knee. The blade sank in, and the monster dropped down onto one leg with a heavy thud that shook the muddy ground.

"Back off, you ugly beast!" Olivia shouted. She pulled her sword out and stood between the giant monster and Ronan. Her chest heaved up and down as she breathed heavily. She held her sword with both hands, refusing to back down.

"Olivia..." Ronan whispered. His voice was broken, barely a rough croak. He coughed again, spitting more blood onto the mud. "Run... leave me."

Olivia did not even turn her head to look at him. She kept her bright green eyes locked on the Troll. "Shut up, Ronan," she said, her voice shaking but full of stubborn fire. "Save your breath. Just keep breathing. I am not leaving you here."

"You can't... fight it alone," Ronan gasped. Tears mixed with the dirt and blood on his face. He hated this. He hated being weak. Ever since the sky broke and the demons poured out, he and Olivia had survived together. They fought side by side. He was a good fighter with a spear, and she had her fire. But now, his spear was broken in half, lying a few feet away, and his body was destroyed. He was nothing but a burden.

The Abyssal Troll slowly pushed itself back up. Its red eyes narrowed at Olivia. But the Troll was not the only problem.

From the shadows of the burning sanctuary, more sounds emerged. Nasty, scratching sounds. Like long nails dragging against stone.

Out of the darkness crawled the Scavengers. They were smaller demons, about the size of large dogs, but they walked on two legs and had long, thin arms ending in sharp claws. Their mouths were too big for their heads, filled with rows of needle-like teeth. There were five of them, then ten. They hissed and giggled, smelling the fresh blood in the air. Smelling Ronan.

Olivia saw them moving in the corners of her eyes. Her grip on her sword tightened until her knuckles turned pure white. The tiny flame on her blade flickered, almost dying completely.

"Come on," Olivia whispered to herself. "Just a little more fire. Please."

She took a deep breath, and a small burst of orange flame covered the metal again. She charged forward before the monsters could surround them.

Ronan could only watch, trapped in his broken body. It was torture. It was a worse pain than his crushed ribs. He watched the woman he cared about more than anything in the world throw herself into a fight she could not win, just to give him a few more minutes of life.

Olivia swung her sword, cutting cleanly through the neck of the first Scavenger. Black blood sprayed across her face. She spun to the left, kicking another small demon in the chest and stabbing her fiery blade through its stomach. She pulled it out and blocked a claw swipe from a third monster.

She was fast, she was skilled, but there were too many. And she was so tired.