Chronicles of the Regressor

Chapter 20 - The Price of Intel

The world dissolved into a maelstrom of fire, shrapnel, and concussive force. Kaelen was thrown backward by the explosion, slamming into a wall of crates, his body screaming in protest, every bone rattling. He felt searing heat, the impact of debris, and then, mercifully, darkness. The last thing he heard was Varkos's enraged roar, swallowed by the deafening thunder of the inferno.

He awoke to the sensation of crushing pain and suffocating darkness. He was buried. Buried beneath tons of rubble, splintered wood, and burning debris. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid smell of burnt chemicals, choking him, burning his lungs. His ribs, already fractured, felt shattered anew, each breath a searing torment. The dark taint in his Aura pulsed wildly, amplifying his pain, but also giving him a chilling awareness of his surroundings – the shifting earth, the distant sounds of Vorlag soldiers sifting through the wreckage, their voices growing closer.

He was alive. Barely. A miracle, or a curse.

He pushed, forcing his Aura to respond, to create a small pocket of air around him, to push back against the suffocating weight. He felt the weight of a massive timber beam across his chest, pinning him, crushing him. His legs were trapped beneath rubble, immovable. He was bleeding profusely from multiple new wounds, and the dark magic from Varkos's attack, combined with the concussive force of the explosion, had ravaged his Aura. It was a chaotic storm within him, pure pain and raw, untamed power, battling for control, threatening to tear him apart from the inside.

He heard distant shouts, the sounds of Vorlag soldiers sifting through the wreckage, their voices growing closer, their footsteps crunching on the debris. They would find him. He had to move. He had to escape.

With a desperate, primal scream that tore at his throat, Kaelen unleashed a raw, uncontrolled burst of his tainted Aura, a desperate act of will. The dark energy exploded outward, shattering the timber beam, sending rubble flying, creating a small, temporary void around him. He clawed his way free, his body screaming in protest, dragging himself from the burning wreckage, leaving a trail of blood and shattered debris in his wake. He was a broken thing, a phantom of pain, but he was moving.

He stumbled into the deeper, darker parts of the Blackwood Forest, the familiar trees now a terrifying labyrinth, their shadows concealing unseen threats. He moved on instinct, driven by a desperate will to survive, by the burning image of Borin's defiant face, of Seraphina's tears, of Lyra Whisperwind's desperate retreat. He had to live. He had to report. He had to ensure their sacrifice, his sacrifice, was not in vain.

He walked for what felt like an eternity, his body failing, his Aura flickering erratically, each step a monumental effort. The dark taint pulsed, sometimes amplifying his senses to an unbearable degree, sometimes plunging him into dizzying waves of nausea and pain, threatening to pull him into unconsciousness. He collapsed repeatedly, only to force himself back up, driven by a single, burning purpose. He was no longer Kaelen Valerius, the noble's son, or even Kael, the mercenary. He was a creature of instinct, a shadow driven by a cold, desperate need.

He finally collapsed near a small, frozen stream, his body refusing to move further, his strength utterly spent. He was bleeding from multiple wounds, his ribs screamed with every breath, and the dark magic was a cold, consuming fire within him, threatening to extinguish his very life. He closed his eyes, the world fading into a merciful blackness. He was alone, lost, and broken.

Meanwhile, outside the depot, the situation was dire, a desperate, losing fight. Borin, his shield shattered, was a whirlwind of defiant rage, his massive frame bruised and bleeding, but still standing against the monstrous Shadow Beast. Seraphina, her mana core screaming in protest, continued to unleash devastating spells, but they merely sizzled harmlessly against the beast's shadowy hide. The sheer numbers of Vorlag soldiers were beginning to overwhelm them, their relentless assault pushing them back.

"Kaelen! Lyra Whisperwind!" Seraphina screamed, her voice raw with despair, as she saw the pillar of fire erupt from the warehouse, then Lyra Whisperwind emerging from the smoke, clutching a glowing crystal. "You're alive! But where's Kaelen?!"

Lyra Whisperwind, tears streaming down her face, shook her head, unable to speak, her gaze fixed on the burning ruins. She pointed back at the inferno, a silent, agonizing confirmation.

"No!" Seraphina shrieked, unleashing a wild, unfocused burst of magic at the Shadow Beast, fueled by pure, unadulterated despair. The spell dissipated harmlessly.

"We have the intel!" Lyra Whisperwind yelled, her voice raw, forcing herself to be pragmatic. "We have to go! Kaelen bought us time! We can't waste his sacrifice!"

Borin, seeing Lyra Whisperwind and the glowing data crystal, a grim determination settled on his face. He let out a primal roar, a sound of pure defiance, slamming his uninjured arm into the Shadow Beast's leg, creating a momentary opening. The beast roared in pain and fury, momentarily distracted. "Go! I'll hold them! Get that intel to the King! Eldoria needs it!"

"Borin, no!" Seraphina cried, reaching out, her heart breaking. "You can't!"

"He's right, Sera!" Lyra Whisperwind yelled, grabbing Seraphina's arm, her grip like iron, forcing her to move. "We have to go! We can't lose everyone! Honor their sacrifice!" She dragged a protesting, sobbing Seraphina away, retreating into the dense forest, leaving Borin to face the monstrous Shadow Beast and the surging Vorlag forces alone.

The sounds of battle, of Borin's defiant roars, slowly faded behind them as Lyra Whisperwind and Seraphina fled into the night, clutching the vital data crystal. The mission was a success, the intelligence secured, but at a devastating cost. Kaelen was lost, presumed dead, and Borin was making a desperate, likely final, stand, his fate sealed by his loyalty. The weight of defeat, of sacrifice, settled heavily on their shoulders, a crushing burden that would haunt them. The war was a brutal, unforgiving beast, and Kaelen's foresight, while powerful, was proving to be a double-edged sword, leading them into traps he could not fully escape, costing them dearly.

The journey back to the capital for Seraphina and Lyra Whisperwind was a blur of exhaustion, grief, and relentless vigilance. They moved like hunted animals, avoiding patrols, their senses strained, their hearts heavy. They spoke little, the unspoken grief for Kaelen and Borin a suffocating presence between them. The data crystal, clutched tightly by Lyra Whisperwind, was their only focus, the only reason to push forward.

They finally reached the capital, battered and broken, their faces grim. The news of their return, and the devastating cost of the mission, spread quickly. They were immediately ushered into the Royal Palace, straight to the War Council, where King Theron II, General Valerius, and Princess Aurelia waited, their faces etched with anxiety.

Seraphina, her voice hoarse, recounted the mission, her words punctuated by choked sobs. "The depot… it's destroyed, Your Majesty. Kaelen… he triggered the main stores. He was still inside when it exploded. And Borin… he stayed behind to cover our retreat. Against a Shadow Beast. He… he sacrificed himself so we could get the intel." Her voice broke completely.

Lyra Whisperwind, though tears streamed down her face, held up the glowing data crystal. "We have the communication logs, Your Majesty. All of them. Kaelen… he ensured it. He bought us the time."

A heavy silence fell over the council. The King's face was grim, his jaw clenched. General Valerius closed his eyes, a single tear tracing a path down his weathered cheek. Princess Aurelia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes welling up with tears.

"Kaelen… Borin…" Gareth murmured, his voice thick with disbelief and grief. "No. Not them. Not like this." His face was pale, his usual boisterousness replaced by a profound sorrow.

Lyra, Kaelen's sister, collapsed into a chair, sobbing uncontrollably, clutching her brother Gareth's arm. "He promised! He promised he'd come back! He promised!"

The intelligence from the data crystal was indeed invaluable. It contained detailed Vorlag troop movements, supply routes, and, most critically, Varkos's long-term strategic plans. It revealed his intent to launch a decisive, multi-pronged assault on the capital in a matter of weeks, exploiting Eldoria's stretched defenses. The destruction of the Blackwood Depot, combined with this intelligence, was a game-changer. Eldoria now knew Varkos's full hand.

But the victory was hollow, stained by immense loss. Kaelen, Eldoria's "Scarred Blade," its unique asset, was gone. Borin, the unbreakable shield, Eldoria's anchor, was gone. The special operations unit, "The Silent Blades," was shattered.

Days turned into weeks. The capital mourned its fallen heroes. Kaelen and Borin were honored in a solemn ceremony, their names etched into the Hall of Heroes, though their bodies were never recovered. Seraphina and Lyra Whisperwind, though hailed as survivors, carried the heavy burden of their loss, their spirits dimmed by the shadows of their comrades.

Princess Aurelia, though outwardly composed, was visibly affected. She spent hours poring over the captured intelligence, her gaze often drifting to Kaelen's empty seat in the war council. She felt a profound sense of loss, not just for a valuable asset, but for a unique, enigmatic friend who had stirred something within her.

General Valerius, his face grim, threw himself into preparing Eldoria's defenses, driven by a cold, burning resolve to make Vorlag pay for the lives of his sons. Gareth, too, became more focused, his grief hardening into a fierce determination, his Aura burning brighter with a newfound purpose.

The war was far from over. Eldoria had gained vital intelligence and crippled a key supply line, but it had paid a terrible price. The main battle for the capital was looming, and without Kaelen's foresight, without Borin's unwavering shield, the path ahead seemed impossibly difficult.

Meanwhile, deep within the Blackwood Forest, far from the burning ruins of the depot, a figure stirred. Kaelen. He was alive. Barely. His body was a wreck, covered in burns and deep lacerations, his Aura a chaotic storm of pain and dark energy. He had crawled away from the explosion, driven by a primal will to survive, and had been found by a lone, reclusive hermit, a master of ancient, forgotten healing arts, who lived deep within the forest, untouched by the war.

The hermit, a wizened old man with eyes that seemed to see through time, tended to Kaelen's wounds, his touch gentle but firm. He recognized the dark taint in Kaelen's Aura, a rare and dangerous affliction.

"You carry a great darkness within you, young one," the hermit murmured, applying a poultice to Kaelen's side. "A shadow that grants power, but demands a terrible price. You are a phoenix, yes, but one forged in the fires of corruption."

Kaelen drifted in and out of consciousness, haunted by nightmares of Varkos, of Borin's last stand, of his own failure. He was alive, but broken, isolated, and consumed by the darkness within. He had survived, but at what cost? He was lost, presumed dead by his friends, struggling alone in the wilderness, his humanity eroding, while Eldoria prepared for the next phase of the war, armed with the intel but burdened by heavy losses. The true test of his regression, of his ability to change destiny, had only just begun. He was a shadow, a survivor, a weapon, but one teetering on the brink of oblivion.