CH1082 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1082: A Battle in the Darkness

The world came back in fragments.

Gravel against her cheek. The smell of turned earth and something sharp — mineral, cold. Her ears were ringing. When Lightning pushed herself upright, she found herself ringed by black needles the thickness of a man’s finger, driven point-down into the soil around the railway — dozens of them, packed tight as teeth, quivering faintly in the ground they’d split. Lusterless. Dark as dried ink.

Then from inside the camp perimeter: more blasts. Not from the sky this time. Through the ground. A deep, rhythmic thudding, as though something enormous was stamping the earth flat.

The Longsong Cannon emplacements.

The Spider Demons had found the camp before striking it. They’d had coordinates. In a pitch-black night, they’d had coordinates.

Why hasn’t the alarm sounded?

“I have to wake everybody up.” Lightning scrambled to her feet — no flight suit, no sigil, both still in her room. Flying through live bombardment without them. The thought arrived and she set it aside. She grabbed for Lorgar’s arm.

And stopped.

A black needle had driven through Lorgar’s leg and pinned her to the ground. The entry point was high on the thigh. Blood soaked her trousers in a spreading dark stain, black as the needle in the moonlight, and it was not slowing.

The world went narrow. Lightning’s lungs refused to operate correctly.

“Don’t be stupid,” Lorgar said. She was already leaning on one elbow, face arranged into something like calm. “The needle would have hit me regardless. Probably worse, if I hadn’t been moving when it landed.” She tested the needle with one hand, assessed the angle. “No black blood on the stone. So — just a scratch.”

A scratch. The volume of blood said otherwise. The needle had gone deep, possibly deep enough to reach the main vessel. It had to be handled carefully, removed carefully — and Nana was somewhere in the camp, which was currently under bombardment, by demons who’d destroyed the outer watchtowers before anyone could sound a warning.

If the Mad Demons pressed through the perimeter—

Lorgar was not going to be moving.

“The armored train,” Lorgar said, cutting through Lightning’s spiral. Her voice had gone flat with effort, the control of someone managing pain the way a rider manages a difficult horse. “Get to the ‘Blackriver.’”

“But—”

“Listen.” The wolf-girl’s hand found Lightning’s shoulder and pressed. “Everybody will be awake now — they’ve heard the bombing. The problem is response, not awareness. Half the enemy’s force has come for the Longsong Cannons. I don’t know what else they’re using, but if they neutralize those guns—” She paused, breathed once. “If they neutralize those guns, the Spider Demons can pour needles into this camp at will. The entire defensive line breaks. You understand what that means.”

Lightning understood.

“And the watchtower—” Lorgar turned her chin, indicating the end of the railway. The wooden lookout tower there had been sheared off at the midpoint, as if the darkness had eaten it.

“Go.” Lorgar’s fingers tightened on Lightning’s shoulder and then released. “To the Blackriver. Only you can do that right now.

She was right. Flying was the fastest channel available. There was nothing to argue about.

Lightning looked at her for one moment — the needle, the blood, the expression that had closed off everything that wasn’t tactical necessity — and then she turned and launched herself into the air.


Gunshots below. The camp erupting from sleep into motion.

Lorgar had read it correctly: the soldiers were already up, already arming, already yelling for positions. They didn’t know where the enemy was, but they knew they were under attack, and the First Army operated on drilled reflex when knowledge failed. Scattered shots popped from the inner perimeter. The outer watchtowers — all five of them — were dark. Gone.

Concrete blockhouses, and still gone.

Lightning climbed above the camp and looked, and finally understood why no alarm had sounded. The outer ring was blind. The towers had been the eyes.

She dropped into her room fast, grabbed the flight suit, was sealing it before she’d fully registered Maggie — standing in the middle of the floor, pacing in tight circles, feathers out in distress, making a sound between a coo and a whimper.

“Where have you been, coo?” Maggie threw herself forward and Lightning staggered under the impact. The hug was fierce and brief and Maggie was already pulling back to look at her, eyes large. “Why didn’t you tell me, coo?”

“I’m sorry.” Lightning sealed the last fastening. “I have to reach the Blackriver — I’ll explain later—”

“I’ll come, coo.”

“No.” She needed Maggie here. She wanted Maggie with her — wanted it badly enough that she noticed it, named it, and put it away. “Sylvie needs someone to help her watch the camp. The more eyes on the demons, the better our response.”

You can’t drag everyone’s feet anymore. She told herself this clearly, without flinching from it.

“I need you to do one thing first.” She took Maggie’s face in both hands, turned it up, held her friend’s eyes. “Promise me you’ll succeed in this. It’s the most important task the Exploration Group has right now.”

“Coo?” Maggie’s brow creased.

“Find Nana. Take her to the far end of the railway.” She pressed her forehead briefly to Maggie’s. “Lorgar is down there with a needle in her leg. Bring Nana to her. Promise me.”

Maggie’s chin came down once, decisive. “Coo.”

“Then I’m counting on you.” Lightning pulled back and went through the window in one motion, climbing fast.


She cleared the roof and finally saw the shape of the problem entire.

All five outer watchtowers: destroyed in the first volley. No web wire yet, no complete fortifications — Station No. 0 was still barely begun. And the gunshots from the inner ring were the sound of soldiers fighting in the dark against demons that had somehow passed the defensive line without triggering it.

How had they gotten through?

She didn’t have an answer for that. She had a bearing — the Blackriver, somewhere along the railway west of here — and she had speed, and she had a choice about whether she was going to use them.

Yes, I’m a coward.

Yes, the Senior Demon broke me.

But there’s still something I can do.

She pushed harder. The night air streamed past her face, cold and absolute, and she thought: I just need to fly straight. I don’t have to look north. I don’t have to face regular demons. I just need to fly straight to the railway.

No excuse left to be timid. Not anymore.

Faster.

Just a little faster—

The fear was still there. It was always there. But she pushed through it the way a swimmer pushes through the surface tension, the way you cross the threshold before you’ve decided to cross it — and something happened.

The night went quiet.

Not silent. Quiet — in a different register, beneath the wind and the distant shots and the blood in her ears. The way the world goes quiet when nothing interposes between you and what you’re doing.

For the first time since she’d been broken in the Misty Forest, Lightning slipped past her own resistance and felt the Realm of Silence open around her.

She was flying again. Actually flying.

The forest along the Black River blurred past below, and she flew.

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