PASSAGE 37: CARRION WEAVER PT. II

The earth shuddered as the Carrion Weaver took a colossal step, pulverizing the building beneath its monstrous foot into dust. A bone-chilling shriek tore from its maw, a soundwave of pure destruction that rattled the very foundations of the city. The already unstable structure, weakened by the pervasive negativity aura of the Calamity, groaned in protest. Dust rained down as cracks snaked across the walls and ceiling.

Alaric stumbled to his knees, the world tilting precariously around him. But fueled by a desperate fatherly love and a surge of adrenaline, he scrambled to his feet, Ricardo still slung over his shoulder. The stairway groaned ominously behind them, the concrete steps crumbling away like sandcastles under a tidal wave. Escape by the normal route was cut off.

Thinking fast, Alaric darted towards the window, a surge of primal determination coursing through him. This wasn't about bravery, not anymore. This was about survival. With a heart-stopping roar, he launched himself through the glass, shattering it into a million glittering shards.

The wind tore at his clothes and hair as he plummeted towards the unforgiving concrete streets below. A flash of his former life crossed his mind - if he'd been Alaric the Untouched, that fall would have been a fatal one. But countless hours of training, countless rifts conquered, and the mysterious power of the Eye of Chronos had transformed him. His body was now an instrument of honed reflexes and raw power, capable of feats that would have seemed impossible just a few weeks ago.

He landed with a bone-jarring thud on the rooftop of a lower building, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. He scrambled to his feet, a primal urge to run pulsing through him. He needed to put as much distance between him and the collapsing monstrosity behind him as possible.

A thick plume of smoke billowed upwards from the construction site, masking his escape and offering a sliver of hope. Just like in the Tranquility Keep, a familiar tingling sensation prickled at the back of his neck. He whipped around, heart hammering in his chest, just in time to see a massive chunk of debris hurtling towards him, propelled by the collapsing building. Reacting with lightning-fast reflexes honed by his recent trials, Alaric twisted to the side in a desperate dodge. The debris crashed harmlessly behind him, a testament to his newfound agility.

Alaric emerged from the billowing smoke, hacking and coughing. A moment of shocked silence descended upon the ravaged cityscape. Then, through the dissipating haze, he saw it. The Carrion Weaver, its monstrous form dwarfing the surrounding buildings, was staring directly at him.

A cold dread gripped Alaric's heart. Not just a casual glance, but a focused, purposeful stare. It was as if the colossal monstrosity had singled him out from the terrified throngs below. But why? That question echoed in his mind, a desperate plea for an answer lost in the deafening roar of the collapsing building.

The answer came in the form of another massive chunk of debris, hurled through the air with terrifying speed. It wasn't a random accident, the debris from the falling building a moment ago. This was a targeted attack, the monstrous hand of the Carrion Weaver flinging a deadly projectile with horrifying accuracy.

Fear gnawed at Alaric, but adrenaline surged through him in a potent counterpoint. He twisted his body in a desperate dodge, the debris whistling past him with a bone-chilling shriek. He landed with a roll on the roof of a nearby building, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

He dared a glance back. The Carrion Weaver's colossal head turned slowly, its crimson eyes following his every move. There was no mistaking it – the monstrous entity was actively hunting him. But why?

A strangled gasp escaped Alaric's parched throat as he witnessed the Carrion Weaver's monstrous gaze pierce through the smoke, settling directly upon him. Panic clawed at his chest, but a voice cut through the chaos in his head, Jake's frantic words echoing through the earpiece.

"Seems like that Carrion Weaver has a taste for you, Alaric!" Jake's voice crackled with a mix of disbelief and terror.

Alaric's mind raced. This wasn't a coincidence – the debris, the focused stare – the Carrion Weaver was actively hunting him.

"If it wants me," Alaric growled into the earpiece, a spark of desperate defiance igniting within him, "then maybe I can lure it away from the city. Buy some time until the Hunters get here."

"Alaric, are you crazy?!" Jake's voice rose to a screech. "You're no match for that thing!"

Alaric gritted his teeth. "I know," he said, a steely resolve hardening his voice. "But I can't just sit here and watch that thing tear the city apart. I need to buy some time. Even if it means becoming bait."

The earpiece crackled with Jake's frantic protests, but Alaric shut him out. He had a mission now – to create a diversion, to become a target and lead the Carrion Weaver away from the helpless civilians. But first, he needed to secure his father's safety.

A thought flickered across his mind, a desperate plea sent out to the being residing within his eye patch. "Lumina! Can I use the void hold on my father? Will it harm him?"

A gentle voice caressed his mind, a beacon of calm amidst the storm. "Yes, Alaric," Lumina replied. "He'll be safe and unharmed within the void hold."

Relief washed over Alaric, fleeting but potent. He focused for a moment, picturing Ricardo, and with a surge of willpower, opened a tear in space, depositing his unconscious father within the void hold's safe haven.

"Get some rest, Dad," Alaric whispered, his voice hoarse. "I'll get you out of there soon. But first, I have a little business to attend to."

With a practiced flick of his wrist, he summoned the Crescent Reaver, its familiar weight anchoring him to the present. He ripped his eyepatch off, and putting on the imposing sight of the Vermin Claws mask fractured across his face, the crimson glow of the Eye of Chronos burning brightly.

Jake's screams of protest reached a fever pitch through the earpiece, bordering on hysterical. But Alaric ignored him. He knew he was outmatched, but he had never claimed to be a hero. Today, he would be a distraction, a thorn in the Carrion Weaver's side. He wouldn't die, not today. Today, he would buy time, for his father, for the city, and for the hope of salvation that might yet arrive.