Chapter 25

     The storm was closer now, the sky a swirling mass of black and grey, shot through with lightning that cracked against the horizon like fractured glass. The Atlantic raged, the waves rising higher, threatening to swallow the marshland whole, while the earth beneath our feet pulsed with the same dark energy that Ava had been drawing from for hours. The air was thick with the scent of salt and rot, a smell that clung to everything, like the very land itself was decaying from within.

     Ava stood at the shoreline, her back still turned to us, her arms outstretched as though she were holding the storm in her hands. The power radiating from her was almost unbearable now—an intoxicating blend of beauty and destruction, as though she had become a vessel for something older, darker, something that defied the very fabric of the world.

     There was a strange rhythm to her movements, a kind of elegance in the way she swayed with the rising tide, her voice blending with the sound of the wind and the crashing waves. But there was something else, too—something beneath the surface that felt wrong. The warmth she had been drawing from the land was no longer steady. It flickered, like a candle guttering in the wind, as though the power she was channeling had begun to slip through her grasp.

     For a moment, she stopped chanting, her arms lowering as she let out a long, slow breath—a soft yawn that seemed to echo across the shore. It was the first sign of fatigue, of strain, that I had seen in her since this whole ordeal had begun. And in that moment, something changed. The ground beneath us trembled, but it wasn’t the violent tremor of before. This was different—subtle, insidious. I looked down and saw the earth moving in tiny, almost imperceptible shifts, as though the very soil was teeming with life.

     Ants.

     They crawled from the ground in swarms, their small bodies writhing and twisting as they spread across the wet earth. It wasn’t just a few ants—there were thousands of them, maybe more, all moving with a kind of frantic energy, as if something deep beneath the soil had disturbed them, driven them out of their hidden tunnels. I watched, mesmerized, as the ants moved in waves, their tiny legs churning through the rot that had begun to seep from the land, the decay that Ava had unwittingly unleashed.

     Tony saw them too, his face pale in the fading light. “What the hell is happening?” he muttered, his voice shaking.

     I didn’t have an answer. The ants—like everything else in this place—were a symptom of the deeper forces at work, the decay that had been building beneath the surface for centuries. Ava’s power had stirred it up, had unleashed something primal, and now even the smallest creatures were being pulled into the storm.

     Ava turned then, slowly, her eyes wide and gleaming with a strange, feverish light. Her mouth curled into a smile—a smile that was both foul and beautiful at once. There was a madness in her gaze, but also something more—a kind of joy, as though she had finally become one with the power she had been seeking.

     “Do you see it?” she said, her voice soft but filled with an unsettling reverence. “Do you feel it? The land is alive, it’s always been alive.”

     Her words hung in the air, thick with meaning. There was no longer any doubt in my mind—Ava wasn’t just drawing power from the land. She was becoming it. She had fused herself with the decay, with the rot that had been festering beneath the surface for centuries. And now, as the storm raged around us, she had become the living embodiment of that decay—both foul and beautiful, destructive and alive.

     “The ants,” she whispered, her eyes flickering down to the swarming mass at her feet. “They’ve always known. They’ve been here, beneath us, waiting. Just like the land. They thrive on the rot, on the death that feeds the soil. And now, they cheer it. They welcome it.”

     I felt a chill crawl up my spine as I watched her, the madness in her voice growing with every word. There was something almost tender in the way she spoke, as though she believed the decay she had unleashed was something to be celebrated, something that could bring new life. But I knew better. This wasn’t about life—it was about destruction. Ava’s connection to the land had gone too far, and now the forces she had awakened were beginning to consume her.

     “We have to stop her,” Tony said, his voice low and urgent. “She’s losing control.”

     I nodded, but my eyes stayed on Ava. She was swaying again, her arms moving in slow, deliberate arcs as though she were conducting some invisible orchestra. The storm crackled above, lightning illuminating the sky in brilliant flashes, but Ava seemed to glow from within, her power radiating out in waves. She was beautiful in her madness, but there was something so foul about it too—something that made the air around her thick with the stench of death and rot.

     “Ava!” I called out, stepping forward. “You have to stop! You’re tearing the land apart!”

     She laughed—a soft, almost melodic sound that was carried away by the wind. “Tearing it apart?” she repeated, her voice lilting with amusement. “No, I’m not tearing it apart. I’m making it whole. I’m bringing the land back to life, feeding it, giving it what it needs.”

     Her words sent a wave of nausea through me. I knew what she meant—the rot, the decay, the ants swarming beneath the soil. She wasn’t just pulling power from the land. She was feeding it with death, with the destruction of everything that had come before. And in her madness, she believed she was creating something new, something better.

     But I could see the cracks. I could see the way her power was slipping, the way the warmth she had drawn from the land was no longer steady. She had overreached, and now the forces she had awakened were starting to unravel.

     “We need to act now,” I said to Tony, my voice firm. “Before she loses control completely.”

     Tony nodded, but his face was pale, his hands trembling at his sides. “How?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

     I didn’t have an answer. But I knew one thing—Ava’s power was tied to the land, to the decay she had awakened. If we could sever that connection, if we could stop her from feeding off the rot, we might be able to save what was left.

     Ava turned back to the shoreline, her arms rising once more as she let out another soft yawn. The ants continued to swarm beneath her feet, but they weren’t cheering anymore. They were frantic, confused, as though they too had sensed the shift in the air.

     The storm rumbled overhead, the clouds swirling faster now, and I knew we didn’t have much time.

     “Ava,” I called out again, my voice steady. “You can still stop this. You don’t have to let the land consume you.”

     She didn’t respond. She only smiled, her beautiful, foul mouth curling into a grin as the storm swallowed us whole.