The air was tense, crackling with the unspoken promise of violence. The invisible blade lashed out from behind, striking with surgical precision, aiming high and low in a synchronized, relentless assault. It moved with the kind of precision that would have obliterated any ordinary being.
And then it struck.
The young man staggered, blood seeping from a deep wound as the blade bit into his flesh. His skin hadn't even hardened to resist the blow, it was as though he hadn't anticipated the attack at all. The crimson trail spilled onto the ground, the air heavy with the metallic tang of blood.
---
Ahead, a giant loomed over them, its presence both terrifying and protective. Ziggy, her hands trembling only slightly, fumbled to retrieve a potion from her pouch. She uncorked the bottle, her mind racing. Her companion, Oliver, lay injured before her, his breathing labored. She moved to pour the potion onto his wounds when his voice, weak but insistent, interrupted her.
"Be careful," he rasped, his words cutting through the chaos. "The enemy... they can heal themselves."
Ziggy froze for a moment but quickly shook off her hesitation. She nodded grimly, uncorking the potion bottle while Oliver struggled to continue.
"And..." he coughed, his voice fading, "they're... unnaturally strong."
Before she could fully process his warning, the ground shook as the giant was thrown backward. It wasn't wounded; it had caught something mid-air. Something invisible. Blood sprayed from the unseen form, betraying its existence. The other figure, Plamon, had been flung aside as well. He landed heavily, his arm grotesquely twisted but still intact.
Ziggy's heart sank as she realized the enemy's next target was her. She scrambled to act, pouring the potion as quickly as she could. But she was too slow.
The force of the enemy's strike lifted her from the ground. Despite her skin, hardened from years of alchemical potions and stronger than any known mineral, the sheer impact launched her into the air. The precious potion bottle slipped from her grasp, shattering on the ground below and spilling its contents uselessly onto the earth.
Landing hard, Ziggy groaned, pulling herself up almost instantly. Her body ached, but there was no time to waste.
---
Meanwhile, a swordsman observed the aftermath. The Supreme Commander had fallen, and the burden of leadership weighed heavily on him. He tried to think, to plan, but something eluded him. It felt close, tantalizingly within reach, but he couldn't grasp it. Frustrated, he shoved aside a clump of weeds and froze.
A figure lay sprawled on the ground, blood pooling around them.
The sight shocked him, but he had no time to linger. A young man stood nearby, radiating a cruel arrogance. The swordsman watched as the young man glanced at Oliver, who was still incapacitated, and delivered a brutal kick. The force sent Oliver crashing into a tree. His body slumped to the ground like a broken doll.
The young man sneered, his movements deliberate, as though savoring the suffering he caused. He turned toward an unconscious elf, intent on something hidden within her—a magic stone, perhaps? His steps were slow, savoring the moment. A pity, he mused. If she were alive, he could have drawn out her agony, made her feel every ounce of pain.
He glanced at Oliver again, his irritation mounting. He had acted too quickly, ended things too cleanly. His frustration simmered as he surveyed the scene. The three other figures around him were dead, just like the elf. What was he supposed to do now?
The rage within him burned brighter.
---
Nearby, Aegnor sensed danger. His instincts screamed at him, and without hesitation, he grabbed An and Nishi, shoving them down to the ground. The enemy's gaze was fixed on them, his expression one of puzzlement at first. It was unclear if Aegnor's unfamiliarity had caught his attention or if An and Nishi's familiarity had sealed their fate.
"You," the enemy spoke, his voice carrying effortlessly. Aegnor tensed.
"I didn't see you last time," the man mused, his tone almost dismissive. But then his eyes narrowed. "But the two beside you... I recognize them."
Aegnor moved to act, but before he could, he found himself airborne. The enemy hadn't struck him directly but had flung him effortlessly into the air. Aegnor's eyes widened in horror as the man reached for An and Nishi.
They were defenseless, their lack of physical training making them easy prey. The realization hit Aegnor like a punch to the gut. For others, like Oliver, the injuries hadn't been fatal. But for An and Nishi? Even the smallest fraction of the enemy's strength could mean death.
Time slowed as Aegnor's heart pounded in his chest. He was helpless, unable to stop what was about to unfold.
Aegnor's scream echoed through the air as he was hurled like a rag doll. His voice was desperate, words lost to the wind. The ground rushed up to meet him, and he hit it hard, his body crumpling like a marionette with its strings cut.
---
The enemy stepped forward, his expression calm, his tone chillingly neutral. "If I remember correctly, you two were with that group before, weren't you?"
His voice carried no malice, no anger, just a flat, ordinary observation. It was precisely that detachment that made the words unsettling.
An's brows furrowed, her instincts flaring. Her sister Nishi, trembling beside her, clutched at An's sleeve.
The air around An shimmered as her magic charged, the energy coiling and pulsing like a live wire. The man before them had lost his flashy abilities; at least for now. She needed only a moment to whisk Nishi away. Anywhere was better than here.
Gripping her sister tightly, An closed her eyes and focused. In an instant, they vanished, the magic whisking them to safety just far enough to escape immediate danger.
---
Meanwhile, Oliver was enveloped in an otherworldly haze. It felt as if he were submerged in holy water, his senses overwhelmed by the ethereal elements swirling around him. The air itself seemed alive, teeming with a visible, vibrant energy. He could sense it, feel it brushing against his skin, tantalizingly close, but it was just out of reach.
He longed to grasp it, to bypass the arduous process of conversion and channel the raw power directly. But he couldn't. The elements danced mockingly before him, untouchable, as though testing his resolve.
---
Plamon pushed himself to his feet, his breath ragged but his determination unshaken. He scanned the battlefield, locking onto the enemy's position. His fists clenched as he prepared to charge.
He knew he was already dead, the realization had settled in his mind like a cold, hard truth. But the two young girls? They weren't dead yet, and he couldn't let them share his fate.
Ignoring the burning in his muscles and the dull ache of his wounds, Plamon poured every ounce of magic power into his body. Normally, he was conservative with his reserves, but not now. Now, he needed speed, strength, and resolve.
The enemy was strong; stronger than anyone Plamon had ever faced. Yet that only fueled his determination. He might be alone in this battle, but he would not back down.
---
Inga Gallo rose to her feet, her movements slow but purposeful. Blood seeped from her wounds, but the healing magic she channeled dulled the worst of the pain. Though her injuries were severe, she pressed forward.
She wasn't fighting for honor or vengeance. She fought because of who she was. Inga Gallo. The name itself carried a weight of responsibility, one she could not shirk. An and Nishi; her descendants, needed to live. She had fought in wars, faced impossible odds, and died once already. But now, as then, her purpose was clear: protect her bloodline at all costs.
Failure was not an option.
---
Plamon reached the enemy first, his right fist swinging with unrelenting force toward the man's head. He didn't care if the blow connected; he'd already seen the enemy bleed once. That meant he could bleed again.
Even if the man could absorb vitality to heal himself, Plamon understood that even the most fertile land could be drained dry. Persistence, like water on stone, could wear him down.
Inga appeared beside him, joining the assault without hesitation. Her strikes were swift and deliberate, a relentless barrage aimed at the enemy's weak points.
At the same moment, the two injured figures on the ground, An and Nishi; disappeared in a flash of light. They had been teleported to safety.
Maybe, just maybe, not everything was lost.
---
Ziggy knelt beside Oliver, her expression grim as she examined his injuries. The man was in bad shape; too bad. The magic in his body was completely depleted, and without it, the potion's effects would be severely diminished.
"Your injuries are too severe," Ziggy muttered, shaking her head. Her voice was tinged with frustration. "And you have no magic power left. The potion's recovery speed will be practically useless."
Oliver's lips parted in a faint, hoarse whisper. "Sorry."
Ziggy stilled for a moment, her eyes softening. "No," she said quietly. "I should be the one to say sorry."
Without another word, she poured the potion over his wounds, hoping it would be enough.
---
The swordsman stood apart, his body trembling with fear. It wasn't just the chaos of the battle that shook him, it was something deeper. A primal, bone-deep terror gripped him.
Why was he so afraid? The question gnawed at him, refusing to let go. Was it fear of the enemy? Fear of death?
The thought repeated itself, louder and louder, until it consumed him. 'Afraid of death. Afraid of death. Afraid of death!'
And then, like a flash of lightning, the realization struck. His fear wasn't a weakness; it was a key. He had been missing something, but now he understood.
Fear wasn't the end. It was the beginning.
In that moment, fear gave way to exhilaration. For the first time, he saw the path ahead clearly.