Torrack could see the city gates from afar, with the large army hidden among the trees. The air was tense, the army waiting for the signal to move. An arrow whizzed through the air, landing not far from where Torrack and Kaelith stood, crouched in the brush. The moment had come. The gates creaked open, and the invading force surged forward. Torrack, sharp as ever, could sense something unusual. Scattered pockets of auras, much like islands in the sea of the city, lay dormant, unmoving. They didn't belong to the enemy forces but appeared to be biding their time. No one in the army seemed to notice this. Using the mental link he shared with Kaelith, Torrack conveyed what he sensed.
"The auras—there's something off," he warned.
Kaelith responded through their connection. "Could be a trap. Or they're hiding for something bigger."
The invading army passed through the gates without hesitation, meeting little resistance as they flowed into the streets. The small group of defenders appeared unprepared, exchanging brief clashes with the attackers before retreating deeper into the city. Torrack squinted through the dust and noise. The absence of villagers struck him. The city was eerily quiet. There were no screams, no panic—just a small band of defenders retreating into the alleys.
"This isn't right," Torrack thought. "No civilians? The king would never abandon his people. Something's wrong."
Kaelith, sensing his unease, was already on alert. "We need to head for the mansion," she said aloud. "If something's going to happen, it'll be there."
As they maneuvered through the narrow streets, Torrack's heightened senses picked up on something. Flashes of fire appeared in the sky, and suddenly, troops emerged from hidden places, ambushing the invading army. The king had anticipated this attack. Torrack's suspicions were confirmed—this was a carefully orchestrated defense.
The trap had been sprung.
"They've got this," Torrack muttered to himself, but the thought of what lay ahead kept him moving.
As they neared the mansion, Torrack noticed two fast horses galloping down the street, kicking up dust and rubble in their wake. The riders sped past him, and Torrack's sharp eyes caught the form of a hostage draped across the lap of one of the riders. Without hesitation, he bolted after them, his speed far outstripping that of the horses.
With each step, the ground seemed to tremble beneath him, his power far beyond what it once was. Torrack's heart raced, but not from exertion—his transformation had made him faster, stronger than a mere mortal. He could feel the wind whipping past his face as he sprinted, closing the gap between himself and the fleeing riders.
Just as he came within range, the riders split off in different directions. One went straight, while the one with the hostage veered left, heading toward the alleyways. Torrack instantly decided. The hostage was his priority. With a burst of speed, he darted after the leftmost rider. As the alley walls narrowed around them, Torrack made his move. Planting his feet, he leaped forward with such force that the very ground cracked beneath him. His outstretched arm grabbed hold of the horse's flank, and with a single powerful motion, he heaved the animal off its feet.
The horse tumbled to the ground with a deafening crash, sending the rider and the hostage flying. The girl, helpless and unconscious, hit her head on a jagged stone, blood pooling at the impact. Torrack's eyes widened as he saw her collapse—he needed to help her quickly. But first, there was the matter of her captor.
The rider, who had expertly rolled to avoid serious injury, stood up and faced Torrack, sneering. His face was grizzled, a scar running down the side of his jaw, and his armor gleamed in the faint light filtering through the alleyway. He dusted himself off and reached for the sword strapped to his side.
"Who are you, boy?" he growled, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Walk away now, and I'll forget this happened."
Torrack's eyes narrowed, and he noticed two silver badges on the man's shoulder plate. A general. The highest rank in the invading force.
"I'm not going anywhere," Torrack replied, his voice cold. "Let the girl go."
The general laughed, his voice echoing through the empty alleyway. "Do you know who I am? Forget this girl, and I'll spare your life. I'd hate to kill someone with potential like yours." He paused, his eyes narrowing as he assessed Torrack more closely. "You're fast. Strong. But I'm stronger."
Torrack remained silent, observing the general's aura. The mix of brown and blue gave away his magic affinity—earth and water. He had the ability to control both, which meant the fight ahead would be far more dangerous than most Torrack had faced.
"Come on then, General," Torrack taunted. "Show me what you've got. Or are you too scared of a 'boy' like me?"
The general's lips twisted into a cruel grin. "Your funeral."
With a sudden motion, the general slammed his hands into the ground, sending a shockwave of tremors toward Torrack. The earth beneath his feet buckled and cracked, and before Torrack could regain his balance, sharp spikes of dirt shot up from the ground, aiming to impale him. Torrack, quick on his feet, dodged to the side, barely avoiding the first wave of spikes.
But the general wasn't done. He twisted his hands, and the spikes shifted, launching toward Torrack again. This time, Torrack raised his hand, activating his glove. The moment the spikes touched his glove, they were absorbed, their energy trapped within the ancient artifact.
Torrack's eyes gleamed as he pointed his glove downward, releasing the energy in a controlled burst, shattering the ground beneath him.
"I'll play along a little longer," Torrack muttered, smirking. His blood was pumping now. He was eager to test his limits.
The general unsheathed his sword, a gleaming blade etched with runes. "So, it's magic gloves, huh?" the general sneered. "No wonder you took down my horse. But let's see if your little trick works against this." With blinding speed, the general charged, swinging his blade in a deadly arc. The runes on the sword began to glow, and Torrack could feel the magic radiating from the weapon. This was no ordinary blade.
Torrack, however, was faster. As the general brought his sword down, Torrack moved—everything seemed to slow around him as he sidestepped the attack with ease. The blade sliced through the air where Torrack had been moments before, and the general grunted in frustration. He followed up with a flurry of strikes, each one faster than the last, but Torrack evaded them all with a dancer's grace, his movements precise and effortless.
Water began to swirl around the general's sword as he infused his attacks with elemental magic. A slash of water flew toward Torrack mid-swing, but Torrack twisted his body, dodging the blade and the elemental assault at the same time. His heart was racing, adrenaline flooding his system, but his breaths remained steady.
Minutes passed like this, the general growing more desperate with every failed strike. Torrack could see the frustration building in his opponent's eyes. The general's aura flared as he prepared a final, desperate move.
The general's frustration mounted, his attacks growing more desperate. "You're just a boy! You shouldn't be able to keep up with me!"
"You're not bad," Torrack admitted, watching the general carefully. "But you're not fast enough."
The general's eyes blazed with fury. "Not fast enough? Let's see how you handle this!" He pressed a button on his chest plate, and suddenly, a blast of mixed water and dirt shot out from the ground, forming a whip-like tendril that lashed out toward Torrack. This attack was faster, far more aggressive than anything the general had thrown at him so far.
Torrack barely had time to react, stepping up his speed as the whip lashed toward him. He dodged the first strike, but the whip moved with such speed and precision that it caught him on his arm, leaving a deep gash. Torrack winced, but the wound began to heal almost instantly. He laughed, blood dripping from his fingertips as he faced the general.
The general's face paled as he watched Torrack's wounds heal in front of his eyes. "What… what are you?" he stammered.
Torrack took a step forward, and the general lashed out again with the whip, but Torrack barely flinched. The whip struck him again and again, but each time, his wounds healed before the general could even blink.
The fear in the general's eyes grew as Torrack continued his slow advance. He flailed the whip, hitting Torrack from every angle, but nothing seemed to stop him. Finally, as Torrack stood within arm's reach, the general made one last, desperate strike.
Torrack caught the whip in his hand, pulling the general toward him with terrifying strength. "You should have walked away," Torrack whispered before delivering a single, devastating punch to the general's chest. His fist went straight through, the sound of bones cracking echoing in the alleyway. The general's eyes went wide in shock before his body slumped to the ground, lifeless.
The fight had left him exhilarated, yet he felt a pang of regret for taking a life. But his thoughts quickly turned to Rune. He knelt beside her, carefully lifting her into his arms. Her body was limp, and Torrack noticed a gash on her forehead from where she had fallen.
"I'll fix this," he whispered, placing his hand over her wound. Golden magic flowed from him, illuminating the area as he concentrated. The energy surged through his fingers, weaving into Rune's form. Her wound mended quickly, the skin closing seamlessly as Torrack poured his power into her.
As he healed her, he felt the golden magic deepen, infusing him with an overwhelming sense of vitality. It was intoxicating, and he realized this was the true power of healing—a gift from the magic he had absorbed. Rune's breathing steadied, and he gently shook her shoulder.
"Rune, wake up," he urged, his voice a mix of hope and fear.
Her eyes fluttered open, confusion clouding her gaze. "What…where am I?"
"It's okay. You're safe now," Torrack assured her, relief flooding through him as he realized she was alive.
She blinked, recognition dawning. "Torrack?"