Still crouched low, the lizard continued licking its wounds.
The heat of its saliva hissed softly against torn flesh, steam rising in thin wisps as its body worked to stabilize itself.
Its thoughts drifted back to the fight.
That cultivator had been dangerous.
Not because it was stronger.
If it had wanted to, the lizard could have ended the fight quickly. One direct soul attack would have been enough. It knew that. The strength had been there.
But it hadn't expected that using the soul attack would cost it its vision in the middle of the battle.
And the soul attack hadn't ended the cultivator in a single strike.
The memory stirred uneasily.
The moment the world had gone wrong—shapes blurring, edges dissolving, attacks no longer appearing where they should have been. Without its sight, it couldn't track incoming strikes. Couldn't judge distance. Couldn't aim properly.
Blind meant slow.
Blind meant exposed.
If the cultivator's final attack had landed fully…
The lizard's claws dug slightly into the ground.
It wouldn't have died.
But it would have been seriously wounded.
Badly enough that eating afterward might not have been enough.
That thought lingered.
Vision mattered.
Not for strength—but for survival.
The lizard lowered its head and resumed licking more carefully, its movements slower now, deliberate.
Next time…
It would be more cautious.
It would not let its eyes be taken so easily again.
Blindness was weakness.
And weakness invited death.
The battlefield remained quiet as the lizard crouched there—wounded but alive—learning slowly, through pain rather than words.
But none of that happened.
Because the fox interfered.
The lizard paused for a brief moment, its tongue resting against its scales.
The cultivator's final attack never landed. The killing blow never came. The fight ended before it could turn worse.
Not because of its own strength.
Because the fox had stepped in.
Why it had done so didn't matter.
The reason didn't change the result.
The fox killed the cultivator—quickly, cleanly—without warning and without explanation.
That was enough.
The lizard didn't feel gratitude.
It didn't feel trust, either.
Only acknowledgment.
Interference had occurred. Outcome altered. Survival preserved.
Its tongue moved again, licking slowly at its wounds as steam continued to rise.
The past was finished.
The present was healing.
The lizard remained crouched amid blood and broken stone, blind but alive—accepting the fox's interference for what it was, and nothing more.
A few moments passed.
Then the fox appeared beside the crouched lizard.
Soundless, as before.
It looked down at it, turquoise eyes calm and alert. After a brief scan of the ruined battlefield, it spoke, its voice even and unhurried.
"Alright. Let's not waste any more time."
Its gaze swept the surroundings once more—shattered stone, scorched earth, lingering spiritual turbulence.
"I've taken everything worth taking. There's no need to linger here any longer. Doing so would be too dangerous."
A faint note of regret slipped into its tone.
"I would've preferred to erase every trace of us ever being here… but that's not possible. Not after something on this scale."
Its eyes moved again, briefly, then returned to the lizard.
The lizard's licking finally stopped.
Slowly, it began to rise.
Still blind, it lowered its head and sniffed the ground. Its nostrils flared once… then twice—until it found what it was looking for. It bent down, picked up the pouch lying beside it with its jaws, then lifted its head again.
Turning, it faced the fox.
For a moment, they simply stared at one another.
Then, without a sound, the lizard bent its entire body slightly—
And leapt.
The fox didn't move.
Its ears snapped upright, but it remained perfectly still as the lizard launched itself toward it. Midair, the lizard's body shimmered—and suddenly shrank, its massive form compressing in an instant.
By the time it landed, it was no larger than a housecat.
It dropped neatly onto the fox's head, claws light, balanced with practiced ease—still holding the pouch in its now tiny maw.
The fox froze.
Slowly, one turquoise eye shifted upward.
"…Huh."
The small lizard settled into place, tail curling once for balance, blind golden eyes unfocused but posture calm—as if this arrangement made perfect sense.
The battlefield lay silent behind them.
And without another word, the unlikely pair stood there—one perched atop the other—ready to leave the ruins behind.
They remained motionless.
The lizard, perched atop the fox's head, shifted slightly.
Then its form began to fade.
Not all at once—but gradually. Scales blurred, edges softened, color draining away as if light itself were slipping past it. Over a few slow breaths, the small shape vanished completely, leaving no distortion behind.
Invisible.
A heartbeat later, the fox began to fade as well.
The invisibility spread outward from the point where the lizard had been resting—starting at the crown of its head, flowing down across ears, fur, tails, and limbs like a curtain being drawn. Inch by inch, the fox disappeared until nothing remained.
The battlefield fell silent.
Broken stone.
Dried blood.
Ruined earth.
And no sign that anything living had ever stood there.
Yet—
Invisible to the world, the fox was still present.
It stood where it had been, the lizard still balanced calmly atop its head, weight light, posture steady. The fox raised one paw to its muzzle, pausing briefly as it confirmed the concealment.
Complete.
Its thoughts flickered with mild surprise.
…Huh.
I didn't think it would still be able to do this.
There was a difference—subtle, but unmistakable. The sensation wasn't quite the same as before. Less seamless. Less effortless.
But the effect remained.
Functional.
The fox's ears twitched once.
Good enough.
Without wasting another moment, it moved.
There was no ripple. No sound. No trace left behind.
This time, it vanished for real—leaving behind nothing but silence, as though the battlefield itself had finally been abandoned by every living thing that had scarred it.