The courtyard was a slaughterhouse, the cobblestones drowning in blood and ruin. Bodies of robed men lay twisted where they fell, some hacked apart by steel, others crushed beneath unseen forces. Every step Nina took splashed through the red-soaked ground, the chaos around her folding into the rhythm of her blade.
She was a storm given form. Her sword carved arcs of silver light through the air, each strike too precise to be chance, too fluid to be only training. She fought as though guided by something deeper, something divine. Her feet barely touched the ground before she was gone again, her body a blur of slashes, pivots, and parries that wove together like a deadly dance.
The robed men pressed her relentlessly. Their curved daggers spat violet mana, sizzling with poisonous intent. Some summoned jagged shields of shadow to block her path, others hurled blades of darkness through the air.
One lunged, raising a wall of black shards between them. Nina did not slow. She twisted, her blade sliding through the construct with effortless precision. The shards shattered like glass. Before the robed man could react, she caught him by the collar and wrenched him into the path of an incoming volley. Mana-daggers tore through his body, his scream cut short.
She used the corpse as a weapon, hurling it with a burst of divine strength that smashed into a knot of enemies, scattering them like leaves in a gale. Another came at her from the side, she dropped low, blade flashing upward, cleaving him open from hip to shoulder. She pivoted on her heel, a flowing motion carrying her into the next strike. Her sword traced a gleaming arc across another's throat, sending blood fountaining into the air.
Every movement was seamless. She did not waste energy. She did not falter. To watch her was to witness art painted in steel and blood.
Not far away, Mael fought his own war.
He stood against monsters that made the robed men seem like children. The Minotaur's fists came crashing down like hammers, each blow splitting stone where it landed. Beside it, the colossal boss-creature loomed, its molten eyes blazing, its armored hide glinting with earthen hardness. Together they roared, shaking the very air with their fury.
Mael's sword rose to meet them. The impact of the Minotaur's fist rattled his bones, the force driving him back, boots skidding across cracked stone. His breath caught, but he did not break. A swipe of the boss-creature's claws came for his throat—he slipped sideways, his blade grazing against the strike, diverting it just enough to save his life. Sparks flew as steel kissed claw.
A thunderous punch landed square against his chest, hurling him backward. He hit the ground hard, dust and blood filling his mouth. For a moment, his vision blurred. But then he exhaled, slow and steady, and rose to his feet again.
Mael stop being weak.
He adjusted his stance. His sword, once aggressive and driving forward, now became a shield, a wall of steel and will. He moved with brutal efficiency, deflecting strikes with the edge, redirecting monstrous claws with the flat. With each impact, his rhythm sharpened. Each wound he absorbed fueled him. His Juggernaut's Momentum grew heavier, faster, more unstoppable with every blow.
Sweat streaked down his brow, mixing with grime and blood, but his eyes blazed with fire. Every strike he took only made him stronger. Every roar of his enemies was answered with the grind of his teeth and the iron promise in his stance.
He was Mael. And he would not fall.
Nina's gaze locked on Mael. He was holding his ground, but every strike from the monsters was dragging him closer to collapse. Mael.
Her focus sharpened.
A robed man lunged in her path, sword raised. She met him head-on, her blade driving clean through his chest. She did not pause. With a twist of her wrist, she left the sword buried in him, his body still jerking with the impact. Planting her foot against his stomach, she used him as a springboard. Divine energy surged from her heels, launching her skyward in a burst of white light.
Mid-air, her hand tore the blade free from the corpse.
Mael looked up at her in that same heartbeat. His hand rose, almost instinctively. She caught it. Steel and sweat-stained fingers locking together.
The battlefield shifted.
For a moment, the chaos seemed to slow around them. Their breaths matched. Their heartbeats aligned. They did not need words. Her divine grace folded seamlessly into his raw strength, each complementing the other.
A robed man charged, chanting a curse. Nina pivoted around Mael, her sword flashing upward to slice through the man's throat. Before his body hit the ground, Mael stepped forward, his blade driving into another acolyte's chest with crushing force. Another enemy leapt from behind, dagger poised Nina slipped into his shadow, her foot snapping out in a clean arc that broke his jaw before he could strike.
Their rhythm built, each motion feeding the next. Mael's heavy swings carved wide, brutal paths, and Nina flowed into the openings he created, her sword finishing what his raw power began. Their enemies could not keep up. One after another, robed men fell, their screams drowned beneath the thunder and light of perfect synchrony.
When the last of them crumpled, silence rippled briefly across the circle. Corpses lay scattered at their feet, blood soaking into shattered stone.
But the fight was not done.
Nina's eyes snapped to the colossal boss monster, its molten gaze burning through the haze of battle. She exhaled, divine mana flooding her limbs. In a single motion, she pivoted on her heel, her body spinning with flawless control. Energy condensed into her leg, crackling down into her foot.
The ground shattered as she launched.
Her heel drove into the creature's chest with cataclysmic force. The impact rang like thunder across the courtyard. The monster's roar split the sky, its molten eyes flaring wide in shock as its titanic body lifted from the ground.
It hurtled backward, smashing into the castle wall. Stone cracked, groaned, and then collapsed in a roaring avalanche. Dust and rubble consumed the beast, burying it beneath tons of falling debris.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Meanwhile, Mira's face was a mask of righteous fury, every line of it hardened by resolve. Her blade glowed with holy fire, and she pressed forward with a relentless rhythm, her strikes carrying the weight of both vengeance and duty. Each swing of her sword was aimed not only to kill but to end Zephyr.
Zephyr, in chilling contrast, fought with unnerving detachment. His movements were quick, precise, yet strangely languid, as if he had no true stake in the outcome. His eyes were cold voids, his face unreadable. Every time Mira's blade carved close, he either allowed the graze or pulled back at the last moment, never flinching, never breaking his strange calm.
Their clash was a storm of opposites: her burning wrath against his eerie stillness. Sparks of holy light and crimson fire lit the courtyard as their blades collided, throwing fragments of stone from the ground beneath their feet.
Mira broke through his guard once, her sword tearing across his shoulder. He did not cry out. He barely blinked. At the same moment, her blade lashed outward in a second arc, cutting down two robed men who tried to strike her from behind. Blood sprayed across wear, but she did not stop.
"You are mine, Zephyr!" she shouted, her voice trembling with raw emotion.
He tilted his head, watching her. His lips curved into the faintest ghost of a smile, but his eyes remained empty. He had openings—dozens of them. He could have ended her life with a single inferno, but he didn't. He was holding back, as though she were nothing more than a distraction, a piece in a larger design.
Zephyr finally disengaged, stepping away, his blade lowering. Mira's heart leapt at the opening, and she charged, fire blazing in her eyes. But the robed men surged forward at once, their master's will guiding them. They became a living barricade, throwing themselves into her path. Mana crackled from their weapons, bolts of violet energy streaking toward her in a deadly barrage. She cut them down, one after another, her holy flame burning brighter, but every step closer to Zephyr felt farther than the last.
He watched her struggle, his expression utterly blank. My love…still thinks this fight matters.
Raising his hand, he sent out a pulse of telepathic power. His will tore through the battlefield like a silent blade, carrying a single message to the beast buried in rubble: the location of the safe house.
A moment later, a terrible roar shattered the air. Dust and stone exploded upward from the ruins of the castle wall. The colossal boss-creature rose, its molten eyes blazing, its armored body still slick with blood and dirt. It dragged itself free from the debris, breathing in ragged, monstrous bursts. Then it turned, gaze locking on the city in the distance. Purpose flooded its gaze. It began to move, each step shaking the ground, faster and faster until it thundered forward, the earth itself trembling in its wake.
Mael's eyes widened. He staggered to his feet, his chest heaving. No. The people. The city…
He moved to follow, desperation driving his limbs. But the Minotaur roared and intercepted, fury burning in its blazing eyes. Its hand, massive as a slab of stone, clamped around his torso. The creature slammed him into the ground with bone-cracking force. Mael's breath tore from his lungs in a choked gasp, blood flecking his lips.
"Mael!" Nina's cry ripped through the chaos.
She darted forward, but the Minotaur swung him like a ragdoll and hurled him across the courtyard. His body crashed into rubble with a sickening crack. Rage exploded in her chest, divine light flaring around her form. She leapt, her sword raised high, and landed on the beast's back. The Minotaur bellowed, thrashing violently as her blade plunged into its thick neck.
It tried to dislodge her, stumbling, slamming itself against broken stone walls. Nina gritted her teeth, forcing the sword deeper, twisting hard until the creature roared in agony. With one final shudder, it collapsed, blood pouring across the courtyard in a crimson flood.
But even in death, its fall brought new horror.
Around her, the robed men screamed as their bodies warped and twisted, bones cracking, flesh swelling. Their forms distorted into monstrous hulks, horns sprouting as their skin hardened into dark stone. One by one, more Minotaurs emerged, their guttural roars splitting the night as they charged forward.
Nina braced, her knuckles white around her sword hilt.
From the rubble, Mael rose, his body broken but his spirit burning. His eyes glowed with a raw, unrestrained fury. A berserk rage coursed through him, lending him strength that defied his wounds. He charged, his blade a whirlwind of savage strikes, each swing a desperate promise to protect.
Nina fell into step beside him, her strikes flowing with divine precision. She caught the openings his rage carved, finishing what his fury began. Together, they fought with a terrifying synergy, rage and grace bound into one.
On the ramparts, Zephyr stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the storm below. His fingers tightened around his blade until the leather grip groaned. He knew with a single spell, with a single decisive strike, he could end it all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
With a sudden gasp, Kibo's eyes snapped open. His chest heaved as if he had just broken free from deep water, every breath burning his lungs. For a long moment, the world was a blur of shapes and shadows, his mind blank, his memories shattered fragments.
Then warmth pressed against him. Two familiar figures collapsed into his arms. Lily's trembling form clung to him in silence, while Syl's arms locked around his shoulders, her face buried against his neck.
"Oh, Kibo…" Syl's voice shook, laced with relief yet edged in anger. "You big oaf… You were really reckless!"
Lily said nothing, but he felt the tremor in her grip, the silent weight of her emotions. He is fine…. In her mind, a quiet litany of gratitude pulsed over and over.
Kibo let out a ragged breath. Confusion, relief, and exhaustion swirled inside him, but before he could speak, a sharp voice cut like a blade through his thoughts.
"Thank you for gracing us with your pathetic return, you brainless idiot."
Kibo froze.
"You call that a fight? That clash with the so-called Paladin was a masterclass in failure. Throwing yourself into a slaughter you could have won… disgraceful. If this is how you plan to protect your lover and that girl, then they are already dead. You should be ashamed. You are lucky I am always here to clean up your mess."
Ignis's voice was like fire, searing his skull with contempt.
Kibo's face hardened. He closed his eyes, forcing his breathing to steady. Thank you, Ignis… for waking me up.
"Don't be grateful, brat." Ignis scoff echoed in his mind. "Next time, there will be no waking up. Do not make me regret it."
A faint, ghostlike smile tugged at Kibo's lips before it vanished as quickly as it came. Reality returned to him in sharp detail: the cold damp of the stone beneath his back, the stink of mildew and iron, the bite of chains digging into his wrists.
He looked at the two faces hovering over him, both filled with tears and happiness, and whispered, voice raw and hoarse, "I worried you both… I'm sorry."
Lily and Syl pulled back, though neither released his hands. Lily's eyes glistened as she spoke, her voice soft yet steady. "You don't have to apologize. You are alive. That is enough."
Syl gave a small nod, though her expression carried a storm of emotions. Her gaze locked with his, unflinching.
Kibo swallowed, his throat tight. "Syl… I'm sorry… I couldn't protect Ben."
The name hung in the air like a wound reopening.
Lily's face faltered, sorrow flickering across her features before she lowered her gaze. Syl forced a small smile, but it was brittle, fragile, nowhere near her eyes. She pressed a hand to her chest, her voice soft, as though speaking more to herself than to him. "I can't believe that Ben is gone."
Kibo's lips parted, but no words came. His heart twisted painfully in his chest.
"Hmph," Ignis sighed in his head, his disdain sharp and unrelenting. "Pathetic. Mourning like fragile children when you should be preparing. Enough of this weakness."
Kibo ignored him, refusing to let Ignis's venom take root. His gaze drifted past Syl and Lily until it landed on another figure in the shadows. Isilwen.
She sat apart, her posture stiff, her expression carefully masked. She had not spoken, had not moved closer. For a heartbeat, he wondered if she feared his anger.
Meeting her eyes, Kibo's expression softened. He offered her a warm, gentle smile. "I can see you are safe."
Isilwen blinked, caught off guard. For so long, she had expected his resentment, his judgment. Yet instead, he gave her kindness. A fragile smile broke across her lips, hesitant but genuine.
Ignis's voice broke the moment. "Enough of this touching display, brat. Stop wasting time. Get information."
Kibo's brow furrowed. I was getting to that.
He turned to Lily, Syl, and finally back to Isilwen, his voice firm despite the ache in it. "Okay. Where is that bastard Veyron?"
In the span of three short minutes since his awakening, the story spilled from Lily and Syl. Their words tumbled over one another in a torrent of grief and urgency: their capture, the cold prison, the elves awaiting sacrifice, the ritual drawing near, the war raging above, the explosion that shook the kingdom, and the grim transmission from Eryndor.
Syl opened her mouth, about to mention Vielwalker and the strange way he seemed to know Lily. But before the words could form, Lily's hand shot out and grasped her wrist.
"Please, Syl…" Lily's voice trembled, soft but urgent. "I will tell him myself… not now."
Syl froze, caught in her sister's pleading gaze. Questions burned at the back of her mind. Why hide this? What reason could you have? But in the end, trust overpowered doubt. She gave a small nod, holding back her curiosity.
Kibo, slumped against the cold stone, missed the silent exchange entirely. His mind was elsewhere, caught in a storm no one else could hear. The chains bit into his wrists, the iron biting raw. They felt brittle, weak. Reckless thoughts stirred inside him, a plan forming. Maybe if I can break free…
"Why must you always prove how utterly dumb you are?" Ignis's voice slashed through his head, thick with contempt.
Do you have a better plan? Kibo snapped back, his frustration burning even in thought.
"Of course I do," Ignis replied smoothly, his tone dripping with condescension. "Stay put. Watch. Let things play out. Did the girls not say someone was coming to save the slaves? That means they already know this place. You do not have to throw your life away."
As if punctuating his words, a deep rumble rolled through the underground chamber. Dust trickled from the ceiling, drifting like a gray veil. The walls gave a low groan.
Syl's eyes darted upward. "What are you thinking?" she asked in a hushed voice, her fear laced with suspicion.
"I'm thinking," Kibo muttered, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, though his thoughts were locked in Ignis's vice.
Ignis pressed harder, his voice sharp as iron. "And even if you do break free, what then? Will you play the hero? If you refuse, your lover and that girl surely will. Do not delude yourself. They will throw themselves into danger, and you will all die. Stay put. Wait. If the elves are the ones these cultists hunger to sacrifice, then let them be the bait. The rescuers will come. Do not ruin everything with your recklessness."
Kibo's heart clenched. But the elves… they are going to die. They are going to be slaughtered.
"Yes," Ignis answered coldly, "but not yet. Sacrifices must be prepared. They can still be saved before the knife falls. This is not the time to rush into death. You fought your sadistic aunt like a fool, but this is worse. This is not a duel. This is war."
Kibo drew a long breath, letting the words settle like a weight on his chest. His gaze shifted from Isilwen, silent and tense in the shadows, to Syl and Lily, both watching him with faces carved from worry. Will they be able to protect themselves… if I fail?
A sigh slipped from him, soft and heavy. Then he raised his head.
"I thought of something," he said, voice low but steady.
Lily's eyes widened, a fragile spark of hope flashing there. "What is it?" she asked quickly, clutching his arm as though afraid the answer might slip away.
But Kibo did not have the chance to speak. The ground shook beneath them, stronger this time. Dust rained down in thick streams, the prison floor trembling like the growl of some ancient beast stirring in the dark.
Something was happening.