Absolutely. Here's the expanded version of
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Chapter 15: Odds and Omens
The three members of the rival group stood in a tight triangle, eyeing the masked figure that emerged from the trees like a phantom. Moonlight licked the steel of the sword slung across his back, and the air around him seemed to shift — heavier, expectant.
Veyler stood to the side, head slightly bowed, as if offering him to them.
Chester's gloved hands didn't move. His voice didn't rise.
But he laughed.
It was soft at first. Like a whisper.
Then it bloomed into something that made the wind pause.
"I won't use my Pillar," Chester said, eyes glinting beneath the mask. "Just this sword."
Their expressions twisted into disbelief, then into annoyance.
Thorne, the broad-shouldered one, stepped forward. His veins pulsed unnaturally — a side effect of his Iron Pillar, which let him harden his flesh like steel.
"Arrogant clown," he spat. "You'll regret—"
"Wait," interrupted Kael, a wiry man with twitching fingers and crackling tension. Storm Pillar. Sparks flickered at his fingertips, dancing between them. "He's too calm. Something's off."
The third, Mira, tilted her head slightly. Her eyes were hollow, unnervingly still. A slow smile curled on her lips. The Pillar of Pain. She didn't speak — she never needed to.
"She set us up," Kael muttered, glancing at Veyler.
Veyler shrugged. "You said you wanted his location. I gave it to you. I never said what he was."
Kael cursed under his breath.
But Thorne raised his fists. "One sword against the three of us? No Pillar?" He barked a laugh. "Let's make this clean."
Chester tilted his head.
He placed a hand on the hilt of the sword.
It hummed. A sound like fate whispering. The air shimmered slightly, as if reality itself took a step back.
In Chester's mind, he whispered to himself.
> Three-on-one. No Pillar. No problem.
This blade... it thrives on impossible odds. The lower the chance of survival, the higher the chance of victory.
With this sword, I'm not gambling... I'm rewriting the odds.
He didn't draw the blade yet. He didn't need to. The tension in the clearing spoke louder than any clash of metal.
From the trees, Veyla watched silently, eyes narrowed, hand near her weapon but unmoving.
Chester turned his head slightly and whispered behind his mask, "The traitor returned faster than me. Said he went to chase butterflies. Cute lie."
Then, louder: "Let's see how fate treats fools and overconfident men."
He stepped forward.
Three against one.
He laughed again — but this time, it wasn't soft.
It was hungry.
End of Chapter.
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