"I wish we hadn't gotten stuck because of your stupid plan," Joseph snapped.
"My stupid plan?!" Kuze shot back. "At least I came up with something, while you just sat there doing nothing! You wouldn't have even made it this far without me, idiot!"
"Because of you, we don't even have much time left! They're going to burn her at midnight!"
"I don't even know who she is! I was just trying to help. And if it's my fault, then go save her yourself!"
"Fine! I don't need you. I'm getting out of this prison on my own—and you can sit here and watch!"
"Yeah, yeah. Go ahead. Let's see how far you get."
Joseph turned away, muttering under his breath. *Now how the hell am I supposed to get out of here? I just said I could do it without his help...* He scowled. *Maybe I should just ask him again. No, no, no—never. I am never asking that bastard for anything.*
Hours passed. Joseph fiddled with the bars, tried the lock, even searched the walls for loose stones. Kuze stayed in his corner, arms crossed, watching him struggle.
Every now and then, Kuze thought of helping—but pride held him back. So they waited, and the silence grew.
Then, suddenly, the door creaked open.
Joseph sprang to his feet and rushed out, only to find… no one there.
Kuze looked around, eyes narrowing. No one was outside. No footsteps, no voices. Just the cold silence of the stone corridor.
Who opened the door? And why aren't they showing themselves?
Joseph stood frozen at the threshold.
Think, think, think… What should I do? How am I supposed to help her?
His fists clenched at his sides.
If this keeps going, she'll die.
Frustration welled up in his chest.
Why am I so useless? She's going to die, and I can't do anything. All I've done is stand here. Maybe Kuze was right. Maybe I am useless. Maybe this isn't meant for me…
His throat tightened.
How pathetic. Even when someone I care about is in danger, I can't do anything.
Somewhere beyond the corridor, muffled footsteps echoed closer.
"It's about time," came a low voice—one of the cultists. "Bring the girl."
"I heading off then," bye Joseph
"Kuze you can't do this, do you realize they are gonna kill her, they are gonna burn her alive."
"So what I have nothing to do with this, it's your problem you solve it."
"Please I'm begging you to help me out with this once and I'll do whatever you say."
"I already said it's your problem, you solve it and anyways you don't need me."
"You heartless bastard, I'll show that I can do this without you."
So Kuze started walking away, slowly sneaking out of the cathedral area.
Cultist Chanting
"Mater ignota, regina vetita,
sanguine viam reseramus.
Cadant stellae, taceat sol,
aperi portam peccato primo."
(Spoken in a low, rhythmic chant.)
Joseph shivered.
What the hell are they saying…? Whatever it is, it makes my skin crawl.
And then—Joseph's body moved before he could think. He ran toward one of the guards with a shout.
"Get away from her!"
His punch landed square on the guard's face, sending the man reeling. But another grabbed him from behind and slammed him into the cold stone wall.
Kuze didn't hesitate. Without a word, he threw himself into the fight, driving his knee into the guard's ribs and pulling Joseph free.
"Didn't expect that from you," Joseph grunted.
Kuze scoffed. "Yeah, well… you looked too pathetic."
They fought with raw desperation—wild swings, ducking blows, using whatever strength they had. But it wasn't enough. The cultists recovered fast, drawing magical blades. Kuze took a cut to the arm; Joseph hit the floor again.
"They're just rats," one of the cultists hissed. "Bleed them out."
The torches flickered.
The air turned still.
Black feathers began to fall.
Caw! Caw! Caw!
A flock of crows began circling overhead.
From the far end of the forest, a figure emerged—tall, cloaked in black robes lined with glowing gold. His hood was low, his face obscured, but the cloak shimmered like sunlight rippling over water. The crows above stirred—dozens of them, silent and watchful.
The cultists froze for a moment.
Then one of them charged.
A single step. A blur. The man severed his neck in a flash of gold.
The cult leader stepped forward. Older. Sharper. His eyes locked with the newcomer's.
"So… you're still alive."
"You're still a coward," the man replied, his voice like gravel and winter wind.
Joseph blinked. "Who the hell is that?"
Kuze shook his head. "I have no idea…"
"You're interfering again," the cult leader growled, crimson fire curling around his arm. "Still pretending you're better than me? Still hiding behind birds and shadows?"
"You always feared the shadows," the man said. "Even when we were boys."
Joseph's breath caught. They knew each other?
The cultist's expression twisted. "Don't talk like you know me."
"I do," the man replied, drawing his blade. It shimmered with golden light, etched with runes long forgotten.
"You left me," the cult leader hissed. "You turned your back on everything we promised."
"You made me," the man said coldly. "When you joined them."
With a roar, the cultist charged—sword blazing.
Their blades clashed—steel on steel, sparks and light. The man moved with fluid precision, blocking every strike with measured grace. The cult leader was faster, angrier—his fighting style was wild and deadly, fueled by hatred.
Then—snap—the cult leader raised his hand, and a burst of crimson flame arced toward the man. He pivoted and swept his hand outward. A wall of wind slammed into the fire, scattering it into embers.
The cultist spun and drove his hand into the ground. Cracks splintered outward—and sharp jagged rocks shot upward. The man jumped back, landing light on his feet. He raised his palm, and a gust of pressurized air shattered the stone spikes mid-air.
He thrust his blade forward, and a ribbon of water coiled from the ground, wrapping around the cultist's leg. The leader snarled, flaming energy bursting around him, evaporating the water with a hiss.
The crows above screeched in alarm but did not descend.
The cult leader roared, slamming both fists into the ground—flames erupted in a circular wave, scorching the battlefield. The man spun his cloak in front of him, golden runes flashing—a barrier of wind surged out, pushing the fire back just enough for him to dash forward.
Steel met steel again. Sparks danced in the shadows.
"You've grown strong," the leader spat. "But not wise."
"And you're still hiding behind your twisted ideals," the man shot back.
The cult leader smirked. "Why use fragile blades… when you've got sturdy hands?"
Instantly, the man's blade dissolved into mist.
"So you want to fight bare-handed? Just like the old days?"
"The old days, huh…" the man muttered.
The leader exhaled a torrent of fire.
The man replied with a sudden surge of rushing water, flooding the area, steam erupting between them as elements clashed and canceled out.
Then fists flew. Blows landed.
The man's punches were precise, reinforced by bursts of air at impact.
The cultist's strikes burned with raw heat, each blow singing the air.
The ground beneath them cracked.
The forest shadows trembled.
Neither gained the upper hand.
But time was running out.
The cult leader took one step back—then cast a spell. A ring of enchanted flame coiled around the unconscious girl.
"You can't stop us. Not anymore," he said.
"You're right," the man muttered. "Not today."
With a final hiss of fire, the cultist vanished—leaving only glowing embers behind.
Silence.
The crows settled again, quietly perching.
The man stepped forward, sheathing his invisible blade.
"You've got more trouble coming," he said to the boys. "Get up. Fast!
We have to get moving."
The man turned to Kuze. "You—go untie the girl. I'll heal this kid."
"But the fire—" Joseph started.
"I already neutralized it," the man replied.