The Echo of Justice
The air in the sunken plaza was thick with the acrid scent of woodsmoke and the arrogant, grating jeers of the captors. George watched from the high, shadowed ledge, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Below, the rivals bickered like vultures over a kill they hadn't truly earned. One lanky candidate with a cruel, thin-lipped sneer held Arthur's silver blade toward the firelight, tracing the masterful engravings of the hilt with a greedy thumb. Nearby, two others were tugging at Arthur's teal-and-gold chestplate, their voices rising in a petty argument over whether to melt the regal metal down or wear it as a trophy of their hollow victory. The lead candidate, his sharp features illuminated by the flickering orange glow of the campfire, finally grew weary of the spectacle. He adjusted his gear and marched back toward the pillars where Nana, Kayn, and Arthur remained slumped. To the casual observer, they were broken prisoners, but George knew better; every rope had already been surgically severed by his invisible wind-blades, held in place only by the calculated stillness of his friends.
"I've had enough of waiting," the leader growled, his voice rasping with a cold, jagged impatience. "My offer was more than generous. I saw how you handled that serpent; you have the kind of raw talent we need to make it out of this hellhole alive. But look up." He gestured aggressively toward the red-tinted sky, where the massive, ethereal clock tower loomed like a silent executioner. "Time is a luxury none of us have. Make your decision: join me and we escape this labyrinth together, or die right here in the dirt."
He stepped deep into Nana's personal space, looming over her with a predatory confidence. Nana lowered her head, her dark, messy hair shielding her eyes from the firelight. A faint, unintelligible whisper escaped her lips, sounding like a plea.
"What? Speak up, girl!" the leader barked, leaning in closer. He tilted his head, his ear nearly touching her mouth to catch her submission. "What did you say?"
Nana tilted her head up, and the leader's breath hitched. There was no fear in her expression—only a fierce, triumphant grin. "I said... go to hell."
Before he could even blink, Nana's hands—now free and pulsing with a violent, incandescent heat—slammed into his chest. A massive, point-blank fireball erupted from her palms. The concussive force and searing white heat sent the leader spiraling backward through the air, his scream cut short as he crashed into a stack of supply crates, the wood splintering under the impact.
"Guys, now!" she screamed, her voice a clarion call that shattered the silence of the plaza.
The plaza exploded into a kaleidoscope of violence. Arthur and Kayn sprang from their feigned captivity like coiled cobras. Kayn's eyes bled into a deep, abyssal black as he activated his Shadow Mimicry technique. The shadows beneath the pillars elongated and detached, rising from the stone as half a dozen perfect, obsidian replicas of the group. The rival candidates panicked. They unleashed a frantic, uncoordinated array of fireballs and earth spikes at the shifting forms. One shadow-George was obliterated by a high-pressure water blast, only to have another materialize instantly behind the attacker. The air crackled with the ozone of mismatched spells as the captors fell into a frenzied, futile goose chase, draining their mana pools by striking at phantoms that dissolved into smoke the moment they were touched. Arthur didn't miss a beat. He rolled through the grit of the plaza, his piercing blue eyes locked on the candidate still clutching his sword. The thief was spinning in circles, trying to strike a shadow-Kayn that danced just out of reach. Arthur thrust his palm forward, unleashing a concentrated orb of brilliant light energy. The blast caught the boy square in the ribs, launching him into the maze wall with a sickening thud. Mid-roll, Arthur reached out and snatched his silver blade from the air as it fell. He rose to his feet in one fluid motion, the weight of the steel returning his regal, knightly composure. He was immediately surrounded by three attackers, but Arthur moved with the grace of a master duelist. He parried a spear thrust with a resonant clang before counter-attacking with a swift fireball from his left hand and a dousing water ball from his right, keeping his enemies perpetually off-balance with his elemental versatility. Suddenly, a candidate hidden in the blind spot of a crumbling pillar raised a hand, conjuring a cluster of jagged, lethal ice shards. He launched them with a flick of his wrist, aiming for Arthur's unprotected side.
Whoosh!
A violent, spiraling gale intercepted the shards, spinning them into a whirlwind before shattering them against the vaulted ceiling. George leaped down from the ledge, his cloak billowing like wings, and landed in a crouch beside the prince. Without losing momentum, George thrust both palms forward; a powerful, condensed wind blast caught the ice-mage mid-spell, sending him soaring thirty feet back into a pile of jagged rubble.
"Thanks, George!" Arthur shouted over the roar of magic and steel, his silver blade humming as he cut through a rival's fire-shield.
"Don't mention it! I owed you one for that push earlier anyway!" George yelled back, his emerald eyes bright with determination as he conjured a fresh perimeter of wind to keep the swarming rivals at bay.
Arthur flashed a quick, confident smile, the thrill of the battle erasing the exhaustion of their capture. "I guess we're even now, huh?"
The stakes had never been higher, the tension in the plaza rising like static electricity before a storm. As the battle raged on, the four of them moved no longer as separate entities, but as a single, devastating machine. Their teamwork and unwavering loyalty shone like a beacon in the suffocating darkness of the Maze City, a testament that while the labyrinth could shift the stone walls, it could never break the bonds of those who fought for more than just survival.