The fissure split wider, vomiting more thread-born puppets onto the cracked stone. Their faceless heads tilted in unison, all eyes that didn't exist locked on Clara.
And Clara felt it.
Every step they took vibrated in her chest, like echoes of her own heartbeat. Their threads tugged against hers, not pulling her body but her will. Each one demanded she acknowledge them. Control them. Become their master.
She wanted to scream. But she forced her hands to ignite instead, wings flaring wide. "Stay back!"
The puppets froze for half a breath. Then, in perfect synchronicity, they lunged again.
Damien roared, his body wreathed in fire, burning a wide arc through their ranks. His flames crackled with fury, each strike heavy, vicious, merciless. Yet even as his power tore them apart, he shouted, "They're endless! Every one we cut down, the fissure just spits out two more!"
Evelyn, mid-spin with her twin blades flashing, only laughed. "Endless enemies, endless fun! Honestly, it's like someone catered this battle just for me." She slashed threads apart as if it were a dance, her movements elegant and mocking all at once. "You should thank Clara. She's such a lovely beacon."
"Stop talking!" Damien barked, searing another puppet to ash. His breathing was already rough; his earlier wounds weren't healed, and his flames flickered unevenly.
But Clara barely heard them. Her fire lashed out instinctively, striking a puppet that had tried to flank Damien. This time, she didn't just burn it. The crimson lacing her flames snapped the puppet's threads clean, severing it as though it had been waiting for her command.
The rest staggered. For just a second, they looked not at Damien, not at Evelyn, not at Yurin—only at her.
And the whispers surged.
Lead. Command. You are us. We are you.
Clara's knees threatened to buckle. She forced herself upright, flames trembling at her fingertips. "I—I'm not—"
Yurin's voice cut through the chaos, calm but unyielding. "Clara. Decide. Either reject them—or take control."
Her gaze snapped to him. "I can't!"
"You can." His threads spiraled out, cutting through three puppets with precise, surgical strikes. He never looked away from her. "You must. Because if you don't… they'll decide for you."
The fissure rumbled deeper, a sound like stone grinding against bone. More puppets began to crawl free, their forms larger now, thicker with layered crimson cords. They moved less like humans and more like beasts on all fours, snarling silently as they joined the fray.
Damien's flames flared bright again, but his shout carried frustration. "This is impossible! We'll drown in them!"
Evelyn twirled, slicing through two at once, then wagged her blade at him. "Impossible is just another word for boring, darling. Don't pout." She landed lightly on a broken pillar and blew Clara a mocking kiss. "Though I admit, this battlefield does feel… responsive. It's her stage."
Clara's breath caught. Because she knew Evelyn was right.
When she struck with pure flame, the puppets resisted, threads reforming through the ash. But when her crimson-laced fire touched them—they unraveled, vanishing completely. Her fire wasn't just burning them. It was claiming them.
Her stomach turned cold.
Damien noticed too. His eyes locked on her, horror sharpening his voice. "It's you. You're the key. They're tied to you!"
The puppets surged at her again, ignoring the others. Evelyn laughed with delight. Yurin stood like a statue, watching, waiting.
Clara's wings flared wide. Her fire burst outward, threads of crimson spiraling through it against her will. The nearest wave of puppets faltered, then stopped moving altogether—suspended in place like marionettes waiting for her command.
The battlefield froze.
Damien stared, his fists trembling. "What did you just do?"
"I—I didn't mean to!" Clara cried, clutching her chest. The puppets didn't attack. They just… waited. Dozens of faceless heads tilted toward her in eerie obedience.
The fissure rumbled again, deeper this time, as though amused.
Evelyn clapped slowly, her grin feral. "Oh, darling. You didn't just fight them. You became them."
Clara shook her head furiously, tears burning her eyes. "No. No, I'm not him. I'm not—"
But the threads inside her pulsed with a single undeniable truth.
She was.
And as her flames flickered crimson, the fissure widened further, its glow swallowing the battlefield.