The slope looked ruined.
Craters. Cut snow. Black scuffs where heat had touched the ground. Golden ash drifting in little swirls where something had died and blown away.
They kept fighting anyway.
The Nyxes didn't slow. They came out of the trees in waves that didn't learn mercy. Some looked almost human. Some had long arms with flat blades. Some carried shield-shapes grown from their forearms. One ran like a deer on spring legs and didn't slip once.
Everyone was tired now. You could see it in small things - the half-second late block, the breath taken too long, the way hands shook after a parry.
Raizen felt it too. His lungs burned. His shoulders ached. But his feet were still honest, and his blades were still where they needed to be.
