The Aetheric touch was brief, cold, and utterly precise. A Master-level probe.
It brushed against my extended Rhythmic Sense, assessed it, and withdrew, all in the span of a single, suspended heartbeat.
The spotter on the eastern ridge. He wasn't just a spotter. He was the hunter. The leader.
My blood turned to ice. "He knows," I breathed, the words barely audible over the whistling wind that suddenly felt menacing. "He felt me. He knows we're here."
Garrick, a looming shadow of granite beside me, didn't move, but I felt his Aura solidify, a mountain preparing for an avalanche.
Leo let out a long, slow sigh. It was a sound of profound, almost visceral, self-disgust. "Sloppy," he whispered, his voice a venomous rasp against the rocks. "Gotten old and sloppy. Herded like cattle. He's been playing us."
His eyes, glinting in the pale, pre-dawn light, were no longer cynical or weary. They were cold, sharp, and utterly lethal.
"The trap's set," Leo continued, his mind working with terrifying speed, his words clipped. "The men in the tower are the bait. The ridge team is the hammer. They'll wait for us to make our move on the tower, get tangled in those tripwires, and then pick us off from a distance with crossbows and Aetheric attacks. A perfect, pre-sighted kill box."
"So we withdraw," Garrick rumbled, his voice a low vibration of practicality. "Circle back. Re-engage on our own terms."
"No time," Leo countered, his gaze fixed on the ridge. "He knows we've seen him. The hunt is active. If we run, they'll harry us, pick us off one by one. They have the high ground, the initiative, and the better plan."
A thin, cruel smile touched his lips, invisible in the dark but evident in his voice. "So we ruin his plan."
Before I could ask how, Leo moved. He didn't draw a blade. He reached down, his hand blurring in the gloom, and plucked a sharp, fist-sized rock from the gully floor.
"Chaos is a ladder," he whispered, almost to himself.
With a fluid, whip-like motion of his arm, he threw it. The rock sailed through the air, high and true, a perfect arc. It wasn't aimed at the tower, nor at the distant ridge. It was aimed directly at the cluster of tripwires I had spotted just moments before, twenty yards from my position.
The rock landed. A sharp TWANG of a breaking wire.
The world exploded.
It wasn't a single blast. It was a chain reaction. The tripwire, as Leo must have guessed, was linked to multiple fragmentation charges. A series of deafening explosions erupted across the hillside, sending dirt, rock, and razor-sharp shrapnel flying in all directions. The sound was a physical blow, a roar that hammered against my chest.
The entire hill, the carefully prepared kill box, was suddenly illuminated in the harsh, flashing, strobing glare of alchemical fire.
"Now!" Leo roared, his voice cutting through the din. He was no longer a shadow. He was a blur, already moving, not away from the tower, but towards it, using the very chaos he had unleashed as cover.
The effect was perfect. On the eastern ridge, I saw silhouettes stand up in the flashing light, their overwatch position exposed, their plan shattered by the premature detonation.
"Idiots! It's a diversion! They're in the gully!" a voice bellowed from the ridge, distant but furious.
The three decoys in the tower burst out, just as Leo predicted, confused, shouting, their crossbows aimed at the source of the explosions, not at us.
"Garrick, the decoys! Leo, the ridge!" I shouted, my voice tight, my mind racing to adapt.
"No!" Leo yelled, already halfway to the tower, his speed inhuman. "Stick to the plan! Their leader is coming! Garrick, him! The big one! Lancelot, you take the fast one! I've got the rest!"
He was right. The true threat wasn't the decoys. From the eastern ridge, three figures were descending, moving with a speed that was terrifying, bounding down the rocky slope like mountain cats.
The Leader, the one whose Aura felt like a cold, still void, a Low Master at least. A second man, slighter, moving in a rapid, flickering blur. And a third, a heavy-set brute with what looked like a massive warhammer strapped to his back.
Simultaneously, as if summoned by the explosions, two more figures emerged from a hidden bunker dug into the hillside behind us, cutting off our only route of retreat.
The Iron Masks. Five of them, plus the leader. Not three. Six. Six trained Experts, led by a Master. This wasn't a trap. It was an extermination.
The slight, flickering figure from the ridge was on me first. He had split from his leader, his orders clearly to engage and neutralize me. He moved in a disjointed, unnatural rhythm, his feet barely seeming to touch the ground. He was fast, faster than Lyra Corva, his twin daggers already gleaming, aimed at my throat. An Expert, specializing in speed.
"Scales!" I commanded inwardly. The familiar, burning-cold sensation erupted along my arms and torso, solidifying just as his daggers arrived.
Scraaaape!
The sound of steel on draconic armor was a high-pitched, agonizing shriek that set my teeth on edge. The force was minimal, his Path focused on puncturing, not bludgeoning, but the sheer speed was terrifying. He recoiled, his Aether flaring in surprise at the unexpected, scaled defense, and flowed back, circling me, a predator testing new, unexpected armor.
I felt the dragon's will surge, hot and eager within me. 'Fast. Weak. End him.'
I pushed it down, anchoring myself in the cadence. Control. He's a test. Analyze. Don't just react. I held my ground, the broken hilt of my ancestral sword useless in one hand, my scaled gauntlet on the other. My fear of the trigger, of a near-death blow, made me hyper-aware, cautious.
He lunged again, a flurry of eight, nine, ten strikes, a blur of motion, all aimed at my joints, my eyes, the perceived gaps between the scales. I flowed with him, my Rhythmic Sense a sphere of perfect, slow-motion awareness, anticipating each thrust, parrying with my scaled forearms, the impacts jarring but harmless.
He was fast, but his rhythm was chaotic, frantic, lacking a core. I could read it. I saw his next move, a feint high, a thrust low at my unscaled knee.
I let him. As his blade descended, I gathered my Mana. Thump-THUMP. I didn't dodge. I met his thrusting leg with a Dragon's Lance, not a beam, but a focused, concussive blast, a shotgun of pure, rhythmic energy aimed at point-blank range.
The sound was a dull, heavy THOOM that resonated in my bones. The Lancer, his own Aetheric defenses shattered by the unexpected, direct counter, screamed as he was thrown backward, his leg buckling at an unnatural angle. He wasn't dead, but he was out of the fight, his mobility gone.
My fight had taken less than ten seconds, but the rest of the battle was already a whirlwind of controlled chaos.
Garrick was a mountain of fury. He had intercepted the heavy-set brute with the warhammer, just as Leo had directed. It was a clash of titans, Master versus Expert, but the brute's power was immense, his hammer, wreathed in a heavy, earthen Aura, meeting Garrick's greatsword in a series of ground-shaking crashes that sent sparks and rock chips flying. Garrick was stronger, more skilled, but the brute was a tank, absorbing the blows, giving ground grudgingly, his only purpose to pin our Master down.
The three decoys from the tower, realizing their mistake, had turned and were now charging our exposed flank, heading for me and the downed Lancer.
And Leo... Leo was a god of death.
He was facing the two Experts from the rear bunker and the Iron Mask Leader, simultaneously. It wasn't a fight; it was a performance. He flowed between them, his movements so fast, so fluid, he seemed to be in multiple places at once. His twin blades were a blur of silver, never meeting their parries head-on, but always finding gaps, always forcing them to react to him.
The Leader, the one whose Aura felt like a void, was a tactician. He commanded the other Expert, trying to box Leo in, his own blade a precise, deadly instrument, his movements calm and economical. But he was too slow. Leo was a High Master of speed and stealth. They were children trying to catch smoke.
Leo feinted at the Leader, drawing his block, then spun in an impossible, ground-level reverse, his blade sinking deep into the unprotected side of the other Expert. He kicked the dying man into the Leader, breaking his stance, and flowed backward, two throwing knives already in his hand, hurled with perfect, unthinking accuracy.
The knives weren't aimed at the Leader. They flew past him, arcing through the air towards the three decoys charging me. One sank deep into the throat of the lead man. The other buried itself in the knee of the second. The third decoy skidded to a halt in terror.
It was beautiful. It was terrifying.
The Lancer I'd blasted was trying to crawl away. I ignored him. The battle wasn't over.
Garrick was still locked in a brutal stalemate with the hammer-wielding brute, their battle a localized earthquake. The last conscious decoy was retreating, terrified of Leo.
Leo, having dispatched his second opponent, was now facing the Iron Mask Leader one-on-one. The Leader's calm was finally gone, replaced by a desperate, frantic defense as he realized he was completely, utterly outclassed.
I moved to help Garrick. The brute was all power, no finesse. As Garrick's sword locked with the hammer in a shower of sparks, I circled behind, my scales still shimmering, my power coiling.
"Garrick! Now!" I roared.
Garrick understood. He put all his Master-level strength into the bind, roaring back, forcing the brute to focus every ounce of his Aether and muscle on him.
I raised my hand, the dragon's will surging, demanding destruction. I didn't fight it. I aimed it.
Thump-THUMP.
A focused, controlled Dragon's Lance, a spear of pure, crimson-black energy, lanced through the pre-dawn light and struck the brute directly in the back of his unarmored knee.
His roar of agony echoed across the pass as his leg exploded in a shower of gore, his stance shattered. Garrick's greatsword, now unopposed, swept down in a high, lethal, decapitating arc.
The fight was turning. Two Experts down, one disabled. Three decoys neutralized. But the Leader remained, and he was still a Master-level threat. This was not over.