The last blow Sunless landed sent Sonjuro crashing back into the rubble he had only just crawled out from.
Dust rose like smoke from a ritual pyre.
Sunless emerged slowly from the crevasse, face streaked with dirt and blood. His breathing was ragged, his eyes two dimly glowing sapphires fixed upon the figure ahead.
He exhaled. The zone's mana gathered around him, thick and turbulent, drawn to the faint resonance of the Supreme Critical that still pulsed within his veins.
A tremor rippled through the air as ten condensed mana bullets spiraled from his fingertips each a whirling drill of destruction.
They screamed toward Sonjuro.
The man blocked several with his forearm, sparks flying, but one struck home. It tore through his arm, grinding through flesh as if flesh were water.
Still, Sonjuro smiled.
He dashed forward, feet striking the ground like thunder. His leg came up in a blur. The kick landed against Sunless's ribs blocked, yet not deflected. The impact cracked bone.
Blood spilled from Sunless's mouth, copper and warmth mixing with the cold air. Sonjuro's fist followed, aimed for his face
when golden threads shimmered into existence.
They coiled around Sonjuro's arm, halting the strike a hair's breadth from Sunless's skin.
Issac had returned.
He stood amidst the ruin, blood running from his temple, his breathing shallow. In one hand, his sword; in the other, the faint glow of his Stigma Strings of Fate.
His emerald eyes gleamed with foresight.
He pulled, and the threads obeyed. Sonjuro was wrenched backward, his balance lost. Issac stepped forward and drove his blade through his opponent's torso.
But Sonjuro was not so easily subdued. He twisted, pivoting midair, and his heel connected with Issac's jaw. The noble staggered, yet his threads snapped taut again, dragging Sonjuro back as though the world itself resisted him.
Issac's hand clenched.
Atmospheric pressure gathered around his fist, invisible but crushing. When it fell, it fell like judgment.
The blow sent Sonjuro reeling into the ruins once more, the rubble groaning beneath his weight. Issac didn't stop he gripped Sonjuro's face and forced his head deeper into the stone, roaring through the pain still coursing through his body.
Behind them, Sunless raised a trembling hand.
He pressed it to the ground.
Mana gathered around his arm like a storm answering its master's call. He exhaled and the very air thickened.
A high-pressure field formed around Sonjuro, invisible yet suffocating. The rubble cracked and split beneath the strain.
Sonjuro's body convulsed. His veins glowed red, the color of molten iron, and the heat of something ancient bled through his skin. Flames began to lick at his hands.
Then movement through the dust.
A figure climbed the slope.
He carried a sword.
His presence was calm, measured, almost holy. He lifted his blade, pointing toward the chaos that consumed the field.
The ground responded.
From the shattered hill burst enormous branches bark glistening with poison, flowers blooming in unnatural hues. A soft fog spread outward, gentle and deceptively sweet. Those who inhaled it felt their thoughts dissolve into drowsy silence.
The branches struck.
Sunless was swept from the hill like an insect caught in a wave. He tumbled through rubble, half-buried before the ground finally caught him.
The same roots fell upon Issac and Sonjuro, battering them in a storm of wooden tendrils before sweeping them off the hill entirely.
When the dust cleared, only one figure remained standing within the zone.
Josh Caster.
Below the hill, Mica heard the collapse before she saw it. Debris rained down, stones tumbling like hail. She threw up an arm, knocking one aside before it struck Tori.
Her chest rose and fell, every breath a struggle. Beatrice stood beside her, fire dancing and orbiting around the fox.
"Stay behind me," Mica said hoarsely. Then she moved.
Two masked men emerged from the haze, their bodies wreathed in mana. Their fists glowed as they advanced.
Mica met them head-on.
The first blow struck her cheek; she staggered, then another hit followed, and another. Her vision blurred. She planted her heel and spun, her foot connecting with one attacker's jaw, cracking his mask.
The man retaliated instantly an ice shard formed and launched upward, piercing Mica's abdomen.
Her scream cut through the battlefield.
Tears welled unbidden as she stumbled back, mana flaring wildly around her. She clenched her spear with trembling hands, ignoring the pain.
She charged.
Shards of ice flew to meet her, but Beatrice's flames burned them to steam in a heartbeat.
Mica reached her target and thrust. The spear struck true but the masked man caught her wrist. His touch was deathly cold.
Water surged beneath her skin, freezing as it flowed. Her veins turned to ice.
Her arm went pale, lifeless.
She retreated, staggering.
The second masked man advanced. Mana condensed at each of his fingertips, humming with intent.
"This is it," he murmured. "Rest now, little girl. You are merely a pawn in the Master's design."
He pressed his hand against her abdomen. Energy coursed through her body, violent and invasive. The sigil burned itself into her flesh a seal of agony and control.
Mica collapsed, unconscious before she hit the ground.
Beatrice's fury flared. She dashed forward, pink fire erupting around her, but the men moved with inhuman speed. One kicked her aside the fox spirit crumpling into the dirt.
They turned toward Tori.
He was still unconscious, lying motionless among the broken stones.
"Should we intervene?" one of the observing Association members asked. A woman, her brow creased with unease.
The higher-ranked hunter beside her smiled faintly.
"No. I trust their ally will act soon enough."
The men bent to lift Tori's body.
Then silver flashed.
A thin line appeared across one man's neck. A heartbeat later, blood erupted, spattering the ground.
Before the others could react, Tori was gone.
A figure stood where the blur had passed slender, silver-eyed, hair fluttering like mist.
Sylph.
Her expression was calm. Beneath that calm, fury smoldered.
Without a word, she flicked her wrists.
Two blades of silver light flew forth, moving faster than thought. They struck the masked men squarely in the lungs. Both staggered, blood spilling from their mouths as they fell to one knee.
Their eyes dimmed.
The battlefield fell silent once more.