The sound of someone coughing blood is different from normal coughing.
It's wet. Broken. Like the body itself is trying to reject what just happened to it.
That was the first thing I registered as my vision steadied.
The second was that none of us were standing straight anymore.
Stone dust hung in the air like fog, thick enough that every breath tasted like iron and age. The chamber looked smaller now—not because it had changed, but because we had. Pillars were half-gone. The floor was fractured into uneven plates. Jaki symbols pulsed faintly along the walls, reacting to Azazel's presence like a wound that refused to close.
And Azazel himself—
He hadn't moved far.
He stood where he'd last landed, wings folded loosely behind him, one claw resting against the floor as if he were leaning on a cane.
Watching us.
Waiting.
This wasn't a fight anymore.
It was a demonstration.
Seraphyne was on one knee, pink fire flickering weakly around her hands before sputtering out completely. Her breathing was shallow, uneven. She tried to stand and failed, catching herself with one arm before collapsing back down.
Liraeth's shield lay in pieces around her. Not cracked. Not split.
Shattered.
She stared at it for a long moment, hands shaking—not in fear, but disbelief—before forcing herself to look up again. There was nothing between her and death now. She knew it. We all did.
Varein was worse.
He was still standing, somehow, spear planted into the ground to keep himself upright. One arm hung uselessly at his side, aura flickering erratically around it. His jaw was clenched so tight I thought his teeth might break.
Kai was breathing hard, one hand pressed to his ribs, the other still gripping his katana even though the blade was visibly warped. He hadn't let go. Not once.
Liam was on his back, staring at the ceiling, chest rising and falling too fast. His longsword lay a few feet away. He hadn't reached for it again.
And then—
A sound like the world breaking.
Azazel moved.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Just enough.
He crossed the chamber in a single step and slammed his clawed hand into Theon's chest.
The impact detonated.
Stone exploded outward. A dust cloud swallowed the far wall as Theon was driven into it so hard the stone folded around him. The sound came a second later—deep, concussive, final.
The dust didn't settle immediately.
For a moment, there was just silence.
Then a low, pained groan echoed from within the crater.
Theon was alive.
Barely.
That was when it finally hit me.
This wasn't about strength.
Azazel wasn't escalating.
He was pacing.
He was letting us break in layers.
I felt my grip tighten around my sword without realizing it.
This was my fault.
The thought landed with no drama, no denial.
Mine.
I should have pulled us back. I should have known better. I saw the signs—the jaki, the murals, the way this place felt wrong long before we reached the door. I let momentum carry us forward. Let duty blind me.
Now look at them.
Look at what I'd dragged them into.
And Lumiel—
The thought of her twisted something sharp in my chest.
She was still somewhere in this hell.
And if this continued—
We were all going to die here.
Including her.
Azazel's voice cut through the dust, calm and almost curious.
"Interesting," he said lightly. "You're still standing."
His eyes were on me.
Not the others.
Me.
I stepped forward without thinking.
White thunder crawled along my arms, unstable, snapping against my skin like static. My ocean affinity surged beneath it, churning violently, like a storm trapped in a bottle.
Azazel tilted his head.
"That look," he said. "That's the moment commanders usually break."
I didn't answer.
I couldn't.
Because he was right.
Not about breaking.
About something else.
I wasn't thinking like a commander anymore.
I was thinking like a knight.
Not to win.
Not to lead.
But to hold the line.
I glanced back, quick and sharp.
Everyone else was done.
Not dead.
But close enough that one more mistake would finish it.
Only three of us were still capable of moving with intent.
Me.
Sir Aldred—blood running down the side of his face, sword chipped, stance rigid but unbroken.
And Kazen—bow still in hand, breathing controlled despite the tremor in his legs.
That was it.
I didn't shout.
Didn't issue orders.
I caught Aldred's eye and gave a single, sharp signal—two fingers, low.
Gather them. One point.
His jaw tightened.
Then he nodded.
Kazen met my gaze next.
I pointed back behind me.
Support.
He understood instantly.
That was when Azazel laughed.
Not loud.
Not mocking.
Amused.
"Oh," he said softly. "So you've chosen defense."
He spread his wings slightly, shadows stretching across the chamber.
"How quaint."
I stepped forward, planting myself between him and everyone else.
My role was clear now.
Not to kill him.
Not to overpower him.
Just—
Don't let him reach them.
I inhaled slowly.
The sea inside me answered.
Azazel lunged.
I met him head-on.
The impact sent pain screaming up my arms as our weapons collided. White thunder detonated outward, scattering dust and broken stone. Azazel barely shifted.
He struck again.
And again.
Each blow was measured. Precise. Meant to test how much punishment I could take before I failed.
I blocked. Redirected. Took hits where I had to.
Behind me, Aldred moved fast, dragging the injured into a tight cluster, forming a living wall of broken bodies and stubborn will.
Kazen loosed arrows whenever he could—not to wound, but to distract.
Azazel noticed.
Of course he did.
He backhanded me across the chamber.
I hit the ground hard, rolled, came up just in time to see him turn toward the others.
"No," I muttered.
I moved before thinking.
"Aldred!"
He understood.
I sprinted straight at him.
He dropped his stance, braced both hands.
I jumped.
For a split second, I balanced on his palms—
Then he threw me.
I flew.
Time stretched.
Azazel turned, surprised for the first time.
My blade flashed.
I cut him.
Not deep.
But enough.
White thunder and ocean aura surged through the strike, ripping across his chest in a shallow arc.
At the same moment—
An arrow screamed past me.
Kazen's shot.
Infused.
With my aura.
It struck the same point.
Azazel staggered half a step.
His eyes widened.
"What—" he started.
Then he laughed.
But it wasn't amused anymore.
"When," he demanded, "did you—"
The dust cloud from Theon's impact finally settled.
And Azazel realized.
I hadn't been fighting him the whole time.
I'd been slowly preparing the field.
While he toyed with us, while the chamber filled with dust and debris, I'd let my aura bleed out—thin, controlled, spreading like mist through the room.
Ocean.
Everywhere.
Kazen hadn't infused the arrow on the fly.
He'd drawn it from the mist and water itself.
Azazel's grin sharpened.
"Oh," he said. "That's clever."
Then his jaki surged.
Violent.
Overwhelming.
And I knew—
This was only the beginning.
I raised my sword again, feet planted, body screaming, aura unstable but burning.
Behind me, my friends breathed.
That was enough.
This wasn't about winning anymore.
It was about holding on.
And I wasn't done yet.