The cold desert night wrapped the battlefield in an eerie stillness, but it was the tension between Dean Alden and Ariyeh Dam that sparked hotter than any flame. Under the moon’s pale glow, Dean’s strikes were precise and calculating, each swing of his sword cutting through the shadowy air, searching for a weakness in Ariyeh’s defences. Yet Ariyeh moved relentlessly, his scimitar glinting beneath the stars as it met Dean’s blade with a sharp, ringing clash. Every parry echoed through the silent desert, the sound of steel on steel grating against the quiet, intensifying the darkness around them.

“You know it won’t be long now,” Dean taunted between strikes, his voice steady though a glint of malice was in his eyes. “We’ve captured one of your little Soulweaver minions. As we speak, you’re being sketched for a wanted poster, and soon your name will be plastered all over Amberfell. They’ll hunt you down. And when they’re done, we’ll send word to the Raet Empire. I’m sure a filthy dog like you won’t find any love in Solara either.” Dean’s lips curled into a sneer. “You’ll have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Hunted across two continents. Your days are numbered.”

Ariyeh laughed, the sound echoing through the vast desert air. His laughter was sharp, cutting through the tension. “Your words don’t rattle me, Elara’s hound.” His eyes gleamed with something more sinister. “You think catching one of my men matters? My plans won’t change because of a few setbacks. Soon enough, I’ll have a new face, and I’ll disappear. You won’t even know where to start looking.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed in realisation. “A Grafter!?” he exclaimed, his face betraying a flicker of genuine concern.

Ariyeh grinned, his expression cruel. “Yes, right here in this very desert. I’ll find him soon, and once I do… well, let’s just say, this face you’re so keen to see on wanted posters will be long gone.”

Ariyeh’s attacks turned savage, each swing of his scimitar more relentless than the last. He tore through the air like a storm, driving Dean back with raw fury. Dean gritted his teeth, feeling the pressure mount, but there was no room for error now.

Up in the air, Silas hovered on the winds summoned by Breeze, keeping a close watch on the battlefield below. His heart raced with worry as he observed the ongoing struggle. He couldn’t act now, or the entire plan would be ruined; it would only bring them closer to their deaths. Dean was holding his own, but Silas knew that if an opening didn’t come soon, the others wouldn’t last. He muttered under his breath, “Come on, Dean...”

Meanwhile, on the ground, Goldie, standing next to Trickster, let out a thunderous roar that reverberated through the desert, shaking the remaining two guards to their core. They stumbled back, eyes wide with panic and fear. Goldie’s roar disoriented them, but Trickster delivered the final blows. The serpent coiled around one of the guards, tightening its grip as it released a cloud of venomous mist. The man struggled for breath, but it was futile as he suffocated to death. The other guard, trying to crawl away in terror, was bitten repeatedly by Trickster’s venomous fangs until he lay still, the life drained from his body due to the venom.

The two creatures, a small bear cub and a massive serpent, seemed to work in perfect harmony. Goldie was impervious to Trickster’s mist, and Trickster was unaffected by Goldie’s roars. They were a puzzling duo but a force to be reckoned with together.

Ariyeh’s gaze flickered toward the pair, his lips curling in frustration as he saw his men fall. “What the fuck are you all waiting for?!” he snarled at the group of four guards standing near the musāmaḥa. “Kill them! Now!”

The four guards exchanged nervous glances. They had seen what had happened to their comrades. Five guards had already been reduced to corpses by Trickster and Goldie, but they knew if they didn’t act, Ariyeh would likely kill them later. Steeling themselves, they rushed toward the bear and serpent duo, weapons drawn.

As they ran, one of the guards caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A figure was attempting to flee in the swirling sands behind them. It was the captured slaver, bound and stumbling as he tried to make his escape amidst the chaos. The guard’s eyes widened in recognition, and he shouted to the others, “It’s the traitor! He’s the one who brought these people here! Kill him!

The guards turned their attention to the slaver, their fear momentarily replaced by a vicious need for retribution. They charged at the bound man, weapons raised.

Goldie and Trickster noticed the shift in the guards’ target and grew alarmed. They remembered Rowan’s earlier instructions—they needed him alive. Trickster, realising the urgency, grew angry. The distance was too great to close in time, so in a flash of scales and shifting energy, Trickster transformed into his Icefield Serpent form. Its massive body turned smaller and shimmered with frost as it unleashed an icy blast toward the guards.

But it was too late.

One of the guards brought his axe down on the slaver’s neck, severing his head with a brutal swing. The slaver’s head was still midair, falling toward the sand just as Trickster’s icy blast reached the group. The frost spread quickly, freezing the ground and the guards in their tracks. The slaver’s head, caught in the blast, froze solid instantly. With the added momentum of Trickster’s attack, it became a deadly projectile, hurling through the air like a jagged missile of ice and bone.

Ariyeh, locked in a fierce duel with Dean, never saw it coming.

The frozen head struck him hard in the right jaw with a sickening crunch. Bits of ice shattered upon impact, sending sharp shards slicing across his face. Blood sprayed from his split lip, and the force of the blow knocked loose two of his teeth, which flew from his mouth along with fragments of the shattered skull. Ariyeh staggered, the world spinning violently around him as he struggled to regain his footing. Pain shot through his jaw, and for a moment, his vision blurred. He coughed, tasting blood and feeling the sharp ache where teeth used to be. His grip faltered on the scimitar as he swayed, the brutal blow momentarily breaking his focus and leaving him vulnerable.

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Dean was surprised as well but then his eyes gleamed. This was the opening he needed.

Dean cast Empathic Manipulation without hesitation, weaving confusion deeper into Ariyeh’s already clouded senses. The man’s grip on reality faltered as he tried to shake off the growing haze in his mind.

Dean’s sword shimmered with spiritual energy as his Greater Spirit and two minor spirits infused it with their power. With a fierce battle cry, he brought his sword down with all his might, aiming for Ariyeh’s exposed flank.

Ariyeh, dazed and sluggish, instinctively raised his scimitar to block, but the force of Dean’s blow was too much.

Ariyeh’s body was flung across the desert, his body skidding across the sand, away from the battlefield’s main base and heart. His blood mixed with the golden sand as he groaned, struggling to stand, the searing pain from Dean’s attack still reverberating through his body. His mind raced, trying to make sense of the sudden onslaught. Ariyeh’s body screamed in protest, but he forced himself upright. Not like this. He couldn’t die in such a pathetic manner.. Not during the sacred musāmaḥa.

Suddenly, a high-pitched whistling sound cut through the chaos of battle.

Watching the entire battlefield from above, Silas saw the opening he had been waiting for. He hurriedly instructed Breeze, “Take me down toward him. It’s time.”

Breeze responded instantly. Her flight was erratic and hasty, as she wasn’t entirely in control of her power but, she obeyed, plummeting toward Ariyeh like a vengeful storm. The wind screamed, kicking up a tornado of sand that stung like needles against Silas’s skin. As they hurtled toward the ground, Breeze opened her translucent mouth, and from it emerged a glowing array, symbols shimmering with deadly energy.

Silas grabbed the array mid-flight, locking his eyes on Ariyeh. Below, Ariyeh, disoriented by the wind, managed to look up just in time to see his doom descending. His eyes widened just as Silas activated the array.

A violent eruption of razor-sharp wind edges tore forth from the array, a deadly storm aimed at Ariyeh. His pupils dilated in horror, but before he could even raise his guard, the blades struck—flaying his flesh, slicing him apart piece by piece.

The sand dunes erupted in a violent storm of shredded sand and stone as the wind ripped everything apart.

Ariyeh’s scream was lost in the wind as dozens of blades carved into his flesh, flaying the skin from his bones. Blood sprayed in every direction, a gruesome red mist that painted the battlefield. Deep gashes tore through his body, exposing muscle, sinew, and shattered bone. He was flung through the air again, away from the main base, like a broken ragdoll, blood trailing from his lacerated form in thick, heavy streams.

His body slammed into the sand, barely recognizable as it lay twisted, contorted in unnatural angles. Limbs hung limp, shredded to the point where bone jutted through the flesh. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking the sand, turning it into a grotesque red mud. Yet somehow, against the sheer brutality of the attack, Ariyeh moved, dragging his ruined body upright. His breath was ragged, wet with blood as he coughed up chunks of flesh from his ruptured lungs.

Through his fading vision, he saw Silas descending toward him, and with one last desperate snarl, Ariyeh summoned the last of his strength. His Greater Spirit surged within him, forcing his broken body to respond. “I’m not... going down... to some brat!” His voice was a hoarse growl filled with pain and fury.

He thrust his hand forward, casting Soul Shackles. The spectral chains shot toward Silas with lightning speed, shimmering with dark energy. At the same time, his King Spirit released a Soul Drain, an invisible wave of malevolent energy that sapped Silas’s strength, attempting to choke the strength from his soul.

But Silas was unrelenting.

Slamming his left hand onto the ground, Silas activated the earth magic array carved onto his left arm. The sand trembled and split open. Giant, jagged spikes of stone erupted from the earth, surrounding Ariyeh in a brutal cage. The spectral chains snapped against the unyielding stone, shattering uselessly, and the draining spell faltered as Silas’s counterattack overwhelmed it.

Panting, Silas shouted to Breeze, “Breeze, lift me—hurry!”

Breeze responded instantly, lifting Silas higher into the air. Her control over the wind steadied, and Silas glared down at Ariyeh, whose bloodied form was now trapped within the jagged stone cage.

With fury blazing in his eyes, Silas raised his right arm, igniting the fire array on his right arm. Heat surged through his body, elemental power roaring in response. “Die!” he shouted, channelling the immense energy into a devastating blast.

A column of flame shot downward like a judgement from the heavens, lighting up this part of the desert. The stone cage shattered under the sheer force of the explosion, the jagged rocks disintegrating in a rain of molten debris. But the firestorm didn’t stop. It enveloped Ariyeh, the intense heat scorching everything it touched.

Ariyeh’s screams ripped through the battlefield as the flames consumed him, his skin bubbling and sloughing off his bones in grotesque chunks. His muscles sizzled, melting into a slurry of blood and fat that dripped from his charred body. His once proud face twisted in agony as the heat cooked him alive. Flesh cracked and split, peeling back to reveal the bone beneath, which began to blacken and crumble under the unrelenting heat.

His eyes boiled in their sockets, the pressure building until they burst with a sickening pop, sending thick, viscous fluid streaming down his scorched cheeks. His tongue, swollen and blistered, lolled from his blackened lips, cooking in the hellish inferno.

Still, the fire raged on, reducing Ariyeh’s flesh and bone to a bubbling mass. His body crumbled, collapsing in on itself as the flames devoured him. His inner armour melted, molten metal running down his legs, pooling at his feet as he was consumed.

Within moments, there was nothing left but a smouldering pile of liquified flesh, charred bone, and blackened armour. What remained of a might Soulweaver was nothing more than a smouldering pile, a grim reminder of his defeat

The battlefield fell into stunned and eerie silence, the heat of Silas’s flames slowly dissipating, leaving only the charred crater where Ariyeh had once stood. Dean, the guards, and even the distant combatants froze, unable to comprehend the horrific scene before them.

Silas hovered above, breathing heavily, his eyes fixed on the grotesque remains. His fists clenched as he confirmed that Ariyeh Dam was gone for good. His chest heaved, adrenaline still coursing through his body as Breeze silently hovered beside him, the wind still crackling with the residue of power.

“It’s over,” Silas muttered, his voice low, carrying only to the wind.