Penelope snorted, warily creeping an arc around the unmoving Karma, whom—despite his dramatic proclamation—retained a relaxed disposition.

Disregarding his adversary's prowling, Karma ran his hands through his hair, noticing its robust thickness as if feeling it for the very first time.

"It's been so long since I've felt this free, Penelope. In fact, this is the first unrestrained moment I've shared with another human," said Karma, his tone paradoxically distant yet near. An image of his reflection flashed from memory. He recalled all those days ago, back in the sect, when he had peered down at calm rapids. Remembered noting his appearance as subtle—and nothing more.

Penelope remained silent, maintaining the deadlock as her wound continued clotting.

Unheeding the lack of reply, Karma continued, "When I look into the eyes of others, my face is absent—more cataract than man. Tell me, Penelope, what do you see?"

Penelope, steps negligibly slowing, rasped, "What galls you to speak to me this way?"

Karma sighed, observing his clouded visage through the revolving Ouroboros in his consciousness. Can she see me? Can Anlîthëma? Can anyone?

"To me, you are already dead, your every recollection buried beneath the earth. You are my perfect companion, for this conversation dies with you."

Their gazes locked as Penelope softly leaned on her mutilated ankle, hissing as a wolfish grin warped her complexion. Cracks painted the yellowed stone beneath their feet as her crimson aura blazed with an unprecedented fury.

"If you're so curious, defeat me."

Watching Penelope barrel toward him, Karma lightly exhaled, dropping his arms to his sides. Plumes of dust wafted from her precise footwork, their particles catching the sunlight as if conjuring a starry sky.

Within an instant, afterimages of Penelope's daggers filled Karma's vision. Spiritual energy gushed through his meridians, fueling calculation after calculation as he negotiated the assault.

Feigned uppercut, shallow jab, double-handed cross ...

With phantom-like movements belying his agility, Karma unerringly eluded the deadly barrage.

She's accelerating!

Ducking an overhead swing, Karma strafed past Penelope such that they stood back to back. Perfectly mirroring her frantic pivot, he grunted, "Too slow."

A kunai whipped over Penelope's shoulder, only to be caught by its handle.

"Faster."

Karma released a burst of flame, wresting the dagger from Penelope's slackened grip. Simultaneously, his elbow drove into her ribcage before he vaulted forward with a 180°.

Twirling the dagger with its ringed pommel, Karma chided Penelope as she struggled for balance.

"If you want to leave this place alive—" Azure light spilled from his fingertip, searing vein-like patterns throughout the kunai's frame. Following a clink, metallic shards lined with runes crumbled to the dirt. "You need to be faster."

Penelope grit her teeth, crouching into a readied stance. The potent energy about her kunai withdrew, shrouding her body in a thin, crimson film.

Karma squinted, hurriedly leaning his weight against his toes.

Swish.

She vanished.

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Behind!

Karma's neck snapped to its side, distinctly sensing something graze his hair.

Swish.

His right knee shot up to his stomach as a hole tore into his left pant leg.

Swish.

Air combusted below his foot, sending him inches above a whistling blur.

She planned this!

Penelope reappeared with the tip of her blade piercing toward Karma's heart. Sweat sprayed from her now-untied hair; her fatigued yet triumphant gaze honed onto Karma's face.

And found pity.

Karma's hand, hovering loosely above his stomach, pointed skyward with a single finger.

A column of azure light blossomed between them moments after their feet met the ground.

Then there were two thumps.

Hand.

Kunai.

Blood.

Karma's solemn voice, tinged with a hint of sorrow, sounded the battle's end, "You should be proud—both of your speed and of your prowess. Well fought, Penelope."

Penelope dropped to her knees, clutching a bloody stump. "There is no honor in my defeat. Only death."

"I honor your defeat. All will face death. Few will receive my honor."

"And what is that worth?"

In his gut, Karma felt his response stew with indelible gravitas. His next utterance shall not be empty consolation—but truth. Undistilled, immutable truth.

"More than you could possibly imagine."

A hush graced the former battleground, its two inhabitants lost to nature of two parts: that of the breathtaking scenery without and the inevitable mortality within.

**

Karma unblinkingly observed as an orange-breasted oriole returned to its nest, a mealworm nestled in its beak. When no chicks chirped in greeting, it sang a series of melodies rich in sweetness.

After a prolonged period of inactivity, the oriole beat its wings, circling the area as it sang once more.

Again and again, the oriole returned to its nest before soaring back into the air, its song never ceasing.

"What is it doing?" Penelope asked softly, notifying Karma of their shared audience.

"Looking for its nestlings," replied Karma. "It brought them food."

"Has it any hope?"

"No."

Turning to Penelope, Karma gestured at her bleeding wrist, "You're not going to treat that?"

"No."

...

"I do see you," said Penelope, noticeably frailer than moments ago, "but the moment I look away, your image fades to obscurity."

Karma sought Penelope's gaze, staring intently into her amethyst irises. "What do you see?"

"I see a face whose emotions I can describe and proportions I cannot. Hair that is colorless and colorful," her voice faded with every breath. "I see the essence of humanity, but nothing more. You are ... pure. Unblemished by the mortal world."

As if by some unspoken agreement, they collectively looked back to the oriole and its plight.

"Thank you," Karma whispered.

After a final lap around its home, the chick-less bird warbled a melancholic tune, ultimately choosing to abandon its nest.

"Why do you live out here, all on your lonesome?"

Penelope's tired eyes twinkled with a profound splendor. "I like it here ..."

Her words carried more than words.

They carried breath.

Her final breath.

**

Karma departed the desolate cliffside, retracing his original point of ingress. Behind him, a gentle breeze shepherded a cloud of ashes about the solitary thatched hut—as if intoning a soundless dirge for the loss of its owner.

A Jade Slip laid atop Karma's cupped hands, etched with radiant text reading: "1/3".

Sounding uncharacteristically hesitant, Anlîthëma asked from within Karma's spatial pouch, "Why treat a disgraced foe with so much respect?"

Karma, stowing the sect's assignment tracker, explained, "Losing a battle is not a disgrace of character; it's a measurement of power, fortune, and circumstance."

Heaving a long-drawn breath, he continued, "I respected her tenacity, her courage, and her integrity. When we fought, I experienced her every emotion no less than my own. What do you think she felt most of all during our battle?"

"Indignance, anger, or perhaps hatred?" replied Anlîthëma.

Karma shook his head. "Sadness. She recognized me—knew from the onset I was responsible for stealing the Domain Catalyst. Everything you saw was the actions of a woman convinced of her death.

"Tell me, do you still lack respect for such a person?"

Anlîthëma sank into silence.

They waded through marshes, descended escarpments, and wove past numerous rock formations. Throughout their journey, not once did either of them speak.

Only when the rattle of chains crashing against volatile meshes of lightning reaved nature's quiet did Anlîthëma voice their reply.

"I respect her."

**

Back in the forested clearing, the war between the Spectral Coup leadership and the lone yet overwhelmingly powerful Frederick proceeded in full swing. Horrific gashes littered Ghoul and Dante's bodies, whereas the chain links composing Frederick's bodhisattva were strewn across the scorched battlefield.

As the mighty combatants reared their avatars for another round, a shrill voice suddenly cut through the violent cacophony: "Father, I've invited Cousin Delphose as you asked! He's right behind me!"

Punctuating the exclamation, a youthful, harried aspect emerged from the adjoining foliage.

Dante and Ghoul sported dark expressions as Frederick barked a hearty laugh. "Well done, my boy. Come, help me stall these infidels. Let them suffer with the knowledge their death draws near."

**

Letting loose a string of tsk's, Karma chortled, "Lance, Lance, Lance. What a sly fellow you are."