The moonlight barely pierced the thick of the night above as the resistance fighters moved into position. The night was deathly still, the usual nocturnal sounds of the forest muted as if the world itself was holding its breath in anticipation of the coming conflict. The transporter, a heavily armored vehicle surrounded by soldiers, lumbered into view along the narrow forest path. It was a beast of steel and Essence-powered machinery, designed to carry prisoners with no hope of escape. The flickering glow of lights cast eerie shadows on the trees, illuminating the grim faces of the soldiers who marched alongside it.
As Alaric gave the signal, the resistance fighters sprang into action. The first volley of attacks hit the transporter with a resounding crash, metal groaning under the force. Alaric’s voice rang out above the din, commanding his fighters with a calm authority. He used his power to manipulate the metal around them, twisting it into barriers and projectiles, but the regime soldiers were ready. They responded with a fierce barrage of gunfire and Essence-based weaponry, pushing back against the resistance with brutal efficiency.
The transporter shuddered as Alaric’s metal spikes tore into its side, but the soldiers were quick to reinforce it with their own barriers. It quickly became clear that this was more than just a standard escort—it was a trap. The regime had anticipated their ambush, and now they were the ones caught in a deadly snare. Alaric’s eyes narrowed as he realized the full extent of the danger. With a sharp order, he called for the team to initiate Plan B—a retreat.
But as the resistance fighters began to fall back, it became painfully obvious that the trap was designed not just to repel an attack but to prevent any escape. Reinforcements emerged from the shadows, surrounding the resistance on all sides. The sounds of battle intensified, the clash of steel against steel, the crackling of Essence-based attacks, and the cries of soldiers filled the air, creating a chaotic symphony of war.
In the midst of this chaos, Estelle moved like a shadow, her sword cutting through the air with lethal precision. Her movements were graceful and fluid, each strike delivered with the deadly elegance. Her agility allowed her to dart in and out of the fray, avoiding incoming attacks while delivering her own with devastating effect. But even as she fought, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—was watching her.
Her instincts proved correct as a familiar voice cut through the noise of battle. “I had a feeling I’d run into you again here, little rabbit.”
Estelle’s heart skipped a beat as she spun around, her sword raised in defense. There, emerging from the shadows with a predatory grin, was Vayne. His claws gleamed in the faint light, and his eyes, filled with a manic glee, locked onto her with the intensity of a hunter cornering its prey.
“Let’s have more fun this time,” Vayne sneered, his voice dripping with sadistic delight.
Without another word, he lunged at her with lightning speed, making him a blur of motion. Estelle barely had time to react, parrying his first strike with a clang of metal against metal. The force of the impact sent a jolt of pain through her injured shoulder, but she pushed it aside, focusing entirely on the battle at hand.
Vayne’s attacks were relentless, each swipe of his claws aiming to tear through her defenses. Estelle’s sword moved in a flurry, deflecting his strikes with practiced precision. But she could feel the strain on her body, her wound protesting with each powerful movement. Still, she danced around him, her movements a blend of speed and grace, matching his agility with her own.
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“You’re quick, little rabbit,” Vayne taunted, his eyes gleaming with excitement as their blades clashed again. “But I wonder how long you can keep it up.”
Estelle didn’t respond, her focus entirely on keeping Vayne at bay. She could see Dante fighting nearby, flames erupting from his hands as he kept a group of regime soldiers at bay. But his eyes kept darting in her direction, worry etched on his face. He wanted to help her, but he was pinned down, forced to deal with the enemies swarming him.
The battlefield around them was a blur of chaos, but for Estelle, the world had narrowed to just her and Vayne. Each of his strikes was precise, calculated to wear her down, to push her to the limit. She knew she had to end this quickly before her injury became too much to handle.
But Vayne was relentless, his grin widening as he sensed her weakening. “You can’t win this, little rabbit. Not against me.”
His words were meant to break her resolve, but instead, they fueled her determination. She gritted her teeth, pushing through the pain as she parried another blow, searching for an opening to turn the tide of the battle.
The sounds of clashing metal and shouts of combat filled the air, but Estelle’s focus was entirely on Vayne. Each movement was a desperate attempt to fend off his relentless attacks. Despite the pain in her shoulder, she fought with all the skill and determination she could muster, refusing to let him overpower her. But even as she matched his speed and strength, she could feel her energy waning, her body beginning to betray her.
Then, a voice cut through the chaos—Alaric’s voice, issuing the command to retreat. The resistance forces had managed to break through the enemy’s flanking maneuver, creating an opening for escape. Estelle knew she had to fall back, but Vayne was still pressing her hard, his claws flashing dangerously close with every strike.
“You’re getting slower, little rabbit,” Vayne sneered, his claws slicing through the air inches from her face. “Losing your edge already?”
Estelle’s breath came in ragged gasps, but she refused to back down. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it—a hidden enemy, lurking in the shadows, preparing to strike at Dante from his blind spot. Time seemed to slow as Estelle realized the danger. Dante was completely unaware, his focus locked on the enemies in front of him.
Desperation surged through her, pushing her to make a split-second decision. With a burst of energy, Estelle broke away from Vayne’s onslaught, twisting her body and hurling her sword with all the strength she had left. The blade flew through the air, spinning with deadly precision, and struck the hidden enemy just as they were about to attack Dante. The force of the impact sent the enemy crashing to the ground, their weapon clattering harmlessly away.
But in that moment, Estelle left herself vulnerable. Vayne’s mocking voice reached her ears, laced with disappointment. “How boring,” he sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. “Did you just decide to give up?”
Before Estelle could react, she felt a sharp, searing pain as Vayne’s claws tore through her. The world around her seemed to blur, her vision darkening as the pain overwhelmed her senses. She stumbled, struggling to stay on her feet, but the strength was draining from her body too quickly.
Just as she was about to collapse, something unexpected happened. The familiar weight of her sword appeared in her hand, as if it had never left her grip. The sensation was so startling that it cut through the haze of pain and confusion, and without thinking, she swung the blade in the direction of Vayne’s voice.
The blade struck true, catching Vayne off guard. “Clever rabbit,” Vayne chuckled, his voice laced with grudging admiration. But the harsh, surprised laugh followed by a moment of stunned silence. “Huh…”
His voice trailed off, replaced by a sudden, furious curse. “That old man… How dare he…!”
The last thing she heard was Dante’s panicked voice calling her name, his desperation cutting through the chaos. Estelle tried to respond, to reassure him, but the darkness was too strong. Her vision swam, the world around her fading into shadows as the pain finally took its toll. She could feel herself slipping away, the sound of Vayne’s anger and Dante’s desperate calls fading into the background as everything went black.