Machivel targeted five more Demonfire Candles,

His fire-based spells spiraled outward, striking the creatures with precision.

The Demonfire Candles writhed as the enchanted fire consumed them, their forms disintegrating into ash.

While Gran cut through three more of the creatures with his flame-covered sword.

Each slash was precise, ensuring the creatures couldn’t merge back together.

As the last of their current foes crumbled, both men paused, breathing heavily.

The room grew eerily silent for a moment, save for the crackling of residual flames.

Despite their success so far, both knew they couldn’t keep this up indefinitely.

"They keep coming,"

Gran muttered, resting his blade on his shoulder.

"Fifteen down, but it doesn’t feel like we’ve made a dent."

Machivel nodded, wiping a trickle of sweat from his brow.

"We can probably handle fifty, maybe seventy of them... but I can feel my energy draining. If this doesn’t end soon, we’ll collapse before they do."

Gran smirked.

"If this is how it ends, then at least we’ll make it a spectacle."

He turned to Machivel, his tone shifting slightly.

"You’re not exactly built for combat. You’re here because the master crafted you for politics, for strategy. Tell me—do you see any way out of this?"

Machivel’s expression grew thoughtful.

He placed a hand on his chin, scanning their surroundings.

"This place is designed to trap us, but creating a space with no exit... it’s improbable.

“We should be able to find a way to get out.”

Gran raised an eyebrow.

"And if we don’t?"

Machivel sighed, summoning more fire into his palms as he prepared for the next wave.

"Then we keep fighting until there’s nothing left of us. But I’ll look for a way while we hold them off. There has to be a weakness in this setup—some clue, some flaw."

Gran tightened his grip on his sword.

"All right. You search for an exit; I’ll keep them off you. But don’t take too long—we’re on borrowed time here."

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As if on cue, the walls began to shift once more, the eerie red glow intensifying.

Another wave of Demonfire Candles emerged, their burning heads illuminating the room like malevolent torches.

"Looks like we’ve got company,"

Gran said, stepping forward to meet the onslaught.

His blade ignited with purplish flames again, casting long shadows across the room.

Machivel stepped back, his eyes darting across the chamber.

"I’ll keep looking. Just don’t die, Gran."

"No promises," Gran shot back, charging into the fray.

His sword arced through the air, cutting down another Candle with a single, flaming stroke.

-

Machivel kept his focus sharp, knowing full well that their survival depended on finding a way out of this trap.

The relentless waves of Demonfire Candles were not something they could handle indefinitely.

No matter how skilled they were, exhaustion and dwindling energy would eventually claim them if the attacks didn’t stop.

"Circle of Fire, Enhanced Focus"

Machivel muttered, casting his most efficient spell yet again.

Rings of flame materialized around five of the Demonfire Candles, spiraling inward with fierce intensity.

The creatures writhed and twisted, their forms consumed as the fire engulfed them completely.

Gran, meanwhile, moved like a whirlwind, his sword blazing with purplish energy.

Each slash cut through the air with deadly precision, reducing Demonfire Candles to ash. Even as he fought, his mind raced, trying to gauge their chances.

"Five more down,"

Gran called out, panting slightly from the exertion.

He looked around the room, scanning for any sign of more enemies.

"That brings the total to ten. Maybe that’s the last of them?"

Machivel cast a wary glance at the walls, which still glowed with an ominous reddish hue.

His voice was steady, but there was an edge of doubt in his tone.

"Unlikely. Whoever created this spell and brought us here knew what they were doing. They wouldn’t stop at thirty Demonfire Candles if their goal was to kill us."

Gran frowned, lowering his sword momentarily.

"You sure about that? What if they didn’t want to kill us outright? What if this is just meant to weaken us—to wear us down?"

For a moment, Machivel didn’t respond.

He was too focused, his gaze darting around the room, searching for any clue or weakness in their surroundings. Before he could answer, his instincts flared.

He lunged forward, grabbing Gran by the shoulder and yanking him backward with all his strength.

A fiery pillar erupted from the ground where Gran had been standing, its heat searing the air around them.

The flames roared, crackling violently as they reached skyward before dissipating just as suddenly.

Gran staggered back, his heart pounding from the close call.

"That would’ve been... bad," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

Machivel exhaled sharply, his focus never wavering.

"Stay alert. These traps aren’t random—they’re timed, and they’re targeting us specifically."

Gran nodded, gripping his sword tightly.

"Noted. I owe you one."

The two men regrouped, standing shoulder to shoulder as the next wave of Demonfire Candles emerged from the walls.

This time, their numbers seemed to have doubled.

The room pulsed with heat, the air growing heavier as the creatures advanced.

"Here they come," Gran said, raising his blade. He glanced at Machivel.

"Same strategy?"

"Same strategy," Machivel confirmed, raising his hands to summon another barrage of spells.

"But we need to find a way out, and fast.”

Gran grinned, despite the dire situation.

"Then let’s make some noise. Maybe we’ll force whoever’s behind this to show their hand."