A sharp crack split the air as Annette’s bandaged left hand snatched the arrow from its path, the tip hovering a breath away from her throat. Her aura coverage pulsed, a ripple of energy reacting instinctively to the threat.

"Fuck..." Raid hissed, his voice barely audible. In that same heartbeat, Michael’s, Claire’s, and Charlie’s dim glows erupted into blinding flashes, their aura compounding their blades as Anna’s signal provoked the clash. Without hesitation, they charged at Annette, a swell of fury and light closing in on her.

Raid fell in with them, linking his blade as he did so. But even as his feet pounded the ground, an uneasy tightness twisted his gut. They were rushing in too recklessly, letting their anger drive them headlong into the fight. Bloodlust clouded their judgment, and Raid knew it. They all knew about her kill count, it certainly wasn't due to luck, there was no room for mistakes. Claire and Michael especially with their good field experience, so why couldn't they keep their head on straight? What was blinding them? The oathbreaker’s presence? Their seething rage? Whatever it was, their reason had fled them.

Suddenly, another arrow whistled through the air, this time from a different direction. Anna was on the move, repositioning after every shot. Annette didn’t flinch. Her head tilted, the arrow streaking past her eyes as she barely registered its existence. The previous arrow, still held in her hand, snapped as her fist clenched, and above her, seven thin spears of aura shimmered into being, hovering like a crown of death, their tips trained on Claire's advancing group.

This was likely the first time any of them had faced a mystic, but Raid's attention faltered, if only for an instant. His eyes caught the color of the spears, white. So the reports were true. Her artform was colorless. Like his. The sight jolted him. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t alone in that strangeness. It was why he drew so much attention from enemy knights. Colorless aura was almost a myth, and yet, here she was, standing in defiance of every norm, just as he is.

But he didn’t have time to dwell on it. Not now.

"Evade!" Claire’s shout tore through the field as she veered sharply.

The spears launched, streaks of precision. Raid barely had time to react as the four of them scattered in different directions, the ground erupting behind them in deafening bursts. Explosions shook the dirt as each spear struck, gouging deep craters where they had been moments before.

"In hell's name! Avoid those things! I don't think our aura can protect against that!" Michael’s voice cracked with urgency, eyes wide at the newly formed craters.

"You don't say!" Claire spat, her body twisting sharply as she veered again, sprinting straight toward Annette. Her every movement was taut with purpose, the air crackling with the strain of her aura.

"Claire! Don’t you dare face her alone! Damn it!" Raid roared, pushing his legs to move faster, but the gap between them widened with each step.

Two more arrows sliced the air, this time completely silent, still they missed, that was when Annette finally tolerated enough. With a flick of her hand, seven new spears of aura materialized, longer and more vicious than before, their tips gleaming with more prominent blades, like halberts. With barely a thought, she hurled them into the dense forest, roughly where the arrows had been fired from. The resulting explosions tore through the woods, sending trees and debris spiraling into the sky. The devastation was total.

Raid clenched his hilt ever tighter. He could only hope Anna had made it out. He didn’t have the luxury of checking, not with everyone’s lives hanging in threads. But damn it, if only he was certain Anna was left okay.

Annette had to be Mystic of all things, of course she was. Damn this luck. A miracle of misfortune. The rarest and most destructive of all classes. Facing one head-on was like trying to fight a blizzard with a flint spark. Raid had seen Iris unleash hell on her enemies, that, he already winced, but her artform was a thing of beauty, refined, deliberate, deadly in its precision. Annette’s art, on the other hand, was like watching an army crash through a village, raw, unchecked power tearing everything apart.

And unlike Iris, who needed to gather her aura like an artist carefully mixing paints, Annette’s aura simply was, snapping into existence the moment she willed it, chaotic and crude, as though she were forcing her flows into rough forms by whim. No finesse, no strategy, just straightforward destruction. Even with his limited knowledge and exposure to mystics, her spears just seem like they were crammed into existence with no care for proper construction.

Claire reached the Oathbreaker, her sword burning yellow high overhead, glowing with an intensity that threatened to replace the very sun that slept. She brought it down in a searing arc, the air hissing with heat. Annette moved, effortless. Claire’s blade struck the ground with a thunderous crack, dirt and fragmented stone erupting in every direction, blinding her in dust.

A fist came out of nowhere, right out of the dirt mist. Claire barely had time to raise her sword, metal meeting flesh in a shattering impact. The force of the blow drove her back, feet digging into the earth. Her wrist screamed in protest, her arms straining under sheer power, elbows felt like they were about to snap. Teeth clenched, Claire held her ground.

Raid joined the fray, his blade aimed for Annette’s midsection. Annette didn’t even react, or care. His strike landed, but stopped cold, as if hitting a wall of iron. Her aura flared in response, absorbing his blow with ease. Before he could commit another attack, her fist lashed out at him. He dodged, barely, but then a blur of movement from his periphery, a kick. It slammed into his face. His aura absorbed most of the damage, yet somehow he felt the impact deep in his skull, like his brain was jolted to mush. How?!

Another punch. This one was different, darker. Raid saw it coming but couldn’t move quite fast enough. It smashed into his face again. His aura took the brunt of it once more, but still, his head snapped back. He certainly felt it this time if there were any doubts before. His neck wobbled, his vision swam as his mind registered the hit. How was this possible? His aura should have stopped the blow completely, yet he felt it? Wait. Was this shock? She can shock?!

A knight’s aura isn’t impervious to everything. It absorbed direct damage, yes, but momentum? That was different. Coverage could only take so much force before the physics kicked in, before the body behind the aura had to deal with inertia, velocity, impact. Just as in any warfare, countermeasures evolved. In a world where aura coverage amongst knights was becoming more common, combatants had adapted. Some developed attacks that focused solely on transferring momentum through the coverage, bypassing its defense to deal attrition damage. Becoming a skill acquired by some artforms.

Raid staggered, dazed, as Annette moved in for the kill. But before she could land another hit, Michael and Charlie burst in, a thunderous exchange, aura slamming against aura, shaking the ground beneath them. The exchange was blinding, impossible to follow. Raid couldn’t fully comprehend the combat in that split second.

When Raid’s vision finally cleared, Michael and Charlie had already withdrawn, standing cautiously at a distance. Claire, however, was still in the thick of it, her sword flashing in deadly arcs as she traded blows for blows with Annette. With each near miss Claire sent torrents of dirt flying, the ground itself cleaving apart under the force of her strikes.

“Careful! She can shock!” Raid shouted.

Annette, unfazed, conjured a slender needle from her right hand, whilst seamlessly parrying a savage strike with her left. Claire’s eyes flickered toward the gleaming needle, her instincts sharp. She raised her sword, ready to deflect what she thought would be a point-blank shot. But instead, Annette shot the needle into the ground between them.

“Claire!” Michael roared, rushing forward as an eruption of dirt swallowed both women whole.

“Charlie! Stay back!” Raid barked. “We hit the oathbreaker together when it shows itself! Let Michael assist Claire!”

Charlie hesitated, his eyes widening in silent alarm. But Raid caught the flicker in his gaze too late. A blazing white light reflected in Charlie’s pupils, and Raid’s instincts screamed. He whipped around just in time to face a glowing fist. The blow struck his head, but to his surprise, there was no shock. A second punch whistled toward him, and this time he dodged, retreating rapidly. As he created distance, Charlie’s attempt to intervene was interrupted by a barrage of spears, forcing him into a frantic dance of evasions.

“How did she get behind me?” Raid muttered in bafflement, his gaze narrowing as he retreated further. “Chari—”

Before he could finish, Annette was there, in front of him again, within spitting distance. He slashed his blade, the sound cracking like a whip, but she merely stepped back, just out of reach, his strike grazing the edge of her aura. Then, just as swiftly, she closed the gap again.

“What?!” Raid spat, his body tensing in anticipation of retaliation. Thoughts raced through his mind, how had she slipped past his guard? Why couldn’t he land a hit, at such a close distance? How to kill her? Defend himself?

Annette’s fist clenched again, and Raid braced himself to counter. He’d failed to block her blows before, and he wasn’t foolish enough to believe he could defend against her now. Instead, he planned to strike the moment she hit him, a trade. His aura could handle it, he was sure.

But when Annette’s hand reached out, it didn’t strike. Instead, it latched onto his left wrist, her grip ironclad. His mind stuttered, disbelief flooding his senses. Grappling?!

Grappling is supposed to be about control, locking an opponent down, taking away their ability to create distance, leading up to another blow. That’s what he assumed. He assumed wrong. Annette's grip tightened, tighter than he'd ever imagined, and Raid's eyes widened, betraying his failed expectations. His mind screamed for him to act, to break free. Instead, instinct made him attack, as if it was the most natural thing to do for captured prey

Tightening the grip on his sword, Raid abandoned his overhead swing and lunged forward, even though they were already too close. His shoulder slammed into her chest as he pulled his sword arm back, like a javelin ready to be thrown, the blade’s tip aimed directly at her throat. One thrust, with all his might, he needed nothing else. The oathbreaker’s coverage would break right here and now! Just before he struck, pain. Indescribable pain. Not the kind of pain that could be shrugged off. This was searing, paralyzing, unlike anything he had ever known. It ripped through his left arm, as if his nerves were on fire. His teeth clenched so hard it felt as though they might splinter, his vision blurring with red. He couldn’t scream, he wouldn’t, but the effort left his entire body trembling under the strain.

Annette released him as suddenly as she had grabbed him, her cold, dead eyes staring straight through him as though his suffering meant nothing. It probably didn’t. He was on the verge of collapse, gasping, his vision dimming around the edges. She hadn’t held him for more than a second, yet that brief moment had damned him all the same.

Michael and Charlie were already rushing in, roaring their war cries in new found rage as they bore down on her with twin strikes. Annette retreated like a ghost, blocking both blows with effortless perfection. Claire, quick as a flash, was at Raid’s side. Her hand gripped his arm, yanking him upright before he could hit the ground completely. His sword clattered to the dirt, forgotten.

Raid clutched at his chest, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. It felt like his heart was tearing itself apart, as though every vein and artery were blocked, like something inside was broken and bleeding. His body was failing him, ceasing to function, and all he could do was watch it happen. He wasn’t even sure he was alive anymore. He felt like a dead man, a conscious corpse.

"Raid! What's happening?! Are you alright!?" Claire’s voice was sharp with fear, her wide eyes searching his face for some answer, some reassurance.

Raid’s mouth moved, but no words came. He couldn't speak. A cry of pain erupted from Michael as he endured a shock attack that echoed in both their ears. Raid’s breath hitched as the smell of blood and rust filled his nostrils, thick and metallic. His vision swayed, the world narrowing into a tunnel.

“G-go…” he rasped, barely able to force the word out. “I’ll… live.”

Claire stared at him for a long, agonizing second, torn between duty and instinct. She wanted to stay, he could see that. Leaving him defenseless felt like a betrayal. But there was no time for hesitation, she had to help the others. If they fell, they were all dead.

"I'm sorry..." she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she released him. Slowly, reluctantly, she let him drop. Raid’s knees finally hit the dirt, but he barely felt it. His shaky gaze followed her dimming form as she charged back into the fight, her determination giving her strength.

The sounds of blades clashing and shouts faded into a distant murmur as he descended into the depths of his own mind. He understood the cause, it was such an intimate feeling. The momentary disruption of the aura flowing through his veins. It lasted only an instant, but that fleeting lapse was enough to make death seem preferable to the agony it unleashed. He had endured pain countless times before, each experience a benchmark against which to measure suffering. Yet, in this moment, those memories collapsed into insignificance, their worth naught, swallowed by the void of his current torment.

The pain was indescribable. He found himself wondering if he might welcome the thought of tearing off his own limbs in exchange for this, anything to escape this overwhelming sensation. His vision flickered and dimmed, leaving him in a haze, while his hearing was consumed by the frantic firing of nerves sending pain signals at breakneck speed that left him deaf. His mind became so fixated on the turmoil within that all external senses ceased to function. The world outside simply disappeared from his view.

In truth, he wanted to scream, to weep, but even those impulses were buried under the weight of his brain's frenzied attempts to decipher a puzzle it had just been given. His rational side dealing with trauma in such an unusual way that it attempted to ignore his deteriorating condition for logical deduction. A brain that thought it was experiencing death and chose to disregard it in the only way it knew how. Dissociation, a survival response. One thought emerged with clarity amidst his chaos.

Aura Disturbance. A technique employed in a forbidden art to directly interfere with another user's flow. This was no mere violation of conduct, it was heretical, a form of mortal intrusion that shattered the very tenets of ethics. In this Kin's realm, no sane practitioner would dare revive such an artform now. No form master insane enough to create new ones. All records, manuals, anything that once detailed these techniques even in reference had been hunted down and eradicated long ago.

So why does she have it?

A smirk twisted across Raid's lips, a grimace that held both pain and a pulse of madness. He chuckled softly, a brief moment of insanity creeping in, as he wrapped his arms tightly around his body, trying to suppress the involuntary spasms wracking him.

An oathbreaker wielding a forbidden artform, named after a despised god, like a cursed child descended from fate herself. How fitting, he thought.

An explosion shattered the air, and Annette appeared within the smoky ash, her hands conjuring two spears of aura that shot toward Charlie at point-blank range. He braced, grimacing as his aura cracked under the impact, then, before he could recover, a sharp kick struck his side, hurling him backward. Annette twisted, her upper body coiling like a spring as she tightened her fist. With fluid, lethal grace, she swung at Michael, who had barely enough time to bring up his arms in defense. His heels dug into the dirt, his face contorting as he deflected the blow, yet the sheer force sent him stumbling back.

"You're a wallburn! Do something!" Claire shouted at Charlie.

"Get back!" he yelled in response, the tip of his sword burning a fiercer dark green.

Charlie swung, the strike so fast it left nothing but an afterimage in its wake. The oathbreaker was several meters away, but the distance meant nothing. A searing beam of dark green aura shot from Charlie’s blade, carving a gash in the ground as it roared toward Annette. She met the oncoming attack head-on, punching through it, a violent clash that detonated in an enormous explosion of emerald fire.

Hellfire erupted around her, flames so intense they blackened the ground, clinging to anything they touched. The fire burned with a savage, self-sustaining fury, needing no fuel but its own rage. And yet, as the dust and debris settled, there stood Annette, unmoving, unscathed. Chunks of charred earth rained down around her, unrecognizable shards of what they once were. She stood surrounded by inferno, her gaze icy and indifferent, her attention solely on her opponents. Not a single mark marred her skin, her coverage as flawless as before.

Watching this surreal scene, that was when Raid knew, with grim certainty, that retreat was their only option now. They couldn’t take her. Not today. The sight of the girl before him, smaller, almost frail, with her chillingly expressionless face and her body skinny to the point of malnourishment, comfortably standing in the fire of a wallburn, it sickened him for some inexplicable reason.

She hadn’t spoken a word, her gaze had never shifted, and there was no bloodlust in her, only a hollow, instinctual drive to protect herself. That was all it seemed to be. One nagging thought echoed at the back of his mind, growing louder as he finally recognized Annette's lack of will. If they hadn’t come here with orders to kill her, this fight might not have been so tragically inevitable.

Claire charged in from behind, unleashing the hardest blows she could muster against Annette. With each strike, the air erupted in thunderous cracks as blade met fists, yellow mixing with white, and the earth beneath them fractured and crumbled. An arrow whistled past, and Annette caught it mid-flight, using Claire's sword to propel herself into the air. As she twisted in a smooth arc, she flung the arrow back.

Anna, just entering the devastated field, froze in shock as the very arrow she had shot moments before hurtled back toward her. She leaped away in fright, the ground where she had stood erupting from the arrow’s impact.

Out of the corner of her eye, a blue streak flickered from the forest, but Annette noticed it too late. Nova was already beneath her, threads of blue aura wrapping around Annette's left arm while she hung in mid-air. With a swift gesture, Nova pointed her short sword toward the ground, pulling Annette down like a ragdoll, slamming the oathbreaker back onto the earth. Annette barely dodged as Nova thrust her rapier down, the blade striking only dirt.

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In a flash, Annette retaliated, delivering a swift kick that connected with Nova's knee, sending shock through her aura. Nova's solid stance faltered as one of her knees buckled. She barely registered a fist poised to strike her face before Michael intervened, launching multiple high-speed jabs at Annette.

Claire and Charlie quickly followed suit, and Annette shifted to defense, deflecting, parrying, and evading. Frustration twisted the features of her attackers, acutely aware that none had landed a significant blow on Annette.

Seizing a moment, a lull in aggression, a mere half-second, Annette darted backward, creating distance. Her gaze flickered, and Nova’s face drained of color when she realized where Annette was looking. In an instant, Annette was off again, sprinting toward Anna, with Nova hot on her heels, shouting something indistinct. Claire, Charlie, and Michael exchanged grim looks, realizing Annette's target, and raced after her.

Nova pushed herself to the limit, reinforcing her slowly recovering left knee. Failure was not an option, she would not let Anna face the oathbreaker alone. Slingshots should never be in close quarters, ever. But Annette’s speed was daunting for a mystic, and Nova felt herself straining to keep up.

Anna’s heart raced as she caught sight of Annette closing in, panic rising within her. She shot once, twice, thrice at the advancing threat, her hands trembling with nerves as each did nothing. Desperate, she turned to flee, aiming for the shelter of the forest.

But before she could get far, a rough bandaged palm pressed against the side of her head. Confusion morphed into sheer terror as Anna realized, that Annette was right beside her in the seconds she had averted her eyes to escape. It was as if the oathbreaker had teleported, her speed was unfathomable. Instinctively, Anna reached for the dagger at her belt, only to find that it wasn't there, Annette had already snatched it away and buried it into the ground.

A small cry escaped Anna's lips, her eyes tightly shut in abject terror as the cold numbness of acceptance crept in. Indescribable pain radiated from the side of her head, spreading throughout her body as Annette pressed her palm harder against her skull. Anna dropped to the ground, her face hitting the dirt as she released an agonized scream, blood oozing from her closed eyes. Annette's fist was raised, poised to crush Anna’s seemingly fragile head, whose aura flared to life, a last-ditch effort to protect her.

Anna's pain spiked several fold as her aura tried to flow despite the aura disturbance, doing everything it can to protect its user, using all possible reserves to prioritize coverage, at the cost of Anna's well being. Veins tore, nerves burned, and Anna could do nothing but feel her body break apart.

In that moment, threads of energy appeared in droves, gripping Annette’s clenched fist and halting her mid-strike. A pure, furious scream erupted from Nova, her expression filled with absolute hatred for the oathbreaker.

“Die, demon!” Nova screamed, her voice a raw, visceral declaration.

Annette danced away from a jab aimed at her neck. She deflected another strike from Nova's short sword with her forearm, the impact sending a jolt up her arm, in spite of Nova's inability to shock. Nova’s mind was in a frenzy, hatred consumed her. Though she fought with skill, it was a desperate sort of chaos, Annette could see that the knight was not fully present. It was a dangerous state to be in, especially against someone who had already proven herself a master at dismantling knights, perhaps even better than the knights themselves.

Knights are generally taught to avoid fighting when outnumbered, even by just one opponent, when reasonably possible. Sure, a skilled knight could face multiple foes, but such scenarios where one has the strength to do so with regularity are exceptions, not the rule. Annette had already single-handedly taken down six knights before this engagement, and now she was tactically winning this one. She showed no signs of fatigue, no injuries marred her skin. She was the exception, and against such exceptions, no mistakes can be made.

Nova’s fury made her attack patterns predictable, littered with openings. Normally, a weakness in composure would have been manageable, but here, in this tense moment, against such an opponent, was an invitation to disaster. Annette's calm and indifferent demeanor allowed her to read Nova like an open book. With three more knights soon to join the fray, Annette knew she had to end this quickly, she refused to be caught in another four-on-one.

As if on cue, Annette deflected another jab, sinking into a low stance that brought her knees almost to the ground. It was a moment of stillness, a silent buildup of energy, before she lunged forward, slipping past another wild jab and closing the distance between them. Nova replied, her short sword a blur as she launched a series of quick stabs, but Annette was ready. She caught Nova’s left wrist in a vice-like grip, feeling the pulse of Nova's aura reacting to the pressure. With her other hand, she grasped Nova's neck, pulling her close until their faces were mere inches apart.

Before Nova could retaliate with a knee to Annette’s chest, a sharp pain shot through her neck, radiating down to her limbs like wildfire. Annette released her, and Nova crumpled to the ground, curling into a ball as she gasped for breath, her body wracked with pain.

Annette raised an eyebrow, surprised at Nova's silence. She was impressed that the knight wasn’t screaming, even as she fought to maintain her quiet. Much like the other one, Raid, was it? Is that what the others called him? Annette glanced at Anna, whose face was streaked with tears, a picture of distress. Just then, the tip of a sword flashed in her peripheral vision. With a reflexive bob of her head, she narrowly avoided the blade that grazed her hair. Charlie snared at his failed attack.

Claire blurred past Annette. Contrary to Annette's expectations, Claire didn’t attack her but instead dashed toward both Nova and Anna.

“Micheal, Charlie! Keep that oathbreaker in line! I’ll check their injuries!” Claire shouted, her voice steady and commanding, a contrast to the earlier rage that had driven her. Perhaps the sight of her injured teammates had finally anchored her thoughts, transforming fury into tempered-calm.

The oathbreaker summoned five spears of dense aura high above, each one gleaming like a shard of starlight. She pointed them toward Charlie. In the same breath, Annette spun, shielding herself from Michael’s assault, her back turned to Charlie.

Charlie, too focused on the opening presented to consider the risk, lunged forward, his sword blazing as he closed the gap. But before his blade could meet its mark, the five spears plunged down, cutting through the air at blinding speed. Simultaneous impact! His aura strained, then cracked further, until two spears punched through. One tore his left arm from its socket, the other speared through his chest like a needle piercing cloth. A brief flash of intense pain was discerned before darkness pulled him under, his life extinguished before his body hit the ground.

A hotter surge of fury ignited within Michael as he saw Charlie fall, amplifying the rage already consuming him. His aura blazed brighter, straining against its limits, fueled by a wrath that now burned beyond control. Sanity slipped from him, replaced by raw, blistering rage. The night around him turned sickly green as his reserves blazed in hordes, manifesting his will, a knight whose spirit only shined the brightest in combat. He launched himself forward, his sword crackling with dangerously uncontrolled aura. His own edge now as harmful to him as the oathbreaker.

A streak of green scarred the earth beneath him, Annette rushing to intercept, her own aura flaring in response. When the two collided, the air split with a thunderous shockwave, a blast so powerful that splinters of wood and shattered debris flew in every direction. The earth trembled, the thunderous impact enough to deafen any bystander. Charlie’s lifeless body was tossed aside like a rag doll, hitting the dirt amidst fallen trees further away. Claire staggered, clutching Anna tightly, shielding the blind girl with her own body from the blast, while Nova still lay coiled on the ground, struggling for breath. Raid, off in the distance, escaped the worst of it, pressed forward in shaky steps, staggering his way towards the fight, his sword dangling loosely from his right hand, the weight of it dragging against his failing resolve.

Michael stood firm, rooted even as the blast rocked him, his forearm raised reflexively to shield his face from the spray of dust. But that brief moment of instinct left him vulnerable, chained his sight. As he lowered his arm, his vision cleared just in time to see a fist flying. It struck him with brutal force, the shock jolting his senses as his sword arm moved on pure reflex, retaliating like a cornered beast.

“Michael!” Claire shouted, biting down hard, her lips bled, torn between care and duty. She hadn’t yet checked on Nova, and Anna seemed stable enough, showing no immediate signs of a fatal injury. But there was no time to think, only the driving urgency of survival. Assessing injuries took second place to combat, that was the rule, with Charlie’s death and Michael’s struggle, she couldn’t afford a moment’s pause, or to examine Nova. Steeling herself, she ignited her sword once more, the flame in her heart flickering against the dread in her mind. Charlie... she hasn't even processed it yet. How quickly he went. The grief, the disbelief, they would come later. For now, she buried it all, focusing only on the fight. She would allow herself to grieve later, when it was over.

Annette's lips twisted into a mocking smirk, her eyes glinting with a cruel amusement as she taunted them, the gesture infuriating Michael even further. His fury boiled over, an insulted incoherent yell ripping from his throat as he charged. The moment Annette saw the unbridled rage contorting his face, her expression fell back into cold, unreadable calm, like a mask slipping seamlessly into place.

"Michael, don't let her bait you! Now’s not the time you fuck!" Claire shouted, her voice sharp with frustration. "We’re falling back! We need to get everyone to safety!"

"Die, heretic! Your blight is mine to kill!" Michael roared, heedless of Claire’s words.

“Fuck! Michael! Now's not the time I said! You bastard! Listen to me! We will not die here!” Claire's voice cracked, raw with desperation as she lunged forward, her sword a fierce, glinting arc as it crashed toward Annette.

Annette dodged and weaved, blade upon blade, barely missing her coverage, her mind set on turning Michael's rage against him. He was the weakest link, his anger like a gaping wound she could exploit. She moved with ruthlessness, deflecting both of them with ease. Their attacks, once fluid and unpredictable, had devolved into a crude pattern, and she saw it all, the exaggerated shifts in their shoulders, the taut muscles telegraphing each blow. She teased them further, testing them, evaluating them, leaving herself open, almost daring them to try something new.

She made a wide, swinging hook, riddled with openings, yet they remained locked in their simplistic, rigid attacks even then, making no effort to target her weakness. She made another, then another. Same result. They were no longer reactive, and that was all she needed to know.

She had been careful before, how she moved, how she attacked, each action carefully considered if only briefly in some instances, to avoid setting herself up for a counterattack, or undesired position. But there was no need for such caution now. Any weakness she showed would not be exploited.

A knight who failed to respond to the flow of battle was as good as bound, fighting with one arm tied. Michael was too blinded by rage to realize it, and Claire, though aware, was now too cautious, her only aim to keep Annette distracted while she tried to find a way to retreat without anyone else dying, including the now suicidally aggressive Michael.

Raid watched from nearby, his face locked in a grimace of bitter acceptance, his hands itching to act but knowing he was helpless. He could see Annette’s ease, how detached she was from the whole ordeal, the practiced way she moved like this was routine, something deeply familiar. His gaze flickered past her, to Charlie’s crumpled corpse sprawled in the distance, Nova curled up in a fetal position, her body shaking against the turned earth, and Anna, sobbing, her eyes running red with her own blood. This was a nightmare. How had it spiraled into this? His limbs felt weighted, heavy with an exhaustion that he couldn't quite place. Why did he feel so drained, when he’d barely fought?

He’d thought that Michael, despite his bluster, had the experience to back it up. But all Raid saw now was a child, throwing a tantrum, hurling himself headfirst into death. Claire, at least, now retained her sense, but it was far too late. Her belated caution only deepened his disappointment. If she’d kept a level head earlier, if only a little earlier, then maybe they wouldn’t be here now.

But none of that was worse than his own failure. He could stand here and judge them all he wanted, at least they were still fighting, while he stood frozen, hands clenched, his mind tangled in self-doubt and disgust. One last time, he tried to access his reserves, the power he’d been reaching for again and again since the disturbance. And then, finally, he connected with it, felt its surge. But as soon as he tried to draw on it, agony ripped through his body, and his reserves dissipated again. The power slipped away, leaving him empty. Helpless. He never felt so weak. It felt like that day again, the day he followed the river south to a land they called the Rose.

All he could do was watch.

Annette created three glinting needles mid-parry. With a flick of her wrist, they shot toward Claire, who barely managed to dodge. Before Claire had even steadied herself, Annette launched herself at Michael, seizing the momentary opening. In a heartbeat, she slipped past his defenses, her fists hammering into his body with punishing speed. Each strike sent shock through his flesh, his aura faltering under the relentless assault, and his body accumulating attrition. With a final, bone-cracking kick to his chest, Annette sent him crashing back, his body slamming into a tree stump. Debris exploded from the impact as Michael felt his lungs crumple, air wrenched from his chest in a strangled gasp. He shouted in agony, the sound jagged, but his aura held, just barely.

Seeing Michael fall, Claire steeled herself, pouring every ounce of strength into her sword until the blade pulsed with raw energy, nearly trembling in her grip. She swung it at Annette with all her might, her aura control fraying. But Annette moved like liquid shadow, evading each strike with ease, slipping in and out of range as if dancing.

They weaved and spun around the other. They lunged and sidestepped, their movements fluid as one feigned an attack, drawing the other into a wild swing. They rolled and ducked beneath strikes, bodies twisting in a rhythm of aggression. Flashes of white and yellow, bangs and cracks, then thunder. A duel, in every sense of the word. One pressed forward with a flurry of blows, while the other countered. They were entering a flow state, a state of near death, with no wasted movements, where both focused solely on the other. With each exchange, the balance shifted, and soon one began to falter.

Annette ducked under a horizontal slash and pressed forward, her fist flashing out to connect with the inside of Claire's right elbow. Claire’s arm buckled under the shock, twisting to a grotesque angle, and her sword clattered to the ground, her hand unable to maintain grip. Before Claire could react to the loss of her weapon, Annette's palm was against her abdomen, gentle yet cold.

Claire tried to pull away, but Annette’s other hand clamped onto her collar, yanking her back. An unbearable pain surged from her abdomen, Claire's organs feeling as if they’d been twisted and crushed. For a horrifying moment, she thought the blood flow in her body had halted entirely. A strangled scream tore from her throat, her will to fight sinking into despair, disappearing so deep that even the hardest dig might never reach it. She dropped to the ground, helpless.

Annette loomed over her fallen opponent, unhurried as she drove precise, punishing punches into Claire's failing aura, which, like Anna's, protected its user despite the disturbance. The fragile barrier splintered under each blow until a final, brutal kick to Claire's face and a crushing fist to her chest, her body slumped, lifeless at Annette’s feet.

Annette barely glanced down before turning, her focus shifting to Michael, still sprawled half-conscious in the dirt, his breathing labored. She took a single step forward, intent on finishing him off, when the cold tip of a blade pressed against her neck. Her aura halted it. Slowly, she turned to see Raid, standing at the other end of the blade. Despite the blade’s proximity from her flesh, Annette sensed no danger from him. His breathing was rough, his face drawn in pain, though his hand held steady.

His aura was still defiant. It wasn’t obeying him as it once had, instead, it stumbled along in fits and starts, scattered through his body like wayward sparks. Normally, his aura flowed at just a thought, as natural as moving one of his limbs. Now, however, it felt like a foreign force, an unwelcome presence that reluctantly resided within him.

A hint of surprise crossed Annette’s face. Somehow, Raid had closed the distance unnoticed, daring to challenge her even in his weakened state. She regarded him as such a non-threat that she hadn’t even noticed his approach.

With a finger, she gently nudged his blade aside. "Do you really want to continue?" Annette asked.

Those were her first words, soft, casual, almost earnest, with no hint of superiority, no underlying tone, or threat. It was a genuine question, and the sheer sincerity of it made Raid sick to his core just hearing it.

Raid’s eyes swept over everything around, catching on the wounded, the fallen. Blood-soaked earth and scattered bodies lay around him in stillness, the destroyed landscape seeming like the silent presentation of his failure. She could kill them all now, and he would be powerless to stop it. His face betrayed a flicker of conflict, his mouth taut as he finally met her gaze. "Would you really let us go? Just… like this?"

She nodded, as clear as could be, though her wariness showed.

“Then… leave. Just, leave.” His voice was as steady as he could manage, though it scraped out rough and raw, grating like steel on stone.

Annette took a hesitant step back, then another. While she knew Raid posed no real threat, her nerves still flared with ingrained lessons scarred by betrayal. Too many had spoken sweet words to a once-naive, younger oathbreaker, enticing her to lower her guard only to prove themselves false. Once, she had believed there were those who saw beyond her title, who understood she was thrust into circumstances beyond her control, if they had only listened. But that trust had long since hardened into suspicion.

“Know… know that I didn’t start this. You did,” she said in a soft, gentle, and calm tone.

Her voice did not match his imagination. He expected something more, arrogance, fierce, with a measure of confidence from someone with such a long reputation of violence. "Know then, that you might regret keeping me alive."

"I might," she admitted. "I might not. But I already regret killing so many."

"Then why kill at all?" he asked, a spark of anger returning to his eyes.

"Would you stop, if I didn’t?"

Raid’s jaw tightened, but he couldn’t answer. He glanced down, his eyes catching the blood seeping through her bandages, confusion visible on his face. While the banagages were already a dark reddish-brown, almost black in other places, he could see a new crimson mixing in from new wounds.

She hadn’t taken a hit from them this entire fight, at least none that tore flesh. And with her coverage still intact, he doubted Thomas’s team had either. Had she been wounded beforehand? His gaze roamed over her, noting that some parts of her clothing were more deeply stained than others. He couldn't recall if she was already soaked in red when they first laid eyes on her or if this occurred during the fight. Either way, she was clearly injured, and if he had to guess, probably from multiple minor wounds.

Annette caught his look, but her face remained unreadable. She turned away without a word, before sprinting across the field until she disappeared toward the shadowy outline of the Snowset Mountains. Raid watched her vanish into the distance, feeling his own strength drain with each step she took away. His grip on his sword weakened until it slipped from his hand, thudding softly to the ground. He lifted his eyes to the sky, where the cold light of the moon bore down on him. Glazing up, he could only feel grief.

But Raid only allowed himself a fleeting moment to breathe, the cries from Anna and Nova snapped him back to attention, his focus sharpened and resolve re-steeling. He took a step forward, but heavy, purposeful strides from behind halted him. He turned to see Michael closing in, sword gripped tightly, his gaze locked on Raid with a vicious intensity. It looked as though Michael might attack him at any moment.

"Michael… quickly, we need to help Nova and An—"

"You let it go," Michael spat, his voice low but vibrating with fury. "After everything it has done." His eyes blazed, a crude, visceral hatred aimed straight at Raid.

"Now's not the tim—"

Before Raid could finish, Michael threw his sword to the ground, and lunged forward, seizing Raid by the collar, face twisted in contempt. "You could’ve killed it! It should be dead! Why the fuck did you let it go?! Why?!" His shout, tight with restrained rage.

Anger took over, Raid’s fist shot out, connecting with Michael’s chin, a blow so feeble that Michael aura didn't even react. Pain shot through Raid’s wrist, a reminder of the brick wall he had just struck. Michael didn't even flinch, his head didn’t even budge, his body still fortified by aura. Undeterred, Michael readied his own fist, his expression a dangerous mix of control and wrath, a punch that could possibly kill Raid in his weakened state. But Michael hesitated, something in Raid’s angry, unblinking eyes freezing him in place, staring right into his soul.

Raid turned away, casting a pointed look at the two injured girls lying on the ground. "Them first," he said, his voice a quiet command with a heavy blend of seeping anger. "They need help. Especially Anna, she doesn’t look good. We need to get them back to camp, fast. You can hit me all you want later, but I’m not letting another two die here because of your damned honor. Or are you planning to abandon them too? Like you did with Claire? Did her words mean anything to you? Or was the oathbreaker just worth that much? I could do nothing, but you had a choice." His words hit like a blade, each one sharper than the last. "Where’s your reason now?"

For a moment, Michael’s face went blank. Then it twisted into a painful expression, a toxic blend of self-hatred and bitter understanding. His hands fell away from Raid’s collar, shoulders slumping as the fury drained, leaving behind a man stripped raw.

"You still have aura left?" Raid’s voice was softer, almost a murmur, his focus now on the urgency at hand.

Michael gave a slow nod, barely meeting Raid’s gaze.

"Then let’s get them back to camp. We’ve got a long way to go. I can't use my aura, take Anna first and head to camp at grand speed. I'll try to cover as much distance as possible with Nova on my back till your return. Take both girls and leave me, you'll be well exhausted by then, I can get back on my own. Owen can be found later, he'll understand. Then, and only then, we’ll come back for Charlie and Claire." He held Michael's gaze, a silent pact hanging between them. "Clear?”