Tristan grimaced as he uncorked the mana potion, the sickly-sweet smell wafting up like a slap to the face. He sighed before downing it in one gulp. The glow of magic flickered around his wound, knitting flesh back together with all the grace of a rushed tailor.

Yvolt stood in front of him, her rapier raised, the ever-present pink hearts in her eyes shining brighter than any sense of self-preservation. “Can you hurry up, Tan? I’m not exactly thrilled about playing meat shield tonight.”

“Almost done,” Tristan replied, flexing his newly healed side and rising to his feet with a smug grin. “Good as new.”

Meanwhile, Ahlgrath was proving that even in battle, he was an overachiever in the “gross and horrifying” department. With a satisfied growl, he stalked to the mangled remains of his fallen men and began crunching through their bodies like a grotesque buffet.

Bones snapped, ichor dripped, and the sound was enough to make anyone’s stomach turn.

Yvolt wrinkled her nose. “Oh, great. He’s snacking.”

Tristan tilted his head. “Should we be worried?”

“Tan, he’s literally eating his friends. What do you think?”

Ahlgrath licked his lips, his wounds sealing with grotesque efficiency. “Round two, little knights?” he rumbled, his grin wider than ever.

Ahlgrath had seen plenty in his monstrous lifetime—angry mobs, screaming villagers, and knights who thought a shiny blade and a righteous cause could fix everything. But this? These two were something else entirely. Their fighting style wasn’t just infuriating; it was borderline insulting.

He’d figured out their little trick quickly enough. Say an endearing phrase, switch places, rinse and repeat. Predictable, right? Wrong.

Apparently, they’d decided the old “I love you” wasn’t enough. Now, the battlefield was littered with sickly sweet declarations: “I miss you,” “I like your smile,” “You’re my everything.” If Ahlgrath hadn’t been so focused on killing them, he might’ve vomited on the spot.

Not to mention, their little feints. Now they had added the delightful little twist of not switching after their cue, just to keep him guessing. Was it going to be a swap or a trick? Who knew? Certainly not him, and that was driving him insane.

He growled, his claws flexing as he tried to anticipate their next move. But the so-called “Love Potion Duo” weren’t just fighters; they were chaos wrapped in pink hearts. Worse still, the potion’s effects showed no signs of wearing off.

“How much longer are you going to glow like some lovesick fireflies?” he snarled, glaring at their annoyingly synchronized movements.

Yvolt smirked, her blade gleaming as she darted forward. “Long enough to kill you.”

Ahlgrath gritted his teeth. Fine. Let them play their twisted little game. He’d just have to make sure they didn’t live long enough to finish it.

The rooftops shook under Ahlgrath’s relentless pursuit, his grotesque form swelling with black substance that hardened like armor. Each step he took sent shards of tiles tumbling to the streets below, his monstrous presence filling the narrow skyline like a living nightmare.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Yes, he knew people around would start noticing, but he would eat them all. Food wouldn’t talk or spread stories.

Tristan and Yvolt darted around him, their glowing pink eyes undeterred, but Ahlgrath’s patience for their tricks had long since run dry.

They struck with their usual unpredictability—an arrow glowing with mana here, a rapier slicing through the fog there—but it didn’t matter anymore.

Ahlgrath barely flinched, the thickened mass of his skin absorbing the hits with a sickening squelch. Even their clever feints, once enough to wound him, now only managed to chip away at his outer layer.

He pressed forward, unrelenting, his claws swiping through the air with murderous intent.

“You think you can dance around me forever?” he snarled, his voice a guttural growl as he deflected Yvolt’s rapier with a backhanded swipe. “You’re only delaying the inevitable.”

Yvolt’s blade barely scratched his shoulder before bouncing off, the force of the impact sending her skidding back across the slick rooftop.

Tristan, ever the sharpshooter, loosed another Force arrow, its glowing tip hissing through the fog. Ahlgrath didn’t even bother dodging; it struck his chest and dissipated harmlessly into the black armor coating his body.

“Still trying, huh?” he sneered, stepping toward them. His eyes flicked to the satchel at Tristan’s side, the one carrying the stolen documents.

He couldn’t let them escape with that—not because of some misguided sense of duty, but because those papers represented something bigger. His master’s plans couldn’t be compromised.

But he knew these knights weren’t the fleeing type. They weren’t here to run; they were here to kill him.

Good. He could work with that.

Yvolt glanced at Tristan, and he returned the look with a faint nod. No words passed between them, but their intent was clear. They were at a stalemate, and something had to give. A decisive blow was their only chance, and both knew it.

Across the rooftop, Ahlgrath growled low, his monstrous form crackling with dark energy. The black substance coating his body pulsed and shifted like living armor, prepared to tank whatever they threw at him. “I see you,” he rumbled, his claws flexing. “Your little plans won’t save you.”

Yvolt dashed first, her rapier shimmering with mana as she charged directly at him. Her movements were sharp, deliberate—an unmistakable tell of an incoming all-or-nothing attack. Ahlgrath crouched low, his hulking frame coiled like a spring, ready to intercept her blade.

“Predictable,” he sneered, swiping his massive claws in a wide arc.

But just as Yvolt was within striking range, her form flickered and vanished. Before Ahlgrath could react, Tristan appeared in her place, bow already drawn.

“No more games,” Tristan said coldly, loosing a Force arrow point-blank.

BLAAAAAAST!

The projectile exploded against Ahlgrath’s chest, sending him skidding back. He roared, swinging wildly, but the duo had already shifted again. Yvolt was now above him, her rapier plunging toward his neck in a streak of light.

No cue?!

Ahlgrath twisted, his claw catching her blade mid-air, but the sheer force of her strike sent cracks spidering through his black armor. Before he could retaliate, she flickered, and Tristan was behind him, driving a kick infused with mana into his exposed side.

Where’s the “I love yous”?!

They attacked in perfect harmony, switching positions without a single word or sign. Ahlgrath’s monstrous strength gave him the ability to counter any one of them, but their seamless transitions left him swinging at air, his claws scraping against tiles as their relentless blows landed faster than he could track.

How did they know when to switch? How did they synchronize their movements then?

Yvolt reappeared in front of him, feinting with a thrust before slipping to his flank. Tristan loosed another arrow, its crackling mana forcing Ahlgrath to stagger into her waiting strike. She spun, her rapier slicing cleanly through his side, ichor spraying across the roof.

“You’re not the only one who can adapt,” Tristan muttered as he landed another arrow into Ahlgrath’s shoulder, the force blasting him back another step.

Ahlgrath growled, shaking his head as if to clear it. For the first time, the monster seemed genuinely disoriented. Their attack had thrown him off balance, his monstrous confidence cracking along with his armor. The Love Potion Duo was no longer just unpredictable—they were unstoppable.

But how?

No, they didn’t switch places every time they whispered some cutesy endearment. And no, it wasn’t some fancy spellwork either. That would’ve been far too simple.

What they had was something more physical, more chaotic, and far more obnoxiously personal.

Every time their hearts beat at the same time, their bodies switched places.

The trick came after that.