A ripple cracked across the sky—silent at first, then sharp, like glass breaking against steel. She turned just as something blurred through the smoke, too fast for the eye, a streak of black and white cutting straight at her.
The ground cratered beneath her boots as the force slammed into her chest. Her body flew back, ten full steps grinding into shattered stone before she dug in, silver chains lashing instinctively around her to anchor her. Dust rose in a storm.
Her balance returned. Barely.
Eron’s hoarse laugh cut through the haze. He was still broken on the ground, blood dripping from his mouth, but his voice carried. "Perfect! Beautiful! You think you won, girl? Look at him. My greatest creation."
The figure hovered above the ruined street. His face was hidden behind a black mask, sharp lines running down it like veins of light. His body radiated nothing—and yet everything. The air bent around him, reality shivering at his presence.
Vyn’s silver eyes narrowed. "What is this?"
Eron coughed, blood splattering his hand as he pushed himself up inch by inch. His grin stretched wider. "Those black couples... hah, talented, but naïve. They gave me what I needed. Their power. Their child. And from them—I got him." He raised a trembling finger, pointing at the masked figure. "Marc."
The name rolled heavy through the air.
Vyn’s jaw clenched. "What are you talking about?"
Eron only laughed harder, broken ribs shifting with each sound. "That’s not for you to know. All that matters is this—Marc, finish her. Rip the location of their base from her memory."
The masked figure tilted his head once. Then he moved.
He didn’t fly—he simply was there. In front of her.
Vyn barely raised her hands before a fist buried itself into her stomach. Her breath snapped out, her body folding around the strike. Chains burst from her aura in reflex, wrapping around Marc’s arm—only to unravel instantly, undone like threads in fire.
Marc lifted his other hand, palm open. The space around her collapsed, folding inward, crushing like the hand of a god. Vyn screamed, silver light bursting from her veins, chains lashing wildly to hold the imploding air apart. The ground caved in for miles, stone grinding to dust beneath the pressure.
She broke free with a roar, her magic surging outward in a wave that cracked the sky. Silver radiance burned across the battlefield, forcing Marc back a step. Her chest heaved, blood dripping from her lip.
But Marc was already behind her.
A palm struck her back. The blow tore through her shield, sending her crashing face-first into the rubble. Her body skidded, stone grinding against her skin, until she rolled back onto her feet, silver chains whipping around her like blades.
"Break!" she screamed.
The chains shot forward, thousands of them, piercing from every direction. They stabbed through buildings, tore through air, lashed at Marc with the fury of judgment itself.
Every last one froze mid-air, inches from his body.
Then they crumbled to dust.
Vyn’s heart pounded, cold sweat mixing with blood on her face. Her silver aura flared again, brighter, hotter. She lashed forward, her body becoming a streak of light. Her fist slammed into his mask, cracking it down the side. For a moment—just a moment—she saw eyes behind it. Calm. Empty. Terrifying.
His hand gripped her wrist. The bones cracked. She gasped as he twisted, flinging her through a wall of collapsed towers. The stone shattered as her body punched through, her scream drowned in the chaos.
She pulled herself free of the rubble, coughing blood. Her chains flared again, her voice shaking with fury. "I don’t care what you are—I’ll kill you!"
She raised both arms.
The sector lit in silver. Towers rebuilt only to collapse again, ground folded, air screamed as her magic surged beyond its limit. Chains of pure will erupted like storms, wrapping the sky, hammering down on Marc in relentless waves.
The battlefield became a cage of light.
And inside it, Marc walked forward.
Each chain that struck him unraveled. Each blast of force broke apart before touching him. He didn’t counter. He didn’t rush. He simply walked through her storm as though it was rain, his masked face fixed on her.
Vyn’s breath came ragged. Her vision blurred with tears and blood. She forced more magic out, more power, even as her veins tore and her muscles screamed. Silver fire erupted from her body, the ground melting beneath her feet.
Marc appeared in front of her again.
She didn’t even see him move.
A kick slammed into her side. Ribs snapped, blood gushed from her mouth as she flew sideways, bouncing across stone like a broken doll. She barely stopped herself, chains stabbing into the ground to anchor her.
Her eyes burned. Her chest heaved. Her hands shook.
And still—still—she stood.
Eron’s broken laugh carried from the rubble, savage and gleeful. "Do you see it now? Do you see? You can’t win. None of you can. He is beyond you. Beyond hunters. Beyond worlds."
Vyn staggered forward, silver eyes blazing through the blood and pain. "Shut up!"
She raised her arms again, her aura surging one last time. Chains lanced outward, silver storms twisting into a spear of light. She hurled it with every ounce of strength left.
The spear tore through the air, brighter than stars, heavy enough to split mountains.
Marc raised his hand.
The spear unraveled into nothing.
Then his hand flicked forward.
The air itself punched her chest. Her body collapsed backward, silver aura flickering like a dying flame. Her knees hit the ground, her breath wheezing, blood spilling across her chin.
She couldn’t move. Her magic sputtered, chains twitching weakly before fading.
Marc stopped in front of her, calm and merciless. His masked face tilted down.
Eron coughed a laugh from the rubble. "Do it. Strip her mind. Find their base. Crush them all."
Marc raised his hand, palm glowing faint, reaching for her forehead.
Vyn’s head sagged. Her chest rose and fell shallow. Her eyes still burned with fury, but her body wouldn’t answer anymore.
A shadow blurred through the battlefield, fast enough to tear the world open with its passage. A hand caught Marc’s wrist before it touched her.
Vyn blinked weakly, her vision blurry—but she saw him.
His coat whipped in the storm, his brown hair gleaming in the broken light, his grip unyielding as he held Marc in place. His eyes—sharp, merciless—cut through the chaos like a blade.
"You’ve done enough," Silas said, voice low, steady, final.
For the first time, Marc stepped back.
And the battle changed.