Nyric moved first.
His body flowed like water as he sidestepped a descending hammer, sweeping low to trip the attacker. The man didn't fall—he absorbed the momentum, shifting like packed earth reforming under force.
"Of course," Nyric hissed. "They fight like the land itself."
A dagger whistled past his ear.
Rasterk.
"Focus, dancer!" Rasterk barked, knee-deep in a vicious duel. His blades flashed arcs of green veinfire as he drove them back with grit and fury.
Nyric exhaled. Fine. No holding back.
He pivoted sharply, veinfire pulsing red beneath his skin. With a swift strike, he slammed his palm into a bandit's chest.
Red Sutra: Detonating Touch.
A muffled thump—then the man's ribcage crumpled inward with a wet crunch. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he was hurled backward, skidding across the dirt.
Nyric didn't pause.
Ling was still upright despite the arrow jutting from his shoulder, face slick with sweat and blood. Two mercenaries stood back to back, blades flickering, holding the line against three more attackers.
And Kael—
---
Kael stood still.
Breath slow. Controlled. Veinfire coiled under his skin, gathering in the soles of his feet like heat beneath a sealed lid.
As the first bandit charged, Kael stepped into the swing—not away. The stone hammer grazed his shoulder, close enough to split skin, but he was already inside the man's guard.
Predictable.
He caught the attacker's wrist, twisted, and drove a knee into his ribs with bone-snapping force. The man let out a strangled wheeze as Kael flipped him and slammed him headfirst into the ground. Skull met stone with a sickening crack.
Another attacker rushed him.
Kael ducked the hammer's arc—wind slicing past his cheek—and snapped a back kick into the man's knee. Ligaments popped. The man screamed, staggering.
Thunk.
An arrow buried itself in the dirt an inch from Kael's foot.
His head snapped up.
Figures moved along the ridges above—ghosts in the rock—loosing arrows with mechanical precision.
So that's how they're coordinating. Top-down pressure.
"Watch the cliffs!" Rasterk shouted, deflecting a blow with a spray of sparks. "They're splitting us!"
Kael snarled, dodging just in time as a hammer carved a crater into the stone where he'd stood.
He turned, raised his arms—veinfire pulsing under his fists.
But—
The ground shifted slightly beneath his foot. Just enough to throw his balance off.
They're using the terrain.
Another came at him—Kael slipped left, struck the shoulder, then drove his elbow into the man's temple with a dull thud. The body dropped twitching, eyes still wide.
They're weak. This isn't even hard.
He clenched his fists.
Is this what Thorne meant?
It's quite the boon then. A smile ghosted across his face.
Then—
A scream. An arrow lodged deep into a mercenary's thigh. She fell, clutching the wound, blood spraying from the femoral artery in rhythmic pulses.
"Cover her!" Nyric shouted, weaving between blades to reach her side.
Kael looked up again.
"Those archers need to go!" Ling shouted, barely dodging a hammer swing. He ducked, slid between a bandit's legs, and launched upward with twin fists. The man's jaw shattered in a burst of blood and teeth.
Kael landed in a crouch, panting.
Around him, the others fought on, barely holding.
Nyric's grace had turned to calculation—his movements tighter, sharper, slower. Ling had switched to throwing knives, each strike aimed with brutal efficiency.
But the arrows—those damn arrows—were the real threat.
Kael's fists clenched tighter.
Heat bloomed in his chest. Not rage. Not fear.
Anticipation.
Veinfire throbbed in his veinpaths. It hadn't even begun to burn.
He caught Nyric's eye across the chaos.
"I'm going up," Kael called.
Nyric's brow creased. "Don't be reckless—"
But Kael was already sprinting.
He tore through the battlefield, arrows thudding around him, screams and steel clashing behind. He hit the cliff wall running, boots scraping rock, eyes locking onto jagged handholds.
He leapt—caught a ledge—stone bit into his fingers.
He climbed.
---
Below, the battlefield howled—veinfire clashing with steel, screams cutting through the dust.
But near the caravan, it was different.
There, Anita stood unmoving.
Like a statue of war.
She was braced between the merchant and the chaos, feet planted as if she'd grown from the earth itself. The merchant crouched behind a splintered supply cart, wide-eyed, clutching a dagger he clearly didn't know how to use.
One bandit broke through the line, sprinting toward the caravan's flank.
Anita raised a hand and slammed her palm into the ground.
A ripple pulsed outward.
Stone cracked. The earth heaved—and a narrow pillar shot up, catching the attacker mid-run and launching him backward like a broken toy.
"Back," she muttered, barely audible over the noise. "You want the merchant, you go through me."
Her veins pulsed with a dull, earthen glow—not fiery like Rasterk's green or Nyric's crimson flare. This light was heavy. Subtle. But it made the air taste like thunderstorm soil—charged and ancient.
Two more of the Burrowed came, flanking her fast.
Anita turned to meet the first. His hammer crashed down on her forearm—stone striking stone.
The blow should've shattered bone. But her veinfire-enforced skin didn't even bruise.
She grunted, grabbed his arm, and slammed her fist into his gut. The sound was like boulders colliding. The man collapsed, vomiting blood.
The second attacker came from behind.
Anita didn't turn.
She stomped.
The ground buckled. A jagged wave of stone surged up behind her, slamming into the bandit's legs and folding him backward with a spine-snapping crack.
The merchant stared, pale and stunned.
"Stay down," Anita ordered, not even glancing back.
He swallowed. "Where is he?" he muttered, peeking over the cart. "Elyas. I told him to stay close."
"You're missing someone?" Anita's voice was low, like shifting gravel.
"My cousin."
Her frown deepened.
"Idiot," she said—but it wasn't clear who she meant.
She turned slightly, her senses sinking into the stone beneath her feet.
Another arrow struck near her boot.
She looked up, squinting into the glare above the cliffs.
"Kid better be doing something useful up there," she growled.
---
Kael climbed.
Muscles burning, breath harsh in his throat. Every handhold scraped his fingers raw. But he didn't stop.
Above, the wind was still. Too still.
Only the soft twang of bowstrings broke the silence, followed by the whistle of falling death.
Then—a ledge.
Kael surged over it in one motion.
The archer didn't see him until it was too late.
Kael's boot smashed into the man's jaw with a wet crunch, bone shattering under the blow. The archer collapsed, twitching once before going still.
Kael hit the ground hard, one hand catching on sharp stone. Blood welled from his knuckles.
"Where's the next one?" he muttered, rising—
A breath behind him.
Kael spun—
Too slow.
Another figure emerged from the rock itself, cloak dust-colored, blade flashing toward Kael's exposed throat.
Too fast. I can't—
A spark.
A flicker of silver light.
A circular rune blazed in the air, hovering like a ghost. It trembled, unstable, humming with arcane tension.
The blade hit it with a sharp clang, cracking the rune—but it was enough.
Kael dropped low, rolled hard, the blade whispering past his scalp as he moved.
"What—?"