Hwehwe's magi were artists of agony, their craft honed in the silent places where light dared not tread.
The labyrinth was alive with shadows, shifting and coiling like serpents. The air hung thick with the scent of damp earth and iron, the metallic tang of blood seeping into the mist. The Cosmic Magi had come expecting a swift slaughter, but the earth itself resisted them. The Totem Circle pulsed with ancient power, its roots sunk deep into the land, weakening their magic, dulling their edges.
One of the magi, a woman with hollow sockets where eyes should be, hummed a lullaby under her breath. The shadows answered. They twisted, lunged, bit-sinking teeth of darkness into flesh. Soldiers screamed as the void swallowed them whole, their cries muffled as if the fog itself drank the sound.
Outside, the battlefield was a graveyard. Dozens of corpses littered the ground, their blood blackening the soil. The air was heavy, sacred in its silence, as if the dead still whispered warnings to the living.
The five Cosmic Magi stood at the entrance, their arrogance unshaken despite the resistance.
"Whose turn is it to go? We can take our sweet time," said one, its voice dripping with amusement. It wore an ornate headdress, the metal glinting dully in the half-light.
"We should not underestimate our foe," hissed another, taller than the rest. Its words were laced with venom—literally. Droplets of poison fell from its lips, sizzling against the ground. "This one specializes in shadows. You should know better. Your father was killed with this kind of magic."
The smallest of them scoffed. "We can smoke them out. Let me try."
Without waiting for approval, it shot into the air, weaving a massive magic circle with practiced fingers. Ten minutes passed, the air humming with gathering power—until, finally, it unleashed [Eruption].
Nothing happened.
The circle cracked, then shattered like glass. The magus landed with a snarl. "It must be these useless totems!"
The tallest one, Captain Silver Nyar, flexed its claws. "This is not even fun. Golden Bhir is probably having a grand time slaughtering those savages at the fort."
"I'll go first," it decided. "Or do you all want to charge in now?"
The others chuckled. "Captain Nyar, we'll let you have your fun pulling apart these primitives and their cheap tricks. But you owe us. Maybe leave the women alive. And the men—save them for Silver Jay. He prefers men."
Nyar grinned and stepped into the fog.
The labyrinth swallowed it whole.
The mist here was alive, controlled by Hwehwe and her Shadow Dwellers. It distorted sound, blurred vision, pressed against the skin like a drowsy weight. Nyar moved cautiously at first, but frustration soon took over. Whispers curled around its ears-giggles that came from nowhere, footsteps that led to nothing.
Then, suddenly, Hwehwe was there.
She materialized in front of Nyar, close enough to touch, then walked past it as if it were nothing. The magus lashed out with its curved blade, slicing through empty air.
Hwehwe was already gone.
The labyrinth breathed Silver Nyar's panic back into its stones. Hwehwe watched from the shadows as the magus stumbled, its claws screeching against walls that bled black sap where it touched. Every step triggered whispers—not from Hwehwe's dwellers, but from the labyrinth itself, regurgitating Nyar's own memories in warped fragments. "Pathetic," it heard its voice sneer, though the word came from a child's lips. "Weak," spat its mother's corpse, propped grinning in an alcove. Nyar slashed wildly, severing the vision—only for the severed head to roll, click-click-clicking, into a pit where a hundred skeletal hands beckoned.
Hwehwe struck when its breath hitched.
She materialized behind it, her dagger—a shard of polished voidstone—sinking into the gap above Nyar's armored collar. Not deep enough to kill. Just enough to pin. The magus thrashed, but the blade fused with the labyrinth's hungry stone, anchoring it in place. Shadows pooled in its eye sockets, viscous and alive, as Hwehwe leaned close. "You called our magic cheap," she whispered. The voidstone flared, and the shadows pulled.
Nyar's scream choked as its eyes unraveled first—long strands of optic nerve squirming free like gutted worms. Then its jaw unhinged, tendons snapping as the shadows wrenched its mouth wide, wider, until the crack of its spine echoed through the halls. Hwehwe watched, silent, as the darkness devoured the magus from within, inflating its skin like a grotesque balloon until—
Pop.
A wet sigh. A deflated husk.
The labyrinth sighed in satisfaction feeding Hwehwe's Labyrinth Totem, its walls absorbing the leftover ichor. All that remained was Nyar's headdress, now fused to the floor, its jewels staring upward like lidless eyes.
Hwehwe plucked her dagger free. "Cheap," she murmured, "but effective."
Outside, the remaining four magi stiffened as an explosion rocked the sky. One of their warships plummeted in flames, its wreckage lighting up the horizon.
"Should we call the captain? Or rush to the site?" Silver Jay asked, fingers tightening around its weapon.
"Captain will punish us if we go out of line," the others muttered.
Silver Mist, the smallest, suddenly went rigid. "Do you feel that?"
The others paused. "Nope. Your mind must be playing tri...."
Silver Jay's sentence ended in a wet gurgle. A gaping hole had torn through its chest.
Larin stood before them, flicking blood from his fingers. "You're quite the hardworking folk, aren't ya?"
His smirk was the last thing Silver Mist saw before [Voidstep] carried him forward. His hand chopped downward, and the air itself split. Twin gashes carved through Silver Mist's shoulders in a perfect V, sending its head tumbling to the ground.
The last two reacted instantly. The four-armed magus brandished curved swords, while the spearman lunged—only for their strikes to bounce harmlessly off Larin's [Mana Barrier].
"You're quite strong for a primitive," the four-armed one laughed, though its voice wavered.
"Are you a conceptual magi?"
Larin shook his head. "I'm weaker, I think, to a conceptual magi."
Then he moved.
The magus with four arms barely had time to weave [Silver Annihilation] before Larin's hand shot out, gripping the glowing spell construct midair. His fingers flexed—and the magic shattered like glass.
"They did not foresee me as a foe," he said, voice low and deliberate. "This will work to our advantage."
The fight was already over. Larin raised his hand, and the sky darkened. Hundreds of thousands of green arrows materialized, hovering like a storm waiting to break. [Thousand Needles]—but this was no ordinary spell. No chant, no circle, just pure will.
His hand fell.
Larin's will sculpted them all, his Sinlung-granted sight piercing the magi's barriers like parchment. The four-armed magus screamed as a countless arrows pinned it to the earth, the scent of upturned soil flooding its final breaths. "Primitive?" Larin murmured, watching the creature dissolve. "You paved your roads with our dead. Now walk them."
Larin turned toward the labyrinth.
Inside, he found one of Hwehwe's soldiers clinging to the ceiling, breath held.
"Are you ignoring me?" Larin asked, tilting his head.
The soldier dropped down, wide-eyed. "Young lord, no! The threat has been neutralized. No casualties or injuries."
Larin nodded. "Then I don't have to stay. Tell your commander to shoot the signal arrow before the warship leaves our range. I'll go help Pupi."
As he left, his senses confirmed what he already knew-Hwehwe had finished her fight. The scent of blood was fresh, but her presence was steady. Mild injuries, nothing more.
"Hwehwe may be one of the strongest, especially in her element," he mused.
Then he was gone, [Voidstep] carrying him toward the river stronghold.
The labyrinth fell silent once more.
"The Young Lord is stronger than we have ever known." The soldier reported how Larin singlehandedly destroyed the cosmic magi outside the place to Hwehwe.
Hwehwe smiled to her ears, this may be the best news for Xiaxo yet.