Julius steps forward.
His mana is steady, firm in the air around him, but not aggressive. Not yet.
"What continent are you from?" he asks. Voice clear. Level. Almost polite.
The woman laughs—low and smooth, like warm poison in the dark.
"Oh, don't worry, boy," she says, voice dripping amusement. "I'm not a devil. No, no… I'm not that powerful."
She rolls Randall's heart once more between her fingers, lets it fall.
Soft, wet impact.
I can feel Lirael her magic ache, like she wants to heal Randall but she knows it's to late.
"But I am a demon."
A beat. Her mana pulses—sharp, subtle. Predatory.
"And I'm definitely more powerful than your little elf squad."
She smiles. I can't see it—but I hear it in the shape of her voice.
"Now," she purrs, stepping forward like this is all some twisted dance, "be a good boy and hand over the scroll…"
A pause.
"…and I won't hurt you."
She lets the words breathe for a second.
Then the next line comes, syrup-slow and edged with teeth.
"Refuse… and I'll start with that little human girl."
The pressure in the air shifts. My name's not said—but everyone turns toward me for half a breath, and I feel it. The threat lands in my bones.
"I bet she'd be fun to pull apart," she adds, still smiling. "Bit by bit."
There's no spike in her tone. No rising pitch. Just calm. Certain. Cruel.
Still smiling
The silence after her threat is thin, taut.
Then I hear it—the grind of a boot shifting against stone. A breath drawn through gritted teeth. Daniel.
He doesn't wait. Doesn't speak.
He charges.
I feel the ground react to him—earth bending underfoot, mana rushing to meet his strength like it's eager to be used.
"CRAGBREAKER SURGE!"
He hits her full-force. Fists like hammers. A burst of raw power that cracks the floor beneath their feet.
For a second, I think it landed.
Then I feel it.
Her mana flares—not in defense, but in retaliation. Sharp. Intentional. Effortless.
There's no delay. No warning.
Just the crack of Daniel's body as she hurls him into the wall.
The impact rattles the cavern—deep and brutal. I feel it in my ribs. In the stone. In the air.
A collective gasp sucks the breath from the space—everyone, even Julius, faltering for a split second.
Everyone but me.
I don't gasp.
I feel.
The shape of her mana doesn't shift. It hasn't flinched. Hasn't strained. She's not even breathing hard.
Daniel groans from the wall, the stone around him cracked like an eggshell.
She's still smiling.
Like she's only just getting started.
Her presence glows like oil on fire—smoke-colored mana shot through with threads of violet and something darker, something bruised. Her outline barely moves. Just a smear of pressure and poison sweetness standing still.
She's calm. Perfectly balanced.
And then Julius steps forward. His mana shifts—steady and cold, a structure drawn tight. He doesn't raise a spell. Doesn't ignite the air. Just speaks.
"What's your name?" he says. Voice even.
There's a beat of silence.
Then her mana pulses—soft and pleased. "Salem."
It rolls out of her like she's announcing royalty. The name tastes like old iron and honey rot.
Julius tilts his head slightly, aura sharpening just enough for me to feel the edge of his intent. "Your rank?"
Another pause. Amusement flares in her mana—lazy, like she's playing a game only she understands.
"Two," she says at last. "For now."
"But once I take that scroll?" Her voice twists into something low and eager. "Stage One will be within reach." She let's out a gasp, one of happiness. "My master will definitely help me if i give him this."
The scroll hums behind us, still open. Still waiting.
Julius hums lightly, like he's not impressed.
"You said ice and water magic are boring," he continues, still calm.
"So what do you think about the stories of space magic?"
That's it.
That's the signal.
My pulse slows.
His mana tips toward me—only slightly. Just enough. I catch it like a shift in wind.
Then—
Movement.
Soft. Controlled. Salem walks forward, footsteps silent, pressure mounting.
Just the thick haze of her mana, close and syrupy, trailing like smoke behind a blade. But I can feel where she's going.
Toward Julius.
Each step tightens the air.
She stops right in front of him.
Too close.
I hear her breath—slow and warm as it brushes his skin. She leans in, her voice soft as silk stretched over a knife.
"Well," she whispers, "I'm sure it's out there. This… space magic of yours."
A pause. Her mana deepens, folds inward like it's bracing for something dark.
"But me?"
She tilts her head slightly. I can't see the expression, but I feel the shift in pressure. She's smiling.
"I'm a shadow mage."
"Oh, I know. No one talks about it. They never call it magic—just a demon's ability. But some of us? We've changed what it means to wield shadow."
Her mana shifts, the tendrils of shadow moving with a deliberate fluidity that feels like a slow, twisting coil in the air around her.
"You think all demons are the same? I've gone far beyond 'Shadowstep.' The real magic… is in making the shadows my very essence."
Her tone never rises. No heat. No drama.
Just certainty.
Her mana wraps around Julius like a vine waiting to crush. I can feel how still he is—no flinch, no retreat.
And somehow, that unnerves her.
I feel it—not in her breath, not in her words, but in her mana. It hiccups. Tightens. Just a fraction too taut.
Then it shifts again.
Shadow pours from her palm like a sigh made solid—cold, coiling, slick with intent.
"You're not going to give up the scroll, are you?" she murmurs.
Not a question. A knowing. Like she's already counted us dead.
Julius laughs.
A low, warm sound—almost genuine.
"You wish lady."
Then his mana explodes.
I feel it surge in all directions, a sudden bloom of heat that rolls over me like a furnace catching breath. My skin prickles. The stone beneath me radiates.
He doesn't chant.
Doesn't warn.
He just moves.
A pulse of fire—raw and unfiltered—roars to life around him. It floods the space between them, wraps around her like a living flare.
I don't see the flame.
But I feel her mana recoil like an animal caught in a trap.
Julius isn't playing anymore.
Has he been holding back on me? This is way beyond what he showed me in our spar.
He's trying to burn her to ash before she can even think.
And for half a second—
It might have worked
But then her mana pulses again. That same sickly sweet rot, now coated in a hard edge of cold fury.
Julius doesn't flinch.
He just yells—loud and sharp, voice cutting through fire and fear:
"EVERYONE GO ALL OUT!"
His mana snaps wide again, like a whip cracking.
"EITHER WE GET OUT OR WE DIE RIGHT HERE!"
Then—
"ESPECIALLY YOU, ANNABEL! DON'T BE HOLDING BACK NOW!"
The order strikes like flint. The chamber erupts.
Everyone moves.
Kate's wind cracks like a whip of pressure and stone. Wyn vanishes into a blur of motion. Rolim's fire howls. Zahor throws magic infused throwing knifes.
Julius strikes first—no chant, just fire, raw and wild. The heat slams outward like a furnace breath, straight at Salem's center mass.
And for a moment—
I hear it land. A sickening snap-hiss of mana and flesh.
She screams.
Not loud—but real.
Then the sound twists. A flicker in space—not like mine. Not clean. Not sharp. It folds inward, sickly and slick, like something too wet pulling itself through cloth.
Her presence drops.
Gone.
And then—
She's behind us.
Her mana spills from a new direction, heavy and sharp. My senses snap to her. The blur of her outline ripples like heat haze, but the burn across her face shines bright in my vision—seared, angry, raw.
A scar.
Left by Julius.
She growls low through clenched teeth, voice laced with hatred and disbelief.
"That hurt."
The words haven't even finished vibrating in the air before she moves again.
Through shadow.
Through me.
The twist in her mana comes slick and predatory—like oil sliding beneath water. I don't see her move. I feel her vanish from one blur and bloom in another—closer.
Right in front of me.
Too fast. Too close.
Her shadow magic hits first—claws shaped from pressure and hate, striking without warning.
But I'm already moving.
Space folds under my heel—costly. A migraine blossoms behind my eyes, copper on my tongue.
It's not teleportation. Not exactly. It's displacement—a fold in the world that slides me out of harm's path like ink pushed off a page.
I slip behind her, left hand raised.
"Celestial Rift."
There's that same small rift. And i blast it in her direction.
And just like that I feel it land—just barely.
Her mana howls, jagged and shocked.
Something wet hits the stone behind her.
A hand.
She snarls—more beast than woman now—and spins, her shadow lashing with her like a cape turned weapon.
But it doesn't stay external.
Her darkness leaks from inside—coiling out of her core like it's alive. It snaps onto me mid-flicker, too fast to dodge. Cold, sharp tendrils wrap around my ribs.
Then yank.
I twist, trying to fold space again—but it's rushed, messy. I only shift a meter before—
CRACK.
She slams me into the far wall like a thrown weapon.
Pain detonates through my shoulder. Something in it gives. My cane hits the floor. I don't scream—but I feel the sound build in my chest.
Everything freezes.
Gasps hit the air in a rush—sharp, scattered.
Wyn. Rolim. Lirael. Zahor.
"She—she just—what the hell kind of magic was that?!"
"She cut off her hand—!"
"Annabel?!"
I breathe. Slow. Shaking.
Only Julius stays steady. His mana is calm—tight, controlled. And Kate—her blade's already drawn. Her focus, a pin pulled taut.
Across the room, Salem is breathing hard. Her mana pulses uneven, her heat molten and furious.
"That," she mutters, her voice catching, "hurt."
Then she pauses.
I feel it. The hesitation.
The faint warp of recognition in her aura.
"…Wait," she breathes, realization dripping in. "That was—space magic?"
She laughs—breathless, sharp.
"That's what you're hiding? No wonder you've lasted this long. I thought that stuff was just theory—old lies."
The edge of her rage sharpens into fascination.
"That shouldn't be possible."
Then—
"ANNABEL!"
A pulse of heat and grit slams into the chamber—heavy boots, louder mana, louder heart.
Daniel.
Still breathing. Still standing.
Still Daniel.
"I KNEW YOU WERE CRAZY!" he bellows, voice cracking from laughter and blood. "THAT WAS AWESOME!"
He doesn't wait.
Doesn't think.
Stone mana surges through his arm—raw and bright. I can feel it across the cave. His fist ignites in rock, thick as a gauntlet, pressure building as he cocks back mid-charge.
Then he punches Salem straight across the face. The mana output was on par with that of hers when she flung him across the room, Daniel really is crazy.
The hit lands with a sound like splitting earth—solid, sickening, real. The impact echoes through the cavern, and I feel it in the stone underfoot.
Gasps again—from the others this time.
"Did he just—?!"
Daniel wipes blood from his chin with the back of his hand, grinning wide.
"PROUD OF YOU!" he yells toward me, barely out of breath. "Now let's break her other hand!"
No."
Julius's voice slices clean through the moment. Calm. Final.
The mana in the room shifts. Even through the ringing in my head, I feel it—his presence anchoring everything. Centering us.
"We're grabbing the scroll and leaving," he says. "We've done what we came here to do. We do not risk dying over killing her."
His mana brushes against mine, steady and warm. I don't need to see his face to know he's not flinching.
"Daniel," he calls, "get Randall's body."
There's a pause, a crackle of tension—but Daniel's mana flickers with reluctant agreement. Then the drag of weight and a soft grunt as he lifts our fallen teammate.
"Kate. Wind. Get the scroll."
A hum builds around us—light and focused. I can feel her spell take shape: tight spirals of air wrapping around the scroll's dense metal mana like fingers made of pressure. It lifts, responds.
Julius turns to me. I try to shift, but my ribs grind in protest. I suck in a sharp breath, and my hand scrabbles blindly toward my cane.
"Don't," he says—quiet and close. Then, more gently, "I've got you."
His arms slip under me—firm, practiced. I don't resist. The warmth of his mana floods into mine just enough to ground me. My legs dangle uselessly, but his back is solid. Strong.
He lifts me like I weigh nothing and hooks my arm over his shoulder.
"We move. Now."
The others fall into motion, their mana like signals in the dark—Wyn's a blade, sharp and mobile. Lirael a shiver of wind and cold light. Kate's spirals holding the scroll steady, brushing just past my shoulder.
Daniel's heavy steps shift with purpose, Randall's body cradled carefully in his arms. His stone-wrapped mana still hums with rage, but he listens.
We head left—Julius guiding us by instinct, or maybe the map he's already drawn in his mind. I only feel the faintest pressure of the exit ahead: air thinning, echo changing. A way out.
Behind us, Salem doesn't stir.
But her mana—it's twitching.
We don't wait.
And we don't look back.
We're nearly there.
The mana ahead thins—spilling outward like mist into open air. The cave's walls stretch wider. Higher. Then I feel it—warmth brushing my skin. The promise of sunlight.
But then—
A shift.
Behind us, footsteps pause.
Zahor.
His presence—steady, grounded—stops moving.
Then something grabs him.
I don't see it clearly. Just a blur of dense, warped mana rising like smoke from stone—Salem's signature. Sharp. Ugly. Tearing.
A streak of shadow lashes out—fast, deliberate—and pulls.
The others see it.
Kate gasps.
"She—she's got Zahor!"
The shadow yanks him back.
I hear his breath hitch. One hand slams against stone—scraping for grip.
Then it's gone.
Him too.
Just the sound of something being torn open
Wet. Muffled. Final.
We don't wait to see more.
Julius growls, voice taut with fury. "Move. Now."
Sunlight breaks across our skin as we burst into the open.
And her magic doesn't follow.
It stops at the threshold—like it's recoiling, burned by the light. The wrongness retreats, but it doesn't vanish. Not completely.
Then I feel her.
Still there.
Salem.
Standing just inside the dark.
Her mana hums low and hateful—dense as tar, sweet as rot. The others turn. I do too, sensing the weight of their horror.
She's there—just beyond the reach of the sun. Holding something.
Zahor's mana.
Hollowed. Still.
His head.
I don't need to see it to know.
The others do.
Gasps cut the air—Kate's breath hitching, Daniel's curse barely held in.
And then Salem speaks. Calm.
"I wouldn't last long out there," she says, gesturing lazily toward the sun. "Shadow doesn't like sunlight."
A beat.
Her laugh lands like a blade tip—nothing but malice.
"But your old friend? He had just enough time to scream."