The clash went on far longer than I would've liked.
Every strike, every dodge, every breath felt like a gamble with death.
Velra—no, the thing wearing her skin—was too strong. Each swing of her arm sent shockwaves through the ground, and getting close enough to land a hit felt less like bravery and more like suicide.
So, of course, I had to retreat.
I ducked behind a chunk of half-melted rock, my lungs burning from the heat, mind racing through options.
'Subduing that thing is one thing…'
But the real problem was what to do afterward.
Even if I managed to knock her out, how could I contain something like that?
Killing her would be the easiest option. Brutal, but simple. Just cut her down—her and the parasite both—and let the flames bury the evidence.
But then I looked toward the battlefield—the noble soldiers still scattered nearby, watching from a distance, eyes full of confusion and fear.
No. That would draw too much attention.
