In a less delicate moment, Talan and Daclan still stood facing the three figures—each of whom had already regained their footing. The clash seemed locked in stalemate: no one willing to make the first move, no one daring to act rashly. Only their gazes crossed, as if they were all waiting for the other's blink, desperate for the smallest advantage.
"This is taking too long," Talan mutters, his words meant only for Daclan's ears.
"They're planning something," he adds.
"And what do you want to do?" Daclan asks, just as quietly.
"Heh… you even have to ask?" Talan replies, his paws curling into fists.
"Fine… just don't overdo it," Daclan sighs, giving in. His brown eyes glow, and as his hand brushes Talan's shoulder, the same brown shimmer flows into him—melding, sinking into the rest of his body. Talan leans forward slightly, that grin spreading across his face, speaking louder than words ever could.
"Alright then… show me what you've got," he whispers, shifting his weight—and in the next instant, he lunges, straight for the one in the middle: Fiona.
He closes the distance faster than she can even exhale, but his punch doesn't land in her face. Instead, it slams into a wall of vines, bursting from the ground just in time. His paw drives deep, but not through. And already, the smallest of the three—Lina—comes rushing in from the left, dagger drawn. She strikes close, but Talan bats the attack aside instantly, ducking under the golden staff swinging down at him from the other side.
No sooner dodged than his elbow slams into the stomach of the tallest—Leona—sending her and her staff crashing back toward the river. Lina recovers quickly, slashing again, but Talan slips back a step, spinning his paw's backhand into her mask mid-motion. She goes flying, meters away, but grants him no respite, because the vine wall collapses—revealing Fiona's rapier of glowing green grass.
She thrusts. Again and again, her storm of strikes rains down. But every one misses, as Talan is too fast, too sharp, too overwhelming.
"What," he says, even mid-motion.
"Is," he continues, slipping aside once more.
"Wrong?" he finishes, just as the rapier's thrust sails past his stomach.
Fiona's tongue clicks in frustration before his knee drives into her gut, his paw seizes her head and she's hurled back across the battlefield.
At the same instant, a pink sphere the size of a bowling ball detonates on the brown barrier, that again, is mysteriously wrapping around Talan. Lina follows right after, her dagger flashing in his eyes, as she strikes once, twice and yet only misses, after Talan is weaving, ducking and suddendly catching her blade.
He flicks it upward into the air, and in the same breath, his fist slams into her mask. The plastic splinters scatter and her body is sent flying toward the river—swapping places with Leona, who charges in from that very direction.
Quickly, Talan's paw snatches Lina's falling knife out of the air and even quicker he crashes it against Leona's golden staff. Sparks leap on impact and between their meeting eyes, though the duel doesn't even last for a moment, as Talan twists both weapons aside and shoves his paw forward to touch her stomach. A rather impolite act, considering the previous course of the battle. And also considering the sudden lightning, erupting from his paw and through her body.
She doesn't realize, collapsing right in the moment and yet it almost seems intentional, like a signal for a certain pink sphere of energy to blaze into life.
A sphere, Talan doesn't see coming.
Again the brown barrier lights up, shocking it and him in the heat of the moment. This time though, the pressure rushes through his body, rises into his mind and widens his eyes.
Because he couldn't believe the crack within it's dense protection.
Cracks, you should specify. Lots of Cracks within a thick barrier, that should have held, that was supposed to hold.
But before he can even think deeper into the matter, a green vine lashes upward from the ground, faster than a blink. It pierces the rest of the barrier at ease, slams into his shoulder and sends him back to reality.
"Son of—" .Or at least back into consciousness, as the pain devours his thoughts.
"Wh—Talan, I told you not to over—" Daclan shouts, panicked, as the brown glow fades from his eyes and he drops to his knees, breathing ragged. Even though he did not fight at all.
And it's not just that.
Out of the mist, another figure steps forward—eyes glowing in the same green as the vine itself. Fiona.
Talan immediately tries to tear free, only to realize that his arm won't move. Not at his command, at least.
And Fiona's rapier is already inches from striking.
Still—he grins, using his other paw to crush the vine like brittle dead leaves, before his tongue drags across the fur of his upper lip.
Then he moves.
He weaves. Ducks. Darts back. Swats the rapier aside. Blocks. All with just one arm, as if he'd never needed the other. He proves it the moment his claws catch the rapier between them—effortless, rehearsed, practiced.
"You know what I find funny?" Talan suddenly asks, forcing her weapon back.
"No… and I don't care!!" Fiona pants, her scream matching her renewed pressure against him.
"Well then… let me show you… a little demon—demo-something… ah, screw it!"
He stumbles over his words, but the yellow in his eyes flares, dangerously.
And lightning bursts through his body again—only this time, it doesn't aim at an enemy. It snakes through him. From chest, to shoulder, along the vine, carried in his blood, until it reaches his paralyzed arm.
The limb that suddenly snaps.
Like an electric eel, that should have been dead.
One, that shouldn't move.
"What the…?" Fiona barely gets the words out before Talan's paw snaps upward and straight into her head.
The hit itself barely hurts, hardly even registers—yet it's devastating, once lightning bursts across her skull and the shock rattles her mind.
In an instant, lights flicker before her eyes. Almost at the same time, she loses her grip—the glow fades, the strength drains from her body, and her eyelids grow too heavy to lift.
And just moments later, all that's left is a collapsing girl, falling first to her knees, then into Talan's mercy, as he grabs her by the hair and hauls her limp body upward.
"Now… you see… what I mean, don't you?" Talan growls between ragged breaths, lifting her higher and studying the paralyzed expression on her face.
"Oh, mighty Talan!" he continues, shaking her with every word as if trying to force her mouth to move.
"How right you are! How could I possibly have missed such brilliance?" he adds, voice rising, mockingly imitating her—but failing miserably at it.
"Get away from her at once!!" a high-pitched voice suddenly screams—soft and furious all at the same time.
Wrapped a little in the hallowing mist, the small girl Lina steps into view, hoisting a pink glowing sphere above her head, three times her own size.
"I said get away from her!!!" she shouts again, but Talan doesn't move an inch.
"Hey, old man! You deaf or what?! GET AWAY FROM HER RIGHT NOW OR I'LL RIP YOU INTO TINY PIECES!"
Her voice grows louder, the sphere swells with every breath, and her chest rises and falls like a storm barely contained. She wants to kill him—Talan can see it, even through the thickest of fogs.
"Tell me, is your brain as small as your body? Or do you just not see that I can't move a damn inch here?!" he fires back, his tone every bit as angry.
"You filthy bastard… YOU REALLY THINK YOU'RE IN A POSITION TO TALK BACK?!" Lina screams again, her sphere growing even larger—towering now like a small truck above her head.
"And what exactly are you gonna do?" Talan taunts. "Blow us both to pieces?"
Silence follows.
Then Lina takes a single step forward, probably to look more threatening, but Talan isn't the type to flinch from words alone.
Yes, not from the words themselves.
But from the glint of the golden scepter emerging from the fog to his left.
It's still at a distance, yet close enough to see clearly. Maybe they're serious enough—to kill their own partner if that's what it takes. To sacrifice her.
Or maybe not.
He can't tell.
All he sees is that massive, pulsing orb of pink energy and that golden scepter.
A deadly threat that alone makes his pulse skip and would even be fatal.
If he were fighting alone.
"Now!" Daclan's voice suddenly roars, and he dashes past Talan, charging straight at the small girl.
Talan follows suit, releases the paralyzed Fiona, and turns toward the glinting scepter. Lina tries to respond, waving her arms forward, but before she can unleash the pink energy, Daclan crashes into her and drives her to the ground with his full weight.
The pink light implodes, blinding Talan's and Leona's vision, before the latter bolts to the right.
Talan follows without hesitation. He sprints after her, vaults over the wall of vines, circles around the fading pink glow, and leaves the cracked concrete behind to reach the soft carpet of grass.
Closer, with every breath, faster, with every heartbeat, close enough, to reach her cloak.
Close enough, to leap.
One final push, one last breath, and he throws his weight forward, tackling the fleeing wolf.
Stopping them both. Pushing them both to the ground.
And yet only one smiles.
And that one isn't Talan.
He feels the damp chill on his whiskers a moment before they crash through the grassy edge and plunge into the cold, rushing water.
A splash echoes. And with that splash, yellow sparks erupt beneath the watery surface, racing through the current and bursting into the air.
Like a battery, discharging in the blink of an eye. While the blinding flashes surpass even the pink glow from before, for an instance, after which they both merge with the haunting fog and vanish into the quiet wind.
What's left is only silence and a breathe of calmness, both sides use to regather their thoughts.
Like Lina, rising again in a pink shimmer, just to charge through the mist, with a knife in hand.
At first blindly, then with purpose, as a brown light flares ahead and Daclan staggers into view.
Both are battered.
One peers out from behind the shattered remains of her mask, the other still clutching the torn scraps of his cloak, blood glimmering beneath.
Yet they face each other.
Yet she swings her blade.
Yet he raises his fists—while a single roar cuts through the last thread of mist between them.
"DIE!"
Lina's pink blade slashes forward, colliding with Daclan's barrier. It flashes, then shatters instantly.
Still, she presses on, still, Daclan dodges once, then again and again, but the knife grazes his forearm at last.
The same moment, their eyes meet.
And Daclan's arm snaps.
Lina gasps as he pulls her in, drives his fist into her stomach, and hurls her to the ground.
Sliding she comes to a halt, blood splattering from within, though suddenly still.
Silent.
Unconscious.
Is what Daclan thought, already turning around, pushing his breathe against the cool breeze.
And gasping, so suddenly.
As he spits blood.
As he feels the pain.
As he sees the tip of a blade piercing right through his hip.
"Die."
The small, fragile voice exhales the word as she drives the knife deeper, eyes fixed on the ground.
Daclan just grabs the blade, forcing it back, before he spins—graceful like a dancer—but reckless with the back of his hand slamming into Lina's frail face.
She starts to fall, helpless and defeated at that, but Daclan catches her by the throat, lifts her into the air, and strikes. Again and again.
Each blow heavier, each swing more desperate, more blind.
Only stopping, if his strength gives out or she lies dead on the ground.
While his own brutality frightens even him.
Slowly, shard after shard is breaking from her mask, finally revealing a bloodied, tear-streaked face, it's pure, violent sight freezing him at last.
The girl's weapons have already fallen, her body hanging only from Daclan's grip alone.
Who instinctively steps back, releasing her to the ground, moments before he falls too, backward and conscious for a few, last blinks.
Blinks, that guide him into his own mind-palace, while also slipping away, lying still in his own red puddle.
"Daclan," murmurs Talan's voice, meanwhile dragging himself out of the river and watching the scene unfold.
He runs a paw through his wet fur, shakes himself off like a drenched dog, then grabs his cloak and wrings out the remaining water.
Then his gaze shifts to the right—to the other figure rising from the river, drenched, staring back.
"Sigh… couldn't you have just drowned?" he asks, annoyed, receiving no answer.
Thus he reaches under his cloak and pulls out a handful of batteries in different sizes.
One by one he shakes them, scratches the surface, hisses in frustration, and drops each useless, soaked piece to the ground.
"How I hate water," he mutters, fishing out more and more until his eyelids twitch and he draws out the last one.
But instead of anger, a grin spreads across his face as a spark jumps into his body, his fur lighting up with a faint yellow glow.
"Well… guess I got lucky," he laughs, channeling the spark into his right claws and clenching them into a fist.
Then he looks back at his target, back at Leona who still hasn't moved.
But that hardly matters for him.
That hardly makes a difference, as he lunges.
All strength, all focus, all intent.
Closer toward his motionless opponent.
Strange, he thinks, but stopping does not occur to him.
While the fist draws closer, inch by inch—until only a breath remains.
"Stop."
He stops. Abruptly. Out of nowhere.
He stops mere inches before the hit, mere inches from Leona's face.
"Looks like it's your lucky day. We just received the order to retreat. At least for the three of us," Leona's voice suddenly says as she takes her first steps toward the frozen Talan.
"Hm? No snarky remarks? Cat got your tongue?" she throws at him with a mocking tone, grabbing his stiff mouth with her right hand.
"Oh, great Leona!" she continues, pushing his facial muscles up and down.
"This stupid little cat is so, soooo sorry. Please, please, have mercy! I'll do anything!" she imitates him in a deeper voice—failing just as miserably as he had before.
But then she lets go of him, turns around, snorts angrily one last time, and starts gathering her friends.
Talan follows her with his motionless eyes, as much as his frozen body allows him to.
"Ah, before I forget!" Leona stops one last time, not bothering to turn back.
"I'd recommend you start running and save your furry hide. I'm not sure if the word Voidicide means anything to you, but… well, I think you get the idea. So then… see you around. Or not."
Her tone sounds bored—though not hateful, not entirely without warmth. There's a trace of disappointment in it, as if she'd been enjoying herself and resented that it was already over.
Then, calmly, she lifts the small girl into her arms and joins the other fighter, who's recovered from her paralysis. Together, they retreat, vanishing back into the fog from where they came.
Left behind like a discarded chapter, Talan just stands there, still unable to move, unaware of why any of this is happening—or what is causing his body to fail him.
Though somewhere deep inside, he already senses what might be coming.