The water was still falling when Skýra advanced.
Her foot drove deep into the mud, open base, the entire body aligned behind the spear like a moving wall.
She did not seek an angle.
She sought confrontation.
The shaft came first — not the blade — colliding with the colossal torso with a dense, blunt impact pushing mass before the cut even existed.
Ghatotkacha yielded half a step.
Only half a step.
But Skýra had already invaded body distance.
The shoulder went in with the next strike, using her own body as a lever while the spear tip rose short and brutal toward the side of the wounded knee.
The blade entered shallow.
Enough.
The creature's balance broke for an instant.
She did not leave.
She pressed.
The shaft rotated along the creature's forearm, sliding over hardened flesh while her other foot advanced, crushing mud beneath the weight of continuous motion.
There was no pause between attack and attack.
It was a flow.
Each blow pushed.
Each push displaced.
Each displacement denied stability.
Ghatotkacha tried to crush her with his arm.
The fist descended like a block.
Skýra did not evade away.
She braced.
The shaft rose horizontally and absorbed the impact, her entire body sinking with it to dissipate the force through the open base.
The mud exploded beneath her feet.
But she did not retreat.
In the same motion she turned her hips and used the shaft itself as an axis, throwing the tip in a short arc that scraped the side of the creature's ribs.
Steam rose dense.
She was already pushing again.
Always forward.
Always pressing.
She did not fight to wound.
She fought to prevent the giant from finding firm ground.
At a distance, Rynne watched.
Her chest still rising beyond what was necessary.
"She's forcing his weight… all the time."
Neriah nodded, fingers wrapped in slow chains of water.
"She won't let the base close… not for an instant."
Kaelir remained motionless.
His gaze did not follow the strikes.
It followed the rhythm.
And when he spoke, the voice came low, far too calm for what happened before them.
"Skýra will not sustain this for long."
Silence.
The rain thickened between the words.
"As Neriah already said…"
He inclined his gaze just enough to indicate the creature.
"…he is no longer the same."
Another heavy strike echoed from the field.
Skýra pushed the giant step by step, preventing him from setting a base.
Kaelir continued, unhurried.
"He learns without needing to stop."
A short pause.
"We were already fighting long before he entered the field."
Only then did his eyes move to Rynne.
"Every exchange takes something from us."
His gaze lowered for an instant, assessing her breathing.
"Your divine breath."
A pause.
"Just as my fissures no longer cross the same distance as before."
Rynne spat blood into the mud beside her.
Without taking her eyes off the fight.
"So that's it?"
Her voice dry.
Straight.
"You came to tell me it's over?"
Kaelir did not react to the tone.
He only returned his gaze to the field.
"No."
A long pause.
"I came to say he is not finished."
The silence between them thickened.
"And everything that continues… has a breaking point."
Another dull impact echoed when Skýra halted the creature's advance once more.
Kaelir watched that for a moment.
As if measuring something invisible.
"We have already begun to strike it."
His tone remained the same.
"Now we only need to decide…"
A fraction of a second.
"If we have the strength to finish what we started."
The silence that followed was not hesitation.
It was the kind of silence that comes when everyone already knows the answer — but no one wants to say it first.
Neriah spoke.
Her voice came firm.
Serene.
But there was something deeper there — not fear, not doubt… only the gravity of someone who accepts a cost before even paying it.
"The remaining soldiers are already far enough."
"They will no longer need my protection."
Kaelir turned his gaze to her.
She did not look away.
"I can focus entirely on him."
A small pause.
Almost imperceptible.
"But that means that, when we begin… I will not be able to assist you."
The rain thickened between them.
"Your fissures have diminished."
"Rynne's divine breath will not have the same effectiveness."
Rynne lifted her head slowly.
She spun the rapier between her fingers.
The metal cut the air with a dry sound.
But she said nothing.
Her eyes remained fixed on the creature.
It was Kaelir who spoke.
Without taking his eyes off the field.
"There is something else we still need to consider."
Neriah did not answer immediately.
The water around her vibrated in slow currents, as if reflecting the tension she held under control.
When she spoke.
The voice came firm.
Serene.
But carrying the gravity of one who already knows the price of what she is about to say.
"There is a technique… that Lord Karna forbade me to use."
A small pause.
Not to seek courage.
But to recognize the weight of what came next.
"Because it places my life… and the lives of everyone around… at risk."
The rain seemed to thicken between them.
Rynne rose slowly.
Her deep brown eyes met Neriah's crystal-blue eyes.
"Can that technique kill him?"
Neriah held her gaze.
Without hardness.
Without hesitation.
Only truth.
"I cannot affirm it."
A slow breath.
"But it will stop him."
The silence that followed was short.
Heavy.
Kaelir spoke next, as if merely confirming a calculation already concluded.
"How much time do you need?"
Neriah answered without taking her eyes off the field.
"Ten minutes."
Nothing more.
No justification.
It was the time.
And the cost implied within it.
Kaelir nodded once.
Then he drew the daggers.
The metal shone briefly beneath the rain.
Rynne was already moving beside him.
The two began to walk toward the creature.
Firm steps.
No haste.
No hesitation.
Behind them, Neriah did not advance.
Her feet remained where they were.
But her body began to move.
Not like someone who fights.
Like someone adjusting something invisible.
Her fingers slid slowly through the air, tracing short, precise lines — minimal movements, repeated, almost imperceptible beneath the rain.
Her breathing changed rhythm.
Deep. Controlled.
Each exhalation too long.
The drops falling around her no longer struck with the same sound.
Some diverted.
Others seemed to lose weight before touching the ground.
In the nearby puddles, the surface trembled — not from wind, not from steps — but from a slow, constant vibration, as if the water were trying to follow a silent tempo.
Rynne spun the rapier once more.
And said, without looking back:
"In ten minutes…"
A step.
"We'll find out if it's him…"
Another.
"Or if it's us."
Ahead, Skýra advanced as before — open base, the entire body aligned behind the spear, pushing the giant's weight step by step.
But the giant was already beginning to respond faster.
It was subtle.
Almost imperceptible.
The shaft struck first.
Dry.
Heavy.
But this time the colossal torso did not yield.
The creature sank its feet into the mud before the impact finished transferring.
The base closed.
As if it had learned.
The displacement did not come.
Only vibration.
Skýra felt it in her forearm.
In her shoulder.
In the center of her body.
Her pressure did not pass through.
Even so, she did not retreat.
She rotated the shaft and raised the blade in a short arc toward the wounded knee — the same point she had been exploiting.
But the giant reacted before contact.
The hip turned heavy.
The knee withdrew half a span.
The blade scraped.
It did not enter.
Skýra locked for an instant.
Her read broke for the first time.
And he took advantage.
The arm came down — not like a crude blow.
But like a hooking grab.
The colossal hand closed around the spear's shaft.
Not to break it.
To pull.
The jerk came short.
Violent.
Directed.
Skýra released one of her hands at the same instant so she would not be dragged whole, turning her body and letting the movement slide through her base.
But the giant was already advancing.
Not pushing.
Entering.
The shoulder came forward, low, heavy, trying to crush the distance like a fighter seeking clinch.
Skýra drove her foot.
She spun the spear horizontally.
The shaft struck the creature's neck, trying to maintain space.
But he did not retreat.
The head lowered.
The entire weight came with it.
The mud exploded beneath both of them.
The impact was not a strike.
It was weight.
Relentless, crushing weight.
The kind that does not end when contact happens.
Skýra felt the air ripped from her chest.
Her base slid a span.
Two.
She locked the spear against the ground, using it as an anchor to avoid being toppled.
But he was already changing.
One of the creature's hands released the shaft and came down laterally.
Not a punch.
A grab.
Colossal fingers buried into the side of her torso, trying to lift.
Not with speed.
With inevitability.
Skýra turned her body and struck the butt of the spear against his wrist, trying to break the grip.
The metal vibrated.
But the hand did not yield.
The strength was crushing.
She had to abandon the position.
Retreating for the first time.
The jump was short, forced, tearing mud along with it.
The giant advanced immediately.
No pause.
No hesitation.
Now he did not push.
He hunted.
The steps were not wide.
They were short.
Heavy.
Constant.
Like a predator closing distance.
Skýra attacked again, trying to retake the flow — spear tip firing in rapid thrusts, seeking eyes, throat, joints.
But something had changed.
He no longer tried to block.
He absorbed.
Turned his body.
Redirected.
The tip scraped, sank shallow, deflected — but no longer displaced mass.
Her pressure no longer broke his base.
And then came the first real counterattack.
The creature entered the spear's space.
Too close.
One hand slid along the shaft, grabbing near the center.
The other arm rose from below, trying to pin the weapon against his own torso — a crude but functional movement.
A clear attempt to neutralize her reach.
Skýra spun the shaft, trying to escape the trap.
But the giant was already pulling.
And the pull did not come alone.
The knee rose.
Heavy.
Straight toward the center of her body.
Skýra released the spear at the last instant.
She turned sideways.
The knee passed scraping, displacing air and mud in an impact that opened a furrow in the ground.
She fell into a short roll.
Recovering her base in a single movement.
But now she was unarmed.
And he did not stop.
He advanced immediately to crush.
The fist rose.
But did not descend.
It stopped.
In the middle of the motion.
The creature's entire body became still for an impossible instant.
The rain kept falling.
But around him…
the field itself seemed to hold its breath.
Skýra felt it before understanding.
Something had changed.
The giant's eyes were no longer on her.
They were beyond.
Fixed.
Distant.
As if they saw something the others still could not.
In the marked iris…
the symbol burned.
A deep light.
Ancient.
And hungry.
The fist lowered slowly.
Not in attack.
But in abandonment.
And then the colossal body turned.
Ignoring Skýra completely.
Turning toward Neriah.