The battlefield didn't slow.
It **fractured further**.
As the dust from the **Mountain-Shaking Stomp** settled, a piercing screech tore through the air.
The **Iron-Claw Eagle** launched skyward in a violent burst, wings snapping open with a thunderous *WHAM*. Wind blades formed along the edges of its feathers, shredding loose debris mid-air as it climbed.
Then it **dived**.
Talons first.
Each claw glowed with dense metallic qi, hardened to the point that the air itself screamed around them. The eagle became a falling executioner, plummeting toward the fractured ground where the earth snakes were struggling to reform.
**CRASH—**
Its talons struck.
Stone exploded.
One half-formed earth snake was **ripped apart**, its core destabilizing instantly as the eagle tore through it, dragging chunks of condensed earth into the air before flinging them aside.
Another snake lunged upward—
The eagle twisted mid-motion, wings snapping inward, and **raked sideways**, severing the construct cleanly in two. Both halves collapsed into rubble.
"Don't let it gain altitude!" someone shouted.
Too late.
The Iron-Claw Eagle beat its wings again, shockwaves of wind flattening grass and forcing cultivators to shield their faces. It circled high above, eyes sharp, tracking movement—marking targets.
Below—
The **rat-headed cultivator** surged forward, seizing the opening created by the Bull's stomp. His body blurred as he dashed across the shattered terrain, claws extended, qi condensing around his arms like coiled chains.
He slammed head-on into a fourth-layer cultivator who hadn't recovered his footing.
**Slash—**
Blood sprayed.
The cultivator screamed, barely managing to erect a half-formed barrier before being hurled backward into a yawning fissure.
Nearby, another earth snake burst upward, jaws wide—
The rat-head **stomped down**, channeling qi through the sole of his foot. The ground compressed, then imploded, crushing the snake's head into fragments.
"Hah!" he barked sharply. "So this is your trick? Hiding behind beasts and terrain?"
His eyes flicked around.
Too many enemies.
Too much chaos.
And yet—
None of them were coordinating.
The Bull snorted, steam rolling from its nostrils as it pivoted, horns lowering once more. Hooves scraped against cracked stone as it prepared another charge, muscles bunching like coiled mountains.
Above, the Iron-Claw Eagle screamed again and folded its wings.
Another dive.
Another kill.
The forest had become a slaughterhouse of **misaligned intent**—every side fighting for themselves, every strike feeding the chaos instead of ending it.
Then the clash slowed.
Not because the battle had ended—
—but because **everyone left was smart enough to notice**.
Blood soaked the ground. Broken earth snakes lay scattered like corpses of stone. Craters overlapped craters. The forest no longer felt like a battlefield.
It felt like a **trap that had already closed**.
Only **four** remained.
The **Bull**, breathing heavily, hooves cracked and bleeding, qi rolling off it in thick waves.
The **Iron-Claw Eagle**, circling lower now, wingbeats slower, feathers torn and stained.
The **Rat-Headed cultivator**, chest rising and falling, claws dripping red.
And one remaining **cultivator**, pale-faced, injured but alive—standing rigid with fear and calculation.
The rat-head suddenly raised one claw.
"STOP!"
His voice cut through the clearing like a blade.
The Bull snorted, halfway through lowering its horns—but paused.
The Eagle pulled up from a dive, landing hard atop a shattered tree trunk, talons gouging deep into the wood.
Silence fell.
The rat-head turned in a slow circle, claw gesturing toward the carnage.
"Look around you," he shouted, anger and realization sharpening his voice. "Look at how many of us are left."
No one spoke.
"Thirteen came here," he continued. "Thirteen."
His claw dropped, fist clenching.
"And if we keep fighting like this—**one of us dies next**."
His eyes burned as he looked between them.
"I can guarantee that."
The remaining cultivator swallowed hard.
The rat-head's gaze shifted—slow, deliberate—toward the edge of the clearing.
Toward the fox.
It stood calmly, blood still staining its muzzle, posture relaxed, tails swaying faintly. A pouch hovered before it, quietly absorbing spoils as if this were nothing more than routine.
Watching.
Not helping.
Not intervening.
**Waiting.**
The rat-head snarled, pointing straight at it.
"Look at the fox!" he shouted. "It hasn't lifted a claw in minutes!"
The Bull followed the gesture.
The Eagle's head snapped around, eyes narrowing.
The rat-head's voice rose, thick with fury.
"It's letting us kill each other," he growled. "Letting us tear ourselves apart while it picks through the bodies."
The fox didn't deny it.
Didn't interrupt.
Didn't even smile.
The rat-head stepped forward, voice lowering—no less venomous.
"Every death here benefits it."
The forest felt colder.
The Bull shifted uneasily.
The Eagle's wings twitched.
The last cultivator's breathing grew shallow.
The rat-head spread his arms.
"So I'm saying this now," he said. "If we keep going like this—**none of us walk away**."
His eyes locked onto the fox.
Then—
The **black spear** screamed past where his head had been a heartbeat earlier, grazing whiskers and tearing a clean furrow through the air before embedding itself deep into a stone outcrop behind him with a deafening *BOOM*. Cracks spiderwebbed outward from the impact.
Silence slammed down.
The rat-head's eyes were wide now—no calculation, no smugness.
Only instinct.
**Death.**
The fox's voice followed immediately, calm and cold, as the spear trembled where it was lodged.
"You talk too much."
The spear **ripped free**, flying back to the fox's side like a loyal shadow.
The fox finally turned its full attention to them.
Eyes sharp.
Posture relaxed.
Completely unhurried.
"You were about to ask why I handed you the pouch," it continued, tone almost conversational. "Why I'd give up something so valuable."
Its tails swayed once.
"Let me answer that."
The fox took a slow step forward. Qi rolled outward—not explosive, not overwhelming—but **heavy**, pressing down on the four remaining figures like a warning hand on the throat.
"I never gave you *my* pouch," it said.
The rat-head's breath hitched.
"I gave you a **mark**."
The fox lifted one claw slightly.
The rat-head felt it then.
A faint **pull**.
Not on his body—
—but on the pouch.
His pupils shrank.
"What—"
The fox closed its claw.
The pouch at the rat-head's waist **jerked violently**, ripping free as if seized by an invisible hand. Suppression seals flared, screamed, then shattered like glass.
The pouch flew across the clearing, landing neatly at the fox's feet.
The fox glanced down, then back up.
"I needed you greedy," it said simply. "Needed you confident. Needed you to think you'd already won."
Its gaze flicked to the Bull.
To the Eagle.
To the last cultivator.
"And I needed you alive long enough to gather everyone in one place."
The rat-head's chest heaved.
"You— you used us—"
The fox's eyes hardened.
"Of course I did."
A beat.
Then—
"And now," the fox said softly, "you've all noticed."
The Iron-Claw Eagle shifted uneasily, wings half-spread.
The Bull pawed the ground, snorting as qi flared defensively.
The last cultivator took an involuntary step back.
The rat-head clenched his claws, teeth bared.
"…So what now?" he hissed.
The fox smiled.
Not wide.
Not cruel.
Sharp.
"Now?" it said.
The black spear lifted.
The forest seemed to lean inward.
"Now you choose."
Its gaze locked onto them—one by one.
"Running isn't an option."
A pause.
"Fight."
The fox's smile deepened, just a fraction.
"Either way—"
The spear hummed, eager.
"—this ends tonight."