The wind across the battlefield no longer felt like wind.
It moved like the breath of a living creature hot, humid, and heavy with the scent of blood. Above the plains, the sky was no longer blue but a swirl of dark red and gray like a wound that refused to close.
Beneath it, Celes knelt among the thinning ranks of the undead. Her spatial blade was buried in the cracked ground, its tip trembling faintly.
White smoke rose from the wound on her shoulder not blood, but glowing particles slowly dissolving into the air.
In the distance, Aurellia panted heavily, her red hair clinging to her sweat- and blood-streaked face. The fireballs she hurled were weaker now their flames sputtered out before even touching their targets.
"Celes…" she rasped, voice hoarse, "we can't hold them much longer."
Celes turned, her silver eyes unsteady.
