Nyric slammed a bandit's head into the ground. Blood sprayed across the sand.
He stood, wiping a crimson smear from his cheek. Around him, the fight was nearly done.
Rasterk cleaned his daggers on a fallen bandit's cloak and sighed. "Here comes the hard part."
Nyric glanced up at the mountain ridge—and chuckled. They actually pulled it off.
Then the ground shook.
Boom—
The earth shattered.
A figure burst out, axe mid-swing.
Nyric flipped backward, the blade narrowly missing his chest. He landed in a crouch and darted back, eyes locking on the new threat.
This one was different.
A crab-shaped mask covered the man's face. He wore tight, brown armor—lean, dense, functional. A heavy gauntlet encased each hand, and the battle-axe in his grip gleamed in the dying sunlight.
Nyric's eyes flicked across the battlefield. The others weren't alone anymore. Each mercenary was engaged by a new enemy—every one masked, each costume shaped after a different earth creature. But the color was the same: dirt-brown and dull bronze.
"The real force," Nyric muttered.
So the first wave was just to split us up. And they succeeded.
He rolled his shoulders and grinned.
"Guess I'll just have to try a little harder."
A fist—glowing with brown veinfire—shot past his head. Nyric tilted sideways, caught the arm, and flipped the figure over his shoulder, slamming him into the ground.
He cocked back his fist to finish it—but the earth shifted beneath him.
The target vanished into the stone like smoke.
Nyric's punch struck the ground instead, shattering rock and sending shards flying. He barely had time to register the movement when the axe-wielder came at him from the side.
He twisted, narrowly avoiding the blade.
The first masked bandit pounced again. A heavy punch crashed into Nyric's guard, launching him off his feet. He slammed into the mountainside with a dull crunch.
"Ouch," Nyric muttered, wincing as he stood.
He raised his hand—a red-glowing shield flared into being. The axe struck it a second later.
CRACK.
The shield exploded. The blade bit into his forearm, forcing him back.
Before he could recover, something smashed into his spine, slamming him to the ground. He tried to rise—
—but the axe came down again, cleaving into his neck.
Or so it seemed.
His body burst into red dust.
The masked bandit tilted his head, confused.
Then veins of brown veinfire crackled around his throat—a defense.
Too late.
A red-glowing blade burst through, shattering the brown veinfire and carving a glowing line across the man's neck. Not deep enough to kill, but close.
Nyric stood behind him, panting.
Damn. Brown veinfire took the brunt, but not all of it.
He backed away, circling slowly. The masked figures were all watching him now.
"Thought I had you," Nyric muttered, smirking.
They're tough, he thought, he noticed the others also struggling.
Nyric's eyes flicked across the ridge. Rasterk was locked in a blur of green and brown—daggers clashing against a twin-sword bandit who moved like liquid stone. No grin on his face now. Just clenched teeth and narrowed eyes.
Another mercenary screamed—a guttural, raw sound—as a spiked gauntlet punched clean through his chest. Veinfire burst from the wound like a dying flare. He crumpled seconds later, his killer already stalking toward another.
They were being picked apart.
He noticed Anita on her knees, bleeding. A bigger figure loomed behind her, hammer dragging across the stone with a scraping growl.
This is bad, he thought.
Nyric darted toward Anita—but the axe-wielder blocked him again, veinfire trailing from his gauntlet like sand caught in a cyclone.
"Persistent," Nyric spat, raising his guard.
Then he felt it—footsteps behind.
He turned—too late.
The second bandit slammed into him with a brutal shoulder check, sending Nyric tumbling across the ridge. He crashed into stone and rolled, coughing up blood.
The puncher.
They've got good coordination.
"Two-on-one, huh?" Nyric muttered, wiping blood from his chin. "Fair fight, sure."
The axe-bandit charged first, swinging low. Nyric blocked with crossed arms, red veinfire hardening just in time to blunt the blow. Pain still bloomed through his bones.
Before he could counter, the second bandit was on him—fist glowing brown, cracking with pressure. Nyric ducked, but the shockwave grazed his shoulder, sending him skidding back.
They didn't let up.
Blades. Fists. Earth shifting beneath his feet. The axe carving wide arcs. The puncher striking like falling boulders.
Nyric was fast, but they were relentless.
He was bleeding. Hurt. His red veinfire burned hot—but not infinite.
Slammed against the mountain again, Nyric winced and pulled himself up, wrist dripping blood.
I need a chance. At least take one of them down.
He dashed toward the axe-wielder, who swung to decapitate him. Nyric dropped low—the blade hissed over his head. He surged upward, hands glowing red, a blade forming as he aimed for the bandit's jaw.
But the puncher came from the side—kicked him.
Nyric burst into red dust. A shallow cut opened on the axe-wielder's jaw.
He spun with his axe, carving behind him—but there was no one there.
The earth sunk beneath the puncher. A red blade rose, grazing his shoulder. He grabbed the attacking arm, flipped Nyric over, and slammed him into the ground.
Nyric rolled away, barely dodging another axe swing.
The puncher spun, brown veinfire pulsing through his leg.
A devastating kick struck Nyric, hurling him back. He gritted his teeth and grounded himself, skidding until he slammed into the mountain.
Dust exploded around him, cloaking everything.
But to Nyric—it was cover.
The axe-wielder charged towards the dust, but froze at a voice beside him:
"Red Sutra: Exploding Star."
A red-glowing star struck him—then detonated.
The explosion rocked the valley.
The puncher shielded his face, flipping backward, eyes locked on the blast.
But Nyric burst from the dust like a blur, fists slamming into the puncher's gut. He had raised his guard just in time, brown veinfire absorbing part of the blow.
But then—Nyric's fist opened.
"Red Sutra: Detonating Palm."
The puncher's eyes widened.
A second explosion flung him back.
When the dust cleared, Nyric rose from his crouch. The puncher lay several feet away, his abdomen caved in, blood pooling.
Nyric glanced at the others.
Now… who do I help?
A crash shook the ridge. A figure slammed into the earth from above, kicking up dust. Another leapt off the first just before impact.
Nyric's eyes widened.
"Kael," he breathed.