A few minutes earlier.
Kael saw the group split apart—too far to help one another.
Then the new bandits emerged.
Different. Stronger.
I have to move, he thought, leaping down the rock face to descend the mountain.
But something struck the stone just in front of him—sharp, sudden.
From the corner of his eye, he caught movement. A figure was already on him, sword mid-swing.
Kael twisted back. The blade whooshed past and cracked into the rock with a metallic clang.
The bandit spun with the momentum, lashing out with a kick. Kael blocked, the impact sliding him back a step.
The attacker flipped away, landing in a crouch.
Kael glanced down the slope. Chaos. Blood. Anita on her knees. Nyric surrounded.
I have to end this fast.
He turned to where Elyas peeked from behind a rock and gave a short nod.
Kael inhaled. Shoulders loose. Arms relaxed. Feet apart. Knees bent.
Ready.
He flowed into the first form of the Serpentine Motion—but the bandit struck again, sword falling fast.
Then—
Silver light flared.
A flickering rune-shield shimmered into place, catching the blade for a split second.
Just long enough.
Kael's fist shot forward—silver fangs forming from veinfire mid-strike—and cracked into the bandit's jaw.
The fangs exploded on impact.
The bandit flipped through the air, slammed into the rocks, and lay still.
Kael turned to Elyas—still panting behind cover—and grinned, giving a thumbs-up.
Then froze.
The bandit was rising again. Shaking. Bloodied, but not done.
Kael's grin sharpened.
He sprinted, vaulted onto the man's shoulders, and shoved him off the ridge.
Together they skidded down the mountain—Kael riding him like a sled carved from madness.
Just before impact, Kael leapt free, landing in a crouch. The bandit slammed into the earth behind him, kicking up a cloud of dust.
"Nice entrance, kid!" Nyric shouted, rushing toward Anita. "Come on!"
Kael scanned the battlefield. Only five mercenaries left from the original ten. They'd regrouped—barely—but ten bandits now surrounded them.
Rasterk was locked in a blur of blades with a dual-wielding enemy—daggers against twin swords, brown and green flashing with every clash.
"I hope this helps," Kael muttered, dashing toward Nyric, who was dueling a massive bandit, drawing him away from the wounded Anita.
Kael launched himself at the enemy's back, silver-fanged fists raised—
"No!" Nyric shouted.
The bandit spun—unnaturally fast for his size. His hammer was already mid-swing, crashing down.
Kael raised an arm—too late.
The hammer slammed into his side. Pain exploded. Bone snapped.
He flew through the air and crashed into the mountain wall, coughing blood.
"Vermin," the bandit muttered, turning back toward Nyric—who now stood surrounded by four mirror images of himself.
Kael groaned, pushing himself up with one arm. The other hung limp. Blood soaked his temple.
"You alive?" Nyric called, running over.
Kael blinked. "That... was heavy."
"Understatement of the year." Nyric offered a hand. "Up you get."
Kael took it, dragging himself upright.
"What do we do?" he asked.
"We don't. That guy's a form-walker. Too strong." Nyric's gaze never left the enemy. "We need to fall back."
Kael looked across the battlefield. He was right—they were losing. But if they ran…
"Can I try something first?" Kael asked.
Nyric hesitated. "If you're sure it'll work, else we're…"
"If I create an opening, can you finish him?"
Nyric nodded. "Yeah."
Kael exhaled slowly. Fingers curled into a claw. Breaths quickened. His stance narrowed. One hand flicked in tight, precise cuts through the air—drawing veinfire like thread on a loom.
Hope one hand's enough, he thought, ending the movement with a sharp snap.
"Prism Form: Snapping Pulse," he whispered.
A silver fang shot forward and shattered midair—unleashing a crackling bolt of lightning. It zigzagged approaching the bandit in an instant, striking him in the chest and stunning him.
He froze.
A Nyric clone was already above him—a red glowing star in his hand.
Boom—
An explosion rattled the valley.
Kael dropped to one knee, gasping. Low on veinfire.
Did it work?
The dust began to settle.
Nyric landed beside him. They stared.
The figure emerged—body encased in crumbling earth. Mask shattered. Blood streaked his bald face.
Still standing. Smiling.
"He's hurt... but not enough," Nyric muttered breathing heavily.
"Sorry, kid," he added. "I'll buy time. You run."
"Wait—I've got one more thing I can try—"
"No." Nyric turned. "Not in your condition. You're spent. I know what you're thinking, and it's a bad idea."
"Don't make that face. I've survived worse—and uglier."
He tossed his cloak aside. Red-glowing twin blades formed in his hands, flickering as he crouched, ready to charge.
Then—
A massive shadow passed over them.
They looked up.
A giant hawk-like creature circled overhead, its wings wide and gleaming with armored plating. Its sharp, talon-like claws were reinforced with rune-etched gauntlets, and its chest was protected by lightweight armor plates shaped for full range of flight.
That's no wild Skyrazor, Nyric thought. It's equipped—trained.
"What is that?" Kael asked.
Before Nyric could answer, a figure leapt from the creature's back.
He dropped like a stone—then stopped just meters above the ground, hovering.
And slowly… stepped down.
He looked unkempt at first glance—scruffy beard clinging to a sun-lined face, long hair wild and wind-tossed like he hadn't combed it in weeks. His robe was loose, layered in bright colors and asymmetrical cuts, flower designs all over. One sleeve was longer than the other, and a gourd hung lazily from his waist.
But there was something sharp beneath the softness.
His gaze—half-lidded but all-seeing—swept across the battlefield like a breeze before a storm. Calm. Relaxed.
Dangerous.
Nyric instinctively took a step back.
Kael stared, heart skipping. He didn't know this man—but something in his blood stirred.
The man looked at the bandit. "Look who came crawling out of the dirt."
He paused.
"Literally."
Then he burst into laughter.
The bandit didn't frowned.
He stared at the new arrival—uncertain now. His fingers tightened around his hammer, but his stance shifted.
Subtle. Instinctive.
A step back.
Not retreating. Not yet. But weighing the odds.
Kael saw it—and so did Nyric.
Whoever this man was, he'd changed the tide without throwing a single punch.
The bandit growled, blood dripping from his chin. "Who the hell are you supposed to be?"
The man scratched his beard. "Me?" he said lazily. "Just a passing drunk with good fashion sense."
Another step back from the bandit.
Then the stranger's tone sharpened—just a bit.
"But if you're smart, you'll drop that hammer and start praying."
He paused.
"Oh wait—the gods are dead."
He burst into laughter again, loud and careless.
Kael felt his eyebrow twitch.
What kind of lunatic jokes at a time like this?