The wind over the marshes was thick with rot.
Mist slithered between broken trees. Water bubbled from the swamps like breath from a dying beast. Birds no longer sang here. Even insects had gone quiet.
Mai walked alone.
Her cloak dragged through black mud. Her eyes glowed faintly orange beneath their crimson sheen. The pulse of the Ixora still echoed in her chest — subtle, seductive.
She didn't look back.
She didn't blink.
Something moved in the distance.
A hunched figure emerged from behind twisted roots. Armor shattered. Eye socket hollow. Mouth twisted in bitter rage.
Ran Fuji.
Alive. Scarred. Vicious.
His voice cracked like dry leaves. "I told you... I would break everything."
Mai stopped.
She said nothing.
He stepped forward. "You took everything from me. My vision. My warriors. My cause."
Still silence.
Ran drew a long, crooked blade from his back. Its edge was warped, rusted, and soaked with blood.
"You come alone now. No Duncan. No sunflower brat. Just you. That's arrogance."
Mai tilted her head.
Then spoke — cold. Hollow. Not quite her voice.
"No. That's calculation."
And she moved.
Faster than breath.
A crimson blur.
She slammed into him with a knee to the ribs, breaking them with a sharp crack. Before he could scream, she grabbed his throat and flung him into a dead tree — it splintered on impact.
Ran gasped, spat blood, swung his blade wildly.
Mai dodged like liquid. No wasted movement.
Then, she snapped her fingers.
Blood coiled from the mud beneath her.
Like snakes. Like tendrils.
They wrapped around his arms and legs, yanking him into the air, crucified against a tree.
He screamed. "What are you—?!"
She raised one hand.
From her palm, a thin needle of blood extended — no thicker than a thorn.
She walked toward him slowly.
Ran thrashed. "You think this is justice?!"
"No," she replied. "This is silence."
She plunged the needle into his abdomen, and his nerves ignited. But it wasn't a kill. It was exploration.
Another thorn pierced under his fingernail. Another behind the eye.
His body twitched.
Mai tilted her head. "Still screaming. Good."
Then, she ripped open his chest with a wide, searing lash of blood. Ribs cracked outward. Lungs hissed. He gasped like a gutted fish.
She stepped forward, face expressionless, eyes glowing.
"No flower for you," she said.
And then — her final move.
She raised her hand, and a blood-forged spear formed midair.
It spun. Hummed. A deadly spiral of grief and rage.
She hurled it — not into his chest, but through his mouth, impaling his skull into the tree behind.
Ran's eyes rolled back.
His body twitched once.
Then nothing.
Blood dripped down the bark like sap.
Mai stood before the ruin. Breathing slowly. Steady.
The tree began to burn—not with fire, but with red energy, as if rejecting the horror it witnessed.
She turned.
And walked away.
Later that night – Cliffside
Duncan and Tiffany sat near a small fire, watching the coastline.
Footsteps behind them.
Mai emerged from the darkness. Cloak torn. Speckled with blood. Eyes... strange.
Tiffany stood. "Where were you?"
Mai answered flatly. "Cleaning up a mistake."
Duncan noticed the dried blood on her neck. "What kind of mistake?"
Mai sat. "The kind that doesn't scream anymore."
Neither replied.
They just stared — not at her words.
But on her face.
Something was gone.
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