Lyra touched down as she descended slowly. The glow around her dimmed, but didn't vanish. A faint gold shimmer clung to her shoulders, traced the curve of her bow, and sank into her skin, merging with her completely. I hovered close, my shell buzzing from the roll. My edges were warm. Cracks still glowed.
"Okay," I said. "You're going full final arc. I still look like I belong in the filler episode. Just making sure, we're still friends?"
She grinned, eyes still glowing. "This is amazing! Do that again and I'll build you a statue."
"Make sure it's tall. And smug. With glowing eyes."
She rolled her shoulder, sparks still flickering along her arms. "Feels like most of my mana's back. Stamina's maybe half... but it's enough."
"By all means," I said, floating beside her. "Drain the dice. Max out the credit. I'll file the complaint later."
She stepped forward. I tucked myself back into her pendant. Light shimmered between us. "Let's start with the smaller one," she murmured.
"Your call, my lady." I said, buzzing with excitement.
The Tusk shifted. It sniffed the air, twitching at every sound. Lyra kept her bow low. One hand hovered near the string. Her breath leveled out as mana surged beneath her skin. I watched her draw it in. This time, her eyes glowed with a different meaning. She wasn't gambling anymore. She was ready to burn. One second, she was still.
The next, she moved.
A blur. She ran.
Slipping into motion with that quiet, natural grace she always had when things got serious. The kind that came from instinct and repetition. Dirt flew beneath her boots as she sprinted, wind magic pushing at her heels to drive her faster. Her bow came up in one fluid motion, the string drawn tight with refined strength, and fire gathered in her palm as the arrow took shape mid-run. The flame locked into shape, compact and blinding. Its tip burned white-hot, tight with restrained violence.
The Tusk jerked toward her. Muscles tensing as it caught the sound of her approach. Its hooves trembled, pushing forward with brute instinct, aiming to trample whatever moved. After the Tusk charged her, she just stood still. She remained where she was, grounded and composed. Her bow stayed raised, her body aligned with the target. She waited.
The air between them thinned. She watched the gap close, calm eyes tracking every movement. Mana coiled tighter through her arms, focused with silent command.
Then the arrow flew.
It launched from her fingers with a sudden burst of pressure, slicing clean through the air in a straight line. A ribbon of flame laced its path, trailing behind as the head tore toward its mark.
CRACK.
The arrow struck low on its chest, buried into the torn muscle where the divine chain had pierced earlier. The impact sank deep, driving through scorched hide into soft, vulnerable flesh.
A burst of flame flared from within, followed by a sickening crack that pulsed through the air. Heat rippled across the beast's body, and deep inside, something fractured again with a heavy, muffled snap.
The Tusk stumbled mid-charge, legs fumbling. Its own momentum betrayed it. The massive body pitched sideways and flipped. With a thunderous crash, it landed on its back, four limbs flailing in the air, ribs heaving as smoke poured from its open mouth. The wound on its chest pulsed with heat.
Lyra was already moving again. She dashed forward, veered sharply, and jumped—boots hitting bark as she vaulted up the nearest tree. She climbed with fluid speed, leapt across one branch to another, and reached a high perch. The movement of someone who already knew where she needed to be. There, crouched low, her silhouette framed by leaves and lingering fog, she took aim.
Another mana arrow formed before the first had finished burning out. She pulled it tight, eyes narrowed. This one wasn't flame. Lightning curled along her fingers, forming a sleek, concentrated bolt that buzzed with raw energy. She released it after holding two breaths. The arrow tore through the clearing, clean and fast, and pierced straight into the same burned cavity in the Tusk's chest.
The impact came clean. Electricity tore inward, feeding the slow burn still clinging beneath its ribs. The combination triggered something deeper. The shock ripped through nerves and vessels in a blink. Smoke poured from the wound, then from its mouth and nostrils. Muscles locked. Ribs jumped beneath the skin. Its entire frame convulsed, hooves carving wild lines through the air in a frantic search for footing that didn't exist.
What followed was no roar. It came broken and high, a shriek full of pain too deep to contain. Something ripped free inside that voice, something that wasn't meant to survive this kind of pain.
But Lyra wasn't finished.
She pushed off the branch, launched herself into the air. Higher than I expected, her silhouette arcing through the haze above the beast. Her body twisted as she soared, the bow vanished from her grip, replaced in the same breath by a sword—sleek, silver-edged, and burning faintly with wind-charged mana. The wind coiled, wrapped around the blade in tight spirals, compressing with each rotation. She dropped hard and fast, her whole body propelled in wind-forged acceleration. A judgement.
Straight down.
A sharp descent. Blade aimed straight for the wound—fire still simmering inside, lightning still dancing through nerves and bone.
Then everything hit at once. Wind exploded from the blade's edge on impact, a coiled storm unleashed. Compressed air surged inward, slamming into scorched, electrified tissue. Inside the Tusk, heat ignited like a sealed furnace. Pressure spiked.
The chest cavity detonated.
Ribs shattered outward, punching through flesh in a violent burst. Shrapnel made of bone and blood ripped across the clearing. Scorched gore sprayed in every direction, a red storm lit with embers. The beast gave no scream. It convulsed once, then collapsed flat—empty, silent, done.
Lyra didn't escape the blast entirely.
The recoil hit her mid-descent, a shockwave of raw force knocking her off balance just before she landed. Her feet struck the ground hard, momentum twisting her sideways. She rolled once across the scorched dirt, boots skidding through ash, and came to a stop near the edge of the blast radius.
She coughed twice, then stood. Slowly.
One hand pressed to her ribs. Her knees wavered, but she held her ground. Blood speckled her cheek, and her eyes remained sharp. Her silhouette rose amid the wreckage, breath curling in the cold mist. In front of her, steam drifted from the ruined body of the Tusk. Across from her, the sword still stood where it had landed, buried deep in the beast's shattered chest, surrounded by the crater it had helped create.
She limped forward and closed her fingers around the hilt. With a sharp pull, she tore it free, steam hissing as the blade slid out of the scorched remains. And in that moment, there was no mistaking it.
Watching the combination work: fire to rupture, lightning to fry, wind to drive it deeper—it hit me just how brutal she'd become. Steam hissed from the crater's edge, and Lyra stood in the middle of it all, blood-speckled, breathless, and dangerous. I was suddenly unsure if I was looking at my best friend… or a walking verdict.
Lyra Swift didn't fight to impress anymore. She fought to end things and maybe I should've been proud, but part of me was absolutely terrified.
Mental Note: Never make Lyra mad when she's standing in a tree with a sword.
A cold sensation ran across my scalp.
Brrrr....
Lyra stepped away from the still-smoking corpse, shoulders tense, her eyes locked on the true threat ahead. The Mega Tusk hadn't moved much since it got blinded or trashed its own allies. Its massive body rested like a fallen mountain, even without sight, the pressure it gave off was no joke.
She walked forward, slow and deliberate, boots crunching over charred grass. Each step brought her closer to the beast, shrinking the distance one measured breath at a time. Lyra slipped the sword back and raised her bow. Mana coursed into her hands, shaping a dense fire arrow built to tunnel deep. She drew and fired in a single motion.
The shot flew straight, using the same trick—aimed at the spot the divine chains had torn open earlier. But just before it landed, the Mega Tusk's ear twitched, and one of its tusks tilted with exact control. The arrow cracked against bone, deflected off-course, and hit the dirt behind it. A sharp burst of flame erupted on contact, sending sparks and cinders fanning into the air.
Lyra narrowed her eyes and drew again. This time the arrow burned brighter, cast faster. The trajectory was perfect, and her timing didn't falter. But the result remained unchanged. Another sharp turn of its tusk sent the second arrow spinning away before it reached the target. Her lips pressed into a line. The glow in her eyes dimmed just for a second.
"That thing's not just sitting there for fun," I muttered. "The last one got cooked because it charged in recklessly and couldn't course-correct. This one's planted. It's not moving but listening every shift. And that stillness... that's not fear. It knows what's coming."
The beast stayed down. It hadn't even changed posture. But it was listening. It was ready. "Damn it," I muttered. "I guess I didn't just upgrade its body, I gave the murder-ox a brain too. Fantastic."
She slipped the bow into her space ring and raised both palms. Mana flared along her arms, fire gathering in one hand, lightning crackling in the other. One blazed red, the other streaked electric white. She stepped forward, closing the gap until her spells could reach. Then she cast them together.
Lightning struck first, a jagged bolt tearing ahead and crawling across the beast's hide. A split-second later, fire followed, erupting on impact and cloaking the target in flames. Nothing. The beast didn't even stir.
The impact fizzled on contact. The skin beneath it sizzled slightly, but there was no reaction. No flinch. The flesh didn't tear. Only smoke followed. Lyra exhaled sharply. Her stance faltered, just a little—barely enough to notice.
She switched tactics. Wind next, six blades of compressed air spiraled into existence around her, razor-thin and humming with invisible pressure. Each one darted forward in staggered bursts, targeting joints and weak angles, trying to cut what brute force couldn't. They broke apart on impact, scattering like mist in a storm. Mana shattered, repelled by a hide not just tough but hardened like compressed stone, as if forged through years of natural mana and monstrous evolution.
A harsh sound slipped from her throat. Low and strained, shaped by frustration too focused to scream, the kind of anger that comes when you're too helpless to fight back. She raised one hand again, and tried fire once more. The spell formed slower this time. Less crisp. Her fingers trembled, just slightly. Her breath caught halfway through casting.
I saw it.
The strain. Her mana wasn't just draining; it fought back with every cast. Her skin shimmered with strain, energy flickering beneath the surface like warning flares, unstable and pulsing, ready to rupture at any moment.
Her veins throbbed, trembling under the pressure of power she couldn't fully control—a clear sign she was forcing too much mana through at once. Her palm was already smoking before the spell even left it. She was forcing it. Trying to break a wall with will alone and I hated it.
Frustration pulled tight across Lyra's face. She lowered her arm slightly, turned slightly toward me, and spoke. "That draining thing. The one we did before. Should we try it again?"
I slipped out from her necklace, already uneasy. "I don't know… my power's unstable. And every time we've tried to force the same trick twice, it's backfired." Her gaze didn't soften. "Can you think of a better idea?"
I hesitated. "No..."
She pressed her hand to my surface. The tether sparked, thin and tense, crackling between her fingers and my core. Then she rolled me, a hard flick, and down I went. Hit the earth and settled fast.
[1]
Oh no.
Not again.
The ground trembled beneath me, faint at first. The air grew heavy, slow to breathe. Every instinct in me pulled tight. Nothing moved. No reaction. The Mega Tusk stayed rooted, still as stone. But something was not right...
I felt it.
A pressure building beneath the silence.
A very ominous feeling.