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Mona didn't even have time to understand what exactly had happened. One moment and the guard standing in front of her, an impenetrable shield, simply flew forward, as if falling into the darkness itself.
He didn't fall, wasn't thrown back he vanished, like into black water, leaving behind only a ripple in the air and a freezing blast of unliving cold.
She didn't have time to scream, didn't even have time to properly comprehend the threat, before an infernal impulse slammed into her chest.
A pure, concentrated blow of invisible force, crushing and icy, tore her body from the floor instantly. She flew like a ragdoll for about ten meters before crashing back-first into a massive, dusty wardrobe with a deafening BANG!
The wood cracked; pain, sharp and burning, pierced her shoulder, back, and lungs. Tears welled up in her eyes on their own, mixing with the dust on her face.
With difficulty, through spasms in her chest and a ringing in her ears, she stirred. She tried to get up, leaning on her good arm. And then... a heavy, cold, metal-reinforced gauntlet rested on her shoulder.
With that simple motion, which visually held no force, she was pinned, as if by a vise.
A languid breath, heavy, dead, lifeless, reached her ear. It smelled of raw earth and ozone after a storm. "Who are you?" she squeezed out through clenched teeth, pain and fear tightening her throat.
"I?" The voice behind her sounded surprised, hollow, as if from a deep well. The stranger repeated the question, as if the very thought of being questioned was strange. A short, viscous pause. "Inevitability," he added after, and the word carried a soul-chilling fatalism.
Mona tried to lurch forward, to draw the dagger from her belt, but the gauntlet on her shoulder tightened. Pain, sharp and warning, shot through her collarbone and joint. 'If I move, I'll definitely break my arm,' flashed through her clouded mind. She froze.
"What... what do you want from me?" she whispered, feeling the cold from the gauntlet seep through the fabric, into the bone.
"I? Heh... heh... Nothing." His voice was monotonous, devoid of emotion, as if he weren't really here. "Just observing your struggles. And honestly, I'm not impressed... There's no one worth watching here except Katarina..." He thought for a moment, then continued... "Speaking of her, tell her we know she has forgotten us, but we... have not forgotten her..."
He wanted to add something more. But at that moment...
SMAAAAASH!
Saigo slammed into him like a cannonball. Taking a running start, pushing off a pile of crates, he bent his knees and drove his feet into the uninvited guest's back.
The impact was of monstrous force, fueled by all his weight, speed, and fury. The guest's helmet clanged dully against the rotten floorboards. The stranger crashed flat, bending under the inhuman pressure, pinned beneath Saigo to the dirty floor.
And right behind, like a lead wave, the horde surged. The remaining ghosts, led by the white, rematerialized Banshee, rushed at the newly formed pile. Their wails, hisses, and icy breath mixed into an infernal cacophony.
Mona again didn't have time to understand how the guard (the second, surviving one) grabbed her by her uninjured shoulder and sharply dragged her away from the epicenter of the fight, shielding her with his body from flying debris and icy surges of magic. Her gaze, blurred by pain and tears, managed to capture the scene of the battle.
A cacophony of combat danced before her eyes, barely veiled by the dust pluming up every moment. Shimmering phantom figures flickering like mad fireflies, the Banshee's icy claws tearing out chunks, and in the center of this hell Saigo.
He had already rolled off the pinned enemy, springing to his feet. Before him, rising with an unnatural, bony grace, stood the Stranger. Only now could Mona get a proper look at him.
He was... strange. It was immediately clear not human. At least, not for a long time.
Nearly two and a half meters tall, incredibly gaunt, almost skeletal, swathed in layers of dense, blue-grey and black fabric resembling burial shrouds.
His legs were lost in an abundance of long, dirty skirts trailing on the floor. And his head... His head was hidden under a "Helmet" impractical, absurd shaped like a stylized, pointed star with edges folded inward like petals. No slits for eyes, no openings just a smooth, dark, polished surface reflecting the shimmering chaos of the battle with dull glints.
Two long, curved, sickle-like blades emerged from the folds of his robes. They glowed faintly from within not with the blue light of mana-steel, but with a dull, sickly violet radiance that made the eyes water.
Saigo had no idea who or what this was. But he didn't care. Another ghost? A demon? An animated artifact? In the heat of battle, he didn't bother figuring it out. His heated mind offered no second option. His Force Blade was back in his hand, flaring with renewed strength, responding to the proximity of the unholy.
And as the cherry on this hellish cake the Banshee. Killed by him at least three times, but not slowing its pace or fury of attack. Its white form darted between Saigo and the Stranger, its icy sleeve-blades striking with frantic speed, trying to distract, snag, freeze. It seemed even more furious, almost desperate, near this new target...
Saigo stood in the eye of the storm. Before him the enigmatic giant with the star-shaped helmet and violet blades. To the side and behind the frenzied Banshee. All around a whirlwind of ghosts.
His face, illuminated by the blue light of his sword, was contorted not by fear, but by pure, furious rage. There was no time for thought. Only the fight. Only survival.