Kaelen charged with primal, unrefined fury of as he closed the distance, his movements were clumsy, yet terrifyingly real—he was an semi Aether-void punching a hole through the spiritual realm.
Lord Genji didn't flinch. He saw Kaelen not as a threat, but as a nuisance.
"Crude," Genji sighed, his nine tails swaying in judgment. "I will not soil my hands on mere muscle."
Genji pulled a palm-sized Talisman of Sublimated Will from his robes. He tossed it into the air, and with a sharp, whispered command, the talisman unfolded. It didn't become a flame or a bolt; it became a towering, seven-foot Iron Golem Puppet. The puppet was animated by pure, high-density Qi, its fists crackling with spiritual power.
"Amuse yourself," Genji commanded the automaton.
The Iron Golem roared—a sound of compressed Qi—and intercepted Kaelen's charge. The Orc, unable to feel the spiritual energy, met the puppet's iron fist with his lead club. The clash created a shockwave of sound, but no Aetheric spark. Kaelen was now locked in a brutal, physical duel against a spiritually animated suit of armor.
Seeing Kaelen consumed by the Iron Golem, Tari and Nyra sprinted forward, intent on disrupting Genji's concentration.
"Kitsune!" Tari yelled, launching a spinning kick aimed not at Genji, but at the ground between them, hoping to scatter dust into the Kitsune's sensitive eyes.
"Predictable," Genji muttered, still observing Zimbila with the corner of his eye.
Genji scattered a handful of delicate, folded Paper Talismans into the air. They fluttered down, and each one blossomed into a razor-sharp, flying Qi-Paper Puppet. Hundreds of them.
The paper army swarmed. Tari and Nyra were immediately forced to stop their advance.
Tari was forced into a desperate defensive dance, his spinning staff repelling the paper blades that could slice through bone. His "Broken Flow" was perfect for avoiding a few strikes, but not a legion.
Nyra was in her element, using her small size and speed to dodge, but the spiritual nature of the paper puppets meant her physical cuts and swipes did nothing to stop them. They were distractions meant to isolate the King.
As the skirmish raged around him, Zimbila recovered the last of the Eco-Forming Aether. He was whole again, the Prismatic White stable. He looked past the chaos to Madara, the one link to the mortal consciousness.
His voice, a low, resonant frequency, entered her mind—and only hers.
"Kitsune are bound by the Old Song, Madara. Their power is linked to their sacred Vows. They cannot break their pledged word without suffering the White Fever—a spiritual backlash that leaves their Qi-source crippled and their body burning."
Madara's antennas twitched in understanding. The great master of discipline and honor was trapped by his own code.
"You must force him to swear an oath he cannot fulfill. His pride will be the snare."
The Unchained had their target. Not the Kitsune's body, but his Word.