"Go," she said, her voice softening a little, and the girl ran, stumbling into the red-haired girl,
the two of them huddling together, their bodies trembling, their arms wrapped around each other, seeking comfort in the chaos, in the dark.
The third woman—the blonde girl, the youngest, the one the goblin chief had threatened to kill—was still tied to the chain, the goblin chief's blade on the stone floor beside her,
its metal dull and stained with blood, and a group of three goblins lunged for her, their weapons raised, their eyes glowing red, their mouths open in snarls, determined to take her with them, to hurt her one last time.
Hannah spun, her dagger raised, and she cut them down, one by one, a golden Spark of Light blinding one, making it stumble,
a dagger to the throat of another, the steel sinking deep, a punch to the jaw of the third, her knuckles hitting bone with a loud crack, the creature falling to the ground, its skull fractured, its eyes going dark.
She cut the chain, the metal snapping under the blade, and pulled the gag from the blonde girl's mouth, the girl throwing her arms around Hannah, sobbing into her shoulder, her body shaking so hard Hannah could feel it in her bones, her hands clutching at Hannah's tunic like she was afraid to let go, like Hannah was the only thing keeping her alive.
"Thank you," she whispered, over and over, her voice muffled by Hannah's shoulder,
"thank you, thank you, thank you. I thought I was going to die. I thought they'd never stop hurting me."
Hannah patted her back, her hand glowing with golden light, healing the welts on her legs, the cuts on her arms, the bruises on her face, her fingers gentle, soft, a stark contrast to the brutal fighter who'd cut through the goblin horde only moments before.
She pushed her away, her hands on the girl's shoulders, her eyes locked on hers, her voice firm, steady, a lifeline.
"You're safe now. I promise. Go to the others. Stick close to Mimi. We'll get you out of here. I swear it." She pushed her gently towards the Aqua Barrier, and the blonde girl ran, joining the other two women, who were huddled behind Mimi's shield, their eyes fixed on the fight, on Hannah, on the golden light that glowed around her, on the way she moved, the way she fought, the way she killed, the way she saved them, in the dark, in the dungeon, when no one else came.
Hannah turned back to the remaining goblins—ten left, circling them, their weapons raised, their eyes filled with fear, with hatred, with desperation, cornered animals, ready to fight to the death—
and she raised her hand, a fireball coiling in her palm, small and unsteady, Mimi's third-ring Ignis Flicker, but amplified by her dense, irregular mana, burning bright gold, hot enough to make the air shimmer,
to make the stone floor warm under her feet, to make the goblins flinch, to make them whimper, to make them know fear, the same fear they'd inflicted on the women they'd tortured, on the innocent they'd hurt.
Ren's snarl was loud in her skull,
'Kill them all. Burn them to ash. Leave nothing left.'
And Hannah smiled, a cold, sharp smile, a hunter's smile, a killer's smile, the smile of someone who has seen too much cruelty, too much pain, too much death, and who is tired of it, who is ready to make it stop.
She raised her hand, the golden fireball glowing bright, the light casting her shadow long across the stone floor, a monster's shadow, an avenger's shadow, and she stared at the goblins, at their fear, at their desperation, at the cruelty in their eyes,
the same cruelty that had broken the three women behind her, the same cruelty that had taken so many lives, and she whispered the incantation, Mimi's words, foreign on her tongue but powerful in her rage, in her grief, in her need to make it stop.
Ignis Flicker.
She flicked her wrist, and the golden fireball shot forward, a streak of light in the dark, a comet, a star falling to earth, and it hit the goblins square in the chest, the fire exploding outward, a wave of golden flame that burned them alive, their shrill screams filling the cave,
a sound of agony that made the women behind the Aqua Barrier flinch, that made Bart and Mike pause, that made Mimi's eyes widen, and their bodies turned to ash in the blink of an eye, the wind from the explosion sending the ash swirling through the cave, like black snow, like the ghosts of the monsters they'd been.
Silence fell.
The only sounds were the group's ragged breathing, the women's quiet sobs, the faint drip of water from the cave ceiling, the crackle of smoldering goblin ash on the stone floor, the embers still glowing red, fading slowly to black.
The air was thick with smoke, black and acrid, from the fireball, from the burning goblins, and it clung to Hannah's skin, to her clothes, to her hair, stinging her eyes, making her cough, choking her throat with the taste of ash and fire.
She stood in the middle of the cave, her dagger in one hand, her free hand still glowing with faint golden light, and she stared at the ash, at the blood, at the chains, at the women huddled behind Mimi's Aqua Barrier, their faces filled with relief, with gratitude, with fear, with the kind of trauma that never truly goes away, that lingers in the bones, in the soul, in the dark.
Bart leaned against his axe, his chest heaving, his face covered in blood and ash, his eyes closed, his head tilted back, breathing in the cold air, trying to calm his racing heart.
Mike lowered his bow, his fingers white on the wood, his arms trembling, his eyes fixed on Hannah, on the golden light that glowed around her, a little stunned, a little in awe, like he was seeing her for the first time, not just a no-rank fighter, but a force of nature, a storm in human skin.
Mimi's Aqua Barrier faded, her staff dimming to a faint glow, her mana all but gone, her head throbbing with the effort of casting so many spells, and she stepped forward, her eyes wide, her face filled with wonder, with fear, with something else—recognition.
She knew. Not all of it.
Not the dragon in her skull, not the beast taming magic that slumbered in her bones, not the Gorthmorde blood that ran through her veins, the noble clan magic that made her irregular, that made her powerful.
But she knew Hannah's magic was not just irregular. Not just noble. It was powerful. Too powerful. Too wild. Too dangerous.
A flame that could warm, that could heal, that could also burn everything down, if it was let loose.
Hannah's golden light faded, the mana settling back into her chest, a warm thrum, a heartbeat, and she sheathed her dagger, her body trembling, not from fear, not from exhaustion,
but from the rush, from the rage, from the magic that had roared through her veins, from the kill, from the relief of saving the three women, from the weight of all the pain she'd seen,
all the cruelty she'd fought, all the death she'd dealt. Ren's presence was warm, proud, in her skull, his purr a low vibration in her bones, a dragon's approval, a dragon's love, for his human, for his fire, for his protector.
'Well done, my human. Well done.'
But Hannah didn't feel proud.
She felt cold. Empty. Numb.
She looked at the women, at their torn clothes, their cut skin, their tear-streaked faces, at the chains that had bound them, at the blood that had soaked the stone floor, at the ash that swirled in the air, the ghosts of the goblins that had hurt them, and she knew this wasn't over.
The goblins were just the start.
The strange monster behavior, the aggression, the organization, the cruelty—it was all leading to something.
Something big. Something bad. Something that was coming for Southbrook. For Bennington City. For her. For everyone she'd ever cared about. For everyone she'd ever saved.
And then she heard it.
A low, guttural growl, from the dark, from the tunnels leading deeper into the cave, from the third level of the dungeon, the level no D-rank adventurer dared to tread, the level where the big monsters lived, the level where the real danger hid.
A sound that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, that made Ren's purr turn into a snarl, loud and sharp, in her skull, that made the women's sobs die into whimpers, their bodies trembling harder,
their arms wrapping tighter around each other, that made Bart and Mike spin around, their weapons raised, their magic glowing, their faces cold with fear, with the sudden realization that they'd walked into a trap, that the goblins were just a distraction, a bait to draw them in, to make them lower their guard, to make them fight, to drain their mana, their strength, their will to survive.
It was a sound Hannah knew. A sound she'd heard before, in the dark, in the dungeon, in her nightmares. A sound that meant one thing.
More monsters.
Bigger ones. Stronger ones. Cunning ones. Deadlier ones. The kind that didn't play. The kind that killed. The kind that hunted.
The smoke from the fireball swirled around them, thick and black, obscuring the dark, the ash mixing with the smoke, making it hard to see, hard to breathe, hard to think, and the growl grew louder, closer, the ground trembling under their feet, the stone walls shaking,
small pebbles falling from the ceiling, and a pair of red eyes glinted in the smoke, bright and hungry, a predator's eyes, and then another, and another, and another, a dozen pairs, two dozen, a hundred, glowing red in the dark, in the smoke, a sea of eyes, a sea of hunger, a sea of death.
Hannah's hand closed around her dagger hilt, the steel cold and familiar in her palm, and the golden mana in her chest stirred, warm and ready, a fire roused from sleep, a storm ready to break, and Ren's snarl was loud in her skull, a roar that shook her bones, a dragon's battle cry, a dragon's promise of war.
'Fight. Survive. Protect. Burn them all.'
The cave was filled with smoke, with red eyes, with the low, guttural growl of monsters closing in, their footsteps thudding on the stone floor, the ground shaking, the air thick with fear, with death, with the promise of a fight that would test them all, that would push them to their limits, that would make them choose between living and dying, between fighting and falling.
And Hannah stood her ground, her back to the women, to Bart, to Mike, to Mimi, her dagger raised, the steel glinting with faint golden light, her eyes fixed on the smoke, on the red eyes, on the dark, her face cold and hard, a fighter's face, a survivor's face, a protector's face.
She was ready to fight.
She was ready to kill.
She was ready to survive.
She was ready to burn them all down.
.
.
.
To be continue...