Too bad for them.
Emma and I moved as one, a torrent of blades and power, effortless, synchronized. She was fire and fury, her Skindo an extension of her wrath, her crimson arc slicing through the air like a living curse.
They came for us. They died for it.
The battlefield turned into a maelstrom of scarlet and shadow, our strengths crashing together in something dark and volatile, a shockwave that devoured the light and left only destruction.
A flicker of movement—low, fast—one of them shifting to strike. I barely pivoted in time, but Emma was already there. Her Skindo flashed in a lethal curve, intercepting the attack before she spun and buried her blade into the next bastard.
“Thanks,” I managed, breath tight, catching her gaze for the briefest of moments. A heartbeat of clarity in the midst of all this chaos.
“Don’t mention it,” she shot back, voice rough, adrenaline lighting up her eyes. And then—the barest flicker of a grin before she turned back to the fight.
Next?
She unleashedhell.
Her movements were a savage, surgical dance, each strike calculated, merciless in its precision. We cut through them like seasoned killers—no hesitation, no wasted movement, no mercy.
A sharp cry to my left. Another Radical, lunging—his weapon glowing with the sickly orange light of translation. I reacted inan instant, my haze snapping out to intercept, blade twisting upward, slamming past his guard.
Steel met flesh.
A wet, strangled gurgle.
I yanked my Chela free, his body collapsing as his magic flickered violently, then vanished.
Too close. Way too close.
I turned, scanning—Emma.
Her knives blurred, cutting through her enemies with a ruthless precision. She didn’t waste movement. She didn’t second-guess. She was a predator, a force of nature?—
And for a split second, I watched her.
A mistake. A fucking mistake.
I didn’t see the ochre glow until it was too late.
A blinding streak of energy slammed into my core, right above my heart. Fire. Agony. Bone-deep torment. It tore through me like molten steel, ripping breath from my lungs. The impact hit so hard, I staggered, vision blurring, every nerve screaming in raw, unfiltered agony.
“Shit!” I gasped, stumbling back as I clutched my chest. My legs threatened to give out, and I could feel the warmth of poison flowing through my veins. The scent of singed flesh invaded my nose, mixing with the metallic tang of my own blood.
“You think you can stand against us?” One of the hostiles sneered. His haze flared, an intense orange ugly ass color. “You’re outnumbered, outmatched. Just give up already.”
“Fuck… you,” I spat through clenched teeth, struggling to stay upright. My power pulsed, the blackness around me churning in response to my anger and suffering. I could feel it growing denser, darker, as if feeding off my emotions. It was alive, and it was hungry.
The asshole laughed, a harsh, grating sound setting my nerves on edge. “Your translation is powerful,” he said, hisweirdly shaped sword raised high. “But it won’t save you. Not today.”
He stared down at me, his face twisted in a feral snarl. Time seemed to slow, the world narrowing down to him and the cold steel aimed at my throat. My pulse thundered in my ears, but my obsidian tendrils surged to life, reacting to the raw, primal need for survival. They coiled around my arm, slithering up the length of my Chela like living shadows, thick and suffocating.
I barely had time to brace myself. When I swung my blade to meet his, the current pulsed violently—and the impact was harsher than expected.
Steel met steel, and a shockwave exploded from the point of contact, but instead of overpowering him, I heard it—crack.A deep, shatteringcrack.
My weapon splintered down the center.
The violence of the blow knocked me sideways, and the blade—what was left of it—tumbled from my hand, the dark essence flickering and breaking apart. I stared in disbelief at the fractured sword on the ground, useless. Broken.
