But the tall one’s already moving. His Threads lash forward—rock and air tangled tight—and slam into my side.
Pain punches through my ribs. I hit the ground hard, lungs seizing. But there’s no time to breathe. The shorter one’s already up, cutting the distance between us, so I force myself upright. Duck left, fling another blast of air. The tall one stumbles back a step—enough to buy a second. I pivot, magic surging, and send a sharpened stream of moisture straight into the short one’s chest. It lands. Drops him.
But not for long.
A pulse of pressure slams into my side—fast, brutal—and suddenly I’m airborne. Crashing back against stone, ribs screaming. I suck air through blood in my mouth and push up, knees slipping on debris, but they’re already back on me.
No time to think now. Just move.
Hit one. Pivot. Hit the other. Dodge. Recharge. Throw again.
The shorter one moves like they’ve done this before. Too many times, trained. The taller one’s sloppier, magic leaking wild and impulsive, but even with one arm, they’re dangerous. He keeps pressure on me while the other lines up shots I can’t afford to miss.
It’s a rhythm now—one I’m losing. Their magic isn’t stronger, just...aligned. They work together. One pins. One hits.
And I can’t take them both.
My magic splits, each thread fighting for different targets and refusing tocooperate. Like trying to throw a spear with both hands in different directions.
Boots scrape over rock and wood as I duck, twist, hurl a thread of air like a whip—it lands clean against the tall one’s shoulder, tears a scream from his throat. But by the time I spinto finish it, the short one hits me dead centre. My ribs explode with heat. I stagger again, coughing hard.
Shit, I roll behind the wall, panting harder now. If I keep playing their game, I’ll bleed out. Slow but certain. I need to stop themtogether. One hit. Same time.
They close in, Threads crackling at their fingertips, steps measured and confident.
I reach out again. Dig deeper, whole body locked now. Come on. More air. More moisture—no, that’s not enough.I need more.
My teeth clamp down as pressure spikes under my ribs. A crack—soft, splintering—above me something’s shifting. I reach again. Sweat rolls down my face, stinging my eyes as I pull harder. Another crack. Louder this time.
The roof.
The wood listens. No. Not just wood. Stone. Dust. But I don’t have Earth Threads, do I?
Still, I try again. Focus this time. And it moves. Threads thrum under my skin—darker, heavier. Earth. Raw and waiting. It’s there. And it’smine.
Wood creaks below me as the black-eyed one’s move in closer, I roll back out from the wall, deliberately slow. Faking weakness. Threads flicking out—light, harmless. It works. The short one grins, steps another pace closer.
Unknotting more Threads, I ease back. Magic building and building. More than I’ve ever held. It floods my veins, thick and wild, stretching beneath my skin like something alive trying to claw its way out. My eyes pulse with it, hands won’t stop shaking. It’s fire and stone and storm tearing through me, heat sinking into my bones like molten glass, pressure rising behind my ribs until it feels like my chest might split.
I can’t hold it much longer.
But they take one final step toward me—magic loaded, ready.
Then I move.
I throw my Threads wide—across the beams, the rafters, through the bones of the building—andpull. Hard.
Pain lights through my side. My legs give. Every nerve burns like it’s trying to escape my skin, but I don’t stop.
The roof groans. Cracks. Gives.
They look up.
Too late.
The whole thing comes down. Wood. Stone. Metal. Crushing both of them in a thunderous collapse.
Silence follows. Thick and final.
