We hadn't gone two ridges from the canyon before the sky changed color—amber fading to bruised violet, the kind of light that warns you a fight is coming whether you want it or not.
Brenda's comm unit hissed, blinked once, then went dead in static.
"Interference," Chinada murmured.
Sirone glanced up from checking Sarian's arm. "That isn't weather."
The wind carried it—metal, ozone, and the faint hum of engines hidden under the tree line. A second wave.
Brenda straightened. "Positions! Olivia, dome half, keep sight lines open. Chinada, right flank. Delta formation, now."
The squad moved without hesitation: shields unfolding, rifles warming, blades clearing scabbards. They fit together like a single thought practiced a hundred times.
I stayed a few steps behind Brenda, watching the formation flex. Her tone had changed since the canyon—not loud, but anchoring.
Dust rolled across the trees. Silver armor flickered through the haze—Federation again, tighter ranks, heavier cores.
And at their center limped the man who refused to die properly.
Ryu Kaito.
His coat hung in ribbons, gravity nodes flickering like broken stars around his shoulders. Each pulse bent light unevenly, his control fraying. Blood stained the runes on his chestplate.
Brenda's jaw tightened. "So he crawled back."
"He never knew when to quit," I said.
"Orders, Captain?"
"Hold command," I told her. "I'll handle the echo."
She nodded once and turned. "Delta ring! Keep the Captain's lane clear!"
The Federation line advanced—shields bright, rifles humming with rune charges, and the silence of professionals who believed numbers still mattered.
[Battlefield—First Clash]
"Fire."
Brenda's word cracked the air.
Chinada's rifle spat blue lightning; two helmets went dark. Sirone's glyphs glowed gold, steadying every shot.
Olivia raised a curved barrier lattice; spellfire hit and flattened like rain on glass.
Rin and Brit vanished into the haze—two shadows turning flankers into corpses before the rest noticed.
Toma slammed both fists down; the ground rippled, tossing soldiers from their footing. Sarian's flame-glaive followed, carving arcs of orange through the smoke.
"Left hold!" Brenda shouted. "They're testing us!"
They were—with discipline, with weight, with patience. The pressure swelled, and beneath it something deeper vibrated: gravity bending the air before the man who made it his weapon.
[Gravity Surge]
He emerged through the haze-like distortion, given form, gravity nodes spinning faster, each pulse dragging sound toward him. Even the dust refused to rise.
"Still breathing, Draig?" he called.
"Still better than you," I said.
"Then let's fix that."
He raised one trembling hand; the air folded into invisible planes, the start of another field.
I drew one blade—the demigod ice sword—cold mist curling from its edge.
"Only one?" he taunted. "Mercy?"
"Efficiency."
[Duel—One Blade]
The gravity field thickened until every breath felt borrowed.
He struck first—sword low, pressure dragging behind it. I turned my wrist, let the edge slip past my ribs, and cut upward through the seam of distortion. The fold cracked like thin ice.
Ryu pivoted, trying to drag me into the rebound. I caught a fallen spear from the dirt with my free hand and slammed the shaft across his ribs. The hit drove him back two steps.
He retaliated with a heel kick that would have split bone; I rolled aside, parried low, and let my blade's frost bite across his forearm. He hissed, shaking off ice that crept into the wound.
"Still predictable," I said.
"Still breathing."
A dagger flashed from my belt. He deflected it with gravity, smug—and missed the second until it pinned the hem of his coat to his thigh. His field faltered.
I closed in. The ice blade blurred pale blue, every strike short and exact. Each swing ended where it began—a rhythm too clean to read.
He caught one edge, sparks of frost scattering sideways.
Ryu snarled and hurled a gravity puck—an old Federation relic. "Commanders get the stable ones," he muttered, half-laughing.
I kicked it back before it pulsed. It detonated beneath him, the blast denting his armor. He hit the dirt, cloak flaring.
"You still can't handle your own toys," I said.
"You talk too much," he spat and lunged.
Gravity dragged behind him like a storm wall. I slid under the arc, nicked his wrist, then followed with a dagger throw—clean, low, catching just under his collar. He tore it free, red blood flashing against the gray light.
"You haven't changed," he said.
"You have," I replied. "You got slower."
He slammed his palm into the ground. Stones the size of shields lifted and spun. I met the wave head-on, blade cutting through compressed air and rock alike—precise, contemptuous. The frost trailed every motion, leaving a ring of mist around us.
He pushed forward, sweat running down his temple. I reversed my grip and struck once, straight up.
His guard met it; the impact rang like thunder. The runes on his blade shattered, his field collapsing into silence.
I kicked the weapon from his hand.
He staggered back, chest heaving. I leveled my blade at his throat.
"Yield."
"Not a chance."
He smiled—broken, defiant—and dropped two violet disks.
Gravity imploded outward. The forest bowed. Trees cracked. My squad fell back under Brenda's command, fighting from cover among the trunks, trading rifle fire and spell bursts with the Federation ranks.
I stayed in the center of the storm.
[Chaos Reignites]
The disks' gravity pulse tore the plateau edge apart, sucking debris upward.
Ryu staggered to his feet, one hand clamped on a bleeding shoulder. His remaining nodes spun wildly, sparking under strain.
He tried to stabilize the field—too slow.
I stepped through the collapsing air, one cut splitting the distortion seam.
His own power folded on him, pressing him down to one knee.
"You're forcing it," I said. "You'll crush yourself."
"I'll take you with me!"
He threw a short burst; the pull hit like a wall. I braced, boots carving furrows in the soil, and swung in the opposite direction.
The ice blade howled through the distortion, slicing clean through the overloaded gravity core on his chest.
Light warped. The backlash slammed him into a crater of broken earth.
He lay there, coughing blood into the dust.
"Still think numbers matter?" I asked.
He laughed once, hoarse. "You think this ends here?"
"I know it doesn't."
He pressed a hand to the shattered core, muttered something, and triggered a final jump. The air folded. His soldiers scrambled to cover him; the nearest ones disintegrated as the unstable warp collapsed.
He vanished—half-buried, half-burned, leaving a circular scar in the clearing where the ground no longer obeyed gravity.
Silence dropped, followed by wind.
[Retreat]
Brenda's voice cut through the comms. "All units, pull back into forest cover! Delta-three fallback!"
The squad obeyed—smooth, practiced. Olivia extended barriers between trees; Sirone and Chinada laid suppressing fire.
Federation troops broke, retreating in scattered groups. None chased them. We didn't need to.
When the last echo faded, Brenda lowered her blades. "Count."
Sirone answered, "Minor wounds. Ava's shoulder burned but sealed. Everyone standing."
"Good." Brenda exhaled. "Stalemate?"
"No," I said. "We held. He ran."
[Aftermath—Sunset Ridge]
The forest cooled by degrees. Smoke curled upward, blending with evening light.
Rin perched on a boulder, boots swinging. "That was loud."
"Could've been worse," Brit said.
"Could've been boring," Rin replied.
Apricot's puppet crouched beside her, optics dimmed. Nekro moved through the shadows, cutting inactive runes before they relit.
Chinada sat cleaning her rifle, eyes still scanning the treeline. "You think he'll come again?"
"Yes," I said. "Men like him always do."
Brenda approached, helmet under her arm. "You didn't have to step in."
"I did. He was aiming for you."
Her lips twitched. "Next time I'll duck faster."
"You did fine."
She blinked, caught off guard. "Stacy's going to yell."
"She always does."
The sun slipped lower, staining the ridge gold. Wind dragged thin ribbons of dust into the air until they shimmered and faded.
The squad broke camp quietly, efficient as ever.
I lingered a moment, eyes on the faint bruise in space where Ryu had vanished. The distortion still trembled—a gravity scar rimmed with frost from my blade.
"Next time," I murmured. "Bring better toys."
"He will," I thought, sheathing the sword. Relics next. That's when it gets dangerous.
Then I turned and followed my squad into the deepening dusk.