Darcy rose again for the fourth—no, fifth—time, legs trembling beneath her.
Her sword quivered in her grip.
Sweat carved paths down her temples and dripped.
It felt like two-thirds of her soul had just been knocked loose and stomped on.
But she wasn't done. She couldn't be.
She would not lose to Brittany.
She snarled, dragging her blade across the ground.
The tip sparked as it moved, a fitting echo of the fire rising in her veins.
Above her, the morning sun had shifted slightly behind the clouds, cloaking the clearing in a strained, metallic light.
Shadows lengthened. The scent of ash and scorched grass clung to the air.
The spectators murmured—uneasy. The tension was no longer thrilling. It was dense.
Darcy screamed and poured everything she had into the next strike.
She chanted sharply under her breath, and the glyphs scorched into her wrist flashed blue.
The flames that erupted from her sword weren't ordinary—they twisted unnaturally, hungry, like they'd been waiting to be released.
They coiled around the blade, then flared outward in a spiral that hissed and shimmered.
"Darcy, no!" Raymond stood halfway up from the bench.
Rollins was already on his feet. "She hasn't mastered that spell! She'll kill Brittany"!
Their voices hit the air—but not fast enough.
Darcy leapt.
Her sword crashed downward, a blazing arc of blue hellfire hurtling toward Brittany's still form.
In a breath– she wasn't there, she was gone.
Darcy's strike hit only grass—and the spell exploded outward, searing the earth with a hiss that left a patch of blackened soil smoking. She stumbled—
—and there Brittany was, behind her?.
One sharp kick.
Darcy went flying, her cry ripping through the field as she collided with the outer ring of trees.
She hit the trunk with a gut-wrenching thud and slid to the ground, writhing, clutching her side.
The magic she'd forced had backlashed. Her veins pulsed with searing heat, the spell retaliating from the inside.
Her eyes watered, a wrenching scream pierced her throat– a scream that cuts through the air.
"It… it burns—!"
The heat wasn't on her skin—it was inside her, churning beneath her ribs, licking up her spine like molten chains.
Her muscles seized and spasmed, her body writhing helplessly on the ground.
If Brittany hadn't kept hitting her, she wouldn't have resolved to casting that spell.
Brittany walked toward her like nothing had happened.
But something had.– something big.
The change was subtle at first.
Her steps were slower, not hesitant—but measured. Her blade trailed beside her, silent, unthreatening.
The blood thirst hit next.
Invisible, almost, but everyone felt it.
Like frost trickling down spines, like claws brushing against nerves.
Darcy, half hooded eyes shifted sightly and their gaze met.
They blazed gold– rich and terrifying,
That was the last thing she saw before her instincts screamed *run*. But her body wouldn't listen.
Sitting on the bench, Raymond swallowed– there's something wrong.
Captain Reed's fingers twitched near his weapon.
There was an ominous tension in the atmosphere– like dark clouds blinding the sun.
Even the birds had gone quiet.
Brittany stopped above Darcy's twitching form.
Her golden eyes—because they were no longer hazel, not even remotely—glowed with a molten light.
Her expression was calm, unfeeling. Not blank. Calculating.
Darcy looked up, her mouth parted.
There was no taunt this time. No insult. Only silence.
And then—clang!
So sudden, her sword raised, blocking an attack that had come from her right.
Dora's blade rebounded. Her eyes were wide, disbelieving.
Dora's blade clashed with Brittany's, but her breath caught for a different reason.
Her eyes…
Golden. Deep. Terrifyingly empty.
Dora, fast as she was, wasn't sure if her body recoiled—or her soul did.
There was no one, except the vampires, who could see her move.
That was her fastest speed yet, and somehow, Brittany blocked it– effortlessly, and her strength…
" B-Brittany? Impossible! I- I was invisible," she whispered, her green eyes wide in disbelief.
Brittany didn't answer. She simply tilted her head and smiled.
A slow, eerie lift of the lip that held no warmth.
She lunged.
Metal screamed against metal.
Dora was fast—vampire reflexes fast—but Brittany was fluid.
She flowed like she'd been fighting for centuries, like the blade weighed nothing whatsoever.
Dora went on the defence instantly.
As Brittany beats the vampire pride out of Dora.
Raymond invoked a portal, Roland carried the unconscious Darcy and they left to deliver her to their mother, the witch queen
From the sidelines, gasps erupted.
Bethany rose, halfway between help and horror. "We need to stop her!"
She grabbed her pole arm, dashed toward the fight, sliding in beside Dora.
But the two-on-one advantage meant nothing.
Brittany wasn't fighting any more.
She was dismantling.
With a pivot and spin, she knocked Dora's sword from her hand and slammed an elbow into Bethany's ribs, sending her toppling.
Blades clashed again, a storm of motion.
Brittany's boots barely touched the grass.
"Captain, we need to stop this!" shouted Rollins out of worry for Brittany, he was ready– conjuring a spell.
"Wait! Don't just attack her!" Reed barked, panic creeping into his voice. "We don't know what we're dealing with—"
Dawn snorted from her place on the bench. "Dora shouldn't've gone for the kill. And Darcy got what she deserved."
Though, she was also confused, curious and astonished about all that was happening.
She, Dawn wasn't planning on joining the fight, not because she didn't want to get her ass kicked– but those three deserve a good beating for their constant bullying Brittany.
"You're not helping," said Richard tightly.
"I'm not trying to." Dawn leaned back. But even her arms—casually crossed—were rigid with attention.
In the centre of the chaos, Dora lunged again.
She didn't get far.
Bethany was flung across the field like a tossed doll, crashing into Dora mid-swing.
The two collided with a grunt and rolled across the grass.
Brittany stood over them, chest rising and falling.
The grass beneath her feet was scorched from blue fire and marked with sigils she never drew.
And the way she was smiling?
It chilled the bones.
"A useless vampire," Brittany said softly, "and a weaker human."
Her lips curved.
The voice that followed was mockingly polite—sarcastic in a tone no one had ever heard from her.
She turned, sheathed her sword with grace and finality, and—bowed.
Like she'd just performed in a courtly spar.
Then she strolled to the bench and sat down beside Rollins like nothing had happened.
Rollins stared at her, mouth ajar. "Britt. Brit. What the hell—are you okay? You—Dora—Darcy—"
But Brittany didn't answer.