The wind didn't stir, but ash danced in the air like snow.
Broken buildings slouched into each other, forming jagged corridors of ruin and flame. In the center of it all, Aya stood alone — a figure carved from purpose. Her posture was relaxed, yet lethal. The kind of stance reserved for those who didn't need to look like a threat to be one.
She wore her battle mask — smooth, white with matte black lines, no eye holes, just a subtle glowing slit across where her gaze might've been.
Her suit was seamless, a black reinforced combat weave laced with reactive fiber. A golden plate crowned each shoulder like minimalist pauldrons — not for protection, but precision. Designed to reflect tracking lasers.
But it was the spear that whispered danger.
The Event Horizon Spear didn't rest in her hands.
It never needed to.
Instead, its segments — five orbiting black-and-violet shards — drifted silently around her like a miniature planetary system. Each one hummed with gravitational instability. Made from dark matter and a metal alloy pulled from meteor cores, the spear existed partially out of phase with physical reality.
When fully assembled, the weapon snapped together via magnetic command, forming a sleek polearm with blade —heavy as a black hole.
At its core, just below the blade, sat a singular obsidian crystal, pulsing faintly — the true Event Horizon. That was the gravity anchor. The part that didn't cut flesh. It folded space. Collapsed physics. Bent cause and effect itself when aimed right.
Aya never explained how she got it.
She just used it.
From the broken skyline, they emerged.
Not beasts. Not rotting abominations.
They were knights.
Shadow-forged. Towering. Armored. Gleaming in deep metallic grey, nearly black, with crimson veins running beneath their plating like lava blood. Their helmets bore no slits. No mouths. Just spiked visors shaped like jagged crowns. They moved in sync, silent and monolithic.
Each one carried a greatsword nearly as tall as themselves. Not jagged chaos like the Revenants—these blades were clean, cold, and regal. Crafted for execution.
They had names. Echoes of the ancient. Only whispered by the Shadow Kaiju itself.
Sir Noctis, The Grave Warden
His armor resembled funeral stone — black marble etched with runes, moved slow, but with gravitational weight in every strike, his sword dragged behind him, splitting the concrete as he walked.
Sir Vael, The Crescent Blade
Sleeker, agile. A knight honed for death-duels, armor trimmed with violet. Sword curved like a butcher's smile, he moved like a shadow trying to stay ahead of its own echo.
They did not speak. They only turned their visors toward Aya — and charged.
The spear clicked.
The orbits spun faster, pulling themselves into alignment.
Then—SNAP. Magnetic seals locked. The spear formed in Aya's hand with a deep thrum, like the sound gravity might make if it had a voice.
She didn't wait for them to come closer.
She moved first.
It was Vael she targeted — the faster one.
Her body flickered with acceleration, using gravity tugs to push her faster than muscle could carry. She spun midair, brought the spear down—
He parried.
Steel met void.
Shockwaves burst from the clash. Not sound, but pressure. The ground beneath them cracked. Cars flipped sideways from the repulsion.
Vael slid back, cloak fluttering.
Aya advanced again — but Noctis was already behind her.
She barely pivoted, raising the spear. His greatsword crashed down — and the weight wasn't from metal. It carried gravitational distortion, an echo of black hole force. The sheer pressure forced her to one knee, boots sinking into the fractured concrete.
Her systems screamed.
Her breathing slowed.
The two knights moved as one — one heavy, one quick — a symphony of killing built to counter everything she was.
And yet—
Aya exhaled once.
The Event Horizon core on her spear lit up.
With a pulse, it folded a cone of space forward, creating a gravitational vacuum — pulling both knights inward. Their footwork faltered.
That's when she spun.
The spear disassembled mid-attack. Shards spread in orbit again — this time moving at blistering speed. She ducked under Vael's slash and recalled one shard, letting it slam into the knight's knee — crack — a joint exploded.
She leapt over Noctis's next swing — narrowly — it grazed her thigh. A spark. A tear.
She landed behind him and fired all orbiting shards forward — forming a linear rail of dark matter spikes — they hit his back like meteor strikes.
But he didn't fall.
Noctis just turned. Sword raised again.
Vael recovered.
Aya was between them.
Trapped.
She stood still.
Blood leaking down her leg. Breathing heavier now.
Her spear hovered again, re-forming.
Her mask was cracked slightly at the edge.
Still, she didn't speak.
Not even a breath of fear.
Only a whisper into her comms:
"Command. If I fail here... burn the city."
Silence.
Then a pulse.
Aya charged again.
The fight wasn't over.
It had only just begun.
Aya, mid movement, she stretched forth her hand, shards of the weapon ripped off of Vael's back, then the orbits of her Event Horizon Spear clicked once — just once — and the magnetic locks re-engaged.
The segments, previously drifting in silence around her, collapsed with surgical precision, forming the full weapon in her grip.
Its shaft shimmered in segments — polished dark alloy with embedded neural wirelines. The blade curved forward like a crescent fang, tinted a shade deeper than black, absorbing light rather than reflecting it.
Just beneath the blade, at the weapon's throat, pulsed the core — a coin-sized obsidian crystal orb with a faint distortion field.
That was the true Event Horizon.
It wasn't just part of the weapon. It was the center of its identity.
It bent gravity within a meter-wide sphere — enough to fold a man's spine or tear a limb off if caught in the wrong slice.
Noctis struck first.
He closed the gap in four long strides, sword raised in a defensive diagonal — a knight's proper posture, textbook. But as his swing came down, it was clear there was no wasted movement. No flourish.
Aya dodged — barely.
His sword hit the ground and didn't crack it — it compressed it. The pavement crumpled inward like a stomped can. Not brute strength — gravitational pressure infused in the blade.
She countered. The spear spun in a half-circle arc, dragging a gravity field that pulled dust and debris in with it. Noctis stepped back exactly one pace, letting the edge pass, then came again.
From the side — Vael arrived.
Aya turned just in time, raising her spear to intercept — his curved blade slid along the shaft, the friction creating a spark of violet energy. He twisted the momentum, kicked off her chest, and spun back mid-air.
Fluid. Precise. Measured.
She barely had time to plant her heel before Noctis returned.
Another clash.
This time, she held her ground. The Event Horizon pulsed on contact, canceling out his momentum with a dense gravity countershock. Their weapons rebounded — Aya used that instant to step back and breathe.
Two on one. Neither reckless. Both coordinated. And both were reading her.
The struggle began to show.
Her mask — cracked slightly along the lower jaw.
Her spear — still functional, but the orbit system was heating from overuse.
She didn't speak. She didn't scream.
She simply reset her stance. Spear forward. Weight low.
Noctis moved to flank.
Vael began circling.
Like wolves.
Aya exhaled.
And reversed the polarity of the Event Horizon — turning the gravitational pull into a localized repulsion burst. It exploded outward, sending both knights back several meters, buying her just one second.
That was all she needed.
The spear disassembled again.
Not by damage — by intent.
The orbiting segments shot wide, whirling around her in an elliptical spread, each piece taking a different trajectory.
She blurred forward — no weapon in hand — into Noctis's space.
He swung, expecting parry.
Instead, she sidestepped, and on cue — one of the spear shards slammed into the back of his leg.
He staggered.
She reassembled the spear mid-motion, flipped it into reverse grip —
And aimed the core at his chest.
A pulse.
His chestplate dented inward. Not pierced — yet. But compressed so hard he dropped to one knee.
Then Vael was there again.
His blade caught her right arm. A clean slice. Not deep, but enough. Sparks flew. Fabric tore. A line of red formed beneath the suit.
She fell back.
Landed on one knee.
Breathed.
The knights regrouped.
Aya didn't speak.
She only stood.
And spun her spear once more. The core glowed brighter.
They had drawn blood.
Now she was done holding back.
A hush was restored—unnatural and thick, as if the ruins themselves held their breath. Smoke drifted across shattered concrete, tendrils snaking through collapsed steel like living ash. Light from distant fires flickered over scarred armor and melted metal.
Aya was found kneeling amid debris, her body slumped yet still poised, weight supported on shattered knees. The Event Horizon Spear lay broken beside her, shards scattered like fallen moonlets across the cratered ground. Each fragment glowed faintly with residual gravity.
Blood pooled quietly where her thigh and side had been slashed, seeping across her black combat weave and staining the seams of her suit around her hip. Mask, cracked at the jawline, remained in place—its singular glow flickering in slow pulses, as if struggling to maintain life.
Silent footfalls were registered before any shape was noticed. Sir Vael's approaching form was discerned before the final shimmer of his armor could be felt. He moved without haste — each step measured, respectful, reverent, almost ceremonial. Shadows pooled beneath his feet and dissipated behind him, as if his presence alone caused darkness to recoil.
A pause was taken by Sir Vael—a moment granted to the broken woman before him. No words were spoken. No blade was raised. Confirmation of intent was not offered. Instead, a single, deliberate inquiry seemed to pass between them, carried on the edge of tension.
Aya's breathing was shallow, but her posture had straightened. A hand drifted to the shattered spear shaft: its surface was chilled, heavy with the weight of shattered singularity. The shards that had dispersed still hovered—static now, drained of motion—but their faint vibrations hinted at undiminished potential.
Capillaries in the shattered mask were traced by spiderweb cracks, radiating outward from the impact. Each breath warped the mask's surface—tiny fractures moving like tectonic plates. The holographic visor line flickered in rhythm with her pulse, syncing to an unspoken code of survival.
Sir Noctis emerged next—his presence heavier, more solemn. Armor plates squealed softly as he knelt beside his companion. The greatsword's broken remnants lay where Aya's gravity strike had sent them—twisted shards of unyielding alloy. Traces of violet reflective distortion still shimmered across the fractured edge.
Judgment was rendered in silence. The battlefield became a cathedral of absence. Time seemed to stall—smoke hovering like lost prayers. Moments passed, each thick as metal.
A choice was manifested without voice. Sir Vael's helmet was inclined—an echo of honor rather than surrender. Sir Noctis straightened but did not raise his sword. The knights receded toward shadows, becoming ghosts among ruins.
Breath was exhaled by Aya—and the courtyard's hush was broken. Limbs shivered, joints re-engaged. Blood surged warmly through her veins, life insisting despite wounds.
Shards of the Event Horizon Spear trembled, then began to drift. Gravity pulses coalesced invisibly. The fragments rotated—slowly, intentionally—reassembling a promise not yet claimed, not yet fulfilled.
From fractured concrete, Aya rose. Each movement was agony—a symphony of pain and defiance. Her mask realigned with grim precision, the glowing slit steady once more. The spear reformed in her grasp—five pieces uniting around the obsidian core, magnetic locks re-engaging in a whispering cascade.
Stance was reestablished. The battle-hardened posture remained unbroken, leg wounds and all. The spear's blade extended—feather-light, impossible heavy—absorbing the ruined light of the courtyard.
Across the chasm of collapsed steel, the knights had paused. Noctis and Vael watched. Silent sentinels of challenge still unfulfilled. The tension—a taut wire strung between tomorrow's choices—sparked anew.
A moment passed—static, loaded, heavy.
Then—Aya stepped forward. Her next move was forthcoming. The hunt had restarted.
Noctis was already coming again.
He'd learned now — his swings weren't wide anymore. He pressed her with short-range slashes, one after another, pushing her against the crumbling remains of a stairwell.
Aya's breath came shallow.
Her fingers barely felt the spear. The orbit system was offline. The core vibrated violently with unstable charge. Her left arm had gone numb.
One more mistake, and she was gone.
Noctis raised his blade overhead.
She stepped in.
Closer. Way closer than any sane fighter would.
She jammed her foot against the bottom third of his sword, locking it down.
Then she activated the gravity core.
A localized gravitational spike hit just below the blade's midpoint.
CRACK.
The sudden compression twisted the weapon's molecular structure—not shattered, but bent under physics itself.
Noctis's blade snapped with a concussive ping, fragments bouncing off her armor.
That's when she pivoted.
Reverse grip. Short thrust. Spear to his gut.
Pulse—point-blank.
His body lifted, slammed back into rubble.
She dropped to her knees beside the weapon's broken shaft, blood pouring freely.
The last moments of the fight came fast.
Too fast for the mind to track. Only the body remained — battered, broken, automatic.
Aya didn't feel the pain anymore. Only the weight of her weapon. The hum of the core.
Her spear was slower now. The orbit system was dead — magnetics burnt out.
The gravity core flickered every time it pulsed. It wouldn't last another full charge.
But neither would she.
Noctis came first — his blade shortened after Aya had snapped it in half, but his technique untouched. He spun it like a broadsword dagger, charging with reckless, armored force.
Vael came from the opposite side. No sound. No tells. Just that terrifying, floating glide.
A perfect pincer.
Aya didn't run.
Instead, she moved straight toward Noctis.
She ducked under the hilt swipe, let her thigh scream as it twisted under weight, and drove her elbow into his ruined chestplate.
His body jolted back — armor still half-caved in from before.
Then she did the unthinkable.
She dropped her spear.
Noctis reached for her throat —
But she spun inward, grabbed his wrist, and used his own momentum to throw him over her shoulder.
Her bones shrieked. Her body buckled.
But he hit the ground hard.
Vael was already behind her. His sword sang through the air —
It bit into her side, deep.
Aya gasped. Blood gushed out. Her legs almost gave way.
She twisted before he could pull the blade back.
Her hand reached across —
Snatched the gravity core itself from the spear's fallen shaft.
It pulsed, unstable.
She didn't care.
She jammed it directly into Vael's helmet.
The pulse exploded at point-blank range.
Vael's head cracked backward, helmet shattering at the seams. The energy caved in part of his skull. He reeled back, twitching, sword falling from his hand.
Aya didn't finish him gently.
She tackled him to the ground, full-body, pressing the core again into his chest — this time at maximum output.
There was a horrible crunch.
A sucking implosion.
Then silence.
Vael's body twisted wrong. Armor folded like paper around bone. His torso dented inward as if reality itself rejected him.
She stood, swaying.
Noctis rose one last time.
Barely.
His blade gone. His armor in ruins. One leg dragging behind him.
Aya didn't have time for hesitation.
She grabbed the remains of her spear. The shaft was cracked. The blade bent.
Still, she pulled it together with every last bit of magnetic force she had left.
It clicked. Wobbled. Stayed whole just long enough.
Noctis swung his fist.
She ducked low.
Then thrust the Event Horizon straight into his stomach.
The core pulsed once.
Just once.
And Sir Noctis, the Grave Warden, fell.
Not exploded. Not crushed.
Just collapsed.
---
Aya dropped the weapon.
Her arms wouldn't lift anymore.
Her knees hit the ground.
Blood soaked the ruins beneath her.
She coughed — spit red.
The portal above the city shimmered. But nothing came out this time. Not yet.
Just swirling silence.
Her visor cracked fully down the center. One eye exposed — blood-red and shaking, locked in survival instinct.
Then, finally…
Both Noctis and Vael respawn again.
The phantom huntress' spear held its shape.
Just barely.
Heat shimmered along the shaft—gravitic exhaust bleeding through microscopic seams. The obsidian core throbbed in uneven intervals, distortion rippling through its containment like a dying star coughing through spacetime.
Aya's boots grounded in fractured stone. Left leg: compromised. Fiber-weave torn. Hemorrhaging from mid-thigh.
Internal diagnostics flashed crimson along the inside of her visor. She didn't blink. Data was processed, not acknowledged.
Pain existed. It was there. It simply didn't matter.
The knights had not advanced. Yet.
They watched. Calculating.
Like her.
The moment stretched. A false reprieve.
She recalibrated her stance—shoulders aligned, weight distribution corrected around the wound. The Event Horizon Spear hovered steady in her grip. Fingers flexed once. Trembled.
Silenced.
The shards—now locked into place—hummed low. Overclocking had begun. Internal cooling was failing.
One more misfire and the weapon would collapse in on itself.
No backup existed. She had never needed one.
A breath was taken.
And then—movement.
Sir Vael came first.
The ground didn't react to his speed; he passed through space with a kind of corrupted grace. One step, then another, then ten — his cloak trailing like smoke under pressure. The blade in his hand shimmered with a faint arc of violet static.
Aya countered—footwork sharp, minimal, perfect. The spear met his edge with a sharp clang that never echoed. Vibration was contained within the gravitational bubble around her weapon. The courtyard remained silent as stone.
She spun. The blade swept low.
He leapt. Mid-air twist. Sword inverted.
She angled upward—miscalculated the timing by 0.2 seconds.
He broke past her guard.
The flat of his blade struck her ribs with sickening precision.
A thud. A stagger. Knees buckled.
Her boots scraped back.
HUD blinked white. Rib plating compromised. One fracture. Maybe two.
No complaint. No reaction.
Only recalibration.
Her heel dug in.
Counter-motion engaged.
A gravity pulse, smaller than standard, fired from the base of the spear. Not enough to wound. Just enough to shift space.
Vael landed wrong. Off-center.
That was enough.
Aya launched forward, shoulder-first. Her momentum carried her body beneath his guard — the spear flicked into reverse grip mid-lunge. A shard detached with a whisper of metal, shot past her back, and curved up under his elbow.
Impact.
His arm recoiled. Sword lifted. Opening created.
She pivoted left, snapped the shard back into place, and launched a point-blank stab toward his center mass. He twisted — blade barely catching the spear's midshaft — but the gravity pulse still landed.
Armor bent.
The knight staggered.
A mistake. Corrected.
Not even noted.
She didn't retreat.
She pressed.
One-two — two stabs aimed at opposite shoulders, the second feinted, reversed mid-strike, and driven downward toward the hip socket.
Vael blocked one. The second landed.
A hiss.
No sound. Only visible air distortion — like the very concept of physics was dented.
Behind her, Noctis moved.
Her HUD caught the shift.
Body rotated—just in time.
A gravitational spike radiated outward from her spine as she disengaged, flung backward by her own momentum. The air compressed around her — silent detonation. The pulse shoved both knights away five meters.
Time bought.
Seconds.
Maybe less.
Aya landed low — right knee hitting stone. The left leg couldn't support full weight anymore. A microbrace deployed from her calf with a soft click — auto-engaged.
The spear vibrated in her hands again.
The core was surging.
She stabilized it.
Hands relaxed. Breath short.
Thoughts exact:
"Core bleed: 23%. Delay detonation or rewire orbit path."
Thumb tapped the third magnetic node — redirecting gravitational overflow into the rear shard, turning it into a counterweight capacitor.
Stability: restored.
Aya rose. The crack in her mask had split higher.
Still no voice.
Still no fear.
The knights circled again.
And this time — she wouldn't miss.
The courtyard fed its image into a darkened war room.
Screens flickered in rows. Tactical overlays pulsed red. Crackled telemetry mapped Aya's vitals across the leftmost wall. Oxygen saturation: 64%. Neural link stability: degrading. Blood pressure erratic. The core of the Event Horizon registered unstable—radiation leakage at 17%, orbit sync lagging by 0.3 seconds.
Inside the dim-lit headquarters, Commander Takamura stood still, arms crossed behind his back.
Behind him, analysts leaned in toward the data—silent, watching.
A hollow tremor filled the room as her left orbit shard flared then dimmed.
The feed showed her breathing shallow. No words spoken. No wavering.
A single line of static appeared on-screen, then converted into code.
:: Command to Phantom Huntress - Critical Sync Detected. Event Horizon near failure threshold.
:: Deploy Multi-Morph System? Y/N
No hesitation.
:: Y.
A code was entered.
Across the table, an armored crate was unlocked by retinal scan. Drone servos kicked in. Magnetic rails surged with power.
The Multi-Morph System was launched—fired across Sector 9 via kinetic courier drone, ETA thirty seconds.
Back in Kyōnori — 19:40 JST
Her legs moved like shadowed rhythm.
The spear's weight shifted in her hands, its core pulsing bright and wrong. Feedback sparked along the shaft—her palm burned through the glove, raw skin beneath it glowing red from exposure.
Sir Vael advanced.
His sword gleamed violet. The steps he took now were sharper—tighter loops around her left, dipping in and out of striking range with surgical intent. His blade flashed up—
Clash.
Slide.
Twist.
She ducked.
He spun. Her spear caught the momentum mid-turn, launching a shard upward. It slammed against his shoulder joint, locked the rotation.
A lunge followed. Point-first.
The core pulsed. The blade struck armor—
Not through. Beneath.
Gravity fired inward from the impact point.
The knight's body folded at the midsection. Armor compacted. The singularity spike ignited from within his chest cavity—
And he broke.
Sir Vael dissipated.
Armor peeled in reverse, fragment by fragment—until only smoke remained.
Her stance realigned—just as Noctis halted his next step.
There was stillness.
Then Noctis, too, began to flicker—form destabilizing.
His sword dropped. His shape unraveled.
Nothing left.
Aya stood alone. Weapon trembling.
Then—
A ripple.
The shadows at the far end of the courtyard warped.
Two shapes reformed.
Sir Noctis. Sir Vael. Again.
Not weaker. Not altered. Identical.
Her jaw didn't shift. But her grip on the spear tightened.
No damage carried over. No fatigue in their stance. No hesitation in their return.
It was understood immediately.
They could not be felled one at a time.
Simultaneous elimination required.
The only option now.
A red dot blinked at the edge of her visor.
The drone had arrived.
The Multi-Morph weapon crate descended from the clouds above—encased in kinetic plating, still steaming from atmospheric entry. It pierced the ground like a bullet, landing upright twenty meters behind her.
Aya turned.
One step back. Hand raised.
Kyōnori Sector 9 — 19:42 JST
The moment the crate hit earth, the knights reacted.
Sir Noctis moved first.
A pulse radiated from his chest — not outward, but inward. The armor surrounding his core compressed, fracturing in etched patterns. Cracks glowed crimson. Beneath the marble-like plating, a deeper alloy ignited — one lined with gravitational field generators, exposed like veins.
The sword he carried collapsed into segments.
Then it reformed — a double-edged cleaver wider than before, its mass too dense for the eye to track properly. The blade absorbed light. Around its edge, gravity folded space — buildings behind it appeared bent, distorted.
Footsteps created tremors now.
Not from impact — from pulled mass. The knight's presence began to anchor itself to the field around him. Pavement lifted in patches as gravitational dominance expanded.
Sir Vael followed.
Armor plates along his arms disengaged, revealing fine micro-spikes like spines. The purple trim ignited — arcs of photonic edge energy surged along his frame, turning his silhouette into a shifting blur. The curved sword in his hand split into two.
Twin phase sabers. Each blade crackled in and out of the visible spectrum, vibrating fast enough to shear atoms.
His body flickered once.
Then appeared five meters behind where he stood.
Then back again.
Spatial jumps— blink-speed.
Aya didn't move.
The crate behind her opened.
Magnetic locks disengaged. Gas hissed out.
Inside the armored pod rested a central core — a modular handle, dark silver with shifting glyphs along the grip. Four smaller pieces hovered inside containment rings around it, each shaped like a different segment of a bladed weapon.
Her right hand extended.
The spear in her grip deconstructed itself into orbiting segments and fell behind her — no longer needed. They floated back into the magnetic sheath on her lower back.
New connection established.
The Multi-Morph weapon hovered forward. The handle clicked into her palm. Pieces unfolded from around it — forming a long weapon spine that shimmered with potential. The four morph forms remained floating.
She chose none.
Not yet.
The knights moved.
Noctis raised his blade.
The space around him warped — then collapsed inward.
The street bent. Entire lanes folded.
He stepped forward. Gravity condensed beneath his feet.
Sir Vael vanished.
The air behind Aya shimmered.
Strike.
She pivoted, raised the handle. One of the morph pieces — a rotating disc-blade — locked into place just as his sword came down.
Clash. No light. No sparks. Only pressure.
The air behind her collapsed from the force.
Another morph piece snapped forward — a crescent axe-head this time. Spun mid-defense. Countered.
Vael retreated, and the Multi-Morph retracted.
Noctis had already reached full charge.
He slammed the cleaver into the street.
The ground didn't break.
It inverted.
A crater was born instantly — not from impact, but implosion.
Aya was pulled forward — boots dragging. She rotated mid-air, thrust the hilt behind her.
The third morph clicked. A long lance.
She launched forward—straight through the distortion field. Debris peeled around her.
The lance struck Noctis's blade.
Two singularities clashed.
A detonation of negative force erupted — stone turned to dust mid-air, cars thrown a hundred meters. The drone that had delivered the weapon disintegrated.
From the smoke, Aya landed low, shoulder torn. Blood streamed down her sleeve.
Her hand clicked a command into the weapon.
Fourth morph initiated.
The head of the weapon retracted. In its place: twin-linked edges, like twin blades connected at a rotating core. Her body locked into a circular spin — each strike sweeping a 270° arc.
Sir Vael blinked again.
He appeared mid-attack. Too close.
He was caught.
Blade met flesh.
A shriek of cracking armor. Sparks exploded.
Sir Vael flipped backward — shoulder armor cleaved open. Left arm glitching.
Aya didn't pause.
The handle reversed.
All four morphs began to orbit around her like satellites.
Full Sync Mode was building.
And the knights had just realized—
She was no longer holding a weapon.
She was the weapon.
Wind had vanished.
Not stilled — erased.
The courtyard no longer obeyed weather, gravity, or sound. What remained was distortion. Space twisted around three figures caught in a closed system of violence.
The knights stood—damaged, but fully functional.
Sir Noctis's gravitational cleaver spun beside him, orbiting his arm like a satellite weapon. Micro-wells of singularity collapsed into themselves at his feet.
Sir Vael shimmered beside him, wounded but flickering—his frame destabilized between coordinates. Fragments of his helmet cracked like obsidian glass. Light bled through the gaps in pulses, not beams.
They stood aligned.
Aya stood alone.
The Multi-Morph System hovered around her in four parts. One morph active in-hand: the dual-blade form spinning slowly. The others remained in orbit: spearhead, axe crescent, rail lance. The central handle burned white-hot in her palm. Heat levels critical. Armored glove half-vaporized.
Her body trembled.
Not from weakness. From energy bleed.
Every pulse from the Multi-Morph's core fed directly into her neural spine. Her muscles locked. Bone density readjusted. The suit adapted by liquefying microfibers into structural support.
The mask, cracked down the center, now pulsed with a clean, stable glow.
And then—
Noctis moved.
Forward.
Not charging.
Falling.
Gravity collapsed beneath him, and he was launched— downward — only to redirect it instantly toward her position. His weapon spun beside him, space warping.
Vael blinked.
He emerged behind her—blades drawn for a synchronized kill.
This was the moment.
Aya didn't flinch.
Two orbiting morphs rotated at full speed — then fired. One forward. One behind.
The lance hit Noctis mid-fall, right between shoulder and neck. A gravity spike detonated, locking him in place, his entire body suspended in a crushing hold.
Behind her, the axe-form curved around her spine — just as Vael struck.
The blade intercepted his first saber. The second cut her side.
Aya pivoted into the pain.
The dual-blade in her hand activated.
It rotated at 12,000 RPM — not for cutting. For displacement. Space was shredded. Her strike passed through air and landed on Vael's torso.
Not a cut.
A tear.
His core flickered.
She stepped forward.
Noctis struggled above — trying to resist the lance's crush. But the morph systems had synced. The full set created a closed gravitational loop. The space between them locked.
Aya looked up.
Spun the central handle once.
Then thrust it into the ground.
System Overdrive: Multi-Morph Terminal Pulse — Executed.
All four weapon forms slammed together — then exploded outward in synchronized burst patterns. The lance discharged a gravity well. The axe collapsed inertia. The spear scattered momentum. The dual-blade fractured space.
Both knights were hit simultaneously.
Noctis folded inward. Armor compacted to a core point—then vanished.
Vael convulsed — light bleeding from every seam—before he, too, shattered into fragments of data and melted steel.
Silence.
The Multi-Morph system flickered once—then shut down, pieces falling in a smoking ring around her.
Aya remained standing.
Mask broken fully in two, one half falling to the ground. Her lip was bleeding. Eyes half-lidded. Breathing ragged.
The HUD showed nothing.
No lifeforms remaining.
No reinforcements inbound.
The mission was complete.
And she hadn't even spoken.
Not once.