Sylira pressed her back against the broken wall, her breathing shallow, hands trembling though she tried to keep them steady. The battlefield before her unfolded like a nightmare she could not wake from.
Adam lunged again, his skin rippling, bones cracking as he drew upon the wild strength of beast after beast. Don fought with a grim steadiness, his strikes deliberate, the kind of skill born from years of preparation.
Wing's bullets curved with impossible precision, each shot meant to close off an escape route, each pull of the trigger calculated beforehand. And yet, none of it mattered.
The Assassin moved through them like a shadow with a blade, never once breaking rhythm. Every parry, every strike, every narrow dodge was fluid, effortless. He didn't just fight with them, he was playing with them.
His laughter echoed each time his blade traced another line of blood, each time he slipped past Adam's strikes or Wing's shots, each time Don's blade scraped against his own scars as though they were relics he wore proudly.
Sylira's stomach churned.
She had thought she was strong, that she had earned her right to be with the strongest in the Badlands. Thought she could keep up with monsters like these. But standing here, watching three of the people she could barely compete with in a duel being met with mockery, she realized something.
They were nothing but toys to him, and that she was nothing but a pawn he had used for it to be that way. Her chest tightened as shame crept through her bones. Every instinct screamed at her to run, vanish into the alleys and abandon the madness she had stepped into.
But she couldn't, her legs refused to move. All she could do was stare at The Assassin's burned face twisted in cruel delight, and the men who dared stand against him being dragged, piece by piece, into despair.
For the first time in years, Sylira felt powerless.
In that moment, her eyes landed on Thorne. He looked unshaken despite the chaos, leaning against the crumbled wall like none of this horror mattered. Her throat was dry, but the words clawed out anyway.
"Was I... in the wrong?" Her voice cracked, catching his attention. "All this time, following them, thinking I was enough. Watching them fight like they still believe, while I just... stand here, frozen."
Her hands shook harder, shame crawling through her chest. "I thought I could matter, Thorne. I thought, maybe I was strong enough. But I was wrong. Wasn't I?" Thorne's gaze held hers. Patient and weary, but never judging.
"There are no wrongs or rights set in stone, girl." His words came low, like distant thunder. "Sometimes, the world doesn't hand you a path marked correct. Sometimes, all that it gives you is a choice."
Sylira felt the weight of his words, heavier than any blade. "So what am I supposed to choose?" she whispered, eyes burning as The Assassin's laughter carved into her ears.
Thorne let out a slow breath, his figure seeming to ripple in the smoke and flickering light. "You don't choose for them. You choose for yourself. Decide who you want to be, even if it damns you. Because that choice is the only thing the world cannot take from you."
The Assassin's laughter rang sharp against the clash of steel. Adam's body tore and stitched itself back together again and again, Don's blade carved wild arcs fueled by obsession, while Wing's bullets curved through smoke only to graze instead of pierce.
And then, another voice cut into the battlefield. It was calm and cold, almost mocking.
"Well, isn't this lovely?"
All four of them froze for a heartbeat. From the shadowed edge of the broken street, a figure emerged. Cloaked in black and silver, his movements unhurried, like a man arriving late to a play he already knew the ending of.
The Assassin glanced at him, his grin widening. "Sirius. Took your sweet time getting here, huh?" Wing stiffened at the sight of him. His gun lowered an inch as his eyes locked onto the man's face, memories of the attack flooding back.
"...I know him, he's one of the two infiltrators." Wing said, catching the attention of Don and Sylira. "Our best marksman died by him, be careful." His teeth clenched, still remembering their first interaction.
The Assassin licked his lips, blood still glistening on his teeth as he twirled his blade lazily between his fingers. He looked at Sirius the way a wild dog might look at his handler.
"You see this, Sirius?" he barked, jerking his scarred chin toward Adam, Don, and Wing, their chests heaving, sweat and blood dripping into the dirt. "It's already over. They're dancing on strings, and I'm the one pulling them tight."
He spread his arms, burns twisting grotesquely under the dim light, his scars like a map of every explosion and shard that had ever kissed his flesh. "I've waited years for this moment. Years! And now, I've got it served to me on a silver platter."
Sirius' expression barely shifted. His voice came low, "What you're doing is extremely pointless, but I don't really care as long as I don't have to do any extra work. And right now, I barely even have to lift a finger."
The Assassin chuckled darkly, eyes alight. "Ha! Call it what you like, Sirius. But all I care about is the moment their last bit of hope snaps." He leaned forward, his grin stretching wider as his gaze locked onto Don. "It always happens eventually."
It was at that moment when the world turned white. Elion's light broke across the battlefield like a sun tearing through the earth itself, a tidal wave of radiance that swallowed shadow and form alike.
Heat washed over them, blistering, oppressive and consuming. The Assassin hissed, covering his face instinctively. Even Sirius tilted his head back with narrowed eyes, his expression tightening ever so slightly at the brilliance tearing through the night.
For a second, none of them could see each other, only silhouettes thrashing in a sea of burning light. "Don!" Wing's voice cut through the roar, panicked, but the reply never came.
Sylira stumbled back, the ground splitting beneath her feet, swallowed by the smoke and brilliance. Adam gritted her teeth, regenerating wounds faster than ever, but even he lost his balance in the chaos.
And then–
From within that inferno came a different glow.
A golden flame, softer yet infinitely heavier, descended from the sky. Sparks rained down like living embers, drifting through the broken sky until they reached the battlefield below.
Each ember found its mark, choosing their bearers one by one.
The first ember struck Don. He staggered, his hands clenching as warmth spread across his chest and skull. It didn't feel as if he was being consumed by the fire, rather, but like he was being accepted by it.
For years Don had been fighting, his determination unwavering as he continued to chase for what he believed in. His hunt was long and tolling, but as the golden mark seared into his forehead, the weight in his heart eased.
The second ember struck Wing. He recoiled violently, almost dropping his manifested gun as the brand burned into him. His breath came fast, panicked. This light was sudden, an uninvited guest to his body.
For a man who bent bullets to his will, who prided himself on shaping the outcomes he wished with his ability to predict with precision, this uncertain factor scared him. Fear sank deep into him, the thoughts of what it could possibly be doing tormented him.
The third ember landed upon Sylira. She was already collapsed on her knees, the golden spark shattering something inside her chest. Every crack in her being, every doubt, every self-condemnation from her failures…
It was as if she was broken, laid bare before the fire. The ember did not strike them like the others however, but slowly entered. The fire filled the cracks with warmth, knitting her back together stronger than before.
The last ember struck Adam. His body jerked, his regeneration soaring to new heights as if the golden flame had unlocked something sleeping within him. His wounds began to heal faster, limbs surged with strength he hadn't felt before.
The golden brand burned on his forehead, and Adam could feel that its presence wasn't something normal. He could sense as though the brand was a powerful being, something that shouldn't be taken lightly.
The Assassin staggered, glaring up, his lips curling into a snarl. "What, what is this?!" Sirius said nothing. His gaze was fixed on the sky, where the last remnants of golden fire burned against the overwhelming white, defiant, unyielding.
The faint glow of Pheo's golden surge still shimmered above them. To most, it was a moment frozen in awe. But to Sirius, it stretched like an eternity. He exhaled sharply, impatient.
"Enough," he snapped, words spilling like bullets. His gaze shot to the assassin, sharp and unblinking. "You can't waste time on pride. Not what that flame loose. If you want this over, you fight with all of us. Now."
The Assassin tilted his head, amusement flickering. "Tch. Fight with them? You want me to dirty my blade beside yours? I don't–"
"Spare me," Sirius cut him off, voice like a knife. He stepped closer, fast, every movement brisk, carrying urgency. "You will lose if you keep playing. That light isn't something to be taken lightly. And frankly, it's a sign of the work to come."
"If you keep circling in your pride, they're going to continue sharpening themselves under it. Do you understand what that means? Every second you waste gloating over them is another second of their lives extended."
The Assassin's sneer deepened, but Sirius didn't give him room to breathe. "Don and Wing, fine. Go and claim your long awaited revenge on them, drag them to hell and back for all I care. But you finish this now, or you'll have nothing left to fight for."
For a moment, The Assassin's silence was heavy. Then, at last, his lips curled in a feral grin. "...Fine. Don and Wing are mine and mine along. No one touches them but me. In turn, you can take the reins."
"Don't fall behind." Sirius said, tone almost mocking. He was already turning, moving, walking straight towards enemy lines. It angered The Assassin how lightly he took him for, but he didn't want to spoil his revenge over something so trivial.
He didn't hesitate. His feet carried him forward with sharp, efficient steps, every stride led him towards Adam. He was barely able to turn his head before Sirius was right in front of him, his arm driving deep into his ribs with a force that cracked the bone.
The air shook from the blow. Adam staggered, lips curling in a sharp hiss as he felt something shatter inside him. But before Sirius even drew back for the next strike, the fracture knitted.
His flesh began to mend itself, his bone sealing within seconds. "You..." Adam muttered, steadying himself. "You don't like taking short walks in the park, do you?"
Sirius didn't answer. Words wasted seconds, and seconds for him weren't as fast as it would be for others. Instead, he struck again. His elbow, his palms, knees, one after another, each hit fluid and relentless, like a flowing river.
Adam absorbed it, each and every hit. Bruises forming and bones cracking, gone within seconds. Each strike Sirius made was erased as quicky as it had landed. Still, the pain was real, and so was the pressure.
Sirius was fighting like a man burning alive, attacking not with rage but with impossible proficiency, as though the man in front of Adam was someone who had all the time in the world to prepare for this very moment.
But Adam smiled. A bloodied smile, cruel in its persistence. "You ran out of luck, picking me." This time, he lunged. Catching Sirius' arm mid strike, twisting it, and slamming a punch into the side of his jaw.
Sirius' head snapped, but his feet never faltered. He moved forward, another strike already chambered. The hit made Adam stagger back a step, his ribs cracked but healing again within seconds.
"I want you to guess..." he rasped, wiping blood off his chin. "Why do you think I've been cornered all this time tonight?" Sirius didn't stop moving. His fist was already aimed for Adam's throat, words sliding out with the same speed as his blows.
"Because being a Black Ace does not define your strength being above others, but that you're selfish. Dangerous only to yourself and those around you. That's all." The strike connected, Adam's head snapping sideways, jaw crunching, then reshaping instantly.
He straightened, laughing through the sting, low and hoarse. "You're wrong." His voice dropped, tone carrying a weight Sirius couldn't ignore. "It was this city." Sirius' eyes narrowed, steps faltering for just a fraction.
Adam kept talking, his body already shifting. "The City's complex and cramped structure kept me from moving the way I wanted to. But now that light has destroyed most of the area…"
His skin rippled, something clicking beneath the surface. His arms flexed unnaturally, muscle twisting into segmented layers, his back shuddering as plates began to harden like chitin.
His eyes gleamed with a darker glow, and the faint hiss of mandibles echoed as if hidden behind his teeth. "Let me show you what happens when I start fighting normally." He whispered, voice reverberating with something no longer entirely human.
A spike of serrated bone tore from his forearm like a mantis' scythe, slicing the air with an insectile hiss. His stance lowered, movements becoming sharper as his body now mimicked the precision of predators not bound by human form.
Sirius pressed forward, faster than thought, his fists blurring into Adam's frame. Each blow was meant to overwhelm, cracking each time it landed, but Adam didn't break. He moved differently now, his body flowing like something caught between species, every strike met with an adaptation that felt alien.
Sirius' fist came down, but Adam's arm had already reshaped, its surface this time was gleaming with the iridescent hardness of beetle shell. The punch landed, but the chitin barely dented.
Before Sirius was able to recoil, Adam's other hand elongated, joints snapping into sharp, curved hooks like a mantis' scythe, slicing toward him in a sudden vertical slash. Sirius ducked, but Adam didn't relent.
His body twitched, shoulders convulsing as translucent wings sprouted from his back, buzzing with an ear-splitting hum. Adam darted upward, evading Sirius' counterstrike, then dive-bombed like a hornet, his feet tearing cracks into the earth as he landed.
Sirius skidded back, eyes narrowing. It was then that he had realized his gift was the only thing allowing him to survive against Adam now. But it wasn't enough to land a killing blow.
Adam's jaw unhinged slightly, his teeth splitting into chattering mandibles before snapping back human. A thick, acid mist spewed from his mouth like a chemical spray. The ground sizzled, smoke curling where it touched.
Sirius was barely able to twist out of range, the edge of his coat eaten away. Adam straightened, eyes burning with a manic focus. His skin rippled once more, compound eyes flickering across his face for only an instant, then vanishing.
"You see it now?" Adam said, his voice distorted, layered with the hum of insects. "Choosing to fight me was choosing a fight where you had to fight against everything. I am every weapon this world has ever created."
He thrust out a hand, and barbed spines erupted from his wrist like a centipede's legs, lashing toward Sirius. At the same time, his other arm had already bulked into the crushing force of a rhinoceros beetle's horn, swinging down with terrifying weight.
And for the first time, Sirius had to dodge and defend at once.