The night drew tight around the camp like a bowstring ready to snap. Every bandit stood frozen, their earlier bravado stripped clean. The only sound was the soft drip of blood from Doyle's sword, tapping against the dirt in a steady rhythm: tak… tak… tak…
The Boss stepped forward, boots sinking deep into blood-soaked soil. His presence thickened the air, making it harder to breathe. He rolled his neck once, muscles bunching under scarred skin, then spun the axe in a lazy circle that promised ruin.
Doyle shifted his stance, weight balanced, blade raised. His eyes locked on his opponent's with the same calm intensity as before, but now a flicker of caution danced within them. Even Doyle knew this wouldn't be easy.
For a long heartbeat, neither man moved. The air itself seemed to wait for blood to fall.
Then, with no warning, they clashed.
The Boss swung his axe in a vicious arc, brute force meant to cleave Doyle in two. Doyle ducked low, sliding under the swing and slashing upward, only for the Boss to twist unnaturally fast for his size, haft blocking the strike with a metallic clang that rang through the clearing.
Blades screeched, sparks flying as steel met steel. Doyle struck in rapid flurries, feet light on blood-slick ground, searching for an opening. The Boss countered each one with terrifying precision, raw strength making every parry feel like it could shatter bone. When his axe came down, the ground trembled. One missed strike buried the blade half a foot into the dirt, and Doyle barely twisted away before it rebounded toward his ribs.
I gripped the bars of the cage so hard rust cut my palms. My breath came shallow, my pulse a frantic drumbeat in my ears. The other captives stared wide-eyed, caught between hope and terror.
Then something shifted.
The Boss straightened mid-swing, a guttural growl ripping from his throat. A dark pressure rolled off him in waves, heavy enough that even the watching bandits staggered back. The air warped around his hulking frame, like heat over a forge but colder, sharper, something primal and violent. Resolve made manifest, the will of a man who had walked through death and learned to drag it behind him.
"Henry," Mnex hissed inside my mind, for once without a trace of sarcasm, "that's no ordinary thug. His Resolve is drowning the field. Doyle's focus is cracking under it."
Doyle's own aura flared, a raw, cutting edge of willpower that made my teeth ache. The clearing turned into a storm front of clashing spirits, the weight of two killers locking horns.
The Boss grinned, feral and broken. "Finally," he rumbled, swinging the axe onto his shoulder like it weighed nothing. "A fight worth my time."
Doyle adjusted his grip, eyes never leaving his opponent. This was no game. This was survival.
The campfire's crackle faded to nothing as all eyes locked on the center of the blood-soaked clearing. Doyle moved first, fast and silent, sword flashing like a phantom blade. The Boss swung in a brutal arc, heavy yet precise, a promise of death in every strike. When steel met steel, the clash rang through the night like a war bell.
Doyle slipped back, boots finding balance on muddy ground. The Boss, despite his drunken sway, never faltered. Resolve burned away pain and hesitation alike. Another overhead strike came, fast and savage. Doyle sidestepped, blade skimming the axe handle and cutting deep across the man's ribs. Blood sprayed, yet the Boss only growled, his aura holding his body together through sheer force of will.
"Not bad," the man rasped, voice thick and dangerous. "But not nearly enough."
Then steel and iron collided again, each impact like thunder. The Boss came on like an avalanche, every swing meant to kill in one blow. Doyle flowed like water, narrowly escaping death with each breath. Sparks flared, metal clanged, sweat and blood thickened the air.
Clang! Sword and axe locked, sliding apart in a shower of sparks. Thud! Doyle's kick forced the giant a step back. Crack! The Boss dropped his axe mid-swing and threw a fist, Resolve surging through it. Doyle ducked, blade singing upward to carve a deep gash across the man's shoulder. Blood fountained, but the Boss only grinned wider, aura growing heavier, warping the earth underfoot.
For a moment, it felt like Doyle might win. His blade slipped past the Boss's guard, cutting deep. The larger man grunted, stumbled half a step…
…and that was when it happened.
A blur of movement at the edge of the circle. One of the bandits, a rat-faced coward who hadn't dared face Doyle head on earlier, crept closer under the weight of the Boss's overwhelming Resolve pressing on Doyle's senses. With his focus split, Doyle never saw the strike coming.
Steel hissed.
Blood sprayed.
The cut ran from Doyle's left shoulder to his lower back, a deep, ugly line that painted his tunic crimson. His breath left him in a sharp gasp, stance faltering under the pain. A strangled sound escaped his throat as he drove his sword into the dirt just to stay upright. Resolve flickered, unbroken but shaken.
"Doyle!" The name tore from my throat before I realized I'd shouted it. Chains bit my skin, helplessness burning hotter than any flame that had ever touched me.
The Boss barked a laugh, cruel and triumphant. "That's more like it!" He raised his axe high, ready to end the fight.
Doyle twisted at the last second, barely rolling away, slower now, one hand clutching his bleeding side. Blood slicked the ground beneath him.
"Henry. If you don't break those chains now," Mnex's voice snapped, "you won't just watch them kill him, you'll watch them kill everyone."
Rage and fear slammed into me. I stopped thinking, stopped hesitating. Mana surged wild and furious, hotter than fire, wilder than thought, burning down my veins toward the trembling chains. It wasn't just magic anymore, it was desperation dragging every last drop of power out of me.
Purple flames roared to life, seething and violent. The chains screamed as they melted, dripping molten metal onto the dirt. The bars followed, collapsing in sizzling chunks at my feet.
Something inside me broke.
Doyle's cry still echoed in my ears, his fall replaying in my mind. There was no plan now, no reason, no restraint. Only rage.
The next spear of flame was born in my palm, seething violet fire humming with hunger. I didn't shout, didn't think, I threw. It tore the air apart with a howl, skewering three men in one merciless shot. Blood sprayed like spilled wine, bodies dropping lifeless before they turned to ash.
Another spear formed, larger, darker. I hurled it into a crowd, watching it erupt mid-flight. A wave of violet fire rolled over them, their screams strangled as flesh blackened.
Someone charged me with a sword. I met him with a flash of violet steel, the conjured spear punching through his chest and out his back. His eyes froze in shock before the light left them and the flames consumed him.
"Henry…" Mnex's voice trembled, raw fear in its edges. "You're burning too hot. This power, it's unstable."
I didn't hear. Didn't care. Doyle's blood stained the earth. These men would not breathe another second. Not while I stood.
One bandit dropped to his knees, begging for his life. I looked him in the eyes and felt… nothing. A flick of my finger, a small ember of flame, and his pleas ended in fire.
Breath heaving, mana surging like molten glass in my veins, I ripped another spear from the mind world. This one I didn't throw. I stabbed the closest man through the neck, spun, and hurled another into the belly of the next. The camp became a slaughterhouse, purple fire painting everything in shades of death.
Screams faded, replaced by silence and the reek of burning flesh. My reflection in a pool of blood glowed violet. Those eyes weren't mine anymore. Something deep inside had awakened and it was starving.
Boss still stood. Axe planted in the dirt, his grin feral, his eyes alight with savage thrill. "So the little kitten has claws," he taunted. "Good. Let's see what you've really got."
I tried to summon another spear, but my mana flickered, red bleeding into purple flames. Power slipped like water through my fingers. My chest burned, vision tilting. Still, I refused to stop.
"Henry, enough!" Mnex roared. "Doyle's alive but if you keep this up, neither of you will be for long!"
I ignored him, forcing one last surge of power. My flames guttered, unstable, trembling on my fingertips. Boss stepped closer, every stride a quake in the earth, Resolve pressing like a tombstone.
"You killed my men," he growled, smile stretching wolfish. "But I'm not them."
I didn't answer. Just shaped one final, feeble spear. My breath rasped, body screaming for mercy I wouldn't give it.
Resolve rolled off the Boss like a tidal wave, pressing me to my knees. He swung, axe hungry for my life. I threw my last spear, missed. It exploded uselessly, purple fire clawing skyward.
Boss closed the distance in a blink. His weapon screamed past my head, wind sharp enough to cut. Reaching deep, past pain, past fear, past reason, I dragged the last drop of mana from my mind world. Ice cracked under his boots, freezing him in place for a heartbeat, a desperate, untamed flicker of power I didn't even know I had.
It was all I needed.
With a snarl, I shaped a final, weak, flickering spear of red flame and drove it forward. The steel tip pierced armor, sinking deep. Boss's eyes widened, breath choking as blood frothed from his mouth. His axe slipped from his fingers, hitting the earth with a dull thud.
He collapsed to his knees, glaring up at me with fury and disbelief before falling face-first into the dirt.
I staggered back, lungs aflame, vision tunneling. The last of my power guttered out, leaving only exhaustion and pain. My knees hit the ground. Around me, nothing moved but smoke and dying embers. Doyle still breathed, barely. The captives stared, some in horror, some in fragile hope.
It was over. Finally over.
The world tilted. Mnex's voice was distant, muffled, like he was speaking through water. I couldn't make out the words.
Darkness swallowed me whole.
"Congratulations, hero," Mnex whispered, fading with me. "You survived… this time."