Rain pounded the battlefield in relentless sheets, drenching the earth in darkness and fury. Lightning carved through the sky in jagged flashes, momentarily casting light on the ruined landscape where the Valkyrie strike team stood face to face with Pria.
Val moved first.
Her sword gleamed like sunlight piercing through storm clouds, and in a breath, she closed the gap between them. Her blade sang through the rain in a wide, arcing slash aimed straight for Pria's chest—but the woman twisted, her movement serpent-smooth, evading the strike by the narrowest margin.
Cici attacked next, darting in from the flank, hands slicing the air with ritual precision. Pillars of jagged ice erupted around Pria with a violent crack, fencing her in. Each shard pointed inward, a glacial maw ready to snap shut.
From the outer ring, Malayna raised her arms. Thin, high-pressure streams of water surged forward, weaving through the icy gaps and slicing toward Pria's legs with lethal intent.
CRACK!
Ai followed. Lightning exploded from her palms, lancing into the water. The streams shimmered, then detonated with raw voltage, transforming into a net of charged destruction.
Overhead, Kalanie ascended atop platforms of diamond, each step materializing beneath her feet midair. From her vantage, she hurled crystalline spears downward in rapid volleys, aiming for every exposed angle.
Below, the mud shifted. Lava veins churned beneath the ground, creeping in silence.
Parka's molten rivers, guided by her will, moved beneath the surface like serpents. At any moment, they were ready to erupt.
Araya stood further back, eyes sharp and focused, reading the battlefield like a seasoned general. She manipulated the winds, conjuring razor-sharp gusts to funnel Pria into the traps forming around her.
The Valkyries didn't speak. They didn't have to.
Their coordination was flawless—a divine choreography of frost, flame, storm, and steel.
Then came Pria's answer.
Flames erupted from her body, vaporizing the nearest streams of water. The heat clashed against the rain in a shriek of steam—but the lingering charge remained, electricity snapping in the air, biting at her defenses.
Val struck again.
Pria raised a wall of fire, but Kalanie's diamond spear sliced through the edge of her guard, catching her shoulder and staggering her mid-deflection.
The battlefield blurred into steam and slivers of ice, an endless collision of opposing forces.
Parka's molten trap erupted upward.
Pria leapt to avoid it—
—but Araya was ready. A concussive gust slammed into Pria midair, hurling her straight back down into the kill zone.
Val was waiting. Her blade descended in a radiant arc, cleaving into Pria's guard and forcing her back.
Malayna and Cici moved as one, freezing whole swaths of falling rain and directing them downward like sharpened daggers. Ai's lightning leapt from ice to ice, weaving a web of divine fury that lit the storm in flashes.
Kalanie launched another barrage, diamond projectiles angling from every side. Pria's defenses strained under the pressure, her focus spread thin.
The earth trembled. The storm screamed.
Still—she endured.
Pria's flames intensified, coiling into weapons of pure heat. She countered with blazing bursts, shattering ice, melting diamond, flooding every gap in their formation with fire.
And yet, the Valkyries pressed forward.
Cici slid across the battlefield's frozen edges, lungs burning. Malayna summoned a barrier of spiraling water to protect her flank.
Ai moved like lightning incarnate—striking, vanishing, striking again. Her presence was a constant disruption.
Kalanie built new diamond constructs mid-battle, shielding allies from Pria's counters with unthinking instinct.
Val and Parka took the front line, unshaken, matching Pria blow for blow.
They moved like warriors who had fought together for years.
Like sisters.
But Pria—Pria was a monster.
Her attacks sharpened. Her fire swelled. Her confidence grew.
Inch by inch, she pushed them back.
Eventually, the Valkyries regrouped around a shallow crater, steam rising from their armor, breath ragged. The downpour soaked them to the bone, but their focus never left her.
Pria stepped forward through the rain, slow and deliberate. Fire clung to her form, hissing in defiance of the storm.
"You really thought…" she said softly, "…that this was enough?"
Val didn't respond, but her grip tightened around her sword. Her body was ready to move again.
Pria's smile curled, almost amused. "This was fun," she added. "But I have orders."
Araya's voice rang through the storm, fierce and sharp.
"Don't you dare run from me!"
Pria glanced back, fire flickering in her eyes like laughter.
"Run?" she said, turning to face them fully. "I wasn't even taking this fight seriously."
The words stopped Araya in her tracks.
Val narrowed her eyes. "You're lying."
Pria's grin deepened. "Maybe twenty-five percent effort, at best. Embarrassing that you didn't notice."
Cici staggered back a step. "That's… impossible."
"You expect us to believe that?!" Araya shouted, rage bleeding into every word.
Pria shrugged, unbothered. "I don't care what you believe. Next time—bring Fyla. Maybe then I'll take you seriously."
Then, in a flash of fire, she vanished.
A pillar of flame surged skyward, leaving behind only smoke, ash, and silence.
Her voice echoed through the vapor one last time—
"See ya."
Araya collapsed to her knees.
Her fist slammed into the ground with a thunderous CRACK!
Shockwaves spiderwebbed through the mud, a physical burst of her frustration.
"Ugh!!" she roared, breathless, the rain doing nothing to cool her fury.
Parka was there instantly, kneeling beside her, one hand steady on her shoulder.
"It's okay," she said quietly, her voice a calming balm. "No one was seriously hurt."
Across the field, Cici reached Kalanie and gently took her by the arm.
"You alright?"
Kalanie nodded slowly, still catching her breath. "Yeah… I'm fine."
Cici let out a tired sigh, a faint smile breaking through. "Good."
Val stood apart from them, unmoving.
Her eyes were locked on the spot where Pria had vanished, where the flames had twisted skyward and dissolved into the storm.
"…It's starting to make sense now," she muttered, barely audible.
Parka turned. "What is?"
Cici blinked, still recovering. "Yeah, what are you talking about?"
Val's expression hardened. "That wasn't really her. I can't believe she's learned that."
Parka frowned. "You're not making sense."
Cici tilted her head. "Totally lost here."
"She made a flame body," Val said, clear now. "A copy. It wasn't her at all."
Araya's brows lifted. "A flame body? That's even possible?"
Val nodded slowly. "It's rare. Advanced. I've only ever seen Parka do something similar. But this… it makes sense. She created a decoy. Sent it to fight us while she stayed safe—somewhere else."
Parka folded her arms, brow furrowed. "I can manipulate lava into a vessel, sure—but not like that. That thing felt real."
"So why send a fake?" Cici asked. "What's the point?"
Araya's eyes dropped in thought. "Maybe… it was a distraction."
Cici looked around the ruined field, unease growing. "From what?"
No one answered.
Val stared into the distance, her voice low and unsettled.
"…I don't know."
The rain deepened.
Thunder rumbled overhead.
Kalanie leaned into Cici, breathing slow.
Parka and Val exchanged a grim look.
Araya rose to her feet, shoulders tense, fists clenched. Her eyes burned, not with defeat—but with resolve.
"If that wasn't her," Val thought, "then where is the real Pria?
And what is she after?"
The silence lingered.
Then, Araya broke it.
"This isn't over," she said flatly.
Parka nodded. "Next time, we bring her down."
"For now," Araya continued, "we regroup with Fyla. We need to know what she's learned."
She hesitated, then added, "Hopefully… she fared better than we did."
The scene shifted.
Rain fell harder now, turning the battlefield to mire. The wreckage stretched in all directions—swords broken, shields bent, smoke curling from scorched craters.
At the center knelt Fyla.
Her armor was battered and cracked, her body streaked with blood and mud. She leaned heavily on one arm, her entire frame shaking.
Rain poured down her face, mixing with something warmer—tears she could no longer hold back.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered. Her voice barely reached her own ears.
"I'm so sorry…"
The view pulled back.
Around her, two dozen Valkyries lay sprawled in the mud. Some groaned weakly. Others didn't move at all.
The storm swallowed their pain.
Fyla's shoulders trembled as she stared at her broken sisters.
"What have I done…?" she whispered, her voice cracking apart.
Then—
A shadow shifted.
A lone figure stepped forward, silent in the storm.
Sinso.
He stood untouched, his blade dripping red, armor gleaming with cruel perfection. He looked down on the scene like a god surveying fallen insects.
"This is the best the Valkyries could muster?" he said, voice like ice. "Pathetic."
Fyla raised her head slowly, her eyes cutting through the downpour.
"You… you've been toying with us…?"
Sinso turned slightly, not even meeting her eyes.
"Why," he said with chilling finality,
"…would I need to take you seriously?"
The words cut deeper than any blade.
Fyla's strength broke. Her arms gave out, her sword slipping from her fingers and vanishing into the mud.
Sinso turned without another glance.
No killing blow. No dramatic exit. Just contempt—
as he walked into the storm and disappeared.
Fyla remained, kneeling in silence, shoulders shaking.
Then her fist slammed into the earth.
"DAMN IT!!"
The mud erupted around her, veins of rage etched into the ground.
Thunder rolled across the sky.
And still—
the rain
kept
falling.