Mio
The elf had been faster than anything Mio had ever fought.
Faster than Mori. Faster than the daemon. Sixteen kicks in four seconds, armless the whole time, and she'd never seen a single one coming. The woman had taken her apart like she was made of paper — ribs, spine, knees, sternum. Clinical and efficient, a veteran dismantling a child.
If the woman had wanted her dead, she would have died three times over before she hit the ground.
But she hadn't finished it.
Why?
The question sat in her chest while the fire roared. The oil from the convoy had spread further than she'd thought — half the clearing was burning now, black smoke climbing toward those three wrong moons. The woman had walked into the flames like she was going home. No answer came. No answer would ever come.
[Status: Grievous Wound — Healing Negated (0:09)]
