Rovan signaled once with two fingers.
Move.
Izan flowed forward, dropping the rest of his weight and rolling into a low crouch. Sand-stained stone pressing against his gauntlets. The seal mark placed on his sternum tightened as his breathing shifted.
Nearly a year bearing it had taught him what resistance was like; it was as if a weighted vest had been placed upon him, waiting to be unleashed when he had enough control over his Axiom.
Below them, torchlight painted the interior walls in an uneven gold color: a converted old military base, half swallowed by the desert. Old city masonry reinforced with newer steel braces. Whoever was the boss invested a lot in holding this former outpost.
Two guards stood at the lower landing. Both wearing armor, well-crafted, definitely from a city-state. One was leaning on a spear, relaxed but still alert.
Izan's instincts urged him to attack as quickly as possible, ending that plan before the thought finished forming.
Deciding to take a simpler approach, he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and went three steps down, letting the gauntlets guide his balance. Rovan hadn't taught him how to fight harder. He'd taught him how to fight efficiently.
The first guard turned.
Izan crossed the space in a single breath, his shoulder dipping as his left hand caught the spear shaft. He stepped inside the guard's reach and drove an elbow to the man's throat.
Bone cracked. The guard dropped soundlessly.
The second had reacted faster, blade flashing up toward Izan's body.
Too fast.
Izan felt the Axiom surging, and then it stopped.d
The seal cut the flow short. Just enough energy to use it without the drawback.
He pivoted, edging the blade scrape across the reinforced edge of his gauntlet, sparks flashing. His right fist came up in a tight arc, Axiom bleeding through.
Red lightning snapped once.
Red Lightning: Thunder Flash
Not a blast. A pulse.
The punch landed square in the guard's chest. The man flew back, hitting the wall and slumping unconscious. Smoke curled faintly from his armor seams.
Izan exhaled slowly, controlling his breathing.
Behind him, Cael stepped down from the upper ledge, eyes flicking over the bodies. He gave a short nod of approval, maybe, or maybe just acknowledging that nothing had gone wrong.
"Nice work, I would have done much better, but still good," Cael said.
Izan didn't look at him. "Always hating, do you ever get tired of forcing the edginess?"
Cael chuckled and walked past with Rovan descending last, the heavy iron anchor across his back shifting with each step. The weapon was absurdly large for an enclosed space, yet it never seemed to scrape stone; its seals carved along its flukes glimmered faintly.
The interior opened into a wide chamber once meant for caravans and supply wagons. Crates were stacked along the walls, marked with sigils Izan didn't recognize but felt uneasy about. There were three exits and an elevated walkway above them.
"Way too many angles," Izan said under his breath.
A shout rang out.
Steel was clashing above as a guard spotted them and raised the alarm. Crossbows snapped into position along the upper ledge.
"DOWN!" Rovan said.
Izan's instincts took over, and he sprinted towards the danger.
Bolts tore through the air, one skimming his shoulder close enough to tear cloth. He vaulted a crate and rolled and was beneath the walkway supports.
The seal started tugging at him as he leapt.
Internal Art: Ken
His fist became an enhanced Axiom flowing through them. The fist struck the stone pillar. The energy split and grounded, the shock traveling through the supports.
The walkway shuddered.
Two guards lost their footing and fell hard. Armor clanging as they hit the floor. One didn't move.
Izan landed among them; his breath was steady, his vision sharp.
He saw that Cael was moving his blade, flashing in tight arcs. No wasted motion. No flair.
Rovan never rushed; he planted his foot and threw his anchor; it rippled like the water itself. The seals' invisible pressure binds the remaining guards in place. It locked joints and froze limbs.
The fight had ended as quickly as it began.
"They're holding someone below."
Izan frowned. "You still haven't told us who she is."
Rovan looked at him then, eyes steady. "A princess. But don't think of her as one."
They descended into the lower vault.
The room was small but reinforced heavily. One person sat bound at the center. A young lady composed with sharp but judging eyes.
She met Rovan's gaze first.
"You're late," she said.
Izan whispered into Cael's ear, "This is my first time meeting a princess. Are they all like this?"
"I dunno, this is my first time also, although I expected her to be more damsel in distress, to be honest."
Her eyes shifted to Izan, lingering on the gauntlets, the faint red trace beneath his tan skin. Interest flickered.
"This extraction," Rovan said, "doesn't end your danger."
"I'm aware." The princess said. "Although I would rather be in danger inside my castle than here in a rundown ruin."
Above them, metal rang faintly, movement in the ruins beyond.
Cael glanced toward the sound. 'We've got company."
Rovan's grip tightened on the anchor. "Then we move."
Izan stepped forward as the doors began to break.