The situation Zephyr and Lennox found themselves in left them with almost no options. No clear path. Just bad choices dressed in different ways.
They could barely move. Every step had to be careful. Measured. If they moved too casually, the wind would catch them and throw them straight off the mountain. One slip, and it was over. No second chances. Just a long fall and instant elimination.
And the wind… it didn't rest. It pushed, pulled, howled around them like it had a mind of its own.
Then there was the Griffin.
It stayed above them, circling. Watching. Waiting.
Every now and then, it would dive. Fast. Sharp. Testing them. One mistake, just one, and it would come down fully.
The worst part? It wasn't just fast. The wind around it moved with it, like it carried its own storm. That alone made everything harder.
Still, even with all that stacked against them, Zephyr spoke like he had already decided something.
Something reckless.
"You want to fight the Griffin? How are we supposed to do that in this situation?" Lennox asked, his voice tight. He wasn't joking. He was waiting for something sensible.
Zephyr didn't hesitate.
"What are you saying? We have the ring. All I need is to get on the Griffin and draw some blood," he said, calm like this was a normal plan.
Lennox blinked.
That wasn't a plan. That was a gamble with a death wish.
Zephyr continued, already thinking ahead.
"With your ring, you won't feel pain. That means you can take the hit. You act as the distraction. Pull its attention. I get on it while it focuses on you."
Simple. Direct. Dangerous.
Lennox stared at him for a second, letting the words settle.
Then he shook his head immediately.
"No. That's not happening."
His answer came fast. Firm. No hesitation.
Because this wasn't strategy.
This was volunteering to be torn apart.
"I can't do that. You want me to go against that thing alone?" Lennox said, his voice sharp, almost cracking under the pressure.
"Not alone," Zephyr replied quickly. He didn't raise his voice, but there was urgency in it. "You know how your ring works. You know how mine works too."
Lennox frowned, but he listened.
"You won't feel the injuries," Zephyr continued. "No pain. No exhaustion. You can keep moving, no matter what it does to you. And after, you'll recover."
He paused, then tapped his own ring lightly.
"But me… I need beast blood. Without it, my ring is useless."
That was the trade.
Simple. Brutal. Effective.
Both of them had been given special rings. Not the kind you show off. The kind you survive with.
Lennox's ring was straightforward. Dangerous in its own way. It cut off pain. It dulled fatigue. It let the body keep going even when it should have stopped long ago.
Clifford had something similar. That kind of power always came with a hidden cost. The body pays later, even if the mind doesn't feel it now.
Zephyr's was different.
His ring needed a key.
Blood.
Not just any blood. Beast blood.
Once it had that, it could shift him. Turn him into whatever creature's blood it held. Strength, speed, instinct, all borrowed. All temporary.
Right now, he had nothing stored.
Which meant, right now, he had nothing.
Lennox swallowed.
He could understand the logic. It made sense. Clean. Straight to the point.
But understanding something didn't make it easier to accept.
'This is insane…' he thought.
His ring didn't take away fear. That part stayed. Sharp and clear.
And right now, fear was loud.
What Zephyr was asking… it wasn't just risky. It was stepping forward and letting a monster hit you first.
That went against every instinct he had.
Still, before he could say anything else, something shifted.
The air changed.
The wind pattern broke.
Both of them missed it.
The Griffin was no longer circling.
It had pulled away.
Farther out.
Silent for just a second.
Then it turned.
Its wings spread wide, cutting through the air. One heavy flap.
Then another.
And then—
It launched.
Fast.
Too fast.
It shot forward like a released arrow, slicing through the wind, heading straight for them.
Boom!
The Griffin slammed into the mountainside.
Rock shattered.
Dust burst outward.
The entire surface shook, the impact echoing through the air like thunder trapped in stone.
Zephyr and Lennox froze at the same time, their heads snapping upward.
They saw it.
The mark of impact.
A section of the mountain wall had caved in, chunks of rock breaking loose and falling apart in pieces. Dust spilled into the air, mixing with the already violent wind.
Debris came crashing down along the cliffside, but the wind twisted around it, dragging most of the falling rocks away from the narrow staircase platforms the two stood on.
For a brief moment, it looked like they got lucky.
Too lucky.
Then came the sound.
Crack.
It spread under their feet like a warning.
Both of them felt it.
The platform beneath Lennox shifted slightly. Then again.
More cracks appeared, thin at first, then growing, running across the surface like lines drawn by an unseen hand. They crawled under his boots, up to where his hand pressed against the ground to steady himself.
His breath hitched.
'Not good…'
Before he could move—
The platform gave in.
It didn't collapse slowly. It broke.
Shattered.
The stone beneath him split apart into chunks, dropping away into the open air.
Lennox went down with it.
The world tilted as he fell, the wind rushing past him, pulling him faster toward the drop below.
Then—
A hand grabbed him.
Hard.
Zephyr.
"Arhh!!" Zephyr yelled as the force nearly dragged him forward. His body slammed flat against his own platform, arms straining as he held on.
The wind wasn't helping. It pulled at Lennox's body like it wanted to finish the job.
Zephyr's grip tightened.
His arm shook.
Lennox dangled over the cliff, legs kicking in empty air.
"Arhh…! Q-quick! Pull me up, Zephyr! Pull me up!" Lennox shouted, panic clear in his voice. No hiding it now.
Zephyr tried.
He really did.
His muscles tensed. His shoulder burned as he tried to drag Lennox back up.
But the wind fought him. Hard.
And then—
Crack.
Zephyr felt it under his chest.
His own platform.
Another crack spread beneath him. Then another.
It didn't stop.
The stone under his body began to split, lines running outward, faster this time.
No pause.
No mercy.
His eyes widened.
'Not now…'
He adjusted his grip, trying to shift his weight, but it didn't matter.
The platform was already failing.
It was only a matter of seconds before it followed the same path.
Then, cutting through the chaos—
"keee-raaawl-ed!!!"
The Griffin's cry echoed again.
Zephyr and Lennox's eyes widened even further when the cry rang out again. It hit sharper this time. Closer. Too close.
They turned.
And they saw it.
The Griffin was already on them, tearing through the air at a speed that left no room to think. No room to plan.
'Too fast…!'
Before either of them could react—
It arrived.
Its front legs shot forward. Long. Powerful. Built for the hunt.
They locked onto Lennox.
The claws wrapped around his body in a single motion. Tight. Precise.
Then they dug in.
Blood spilled instantly as the sharp talons pierced through his flesh.
Even with the ring dulling the sensation, the force alone was enough to shake him.
The Griffin didn't slow down.
It grabbed.
It lifted.
And it flew.
Just like that.
Lennox was off the platform, carried into the air like prey caught mid-run.
But—
Zephyr didn't let go.
His grip tightened around Lennox's hand, qi surging into his arm, locking his hold in place.
His body jerked forward violently.
"Ahhr…!!"
He tried to resist. He really did.
But the force was overwhelming.
The Griffin dragged them both.
Zephyr's body lifted off the platform, his legs leaving the ground as he was pulled into the air along with Lennox. The wind hit him hard, whipping against his body as he dangled, barely holding on.
No control.
No balance.
Just raw force pulling them higher.
For a moment, it looked like he might lose his grip.
But he didn't.
He held on.
Because letting go meant losing Lennox.
---
Meanwhile, far from the mountain and its violent winds, in a cold, snow-covered part of the tournament, two figures stood in the middle of another kind of chaos.
Well… one stood.
The other was barely holding on.
Gavalich lay on the ground, his arm injured, his breathing uneven. Blood marked the snow around him, staining the white surface with dark patches.
Beside him, Clifford stood firm.
In front of them—
The werebears.
Large. Towering. Covered in thick white fur. Their bodies carried a humanoid shape, but nothing about them felt human.
Five of them remained.
And they were back on their feet.
Clifford's earlier attack had done damage. That much was clear.
But it hadn't ended it.
Not even close.
The beasts rose slowly, their movements heavy, but steady.
Their eyes locked onto the two of them again.
And this time—
They looked angrier.
The werebears were not injured. Not even close. The earlier explosion had done nothing but slow them down for a moment. A brief pause. A thin window.
Just enough for Clifford to pull Gavalich out of death's grip.
That moment was gone now.
The werebears stood tall again, their massive bodies steady, their breaths heavy. Snow shifted under their weight as they moved.
And they were angry.
Not retreating. Not hesitating.
They stepped forward.
Ready to tear them apart.
Clifford didn't waste time watching.
"What are you waiting for?" he said, his voice sharp.
He turned slightly, his eyes still on the beasts.
"Use the blood on your face. I'm leaving these to you."
As he spoke, his palm lit up with a soft green glow. Energy gathered there, steady and controlled. He stretched his hand toward Gavalich.
Gavalich didn't argue.
He grabbed it.
Clifford pulled him up from the snow in one clean motion.
But that wasn't all.
The moment their hands met, something else clicked into place.
A link.
Gavalich felt it immediately.
A thin connection, like a current running between them. Not painful. Not heavy. But clear.
'So this is it…'
Clifford's ability.
Energy sharing.
Clifford spoke again, already focused ahead.
"I'll feed you what I drain. Don't waste it. End them fast."
Gavalich didn't reply.
He didn't need to.
His breathing steadied despite the pain in his injured arm. He ignored it. Pushed it aside.
Instead, he raised his other hand.
His left.
On his finger sat the ring.
A purple gem rested at its center, wrapped in intricate runes that seemed almost alive.
He brought it up slowly and touched it against the dark red blood smeared across his face.
The moment it made contact—
The gem lit up.
Bright.
A deep purple glow burst out from it, spreading through the ring as its power activated.
The change was immediate.
Meanwhile, beside him, Clifford moved.
His hands came together, then separated, then shifted again.
Fast.
Precise.
Like someone weaving something invisible.
His fingers traced patterns in the air, forming signs one after another without pause. As he moved, faint light followed his hands, soft at first, then sharper.
The light gathered.
Condensed.
It turned into thin strands.
Threads.
Dozens of them.
They wrapped around his hand, coiling together, ready to be released.
Clifford felt it.
The difference.
The ease.
'I've never cast this many threads this easily…'
No strain.
No resistance.
Just power flowing cleanly through him.
He lowered his stance slightly, eyes locking onto the approaching werebears.
Ready.
This time—
They weren't holding back.