The jagged valley stretched endlessly below, a scar carved into the night itself. Smoke rose from deep fissures in the ground, curling upward like the fingers of restless spirits. The land felt wounded—old, cursed, and unwilling to forget. Mist slithered unnaturally through the ruins, whispering along broken stone as if the earth still remembered every battle fought upon it.

  Fallen towers leaned at impossible angles, their surfaces etched with faint, dying glyphs that pulsed weakly before fading again. Their shadows stretched long and monstrous across the cragged terrain, warping and shifting as the mist thickened.

  Aylen, Naela, and Kara stood at the cliff’s edge, bodies tense, breath measured, eyes fixed on the lone figure approaching through the haze.

  The Inquisitor moved with terrifying calm.

  Every step he took was precise—measured—his presence bending the mist around him as though it feared drawing too close. Shadowed glyph energy sparked faintly along his limbs, not wild or explosive, but restrained, disciplined, and sharp. It wasn’t power unleashed. It was power contained.

  A low, metallic hum filled the air, vibrating through stone and bone alike. Beneath it, far below the valley, came distant echoes—thunderous impacts, shockwaves rolling through the ruins.

  Binyamin and Zarek were still fighting.

  Their clash reverberated through the land like a distant storm, reminding the girls that time was already slipping away.

  “He’s… coming fast. Keep your focus,” Kara murmured. Her grip tightened around her weapon, knuckles whitening, stance subtly shifting to account for every possible angle of attack.

  Naela swallowed, her hands trembling as faint glyphs flickered along her arms. The energy responded unevenly, as if resisting her control.

  “I can feel it… his presence is precise, calculated. Every step is a trap.”

  Aylen’s eyes never left the Inquisitor. She adjusted her footing, weight settling low, muscles coiled tight.

  “We’ll need perfect coordination. He doesn’t give mistakes… and he won’t wait for us to recover.”

  Behind them, the air darkened.

  Shadow figures hovered just beyond the edge of perception—indistinct forms with faintly glowing eyes, their silhouettes rippling as if caught between planes. They did not step forward. They could not.

  “We cannot fight directly,” one whispered, its voice layered and distant. “Our forms are bound to this plane. We can guide. We can shield. But the outcome rests with you.”

  The shadows shifted subtly, the pressure around the girls changing—not stronger, but steadier. Like unseen hands bracing their footing, sharpening awareness rather than strength.

  Aylen nodded once, sharp and decisive.

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  “Then we make our own strike count. No hesitation.”

  The Inquisitor continued forward, aura pulsing rhythmically—almost mockingly—as if measuring the distance between himself and a specific target.

  Naela felt it then.

  Not aggression toward all three of them.

  Focus—narrowed and deliberate.

  Her.

  The girls split instinctively.

  Aylen stepped forward first, positioning herself slightly ahead. Kara moved to her flank, blade angled low, ready to intercept. Naela stayed centered between them, glyphs pulsing brighter in response to the pressure closing in.

  “You are far from ready,” the Inquisitor intoned, voice cold and cutting. “Yet your presumption is… admirable.”

  The clash began before another word could be spoken.

  The Inquisitor vanished.

  Aylen barely had time to react before he reappeared within striking range. His fist drove forward—not a swing, not a wild strike, but a compact, brutal motion.

  The air screamed.

  A concentrated glyph blast detonated from his knuckles, ripping through space itself. Aylen twisted at the last instant, the force grazing past her shoulder and piercing straight through a fractured tower behind her. Stone exploded outward in a violent spray.

  “Move!” Kara shouted.

  Aylen rolled, barely clearing the impact zone as the ground where she had stood collapsed inward. Kara lunged from the side, weapon flashing—but the Inquisitor pivoted effortlessly, deflecting her strike with his forearm. Another punch followed instantly.

  Naela reacted on instinct.

  Her glyph barrier flared to life—thin, unstable, flickering violently. The blast struck it head-on. The barrier cracked, energy screaming as it dispersed the force just enough to prevent it from tearing straight through Kara.

  Naela staggered, breath hitching. The shadows behind her surged subtly, dampening the backlash before it could shatter her stance entirely.

  “We can’t let him divide us… stay close!” she shouted.

  “Then we fight as one! No gaps, no mistakes!” Aylen barked back, already moving.

  The Inquisitor advanced, fists glowing faintly now, each step forcing the ground to fracture beneath him. He did not rush. He didn’t need to.

  Another punch.

  Aylen barely deflected it, the blast skimming past her ribs and carving a smoking trench through the mist. Kara slid beneath the shockwave, countering low, forcing the Inquisitor to shift his footing—just enough.

  Naela reinforced the barrier again, weaker this time, the glyphs crawling along her arms like living fire. Sweat beaded at her temples.

  “Together. Always together,” Kara said, breath burning in her lungs.

  The Inquisitor tested them—short bursts, precise strikes. Every punch was lethal. Every missed blow was intentional, forcing movement, separating space, herding them.

  Positioning mattered.

  Too much.

  Aylen blocked a strike—too slow. The impact hurled her backward. Kara caught her mid-fall, glyph sparks flaring briefly around both as they stabilized. The shadows pressed in again, softening the landing just enough to keep bones intact.

  The mist thickened, curling into chaotic shapes as the battlefield narrowed.

  “Hold your ground…” one of the shadow figures murmured. “You are the last barrier between him and catastrophe.”

  The Inquisitor stepped closer.

  His gaze flicked past Aylen. Past Kara.

  Locked onto Naela.

  The implication was unmistakable.

  If the line broke—even for a moment—he would pass through them.

  Naela would be taken.

  The rest would not survive long enough to matter.

  The three of them tightened formation instinctively, forming a triangle, bodies battered, breaths ragged, resolve unbroken.

  “We will not fall. Not here. Not now,” Naela said.

  Her voice trembled—but it held.

  The glyphs around her flared in response, unstable but defiant.

  For the first time, the Inquisitor hesitated.

  Just a fraction.

  The valley below seemed to hold its breath. The mist swirled tighter. The shadows leaned closer.

  And far beneath them, thunder rolled again—Binyamin still fighting.

  The clash of shadows and light had only just begun.