Dvina snarled as she stormed into the warehouse, kicking the doors wide enough for the hinges to regret existing. Every enforcer inside now lay sprawled across the floor, breathing slow and steady. No wounds, no blood, no signs of a fight, just peaceful, almost blissful slumber.

She pushed deeper inside, scanning every corner. No sign of those unruly kids. No overturned crates, no splintered furniture, no scuffs on the floor. The place was as undisturbed as an untouched stage after the actors had vanished.

That's when her nose caught it, something faintly sweet hanging in the air. Her Infernal Premonition remained silent. That only meant whatever caused it wasn't directly lethal… at least not by its own nature. Still, seeing an entire squad knocked unconscious was far from comforting.

Falling asleep, in principle, wasn't dangerous, quite the opposite. But falling asleep in the middle of a battlefield? That was a death sentence wrapped in a lullaby. Substances like this could easily slip past her Premonition, bypassing its danger sense entirely.

Her jaw tightened. Not only had she lost to that girl, she'd been toyed with, and she wasn't even convinced she'd fought the real one.

How?

How was she pulling all of that off? Not a single one of Dvina's strikes had landed. Her dodging was fast in a manner it felt impossible, weaving between attacks with precision no normal fighter could match. And she hadn't even countered with any real intent. Just a few playful jabs, slipping in through perfect openings, tentacles flicking out like an idle cat swatting at yarn.

That was it. No real commitment to the fight. No display of true power.

Was she even the same girl from those reports Dvina had read? There was no way. Dvina refused to believe it. Something else was in play.

But when she tried to make sense of it, she came up empty. The only magic she'd noticed was… unplaceable. Or maybe she didn't want to place it. Her pride wouldn't allow her to admit she'd been beaten, humiliated, by what might have been nothing more than an illusion.

Yet the thought kept circling back. The only thing left behind after the fight were her clothes. One of Dvina's four arms still clutched the tattered, patchy dress the girl had worn. Teleportation magic? That was her first guess. But she dismissed it quickly, being struck by Dvina's attacks more than just hurt, it cursed those wounds. Healing made them worse.

That curse, the Mark of Hell, was feared for good reason. All she needed was a single clean hit, and the fight would snowball from there. Even a high Red Core couldn't shake it off easily.

And yet… the girl's face had shown not even a flicker of pain. Not a wince, not a twitch.

That only reinforced the idea that what she'd fought wasn't her real body at all.

Which left two options: The first was a Homunculus Golem. It was a sophisticated puppet but such a construct would have left behind a residue of alchemical components and spent mana upon its destruction. There was nothing.

The last, most bewildering option was a clone woven entirely from raw magic, a perfect ephemeral duplicate. Dvina had only ever seen or heard of one person capable of such a refined and terrifying feat. It was a figure whispered about and feared across the entire continent.

The Nightmare.

Even the name sent a cold ripple down Dvina's spine. She didn't know the origins of that kind of magic, nor which affinity could birth it, but the confirmation only deepened the pit yawning in her gut.

Who the hell was this girl?

What core rank was she really hiding behind that façade?

Her thoughts shattered at the crack of a thunderclap in the distance. Dvina's eyes widened just before she blasted clean through the wall in a burst of force and debris.

Somewhere ahead, massive flashes of violent violet lightning split the air in rapid succession.

Dvina quickly assessed her own state. Her mana pool was already half-depleted. Infernization granted monstrous power at a monstrous cost. With a snarl of frustration, she let the demonic form recede, shrinking first to her bestial state, then further down to her base Rakari form. Her enchanted clothing seamlessly adjusted to each change. She grabbed a satchel from her back, gulped down a thick mana potion, and shattered the empty vial in her grip. The rage was a fuel she could use.

She launched herself toward the lightning storm, mana enhancing her muscles for speed. Each footfall burned through her reserves, though the consumption was far less taxing than her full infernal state.

Yet, unnoticed at first, her pace began to flag. Not from mana lack, but from a different kind of… blow. Her earlier defeat felt like a vortex now, pulling her head toward a dark pit she had sworn never to peer into again. She saw flashes of memory, with bodies on pikes, herself in chains.

She snarled, shoving the visions back into the dark, and forced her attention onto the trail of chaotic lightning ripping through the Veilwoods.

It was close now. Too close, and it was heading towards the inner groves.

She broke through the treeline… and stopped dead.

Gavrilo stood at the front, frost-wrought bow drawn to its absolute limit, the entire weapon quivering under the strain. His breathing came ragged, each exhale dragging heat from the air. His skin looked scorched, charred in patches, and blood seeped into the fletching of the arrow he still gripped, an arrow he didn't dare release.

To his left, Milosava knelt, hair singed, her body smeared with ash and blood. Both palms were pressed into the earth, cracks of earthen mana crawling up her arms as jagged stone spears jutted up around them in a desperate ring.

To his right, Radomir looked barely conscious, one arm limp and useless. His other hand clutched a spear wrapped in its own flickering lightning. The glow was sputtering like a dying ember.

Dvina froze where she stood.

What in all the hells was happening?

This was her team, elites who'd once taken on a low Gold Core and walked away breathing. And yet here they were: battered, burned, barely holding themselves upright, as if one breath too many would drop them.

And in the next second, she understood why.

It had been there the whole time, but Dvina's eyes had never drifted toward it. Right beside her. Leaning down, maw almost at her ear. The only moment she realized was when it giggled.

Dvina's blood froze in her veins. She didn't dare move.

Why…? Why didn't my Infernal Premonition work?

The thing loomed over her, monstrous, unblinking, an eleven-foot-tall Drakkari in full beast form. Gleaming molten-gold draconic scales caught the light, and from its back and shoulders writhed the same long, metallic tentacles she'd fought before, curling and uncurling with predatory hunger.

Dvina didn't hesitate. Mana surged violently, and she unleashed a point-blank explosion at it.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Her anger burned so hot she didn't even hear Gavrilo's desperate shout— "DON'T ATTACK HER, DVINA!"

Too late.

She never even saw it coming, the massive bolt of violent violet lightning crashing down on her like an executioner's gavel.

PAIN.

It ripped through her veins like liquid fire, worse than anything she'd ever endured. Her body convulsed as she collapsed, only surviving because her regeneration kicked in instantly, pulling her back from what should have been certain death.

Her head spun. Why the hell is my Premonition failing me today? It had only screamed a warning after she'd already attacked the Drakkari, like her own strike had been the trigger for her doom.

She felt herself lifted, and by the bow-grip alone she knew it was Gavrilo hauling her away. He set her down far enough that her regeneration caught up.

She looked back and there the Drakkari stood, studying her claws with idle elegance, like a noblewoman inspecting a fine piece of silverware.

"How… very… boring…" the beast drawled, voice dripping disdain. "What happened? All of you seemed so eager to attack me the moment you saw me."

A slow grin split her face wide, ear to ear, teeth flashing like a butcher's knives.

"I even acted the part of the helpless girl," her voice warped into a mocking falsetto, "'Oh pLeAsE, DoN't HuRt Me!'"

She dropped the act with a sneer. "I might've let you all walk away if that had worked. But… oh well. It didn't."

Her gaze tilted skyward, voice curling with contempt. "Ahh… how I'd love to know why this city decided I'm a traitor worth execution, or worse, captured for torture."

She stepped forward. "And I wish I were patient enough to drag that answer out of you lot… but, fuck that approach."

Her eyes swept over their battered, bleeding forms.

"I could plead not guilty," she said flatly, "but how worthless bugs like you see me doesn't matter in the slightest. Right now, I've half a mind to kill every one of you, tear you limb from limb, and hang your corpses over the Iron Pact's main building, your intestines strung up as décor. Just like you were so eager to do to me."

Her expression shifted, mockery melting into something colder. "But I'm feeling… a bit benevolent today."

She bowed low, mocking in its grace.

"Benevolence, however, has its limits. If you ever pull something like this again, if you so much as touch someone close to me, I will flay you alive and shatter your very fucking cores."

Her eyes curved into a crescent, and her smile was poison.

"Believe me, alchemy holds horrors you couldn't possibly imagine in your most fevered nightmares."

She stepped closer slowly and deliberately, and crouched in front of Dvina. No one dared twitch, let alone move a weapon, as if the mere thought of attacking would summon another strike of that violent lightning.

Her claws tangled into Dvina's hair, yanking her head up until their eyes locked.

Violet. Swirling. Unfathomable.

Dvina felt something ancient coil around her chest. It was a primal, gut-born fear that bypassed reason entirely. Those eyes had depth, hypnotic and endless. It felt like staring into a starless, ancient sky. Something that didn't belong to anything mortal.

"Call it a vibe," the Drakkari said, voice low and almost conversational, "but you remind me of me. I may not have a talent for life itself, but I've made violence my truest friend. And isn't it nice? Violence has the power to solve almost everything."

Her grin widened, though her eyes stayed fixed and unblinking. "But meeting you today… made me realize there's a massive flaw in that thinking. And because of that, you've lit a new fire in me. For that," her tone curled into mock gratitude, "I should thank you."

She released her grip, straightened to her full height, and stepped back.

"Well, I suppose it's time to apologize for such a short meeting… and take my leave."

Then her grin returned, sharper this time.

"Maybe next time, be better. Come back stronger, so we can play a little longer. Hopefully on better terms. I do like making friends… and enemies shouldn't want me as one. It tends to shorten their life span considerably."

With a single, powerful flap of her wings that kicked up a whirlwind of dust and debris, she was gone.

Dvina could only stare at the empty space where the monster had stood. Her mind, overwhelmed and scorched by the encounter, had gone completely, utterly blank.

***

Lysska watched the whole thing unfold through Kraven's eyes before rubbing at her own and leaning back.

Hah… well, she should have expected this. One way or another, Jade was bound to act out.

She had to admit, though, this time, the girl's method had a certain charm. That didn't mean Lysska wasn't already expecting retaliation from the Iron Pact. Still, the only people above the Bloodhounds in rank were the leaders, and there were only three of them.

Two had been absent from the city for almost a year now, both chasing something in the Dwarven lands. That left only the last one still in place. In theory, that was privileged information, but Lysska knew it anyway. There were perks to being nosy and running a surveillance network so vast that even whispers couldn't escape it.

Whatever came next, it would likely be tame, by Bloodhound standards, anyway. Lysska preferred diplomacy. She even knew Gavrilo, the leader of the Bloodhounds, personally. Not friends, exactly, more like professional acquaintances. She'd even received his formal request earlier today to let them track Jade.

She could only laugh and shake her head now. At least Jade hadn't killed them. From what Lysska had seen, the girl had a taste for violent resolutions. Those elves earlier, she'd cut them down without hesitation or pause, every strike meant to kill.

Well, what was done was done. All Lysska could do was keep watch in case some new variable appeared that might force her hand. For now, it was clear enough: no Red Core could hope to stand against Jade anymore. The pool of people capable of harming her had shrunk to a very small subset, and those few tended to have more pressing matters to deal with.

Golds were a different matter entirely. When a Gold moved, it stirred the political waters. When they moved personally, it caused tides, and that kind of shift made them slow to act. In that way, Golds were far more constrained than Reds.

Then there was the earlier explosion in the forest, the one that had left a massive crater. Lysska knew Jade was behind that as well. It had drawn some unwanted attention, adding yet another variable to the mix. That one could be dismissed for now; tracing Jade from a smoking crater would be a stretch. But still, if there was even the smallest chance someone could connect the dots, Lysska would have to watch that thread too.

She leaned back again and rubbed her eyes. How long had it been since she'd actually slept? It didn't feel like rest was anywhere on the horizon. She still had work to finish, in fact, she was in the middle of it right now.

Her gaze swept across her surroundings. It looked like an office. A large, well-worn desk dominated the center, its surface crowded with neatly stacked ledgers, half-finished reports, and a chipped porcelain mug that still sent up a faint curl of steam. The walls were lined with mismatched shelves crammed with scrolls and handwritten manuals.

A faded carpet covered the floor, its once-bright patterns worn thin by years of pacing, more worn now than the last time Lysska had been here. Pale daylight spilled in through tall, arched windows draped with thin curtains. Outside, children played, their laughter carrying faintly into the room.

One wall held a neat row of framed paintings, with smiling children, group portraits, and a few fading certificates. Lysska's eyes caught on one from her own childhood before she quickly looked away.

"Such… turbulence. Anxiety, worry, pride, all tangled together. Oh, how I want to dive in and see what it's all about."

The voice was feminine, lilting, and it cut straight through her thoughts.

Lysska's gaze shifted to the doorway.

A Zaryn woman had just stepped inside. Lysska's expression darkened immediately.

"You know I don't like my privacy invaded like this," Lysska gritted out.

The Zaryn woman clicked her tongue. "Oh, hush, child!" She reached out and bonked Lysska sharply on the head, making her yelp. "You think you're so grown up now that you can talk back to me? I invaded nothing. Your mind was screeching those emotions loud enough for anyone to hear."

Lysska knew arguing was pointless. She shut her mouth, the protest dying on her tongue.

"Well, I have things to do," the woman said, "so, spit it out. What finally brought you to my door after all this time?"

This was the last person Lysska ever wanted to ask for help. But the woman might also be her only hope for unraveling the secrets locked within Thibault's skull.

Mind magic was a thing of myth and whispered legend, but even myths held a kernel of truth. And the woman standing before her was that truth, an expert in arts most didn't believe existed, who ran this unassuming orphanage in the lower district. She was the one who had sheltered both Lysska and Vyra in their darkest hour.

Lysska owed her more than she could ever repay, yet she had never managed to uncover a single detail about the woman's own past, no matter how deeply she dug.

Now she was back, forced to ask another favor, clinging to the thin hope that it wouldn't be refused.

***

Viera's eyes fluttered open slowly. She yawned, a loud, groggy sound, and stared up at the familiar ceiling of her own room. Huh? She stretched, her body feeling deeply rested, as if she'd just had the best sleep of her life. Her gaze drifted to the window, where the newly risen sun was framed by the sight of Kara bent awkwardly over a chair, snoring softly.

It took a moment for the memories to crash back into place.

OH FUCK. OH FUCK! WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?! THAT BITCH SAID SHE WAS FIGHTING JADE!

The last thing Viera remembered was praying frantically for Jade's safety before everything went abruptly, peacefully blank.

She looked down. She was in her own bed, neatly tucked in. Meanwhile, Kara looked like she'd been tossed aside by the window, and Rhys… Vyra's eyes scanned the room. Oh. Rhys was hanging precariously from the chandelier. And why… was he looking all chewed up?

One last detail that registered was a large crow perched on her windowsill, staring intently at her. Before she could process it, the door to her room slammed open, startling the bird into a flurry of escaping wings.

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