"I think we're finally done here~" Mae called out to her twin, wiping her blood-soaked hands on a demon's tattered cloak. "I think so too," Zee replied, her tone weary but calm as she awkwardly tried to clean her new sword, smearing more red across its gleaming surface before sheathing it. Around them, the aftermath of the battle stretched on endlessly—streets carpeted with demon corpses, blood splattered across walls and seeping between cobblestones until it formed a dark, almost artistic pattern. "Then we should head back, check how your boyfriend and everyone else is doing," Mae teased with a smirk that Zee didn't even try to match. "I'm not going to even bother with you anymore," Zee muttered with a tired sigh, giving her head a small shake before turning away. Mae practically skipped after her, light on her feet despite the slaughter they'd just waded through, and together the elven sisters started toward the coliseum—victorious, for now.
Elsewhere in the city, Ulrich's breathing came in ragged bursts, his chest rising and falling heavily as he dragged his cutlasses through the blood-slick street. His breath misted in the cold air, each exhale trembling with fatigue. "Goddess, is it finally over?" he rasped. Amos, standing a few feet away, reloaded one of his steam-revolver with shaking hands, the metal clicking faintly. "I... I think it is. Goddess, I hope it is," he muttered, glancing around at the heaps of fallen demons—small imps and cherubs torn and broken apart, a few drakoraths lying still among them, their scales cracked and dull. Ulrich gave a weary grunt, sheathing one cutlass as his shoulders sagged. "Then let's get out of here and get back to the coliseum. I don't think I could fight again even if I wanted to," he said, voice low and worn. Amos nodded, sliding his half-loaded revolver back into its holster before following. It was a victory—but one that had drained them to their bones.
Elsewhere in the city, Gurion crouched high among the thick branches of a tree in the park, his breathing steady but eyes sharp as he scanned the dark expanse ahead. Below him, Hittag was hard at work, his massive frame straining as he tore trees straight from the earth, dragging and stacking them to form a crude barricade. The heavy thuds of falling trunks echoed through the quiet clearing as he built what was essentially a makeshift fort. "They've lost our trail for now," Gurion called down, his voice low but edged with tension. "But they're definitely still looking." Hittag grunted in reply, setting another tree into place with a crash that sent dirt and leaves scattering. "Good. Then we hold here. We can't go back— not yet," he muttered, rubbing the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. When they'd been forced to retreat, a horned demon had joined the pursuit—an armored imp, tall for its kind, moving with unsettling precision. They'd been warned about demons with horns, and worse still, those with names. Whether that one had one or not, neither of them wanted to find out. Now, pinned in the park, surrounded but unseen, all they could do was wait. It wasn't a loss, not yet—but it was far from victory. They were trapped, and they needed help.
Elsewhere, Xain, Clara, Annabel, Edluar, Calvinel, Bryanard, the guard commander, and his remaining guards hurried through the blood-soaked streets toward the coliseum. "Just what was that back there?" Xain asked, his tone sharp with unease, referring to the tower's collapse and what happened during its fall. "I don't know. Look around you—it's raining blood that makes no sound and leaves no mark. Nothing makes sense anymore, least of all whatever that was." Annabel replied over her shoulder. "Whatever it was, we want no part of it," Calvinel said tersely, turning a corner with greatsword drawn, eyes darting through the darkened streets for any sign of demons. "Agreed," Edluar added, his hand resting near his own sword. "We should just be glad that tower didn't fall on the residential district. Asking questions about nonsense isn't going to help us now." Clara glanced at Bryanard, concern creasing her face. "Should we really keep moving this fast with how badly you're hurt?" she asked, her hand briefly brushing his arm to steady him. "It's fine," the old knight replied through a tired huff. "As long as we get back, we'll be safe." His steps were slow, but his grip on his warhammer stayed firm. "We're close to the coliseum now!" the guard commander called out, his chainsaw sword still humming faintly in his grip.
As they rounded the final stretch, the sound of approaching footsteps made them halt. Weapons lifted—until familiar faces came into view. Amos and Ulrich, dragging their feet from exhaustion. Mae and Zee, bloodied but alive. And finally Lexy, carrying Zeva in her arms, the swordsman unconscious, tears streaking her cheeks. The moment they came into view, every gaze locked on the pair. Even Mae's usual carefree grin faltered. "What happened? Is she alright?" Xain asked, panic surging through him. "I'll explain once we're inside," Lexy said quickly, her voice urgent. "We need to get her to a healer." Calvinel's eyes darted past her, scanning the ruined street behind them. "Wait—where are Gurion and Hittag?" he asked, his voice tightening with concern. "Shit, did they not make it back?" Amos muttered, frowning. "Ah, come on! Now we need to go look for them!" Ulrich said, frustration and worry bleeding into his tone. "Later," Annabel cut in firmly. "We're all a little tired, some of us are injured. We get inside, recover, then we plan." No one argued. Zee fell in beside Xain as the group moved toward the coliseum's entrance. "Are you okay, Xain? When did you head out?" she asked softly. "I'm fine," he said, voice steady though his expression was drawn. "Nothing happened to me. Bryanard's hurt—I saw him get nearly crushed." He exhaled and added, "Clara and I left about ten minutes after the rest of you, but let's talk after we're inside." Zee nodded, sticking close to him as the battered group finally made their way toward safety.