The flames blazed, and the ground burned. Every leaf of the forest seemed to smolder from within, even before the fire touched it. Heat pulsed in the air, rippling like a living curtain.
Líria stepped forward, her feet almost floating over the earth that crumbled beneath her. Her smile was cold, distant—like someone who already knew she had won.
"Now that the girls' time has come…" — her voice echoed, almost melodic, laced with scorn — "we can introduce ourselves. I am Líria."
Tila gripped the hammer so hard her knuckles turned white. Her gaze was a fortress.
"Tila Ironhammer."
Seralyne spun the blades in her hands, the daggers catching reflections of the flames. Her expression was too calm, like the silence before a storm.
"Seralyne… just Seralyne."
Líria slowly raised her hands, and the forest answered. Flames rose like serpents, writhing in the air, creating a circle of fire that cut them off from the rest of the world. The heat made sweat bead on the two warriors' foreheads, but neither of them stepped back.
"Let's see…" Líria smiled—and then everything exploded.
The first attack came like a roar. Líria unleashed a wave of fire straight at them, so intense the ground split apart. Tila lunged forward, swinging the hammer in a perfect arc. The impact shattered the wall of fire, breaking it like molten glass. Fragments of flame scattered through the air like murderous sparks.
"Go!" — Tila shouted, without looking back.
Seralyne darted forward. Her feet barely touched the ground. The instant Tila broke the fire wave, Seralyne slipped through the cracks like a living arrow. The daggers slashed through the air, gleaming with liquid venom. A cross strike, aimed at Líria's flank.
But Líria was no fool. With a subtle gesture, the fire took shape. A shield of flames rose between them, and the daggers clashed against the burning wall, sparking violently. Seralyne leapt back in a feline motion, dodging a counterattack that nearly scorched her hair.
"Beautiful move." Líria smiled, but her eyes gleamed with something dark. "But you'll need more."
Tila didn't wait for a reply. With a roar that made the trees tremble, she swung the hammer with both hands, summoning a shockwave that tore through the ground. The earth surged upward in pillars, collapsing part of the flames and opening a path.
"Now!"
Seralyne understood without needing explanation. She ran across the pillars of earth as if they were steps, leaping from one to the next, each jump faster, sharper, like dancing on chaos. At the same time, Tila charged from the front, crushing flames and clearing the way for Seralyne to strike from above.
Líria's eyes lifted when she saw the shadow of the elf descending upon her, blades ready to pierce. For a second, time seemed to stop.
Then Líria laughed. And the flames exploded upward, forming wings behind her.
Seralyne spun midair, barely dodging, the tips of her hair burning. Tila shouted her name, rushing forward with the hammer, slamming it into the ground so hard it made the fiery barrier tremble.
The impact was brutal. The explosion sent dust and ash flying everywhere. For a few moments, only the sound of flames and ragged breaths filled the clearing.
When the smoke began to clear, Líria stood there, untouched, hovering in the air with wings of fire spread wide like those of a fallen angel. Her smile now was almost pitiful.
"Interesting… very interesting."
Tila spat on the ground, sweat dripping down her face, her muscles taut.
"She's not just powerful… she's insane."
Seralyne adjusted the blades in her hands, blood trickling from a small cut on her arm, her eyes glowing with cold determination.
"Then let's go insane too."
The two locked eyes, a silent plan forming between them. Then, as if they were a single body, they charged again.
Now it was Líria's turn to advance. The air vibrated when she dashed forward, her body slicing through her own flames like a living spear. Her speed was absurd—a blur of red and gold. The two barely had time to react. Tila rolled aside, feeling the heat lick her skin, while Seralyne leaped back, boots scraping against the ash-soaked ground.
The fire exploded where they had been a second before, sending a suffocating wave of heat across the clearing.
Without hesitation, they readied their next move. Seralyne ran to the side, using the charred trees as her path. Each trunk became a stepping stone, an evasion, a point to spin and escape the flames chasing her like starving serpents. It was a deadly dance—the elf against the fire—and as hard as it was, she advanced, steady hands, blades ready to kill.
Tila, on the other hand, didn't move as fast. She walked with heavy, calculated steps, as if waiting for something. Her eyes fixed on Líria, breathing deep, hammer in hand, like a wall that does not run—but when it falls, destroys everything.
Seralyne spun midair, dodging by a hair a blaze that nearly took her head. Her natural glamour made her movements look like art—but each dodge was a fraction of a second away from death. Still, she didn't stop. Each leap brought her closer to the target.
And then she saw the opening. A perfect jump. Blades raised, body aligned for the killing blow.
The fire roared against her like a dragon. A flaming sphere formed in Líria's hands, glowing in blinding crimson-white. If it hit, there would be nothing left but ash.
For an instant, the world slowed. Seralyne flew toward the mage. Líria smiled, ready to turn the elf into dust.
But before the fireball could launch, a sound cut the air.
CHAK!
An axe tore through the flames, shattering the sphere in a burst of sparks. The blast diverted the spell, scattering it into an incandescent rain. Líria's eyes widened in shock as she felt the wind of Seralyne's blades grazing her skin—then cold steel sliced her chest, leaving a clean, deep cut.
The smile vanished. For a heartbeat, silence. Then blood trickled in a crimson line down her black dress.
Seralyne landed behind her, breathing hard, her daggers still hot from the magic's heat. She didn't look back. She only spoke, voice low and sharp as ice:
"You're not as untouchable as you think."
Líria froze, her body trembling, hand pressing the wound. Then, slowly, she laughed. A dry laugh, dripping with hatred and something deeper. When she lifted her gaze, her eyes burned with a mad light.
"Who dares… interrupt my dance?"
The sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the shadows, breaking the circle of fire. From the trees, a figure emerged, holding another axe still dripping with embers. The voice thundered like a storm.
"I do."
---
The walls of the cave pulsed like a living organism, exhaling the stench of blood and rust. In the center, the thing waited—a mass of flesh, bone, and shadows, with a thousand writhing arms like roots, and too many eyes to count. Each one glowed with an ancient, almost divine hatred.
Bruno stepped forward, feeling the ground tremble beneath his boots. His fingers gripped the sword's hilt, and his voice came low, almost a whisper, but heavy as a verdict:
"So… it's you."
There was no answer. Only the sound of flesh stretching and bones snapping, like the creature was smiling.
Suddenly, a whip made of spine and meat lashed through the air, striking Bruno with the force of a giant's hammer. He was thrown sideways, armor screeching under the impact. The plates bent, and a surge of pain tore through his shoulder.
He didn't fall.
Bruno lifted his gaze, breathing deep, his body firm as a wall. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, but his eyes burned like molten steel.
"Again."
The word echoed through the cave, heavy, relentless. It wasn't mockery. It was something else. A challenge. A command.
Another strike came, even more brutal, shattering stone in its path. The creature roared, the sound reverberating like a thousand voices. But Bruno didn't dodge. He didn't block. He endured.
The blow slammed against him, twisting his armor further, ripping flesh. But his spirit didn't move. Each attack was a storm against a mountain. He advanced, step by step, slow, inevitable, like death in iron.
The Eden Fragmented attacked in a frenzy, arms and claws crashing from every side, crushing, piercing, destroying. Bruno tanked it all. Bones cracked, metal bent, the heat of agony burned every fiber. Yet still, he walked.
"You think…" he growled through his teeth, his body drenched in blood, but his gaze blazing like a blade, "… pain stops me?"
Another strike. He caught it. With his bare hand. Fingers crushed into the whip of flesh and bone, snapping it with a sickening crack. The creature shrieked—as if it had never felt pain before.
Bruno yanked the thing closer, tearing chunks from its body. The stench of rot filled the air. Then he raised the sword, its gleam flashing through the cave like lightning in the night.
The Eden trembled. For the first time, it recoiled.
Bruno smiled—a cold, weary smile, but firm.
"Now it's my turn."
He strode forward, every step thundering, ripping the distance between him and the monstrosity. Behind, the voices whispered like ancient laments:
"If you wish to save the world… you must devour us first."
But Bruno didn't hesitate. Because within him, there was no room for fear. Only for decision.
And in that moment, the entire cave seemed to hold its breath.
The hero's hand rose, drenched in blood and fragments, until it touched the grotesque surface of the creature. At the slightest contact, chaos stilled. The roaring voices fell silent. The thousand mouths froze. Everything became motionless, as if time itself had stopped.
Bruno's eyes shone. A deep, impossible gold, older than any dawn. Then, a single word left his lips—soft, serene, yet powerful enough to tear through reality itself:
"Mercy."
The sound reverberated inside the beast's flesh. That being of horrors, of piled-up pains, of curses, began to tremble. A fire bloomed from Bruno's hands—but it was no ordinary fire. Yes, it was warm, warm as the first sunrise. But it did not burn. It did not destroy. It purified.
The flames wrapped around the creature, not as punishment, but as an embrace. And the screams that followed were not of agony… but of relief. As if every soul trapped within, every shard of hatred and despair, finally found rest.
The flesh dissolved into golden ash. The bones turned to dust. The eyes, once blazing with rancor, faded one by one, like stars returning to the sky. Everything vanished—not into nothingness, but into a place where pain and evil could never reach again.
In the end, only silence remained. A pure, almost sacred silence.
Bruno stayed there, kneeling, his hand still raised, the golden fire slowly fading. He breathed deeply, feeling something inside him that even he couldn't understand. Something not human. Something that could not be explained.
He closed his eyes for a moment and whispered to himself:
"Let this be enough."
When he opened them, the cave held no monsters. But it held no peace either. Because deep down, Bruno knew: this wasn't a victory. It was a warning.
And outside, the roar of Líria's flames still raged, mingling with the distant echo of a war that had only just begun.