The air near the center of the grove grew hot, a dry, unnatural heat that smelled of scorched earth and chemical accelerants. Kaelen leaned on Elara for a moment before straightening his spine, his internal energy knitting the fractured bone of his shoulder back together with a dull, itchy heat.
"They're burning the spirit-soil," Lyra hissed, her eyes darting between the blackened trunks of the ancient trees. "The Heavenly Marrow Fruit only blooms when the parent tree thinks it's dying. Malakor is torturing the grove to force a harvest."
They crested a final ridge of gnarled roots to find a clearing bathed in a haunting, violet radiance. In the center stood a tree that looked like it was made of twisted silver, its leaves shimmering with a faint, crystalline light. Surrounding it were dozens of Syndicate soldiers in purple-trimmed armor, tossing canisters of fuel into trenches dug around the roots.
On a raised platform of stone sat Malakor. He was draped in flowing violet silks, his long hair tied back with a silver cord. He held a flute made of bone to his lips, playing a discordant melody that seemed to make the very air vibrate with unease.
"Senior Brother," Kaelen's voice rang out, steady despite the chaos.
The music stopped. Malakor lowered the flute and looked toward the ridge, a thin, elegant smile spreading across his pale face. "Kaelen. I wondered how long it would take you to crawl out of the Master's shadow. You look... bedraggled. The city hasn't been kind to you, I see."
"The city is fine," Kaelen said, stepping forward alone. "It's the trash that followed me out of it that I find offensive."
Malakor laughed, a light, airy sound that didn't reach his cold eyes. "Still as arrogant as the day Master broke your ribs for stealing the medicinal wine. But look around you, little brother. I am no longer the outcast. I am the architect of a new age. With this fruit, I won't just heal diseases; I will dictate who is allowed to live."
"You're killing the grove, Malakor," Lyra shouted, her daggers drawn. "The fruit you harvest this way will be tainted. It'll be a poison, not a cure."
"A poison to the weak, perhaps," Malakor countered. He stood up, his presence expanding until the shadows in the clearing seemed to lengthen toward the group. "But to someone who has mastered the Venom-Core technique, it is the final key."
He gestured to his men. "Kill the doctor and the girl. Bring me the Azure Phoenix Needle and my sister. Kaelen... I want to keep him alive for a while. I want to show him how it feels when his 'precious' medical arts are used to rot a man from the inside out."
The Syndicate soldiers moved with practiced efficiency, their blades drawing a chorus of metallic shrieks as they unsheathed them.
"Julian, get behind the stone!" Elara commanded. She didn't cower. She pulled a compact, high-frequency stun-baton from her belt—a piece of Valerius tech she had hidden. "Kaelen, do what you have to do. We'll hold the line."
"Don't die," Kaelen said simply.
He didn't run at the soldiers. He ran at Malakor.
As he moved, he drew five silver needles, holding them between his knuckles like claws. The Aether-Flow surged through his boots, allowing him to glide over the burning trenches. Two soldiers tried to intercept him, their spears thrusting toward his chest. Kaelen didn't parry; he twisted his body mid-air, his needles grazing their necks as he passed.
The soldiers didn't fall immediately. They took two steps, their eyes glazed over, and then their legs simply folded. Kaelen had severed the motor-nerve connection to their lower bodies with surgical precision.
Malakor watched the approach with boredom. As Kaelen reached the platform, Malakor swung his bone flute like a mace. The impact against Kaelen's raised forearm sounded like a gong.
"You still use the Master's footwork," Malakor sneered, his speed increasing. He rained down a flurry of strikes, each one aimed at a lethal meridian point. "But you lack the ambition to strike where it hurts."
Kaelen gritted his teeth, his vision blurring as the heat from the fires and the pressure of Malakor's aura pressed against him. He was being pushed back, his boots skidding toward the edge of a burning trench.
"Is that all?" Malakor mocked, his palm glowing with a sickly purple light. "The 'greatest' disciple is nothing more than a mountain goat in a wolf's den."
He lunged with a palm strike aimed at Kaelen's heart. Kaelen didn't dodge. He leaned into the blow, letting Malakor's hand strike his chest.
Crack.
The sound of Kaelen's ribs breaking was audible, but he didn't scream. He reached out and grabbed Malakor's wrist with a grip of iron.
"I didn't come here to win a fight, Senior Brother," Kaelen wheezed, blood staining his teeth as he smiled. "I came here to deliver a prescription."
With his free hand, Kaelen drove the Azure Phoenix Needle into his own chest, right through the point where Malakor's palm had landed.
"What are you doing?" Malakor's eyes widened.
"The Vanguard Dragon Physique," Kaelen whispered. "It doesn't just strengthen the muscles. It turns the body into a conductor. You just gave me all your energy, Malakor. Now, let me show you what happens when I send it back through a silver filter."
The needle flared with a blinding, sapphire light. The energy Malakor had poured into the strike was suddenly sucked back, purified by the needle, and shot back into Malakor's arm like a bolt of lightning.
The explosion of energy threw both men apart. Malakor crashed into the silver tree, his violet silks shredded, his right arm charred and useless. Kaelen fell into the dirt, his breathing ragged, but the Azure Phoenix Needle remained lodged in his chest, glowing like a second heart.
"You... you madman..." Malakor hissed, clutching his ruined arm.
Across the clearing, the silver tree let out a low, mourning hum. A single, pearlescent fruit began to emerge from the highest branch, glowing with a light that pushed back the violet shadows.
The Heavenly Marrow Fruit had bloomed. And the real war was only just beginning.