Ashwing met it midair, jaws catching the thing's neck with a snap that echoed like a judge's gavel.
The little dragon rolled with the body, bounced once, then crouched again, smoke trailing from his nostrils like he'd been born to guard this moment.
Lindarion stepped forward again.
The mage tilted his head.
Runes along the staff flared a deep crimson, panicked now. Not rhythmic. Not steady. Like it was trying to reconfigure for a threat it didn't understand.
Only a few steps. Just enough to keep herself in range.
Ren, still bleeding, barked a laugh. "You were holding out on us!"
"I'm eleven," Lindarion said.
"You're an eleven-year-old problem."
"Better than being a corpse."
The Divine energy curled tighter around his arms now, lacing up his sleeves in threads of white fire.
Like it wanted an audience.
Not back. Not forward. Just centered himself.
The sky cracked again.
This time, the tear stayed open.
Lindarion didn't wait.
He launched himself forward.
It wrapped around his fists, bent around his shoulders, and pushed.
Just enough to let the world know he meant it.
The mage sent another bolt of mana straight toward his chest.
Lindarion batted it aside.
The impact split the air.
Snow vaporized in a ten-foot radius.
He closed the distance.
The mage raised his staff.
Lindarion didn't let him finish.
And the mask cracked again.
The monsters felt it first.
They screamed and clawed at the snow. Some ran. Some convulsed and tore at each other, directionless.
Lindarion stood in the middle of it.
His vision blurred for a second.
Lira caught him before he dropped.
One hand on his shoulder.
"I'm fine," he muttered.
"Emotionally, I'm always lying."
Ashwing stood in front of them now, wings flared, snarling at what remained of the field.
The mage didn't fall.
The staff pulsed once.
Lindarion blinked the blur from his eyes and hissed through his teeth.
'He should be leaving. He knows he can't win. Not now.'
But the crack in the sky?
Ren limped over, one hand on her ribs. "So… we gonna talk about that light show or just keep pretending you're normal?"
Lindarion didn't answer.
Not because he didn't want to.
But because the sky just shivered again.
And something else was watching.
Something that wasn't ready to step in—
But now knew his name.
At the battlefield that used to be a village.
The mage didn't retreat.
There was a line in the frost. Burned clean by Lindarion's light. The village, the corpses, the flickering chaos, none of it mattered in that second. Just him. Just the mage. Just the breath between what should've been an ending and what was clearly something stupider.
The mask cracked top to bottom, it split wider.
But enough to show a sliver underneath.
Ren's face twisted. "That's not a mage anymore."
Her blade twitched in her grip like it was ready to finish what Lindarion started.
The figure leaned forward slightly. The runes down the staff flared one by one, red to orange to white.
Just low. Rich. Like something that had forgotten how lungs worked and decided to fake it for the aesthetic.
Lindarion took a step back.
The little dragon spat a thread of flame into the snow and snarled deep, like his whole bloodline had just been insulted.
The laughter stopped.
Not because it ended.
Because it got cut off.
The mage's body lurched.
Like it couldn't hold shape anymore.
Then his back arched.
The runes all flared at once—
The body crumpled like paper soaked in ink. Mask shattered. Cloak twisted into black smoke. Staff fell and sank into the snow with a metallic thunk that sounded… final.
And something else stood up.
Gray skin like tree bark and shadows. Eyes, plural, burning violet in a skull that didn't have the decency to pick a species. Its arms hung too long. Its chest was hollow. Literally. A ribcage that opened and breathed.
Like it wanted more room.
Lindarion whispered, "Ah. So he had a second phase."
Ren groaned. "I hate second phases."
The creature snapped its head toward Lira.
But something in her shifted.
The fight hadn't ended.
It had just peeled off the skin.
The village, or what was left of it started shaking. Not violently. Not all at once. Just little shifts.
Like the world itself was holding its breath and about to regret it.
The creature opened its chest cavity.
It glowed inside. Dimly. Like a lantern made of bone and promises.
Ashwing stepped forward, growling low.
Ren looked to Lindarion. "I'm out of clever. Got anything left?"
Lindarion clenched his fist.
The light didn't come back.
But the heat was still there. In his chest. Waiting.
'I'm still standing. That means we're not done.'
And without a word—ran straight toward the thing.
The battlefield hadn't gone quiet.
But for the first time since this started, the noise felt distant.
Like the air itself was holding its breath. Or watching.
Lindarion blinked the last of the light from his vision. His legs weren't moving yet, and his ribs definitely had a few opinions, but he was upright. Technically.
Ashwing paced in front of him in slow, angry circles. Tail twitching. Wings low. Eyes locked on the dark mage like he was ready to try a second round, maybe with more teeth this time.