The air had thickened with every step we took, but after the battle with the monstrous creature, it felt even more oppressive, as though the world around us was pressing down with a quiet malevolence. The mana in this place wasn't just an environmental pressure—it was a force in its own right, alive and hungry, as if it were searching for something. For us.
We had made our way deeper into the twisted landscape, the thick fog of magic surrounding us in ways I couldn't quite describe, feeling as if it were alive, watching. The ground beneath our feet was shifting, unstable, the mana lines twisting in ways that didn't feel natural. It was harder to trust the space we were walking in now. Something felt off.
I didn't speak, the feeling of the environment weaving around me almost suffocating in its complexity. Instead, I let the strands of mana guide me. I could sense Ramon beside me, his presence as solid as ever, his mana calm and steady. Lycian, on the other hand, was moving ahead, his energy seeming to stretch and pull at the very fabric of reality itself. There was something almost haunting about the way his mana twisted through the air, like a shadow that was never fully present.
And then it happened.
A whisper—a faint sound on the wind, barely audible. But I knew better. It wasn't the wind at all.
"Annabel."
The voice was clear. Salem.
My heart skipped a beat, and I instantly focused, the threads of mana snapping into clarity around me. I could feel her—the dark pull of her shadow magic—twisting, spiraling, like it had always been a part of the very air.
"Annabel…" her voice came again, this time more insistent, more certain. Her tone was familiar, like an old enemy, and it sent a chill down my spine.
I stopped dead in my tracks, feeling the pressure of the magic in the air shift, twist. It was her.
"She's been following me since i left the elf kingdom," I said, my voice low, barely a whisper. I didn't need to say more. Salem had been lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.
I felt Ramon's attention snap to me, his posture tensing. "Who is she?"
I could feel the disturbance in the air—the subtle warping of space as she made her presence known. My fingers tightened on my staff, the hum of energy beneath my skin sharper now.
"She's a shadow mage from the Demon Realm," I answered, my voice steady, though I could sense my heart rate rising. "We barely got away from her the last time. She's not the same anymore."
I could feel her aura shift as the air grew heavier. She was close now.
I could feel her mana like a dark, curling mist—cold and sharp. She was waiting for the moment to strike, her presence growing clearer, more distinct as her words filled the heavy air.
"You didn't think you could escape me that easily, did you?" Salem's voice purred, her words like a knife in the dark. "I've been watching you ever since you left the elf kingdom with King Beren. Following you, waiting for you to leave those damned Saint Clairs. You don't know how long I've been waiting for this moment."
Her form began to solidify, shadows swirling around her like a dark cloak, and I could feel the surge of shadow magic flare to life. She was stronger than I remembered—far stronger.
But so was i and this time i wasn't afraid.
"You've grown since then," she continued, her dark eyes gleaming with malice. "But I've grown too. You're not the only one who has changed."
Her shadowy blade materialized in her hand—a long, jagged weapon that flickered in and out of my perception, sharp and unpredictable.
"We can do this the easy way," Salem said, a cold edge to her voice, "or the hard way."
I felt the weight of her power—the intensity of her mana pressing down on me. I could sense every bit of her twisted magic. She had been following me, tracking me through this land of thick mana, waiting for the moment when I would be off guard.
But now, I wasn't the same either.
Lycian's voice broke through the tension, smooth and almost teasing. "This should be interesting."
He was ready for a fight, but Ramon seemed more hesitant, his mana stirring as he shifted into a defensive stance beside me.
I drew in a breath, steadying myself. "Stay back," I said, the words flowing without hesitation, my staff gripped tightly in my hands. "This is my fight."
"Your fight?" Salem scoffed. "I've been waiting too long for this. You don't get to decide that."
With a sudden flick of her wrist, Salem disappeared into the shadows, her form vanishing completely as if she had never been there.
I didn't flinch.
Mana outlines surged around me, bright threads of magic spiraling through the air like faint constellations—her movements were clearer than before. I could feel the twist of shadow magic, the path of her steps, even though I could not see her with my eyes.
I shifted my footing and folded the space around me, creating a ripple in the mana field. The world around me bent, and I blinked forward just as her blade cut through where I had been.
"Too slow," I whispered.
Salem emerged from the darkness, grinning as her shadow-forged blade caught the dim ambient light. Her eyes burned with a quiet hunger. "I see you've learned some new tricks."
She struck, and our clash exploded into motion.
Wind howled. Shadows hissed. Space shattered.
She moved through shadow like smoke on oil, reappearing with every flicker of colorless light. Her blade swept at angles meant to kill—not to test. Each step she took bled darkness into the world. Shadowstep.
I folded space again and again, zigzagging through dimensions, warping distance until the terrain became meaningless.
Our weapons collided, staff and blade, space against shadow, wind against silence. Rings of elemental force burst outward with every strike. I caught her leg with a fire-enhanced sweep—she dissolved and reformed behind me, slashing. I folded space mid-roll and reappeared high above, diving downward with a spear of ice and a howl of wind at my back.
Boom.
The impact cracked the stone beneath us. She hissed and vanished again.
I turned in a pivot just in time—her blade inches from my throat.
"Better," she murmured, breathy with thrill. "You were a coward when I first met you."
"And you were just a shadow compared to what you are now," I snapped.
She lunged.
We were flashes now—too fast for the eye, faster than even Ramon could follow. He tried once, stepping forward, but the whiplash of our combined mana sent him staggering.
"Back off," Lycian muttered beside him, watching with narrowed eyes. "They're beyond us right now."
He wasn't wrong.
Salem and I were locked in something more than a duel—a collapse of distance, a war of presence and perception. Every flicker of movement came down to instinct, to who could read the other's mana threads faster.
I ducked under her blade and struck upward with a geyser of earth. She burst into mist again—but this time I was ready. I folded sideways in a blink and emerged where her mana outline reformed, driving my staff into her gut with a shockwave of wind.
She gasped, stumbled.
The outline of her eyes met mine—and for the first time, I felt something flicker across her face.
Doubt.
"You've improved," she admitted. "More than I thought possible."
She Shadowstepped again—ten times in a flash, surrounding me with false forms. I let go of my physical senses entirely, sinking into the threads of mana. The false versions shimmered like heat mirages—but the real one was coiled in the leyline at my back.
I folded space.
Clash.
Our magic had scorched the air into ruin—mana rippled off every rock and root, thick like smoke in my lungs. We stood across from each other, panting, limbs bruised, blades humming with tension.
Then—without a word—we dropped the magic.
No fire. No shadows. No tricks.
Just me and her.
Her shadow-forged blade crackled to life again, formed from the void where her hand used to be. The edge curved like a predator's fang, flickering with every pulse of her hatred.
I spun my staff in a loose grip, every movement echoing in the heavy air. Only a blur, a shifting smear of shadow over the world. But her mana was a beacon, screaming with intent. And her footsteps? Loud as war drums to my trained ear.
We moved.
She lunged—fast, deceptive.
I sidestepped, pivoted on my heel, and snapped my staff downward at her thigh. She caught it with her blade, but I let the momentum roll me into a full-body spin, dragging the bo across her shoulder as I passed behind her. She hissed in pain, already whirling with a rising slash—too wide. I ducked, tucked into a roll, came up under her guard, drove my staff up toward her ribs—
She twisted midair, catching it with her forearm, and kicked off my hip.
She was fast. But I was faster where it counted.
I folded my stance low, one foot behind the other. The air vibrated around me, the mana lines in Salem's body flaring with every muscle twitch.
She surged again.
This time, I didn't back away.
Clack. Clack-clack. Snap. My bo staff moved in a blur—triple feint, back-palm rotation, one-handed redirect—all without seeing her clearly. My strikes followed her mana like notes in a song, every ripple a step ahead of where her blade would be.
She ducked one blow—but caught the next with her sword, twisted, and let the blade slice low across my ribs.
I groaned and backed away, blood soaking my tunic. I could feel her grinning.
Ramon's foot shifted beside Lycian.
"I'm going in—"
Lycian didn't even look at him. His arm shot out. "No."
"She's bleeding."
"And still fighting," Lycian said calmly, eyes sharp as a blade. "Look at her staff."
Ramon hesitated.
Lycian's voice dropped to a murmur. "It's moving faster than lightning strikes."
He turned slightly. "If it gets worse, we'll step in. But right now? Give her this."
On the battlefield, I tightened my grip, shoulders squared.
"You're not that blind girl anymore," Salem said.
"No," I breathed, staff leveled. "This time i'll take more than your hand."
She roared, and we collided again.
Blade and staff screamed through the air, faster than most eyes could track. She fought like a shadow come to life—unpredictable, her sword flickering between forms, sometimes weightless, sometimes heavy as a guillotine. But I was a storm—whirling arcs, collapsing strikes, redirecting weight mid-motion, every inch of my body a weapon. My staff flexed under the pressure, carving spirals through the air, spinning through impossible angles, bending space by instinct, even without activating the fold.
She scored my shoulder—I cracked her jaw.
She caught my knee—I elbowed her in the throat.
She disarmed me once—I caught the staff mid-air on the rebound, flipped it behind my back, and struck with the other end in a single motion.
It was brutal. Yet also perfect. I've gotten so much stronger and this is proof.
We were even.
Our weapons clashed again—shadow meeting steel—and both of us stumbled back at the same time, sweat pouring, breathing ragged.
I couldn't tell if she was smiling but i could tell she was bleeding. Probably both.
We stood, weapons raised—about to charge again.
And then the sky broke open.
A pressure hit the earth like gravity made flesh.
It came without warning—no sound, no flare, just presence. An overwhelming wrongness that made the bones in my body ache. I collapsed to one knee.
So did Salem.
So did Ramon, Lycian.
The air shattered with invisible force. My lungs compressed. My staff slipped from my fingers.
And then I felt him.
His mana was beyond sense—not a wave, not a flare, not a force.
It was a truth. A law in the world itself.
An immense pressure slammed into the field from above like the weight of a world descending.
We couldn't even breathe.
The pressure wasn't magic—it was something more. Something primal.
A heartbeat echoed through the ground.
One step.
And then another.
Each footfall was thunder in the soul.
I turned my head with what little strength I had.
He was walking out of the mist.
Not rushing. Not flying. Just walking.
Calm.
Heavy.
I could barely see him, but his mana was a sun behind a curtain—impossible to look at, impossible not to feel.
Lincoln.
My breath caught. Even kneeling, even crushed under the gravity of his aura, I felt something strange.
Relief.
And awe.
Even Salem, still gasping, was forced into a kneel, her eyes wide with instinctual terror. Her body trembled—not from fear, but from being reduced to nothing in the face of a presence she couldn't match.
Lincoln came to a stop, and the pressure reached its peak.
"Enough," he said, voice like distant thunder rolling across the sky.
The world obeyed.