9 seconds.
The enemy had noticed something—shadows shifting, faint movements. They advanced cautiously, heading toward the cross-section.
Then—Darkness.
The flickering ceiling lights blinked out all at once.
A beat later, Walker moved.
No sound. Enhancing muscles of his legs, for rapid speed—his feet pressing down lightly as he exploded forward.
He struck.
A fist aimed straight at the Seeker's head, enhanced with bone-cracking strength—
BOOM.
A sonic pulse hit the air first, before the punch could land. A sound-based stun. The blast disoriented Walker mid-strike, throwing off his aim.
The Seeker ducked low, evading the blow cleanly, and countered with a left hook to Walker's ribs.
But Walker recovered fast—arms snapping into a cross-guard, blocking just in time.
BOOM.
Another pulse.
Walker staggered again—this one deeper, sharper. Another strike came for his head.
Crack… crack…
A thin film of ice shimmered in the air between them. It slowed the blow, just enough.
Walker slid aside and repositioned.
Low kick—bang!
Finally, contact. The Seeker was pushed back a step, his stance adjusting.
Both paused, eyes locked. Measuring.
And then—another sonic blast.
Walker, still recovering, took a single step back. So did the Seeker.
In the shadows, the others moved.
Myth, Ashley, and Sira slipped into position. Sira's vision adjusted fastest—as she was a seeker.
"Remember the plan?" Myth whispered.
"Yes," Ashley replied without hesitation.
"Find the Bishop!" the Seeker roared.
Walker didn't hesitate. He bolted toward the voice, blade of movement and intent.
Behind them, the guards had begun to split up—two going forward, where Walker came from , one peeling off toward the corridor Myth and others were.
The lone guard moved carefully, musket aimed, finger near the trigger. His eyes struggled in the dark. Just like Myth's.
But the glowing energy core of the musket was all Myth needed.
He waited.
Silent.
Patient.
The moment the guard stepped into range
Myth lunged, seizing the musket with both hands and forcing it upward. The guard snarled and slammed a fist into Myth's ribs.
Pain.
Myth groaned—but didn't let go.
The guard reared back for a second punch
BAM!
Ashley collided with the guard, slamming both him and Myth to the ground.
The musket fired—
BANG!
The shot burst into the ceiling. Not fatal—but loud. Too loud.
The other guards heard it.
Myth wrestled the musket free as they fell. Ashley held on tight, even as the guard kicked wildly.
Victor's voice echoed nearby—sharp, deliberate. Drawing attention.
The second guard pivoted, sprinting back—but slipped and crashed to the floor mid-turn, which seemed to have formed thin layer of ice.
Ashley took a brutal kicks—but she refused to let go.
The guard turned, choosing to reach for something in his pocket.
Myth, noticing this, caught the movement—
Blocked his hand with his legs.
Then—
Sira arrived.
She kicked the guard in the head.
Again. And again.
Punches. Kicks. They didn't stop until the guard's body went limp.
Breathing hard, Myth rose. "Sira, grab the musket. Ashley—tie him."
He rifled through the guard's pockets, finding a small knife and wallet. He handed the blade to Ashley.
Without a word, she ripped a strip from her white shirt, using it to bind the unconscious guard's hands.
Myth glanced at her—hair messy, bruised face, and a scrape visible where she'd torn the fabric.
"Leech," Ashley muttered, smirking despite the ache.
Myth winced. "well okay. I earned that."
He wasn't in much better shape. One side of his face was swollen, ribs sore, legs shaking from the burst of effort.
Yes—he had taken dagger classes, private lessons for a year. But this... this was different.
None of that felt real in a fight. This was real combat.
It was like reading theory once—then walking straight into the practical exam.
Sira returned, musket in hand and moved to help Ashley.
They had won the first round. But the war had just begun.
Myth was already scanning the battlefield, eyes fixed on the chaos unfolding in the cross-section.
"Listen up," he said quietly but firmly. "Right now, two guards are headed toward Victor. Ashley and I will handle that. Sira—you stay here with the musket."
He glanced between them. "Ashley, show her how to use it. She can see more clearly than us."
Sira frowned. "You expect me to fire—?"
"Yes," Myth cut her off. "We don't have time to talk. Ashley—now."
Ashley didn't argue. She quickly showed Sira how to operate the bolt-action musket—twice. Then she loaded a round and handed it over.
Sira held the weapon awkwardly. She wasn't confident in reloading, and she looked even less confident about firing it.
But the plan had been thrown together in a rush. No one had a say.
"Come on. Let's go, Ashley," Myth said, already moving.
He didn't wait for a reply.
Up ahead, Walker and the enemy Seeker were still locked in combat—loud, brutal strikes echoing through the corridor. The cross-section was wide enough that Myth and Ashley could slip past along the edge, staying low and quick.
Victor was a bishop, he wasn't built for direct combat.
Yes, as a Seeker, he had some increment in strength—but his true ability was environmental manipulation. And at his current level, it was slow. He could form thin sheets of ice quickly, but for thick slabs or larger formations, he needed more time.
Time the guards wouldn't give him.
Two musket shots. That's all it would take.
And Myth knew it.
He and Ashley crept down the corridor toward Victor's position, every step slow and deliberate. They listened carefully—waiting for any noise, any movement. The guards had hidden their musket cores, masking their presence.
"Victor must've seen us," Myth whispered, barely audible.
Then, softly, "Ashley… are you confident with the knife?"
"Don't worry," she whispered back. "I got this."
---
In the very next instant, a massive, thick slab of ice came crashing down at the cross-section—right where Walker and the enemy Seeker were locked in battle.
Walker didn't back away. Despite the chaos, he held the Seeker in place, intentionally letting the ice trap them both, buying precious seconds.
From the very beginning, Victor had been quietly building—layer upon layer of ice stacked above the ceiling, invisible amidst the fight. And when the connecting ice vaporized back into energy—
The entire weight of it came crashing down.
...
Both ducked low, pressing against the ground to avoid being crushed. The ice pinned them—cutting off movement and forcing a pause in the fight.
The Seeker, frustrated, tried to shatter the slab with a sonic boom.
It didn't work.
Bang!
A glowing energy bullet ripped through his thigh—blood spraying.
Click. Click.
Bang!
Another shot followed.
Across the slab, the two guards reacted to the sudden ice and gunfire. One turned, distracted. The other barely had time to look.
Myth and Ashley closed in fast.
Myth tackled the closer guard from the side, sweeping a leg behind his. They crashed to the floor. He immediately shifted his weight, pinning the man's left arm—keeping it away from the knife he likely kept in that pocket.
The second guard turned, about to react.
Crack!
He dropped instantly.
Victor stood behind him, arm raised from the blow—a clean punch to the back of the head.
The pinned guard writhed, punching wildly, almost slipping free—
Until the knife plunged into his chest.
His body stilled. Limp.
Ashley stared at the body, breathing hard. Trying to stay calm. Trying not to think about what she'd just done.
Myth didn't speak. He felt it too—cold, heavy. He had helped kill that man. There was no denying it.
Ashley turned away.
Myth walked over, quietly placed a hand on her shoulder.
Still, he said nothing.