The butterfly never saw her move.

  One moment it drifted through filtered sunlight. The next, the air snapped-

  And it vanished in a spray of color.

  Within less than a second. Amia was among them.

  She drove her elbow into the nearest soldier’s abdomen with bone-breaking force. Leather tore. The impact folded him forward. Before he could react, her fist collided with his helmet. Metal split. He crumpled.

  She pivoted.

  Slamming her shin into his knee. For a moment, he was free-falling.

  He hit the ground hard.

  She mounted him before he could breathe and drove her fist down.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Again.

  Each strike literally cracking like distant thunder. Blood misted the air. Her aura pulsed - dark ripples distorting the space around her arms.

  She felt nothing.

  No grief.

  No fear.

  Only hollow pressure demanding release.

  A kick caught her ribs.

  She rolled with it, flipping backward onto her feet.

  The raspy sound of wood on steel rang into the air as her katana flashed free.

  One step.

  One thrust.

  The blade punched clean through armor and spine. Hot blood spilled across her front as she withdrew it in a smooth, upward cut.

  The man collapsed, almost entirely into two pieces.

  The last soldier roared and tackled her from behind.

  They hit the ground hard.

  Her weapon flew from her hand.

  He was on her instantly — heavier, stronger. His breath reeked of iron and sweat.

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  His hand fisted in her tunic and tore downward.

  Fabric split and cold air struck her exposed skin.

  Not gentle. Not teasing. Just wrong.

  He pressed his weight down, mouth dragging across her neck, teeth scraping.?? Then his hand dragged down her side, rough and possessive, fingers digging into flesh as if testing ownership.

  Her pulse thundered in her ears.

  For a heartbeat, she felt small.

  Pinned.

  Overpowered.

  Humiliated.

  Amia struggled, striking his ribs, his jaw - but he pinned her wrists with one arm.

  “You should’ve just stayed quiet,” he muttered against her skin.

  His other hand dragged lower. Getting close to the band of her panties now.

  And then-

  Something shifted.

  Something inside her snapped.

  Not panic.

  Not fear.

  Something older.

  Leaves trembled in the trees above them. The ground beneath them shuddered while pebbles rattled against each other. A low vibration built beneath the soil, subtle at first, then growing.

  The forest dimmed around her, shadows bending inward as if drawn toward a center point.

  Toward her.

  Her eyes snapped open.

  She twists violently, slamming her forehead into his nose. Cartilage crunched. Blood burst across her face.

  Her knee came up hard between them.

  He reeled back with a strangled cry.

  Amia kicked him off and scrambled toward her blade.

  Her hand slipping just near the handle, rocking it in place instead.

  Just a bit too far.

  He recovered fast.

  Steel rang once more as he drew his broadsword.

  “You’re dead,” he snarled.

  She reached once more.

  Her fingers brushed dirt.

  The sword lifted overhead.

  Time slowed.

  She saw the arc of steel.

  The flecks of blood on its edge.

  Her own reflection on its surface.

  “So this is how it ends.” She thought to herself.

  Footsteps thundered.

  A blur behind him.

  The descending blade stopped mid-air as a second blade burst through his chest.

  He froze.

  Blood spilled from his mouth as the weapon withdrew.

  Behind him stood a tall woman with jet-black hair cut just below her ears. Her build was powerful, posture steady, expression unreadable.

  She stepped forward and split him from shoulder to hip in a single clean stroke.

  The body fell apart.

  Silence returned as blood steamed on the forest floor.

  Amia lay on her back, chest rising sharply, tunic torn, skin streaked red and dirt-stained.

  The tall woman extended a hand toward her.

  Not gentle.

  Not cold.

  Simply waiting.