The ruins answered Binyamin’s resolve with violence.
Stone cracked underfoot as the battlefield stretched wide and merciless, an endless expanse of broken ground framed by jagged mountains clawing at the night. Once, this place had been calm—glyph-lit paths, resting grounds etched with faint sigils meant for travelers. Now, the air was warped. Cursed. Twisted by the presence of Zarek and the Inquisitor, their power staining the land until even the glyphs embedded in stone hummed uneasily, as if resisting them.
The attack never slowed.
The Inquisitor struck again, closing distance in a blur of motion, his bare hands glowing with compressed glyph force. Aylen met him head-on, blade flashing as Naela’s glyphs flared into existence just in time—barriers forming, cracking, reforming under relentless pressure. Every movement cost them. Every second pushed them closer to failure.
Zarek didn’t bother watching.
He was already moving—straight for Binyamin.
Steel screamed as their blades collided, sparks scattering across the ruined ground. Zarek fought like a storm given shape, every strike heavy, precise, meant to break rather than test. Binyamin absorbed the impact, boots digging into fractured stone, Maltherion’s power burning beneath his skin as he forced himself forward.
Kara was there instantly.
She slipped in beside him, daggers flashing, intercepting a follow-up strike that would have torn through Binyamin’s guard. The two moved together without a word—close, tight, no wasted motion. Zarek pressed them hard, forcing them backward step by step as the ground buckled beneath the force of each blow.
The enemy noticed the formation immediately.
Zarek’s eyes flicked past them once—just once—toward Aylen and Naela. The Inquisitor, too, shifted his stance, awareness sharpening. They saw the split. Understood it.
And dismissed it.
They were stronger. Individually, overwhelmingly so. Confident enough to let the plan unfold, certain it wouldn’t matter. Confidence born from power had killed countless opponents before.
Binyamin felt it—felt the pressure building, the weight of responsibility tightening around his chest.
Not again.
He refused to let this end the same way it always did.
“Split,” he said, voice sharp, cutting through the chaos. “Kara—stay with me. Aylen, Naela—take the other path.”
Naela met his eyes for half a heartbeat. Her glyphs pulsed faintly, steady despite the strain.
“Be careful,” she said.
There was no time for more.
They broke apart.
Mist surged violently as the ground divided them, Kara staying tight to Binyamin’s side as they charged straight at Zarek. Aylen and Naela veered off, drawing the Inquisitor’s attention as glyph light flared and steel rang against compressed force.
Zarek laughed.
“You think distance will save you?”
He came at them harder.
Binyamin met him head-on, shield raised, blade flashing in brutal arcs. Kara wove around him, striking low, striking fast, forcing Zarek to adjust. Every impact rattled Binyamin’s bones, Maltherion’s power roaring in response, begging to be unleashed fully.
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He didn’t let it.
Not yet.
The fight tightened—too close for grand techniques, too fast for hesitation. Zarek’s blade carved through the air, nicking Kara’s shoulder as she twisted aside. She didn’t slow. Didn’t falter. She drove her dagger forward, sparks exploding as Zarek deflected at the last instant.
They didn’t stop.
Strike. Block. Counter.
No breaks. No retreat.
Binyamin’s breathing grew heavy as the rhythm locked in. He could feel the weight of every responsibility he carried pressing down on him—the same weight that had followed him since the day his parents died. Since the moment the world decided his sister’s safety mattered less than its own comfort.
I won’t fail again.
Zarek overextended.
Just barely.
Binyamin saw it.
“Kara,” he said, low and urgent. “Go. Help them. I’ll keep him busy.”
She hesitated for a fraction of a second—just long enough to meet his eyes.
“You better not die,” she muttered.
Then she was gone.
Zarek lunged, realizing too late. Binyamin stepped into the attack, Maltherion’s power surging as he redirected the blow, sparks tearing across the ruins as he forced Zarek back.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Binyamin said, voice steady despite the strain.
Zarek’s grin widened.
“Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”
Elsewhere, the fight was turning ugly.
Aylen’s blade rang against the Inquisitor’s arm as he caught it barehanded, glyphs flaring at the point of contact. The impact sent a shockwave through her arm, nearly wrenching the sword free. Naela reacted instantly, glyph lines snapping into place, reinforcing Aylen’s footing as another strike came down.
Too fast.
Too strong.
The Inquisitor moved through the mist like a force of nature, feet and fists striking with glyph-enhanced precision. When Aylen tried to press forward, he countered effortlessly, sending her skidding across the stone.
Naela’s barrier flared—then cracked.
That was when Kara arrived.
Her dagger intercepted a killing blow mid-swing, sparks erupting as metal met glyph-forged force. Aylen surged forward instantly, exploiting the opening as Naela tightened her control, glyphs snapping into a triangular formation that locked their movements together.
The Inquisitor paused.
Just a fraction.
Enough.
Back with Zarek, the earth quaked as Binyamin drove him back step by step. Every clash sent debris flying, glyphs embedded in stone flaring violently under the pressure. Zarek struck harder, faster, sensing the shift in momentum elsewhere.
“You’re stalling,” Zarek snarled.
“Yes,” Binyamin replied, blade locked against his. “That’s the point.”
The ruins screamed as power collided across the battlefield—four fighters standing against impossible odds, refusing to fall, refusing to yield.
The night watched.
And for the first time since the battle began, the enemy hesitated.
