The streets were broken. Like me.

  The heat of the fires still clung to the air, but all I could feel was cold. A dry, anxious cold—like my own magic had hardened inside me.

  We ran.

  The city was still burning, though not with visible flames. The fire was human now: overcrowded ambulances, soldiers barking orders, civilians dragging suitcases or bodies. Some streets were still smoking. Police tape fluttered in the wind. Helicopters buzzed overhead. And the magic—it trembled through the air like cracked glass ready to shatter.

  —No stable traces —Neyra murmured, rubbing her temples—. The magic’s still so distorted I can’t isolate anything.

  —There has to be something —I growled, never slowing. I felt it in my chest, a pressure, like the universe had tied a wire to my ribs and was pulling.

  It wasn’t pure hatred. It was something more visceral. As if her face had been branded into my memory with black fire. I didn’t know her name. I didn’t know her story.

  But she almost killed Silas.

  And that was enough.

  Velka suddenly stopped and turned to Neyra, frowning.

  The structure loomed before us like a hollow carcass from the past. An old warehouse, its rusted doors cracked open, covered in dust, graffiti, and forgotten memories. Around it—silence. Too much of it.

  —This is it —Neyra murmured, her breath unsteady—. I can feel something inside. But it’s… distorted.

  Velka raised a hand, stopping us before we could move any closer.

  —We need to think before going in —she said in a low voice—. We don’t know if there are traps. If they’re alone. If they’re waiting for backup. And with your magic still unstable, Neyra...

  —And what do you suggest? —I cut in. My voice crackled like static—. Wait for them to escape again?

  —I suggest using our brains —Velka snapped—. Like we always do. Track, confirm, plan, strike.

  —Not this time.

  My body was already trembling from the build-up of energy. Rancor crawled up my throat, thick and searing. I couldn’t stand still. Not after everything.

  —Lyss... —Neyra started.

  —Enough! —I shouted—. I’m done waiting. Done watching them move freely while we play cautious. Thinking didn’t save Silas. Or the city. Thinking didn’t stop the explosions.

  Velka stared at me, tense. But she didn’t stop me.

  —Just one question —she said, the tone of someone who knew she wouldn’t change the outcome—. What if it’s a trap?

  —Then they fall with me inside —I answered.

  I stepped forward. And without waiting another second, I raised my arm.

  —Transformation. Now —I whispered.

  The energy burst around me in a blink. The air vibrated. The edges of the world blurred for a heartbeat, like even reality bent to let me pass. My outfit bloomed like a second skin—dense, blazing. My hair whipped with newfound fury. My eyes... were no longer the same. They burned.

  I sprinted for the doors. Kicked them open.

  Inside, three figures looked up. All three. As if they had been waiting for us.

  The white-haired woman saw me.

  I didn’t stop. I wasn’t here to listen. I wasn’t letting that honeyed voice poison me again.

  With a scream, I lunged at her, cutting through the warehouse like lightning. I grabbed her by the collar and hurled her through the crates—out of the building. Away from Neyra. Away from Velka.

  The battle had begun.

  —There’s something I don’t get. If magical girls can sense each other… why didn’t any of us felt them? How did they manage to capture you without us noticing?

  Neyra hesitated, then answered honestly.

  —Because I shut everything down, maybe they did it to. My magic. My aura. Everything. I didn’t use a single drop. Only when the white haired one tried to plant a fake memory—I defended myself. But it was a flicker. So faint, they probably mistook it for the magic of that woman.

  Velka nodded, thoughtful. I didn’t speak. My fists were burning.

  Her. That woman.

  The smile in the library.

  The sweet voice.

  The explosions.

  Silas...

  I wouldn’t forgive her.

  —Wait —Neyra suddenly said. She stopped. Touched the ground with two fingers. A faint blue glow emerged from a crack in the stone.

  Velka crouched beside her.

  —Emotional residue?

  —Worse —Neyra muttered—. Magical signature. Someone tried to mask it. They failed.

  —Where does it lead?

  Neyra raised her head.

  —Cargo district. Old warehouses. Shut down for years.

  I didn’t wait. My feet were already moving.

  —Lyss! —Velka called out.

  —I’m done waiting —I said without looking back—. This time, they don’t get away.

  The impact slammed her against an exterior wall, making the rusted panels groan.

  The white-haired woman rose with an unnatural fluidity, not even dust on her clothes—as if gravity itself hadn't fully noticed her yet. She shook her fingers lightly, relaxed. Her expression was almost… amused.

  —"So impatient," she said, voice melodic and sharp like shattered crystal. "Not even a hello before the murder attempt?"

  I didn’t answer.

  My sniper rifle was already in my hands, born from my chest like an extension of myself. The weapon pulsed with emotional energy—a blend of resentment, fear, and urgency. This wasn't a regular firearm. It was judgment. Fueled by what I felt.

  She didn’t flinch.

  —"Is that your gift?" she asked, tilting her head. "Pretty. Raw. Unstable. Like you."

  She reached for something I hadn't seen before: a sword. But it wasn’t ordinary. It had no defined edge, more like a liquid flame, black and red, extending from her palm. It vibrated with a low hum, like the breathing of a hollow wound.

  Her weapon didn’t cut—it consumed.

  Void.

  —"What is that?" I asked under my breath.

  She smiled. That crooked, knowing smile.

  —"A promise," she said. "To stop feeling."

  I lunged before she could speak again. I fired. A projectile laced with pure resentment split the air—but she spun her sword like someone brushing away smoke, and the shot dissolved, devoured by the living blade.

  I closed in. Another shot. This one struck close, sparking on impact. She danced aside, twirling, and brought the sword down against the butt of my rifle, slamming me backward.

  I rolled on the ground, but didn’t stop. My sniper rifle shrank along my arm into a humming band of light. I shifted it into its secondary form: a long blade, resonating with sharp emotion.

  We charged at each other.

  The first clash was brutal. My blade screeched as it met hers. It wasn’t heat—it was hunger. The Void in her sword tried to swallow everything. And still… I held on.

  —"Don’t you want to know why?" she asked between strikes. "Why that boy was there? Why you survived?"

  —"I don’t care about your ‘why.’ I just want you to pay."

  —"Your resentment…" she whispered. "Delicious."

  I struck hard, aiming for her gut. This time, she didn’t dodge in time. She spat blood, and for a moment, her smile cracked. The first fissure.

  —"There you are," she murmured. "Closer."

  I went in again. Everything blurred—blows, bursts, spins, light and shadow. Fighting her was like battling a broken mirror. She wasn’t transforming, wasn’t releasing more power… as if she were holding back.

  Why?

  And then, we felt it.

  A deep dissonance. A twist in the air—not magic, not a blast.

  Something else.

  Both of us stopped at the same time. My chest burned. She had blood on her lips. But we were both standing.

  —"You felt that?" she asked.

  I nodded.

  The white-haired woman turned her gaze toward the horizon, as if she'd been expecting it all along.

  As if she'd been waiting for it.

  —"This isn’t over," I said.

  She smiled. This time, with no sarcasm.

  —"How lucky."

  Back to the storage site at the same time.

  The battle inside the warehouse had begun without a single word. The distant roar of the city—screams, sirens, fire—served as the backdrop to a duel that should never have happened… yet was inevitable.

  Velka and Neyra faced off against Violeta and Elainne. No introductions were needed. Hatred had already been served.

  Velka moved with ferocious energy, as if the chaos of Seravenn channeled itself through her fists—and through her gunblade, a vibrating-edge weapon that discharged bursts of energy with each impact. Every time Violeta threw one of her invisible needles, Velka spun on her heels, firing short bursts from her weapon’s hilt before slashing forward, as if violence sharpened her aim.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  —"You know," she said mid-exchange, her grin crooked, "is that marble stare part of your charm or is it permanent?"

  Violeta didn’t answer. She merely raised an eyebrow and launched another needle.

  Velka rolled sideways, her coat flaring behind her like a banner of dust and rage.

  Neyra, meanwhile, moved with the precision of a possessed ballerina. Her segmented staff glowed like a flexible chain of pale light, expanding with sharp clicks to strike from multiple angles. Each spin of her body turned it into a whip, a spear, a trap. Elainne’s staff tried to block and predict, but Neyra danced beyond calculation.

  —"I won’t let you silence me again!" Neyra shouted, chaining an upward spin into a downward strike.

  Elainne’s brow furrowed just slightly.

  —"Your style is beautiful. But obsession can hollow even the perfect dance."

  —"Then listen carefully," Neyra snapped, her eyes fever-bright. "Today I dance for me!"

  The clashes between both pairs filled the space with sparks, echoes, and restrained bursts.

  In the midst of it, Velka narrowed her eyes briefly, dodging a needle and countering with a quick shot from her blade.

  —"Haven’t felt this much fire since her…" she muttered, leaving the thought unfinished.

  Blows. Sparks. Blood. But then—something shifted. A subtle change in the air. Like the silence before a thunderclap.

  All four paused at once. As if a note had been struck by an instrument offstage.

  A glow descended from a shattered skylight. A figure wrapped in crystal and shades of gray dropped with brutal elegance. The warehouse floor trembled beneath her.

  Caelia.

  Her eyes scanned the battlefield. She didn’t look surprised—only calculating the distance between each threat.

  —"Velka. Neyra," she said, her voice steady. "Are you going to keep playing or get ready?"

  Velka was panting. She wiped a smear of blood from the corner of her lip with the back of her hand.

  —"Ready for what?"

  Caelia didn’t answer right away. Her gaze shifted to one of the warehouse walls… and they all felt it.

  A dissonance. As if the air sang the wrong note. As if something that should never exist was slipping into their reality.

  The lights flickered. Emotions distorted.

  And for the first time… even Violeta and Elainne stopped attacking.

  —"Because something worse is coming," Caelia finally said. Her calm wasn’t reassurance—it was preparation for horror.

  And the warehouse turned into a tomb of silence, just before the tremor.

  The air changed.

  It wasn’t a sound. Not even a tremor. It was silence. Dense. Unnatural. As if the entire world had held its breath without knowing why.

  My chest tightened. My transformation suddenly felt heavy, as if my own body had turned to molten lead. My magic… it was still there, but distant—like shouting through the bottom of a well.

  Something was entering.

  I turned toward the collapsed wall of the warehouse.

  And then I saw it.

  A thin figure. Broken. Like a mannequin abandoned to fire. Its skin hung in ribbons of shadow and worn cloth. It had no mouth. Its eyes were sewn shut. Its movements… were not natural. It advanced like something being pulled by strings from a plane we couldn't comprehend.

  It didn’t breathe. But the world did. The world panted in its presence.

  A crack of splintering wood marked its first step.

  And we all felt it.

  Silke stepped back. For the first time since I’d seen her, her face lost its smile. Violeta’s arms tensed. Elainne looked down at her emotional staff, as if trying to recalibrate it—unsuccessfully.

  Caelia stepped forward, her voice low but clear:

  —Witch… —she whispered.

  Silke turned to her, without sarcasm.

  —A witch? Here?

  Caelia nodded.

  —A Dominus. A real one.

  The word sliced through me like a dagger. It carried strange weight—like something ancient, forbidden... remembered.

  —What is it doing here? —I asked, forcing my voice to speak.

  —I don’t know —Caelia replied—. But it didn’t come to talk.

  The air became unbreathable. The Dominus took another step, and with each movement, our magical cores reacted as if being dismantled. A chill ran down my spine. The emotional energy that had filled me minutes ago now trembled—like crystal on the edge of shattering.

  Silke turned toward the far wall.

  —We’re leaving —she said urgently.

  She, Violeta, and Elainne tried to exit. But it was useless.

  The warehouse doors… were gone.

  Not sealed. Not blocked.

  Gone.

  A tendril of shadow dropped from the ceiling, spreading like a web of bones, sealing the exit with a whisper that froze the blood.

  Violeta launched a needle. It veered off. Dropped to the floor—devoured by the air.

  Elainne raised her staff, but the Dominus’s aura forced it down. Not physically. Emotionally. Even magical tools… were afraid.

  Silke cursed under her breath.

  —We’re trapped…

  —No. We’re marked —Caelia said, clenching her fists—. This kind of entity doesn’t move by strategy. It moves by hunger.

  I could barely breathe. Not from heat. Not from smoke.

  From her presence.

  She was a warped echo of what once was human.

  And now… we were all on her menu.

  She wasn’t walking. She slithered with a broken elegance, as if each tendon in her body were being manipulated from the outside. The Dominus advanced like a rotting puppet, and with every step, the air grew thicker, harder to breathe. The warehouse lights flickered. The ground creaked as if rejecting her presence.

  I saw Caelia raise her arm to stop Neyra.

  —Don’t get close!

  But it was too late.

  From the creature’s chest emerged a black tendril. Alive. Pulsing. It slithered like a snake that had learned to sense emotion. And it struck toward Violeta.

  She barely had time to raise a magical shield. Useless. The contact lasted less than a second, and her defense crumbled like wet paper.

  Silke cursed and shoved her out of reach just in time. But Violeta was already on her knees, mouth agape and eyes… empty. She was coughing blood.

  —She’s draining emotion directly! —Elainne shouted.

  My stomach twisted.

  Velka was the first to attack. She fired a shot from her gunblade straight at the creature’s torso. The blast shook my bones… but the Dominus barely flinched. The impact sounded like it hit rotting wood.

  —Does it even have a weak point!? —Velka shouted.

  I was already in position. I’d climbed one of the high metal beams. I knelt down, shoulder locked behind my sniper rifle, aiming for the thing’s head. My heart pounded. My fingers trembled. The air… felt wrong. Heavy. Like the magic around us was being sucked away.

  I fired.

  I watched the bullet fly, almost in slow motion. Clean. Perfect.

  And then… it unraveled.

  No explosion. No hit. It just vanished when it touched her flesh.

  —No way…

  Neyra leapt from a balcony, her segmented staff glowing with live emotional lines. It was like watching someone dance at the end of the world.

  —DIE! —she shouted, spinning midair like a comet.

  And just as she was about to strike—

  Another black whip lashed out from the Dominus. It caught the staff. Shattered it. Then slammed Neyra against a concrete column. The impact was so loud I felt it in my teeth.

  —NEYRA! —Velka screamed, darting toward her like a bullet.

  Caelia didn’t hesitate.

  She stepped forward. No theatrics. No words. Just force.

  Her fist struck the Dominus square in the chest.

  For a moment, the creature staggered. One step back. Just one. But it was like watching an earthquake hesitate.

  —She’s vulnerable… right after physical contact —Caelia said.

  Silke glanced at me.

  —Are you saying we have to touch that thing?

  —With enough emotion focused, yes. But… —she looked around at all of us— it’s already starting to hurt.

  And she was right.

  My legs felt heavy. The magic inside me flickered like a candle about to die. The air tasted like rust. My heart ached.

  Every second near that thing… it was pulling something out of us.

  And still… it hadn’t even begun to speak.

  The creature wouldn’t stop.

  Each step it took was like a wave of emptiness. The magic inside me flickered, unstable, as if its very presence made my existence incompatible with this world. There was no way to keep a steady flow. It was like trying to light a fire in space: the heat vanished before it could exist.

  I tried to focus. To spark a solid emotional aura. But the moment it formed, I felt it drain away.

  Behind me, Velka was gasping.

  —This… this isn’t normal —she said through clenched teeth—. I can’t breathe properly.

  Even Caelia had begun to sweat. And seeing her like that—her, the embodiment of control and precision—froze my blood.

  Silke launched a direct attack. She summoned a sphere of black fire, compact and deadly. Something that, under any other circumstance, would have been lethal.

  She threw it.

  The Dominus didn’t even dodge. The sphere disintegrated inches from her skin, as if it had never existed.

  Violeta remained standing by sheer will. She could barely lift her hand to aim her needles. Elainne, pale and strained, frantically scanned readings on her emotional staff.

  —Absorption is intensifying with every strong emotional manifestation —she murmured—. She’s draining us faster each time.

  —What do you suggest? —Velka growled.

  —Stop feeling. Don’t fight with direct emotional magic. Don’t use anything that can be… drained.

  Caelia gritted her teeth.

  —Then what do we fight with? Sarcasm?

  Neyra tried to move, but stumbled. Blood lined the corner of her lips. Yet her gaze remained fierce. Obsessive.

  —We… can’t… give up.

  I lowered my rifle. It was useless. I didn’t even have the strength to stabilize it anymore.

  I stood still, watching as the ground beneath the Dominus cracked like torn fabric. Reality itself seemed to bend around her.

  Silke leaned against a pillar, struggling to breathe.

  —This isn’t a battle anymore. It’s punishment.

  The Dominus turned.

  She hadn’t done that once during the fight.

  She looked at us.

  A hollow stare. Pure. As if there was no one behind those eyes. But that absence… it hurt more than any threat. Because there was no emotion. No soul. Only hunger.

  She tilted her head slightly.

  And stepped forward.

  Each step, a tremor. Each step, a failed prayer.

  —Back! —I shouted.

  But no one moved.

  Not from fear.

  But from the weight.

  The weight of the void that had already reached us.

  I can’t remember when we stopped fighting and started just… enduring.

  Every step toward her cost an entire universe. My magic flared when I summoned it, but faded the moment it reached my fingertips. It was like setting fire inside a vacuum. The world didn’t warm up — it just went dark.

  Velka dropped to her knees. I saw her cough blood, still gripping her gunblade like it could tickle the creature. Neyra spun her segmented staff like a dancer on the edge of collapse. Caelia didn’t scream, but her lips were bleeding from holding back… something. Fear, rage, exhaustion.

  Even the spies… they were faltering too. Violeta’s hands trembled. Elainne no longer moved with strategy — only defense. And Silke… Silke was pale. Not from drain. Not from fatigue.

  From pure horror.

  Dominus didn’t speak. She didn’t roar. She just advanced, as if the world owed her space. She moved in jerks, like a marionette pulled by invisible strings. And with every step, the air grew thinner. The color faded. My soul… trembled. Literally. As if her presence broke the bond between body and feeling.

  — We can’t… — Caelia murmured, barely audible. — We can’t beat her like this...

  — We can’t run either! — Velka shouted, desperation raw in her voice.

  — She’s draining us — Neyra whispered, clutching her side. — Every second we’re near her… she’s taking us apart.

  — Then THINK! — I screamed, my throat burning from the echo. — There has to be something!

  Silence.

  And in that silence… I heard her, not in anyway that was normal, it was like sound coming from every corner of the place and in no voice, but what I could understand was...

  — hunger…

  It wasn’t a threat. It was a truth. A need.

  And her gaze fell on me.

  She had no mouth. But I felt her smile.

  — Hey, librarian! — Silke’s voice reached me.

  I turned. For a moment, I saw only her eyes. Hollow. Deep. Like shattered mirrors.

  — There’s no other way — she said, voice cracking. — Not with strength. Not with tactics.

  — What are you saying?

  She didn’t answer.

  She just walked toward me.

  Dominus was nearly upon us.

  And then I understood.

  Rancor and void.

  Our magic couldn’t hurt her.

  But we could overload her.

  Not from the outside. From within.

  — You’re insane — I told her.

  — Aren’t you?

  We didn’t plan it.

  We just moved.

  No promises.

  No hope.

  An impossible fusion of contradicting emotions: the hatred that fuels me, and the emptiness that devours her.

  — NOW! — I screamed.

  A roar of energy tore out from my chest. It wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t pure. It was everything I had left. A flare of pain, of memories, of unhealed wounds and buried screams. I saw the same spark in her. The void consuming itself just to create a single impact.

  And we touched her.

  We touched her at the same time.

  For one second, the world froze.

  And then...

  It shattered.

  A flash of dirty white. A choked roar. And the Dominus’ body burst from within — not in flesh and bone, but in emotional shrapnel, shrieking like burning glass.

  I felt my chest crack open.

  The ground rise.

  Time collapse.

  And after that...

  Nothing.

  Only her...

  THAT DAMN WHITE HAIRED BITCH!!!!!

  We crashed into the night like a stray bullet.

  I tackled her with such force that we burst through the side wall of the warehouse. I felt the concrete crack, the wood splinter beneath our bodies, and then the cold air, the branches slapping us, the mud, the ground. We rolled through the forest like two shards of fury—no thoughts, no restraint.

  When we finally stopped, we were both gasping. Magic barely sparked on our skin. There was no room for tactics anymore. Only one thing kept us standing: the need to end this.

  She stood first, with that damned elegance, like chaos itself had rocked her to sleep.

  —So you came to die —she said, her smile untouched by fatigue—. What's your name, little girl?

  —Lyssandra Velcrux.

  —Ah… so you're the Wraith of Rancor —she murmured, and her eyes lit up as if she'd just found her favorite toy—. I'm Silke Engel. The witch you couldn’t stop.

  I said nothing. I launched at her.

  The forest closed in like a trap. Every blow from her was a sentence. Every heartbeat of mine, a desperate cry.

  Silke grabbed me by the hair and slammed me into a tree. She lifted me by the throat with terrifying ease.

  —Is this all you've got? —she whispered, silk and venom—. A little girl playing at war.

  The air turned to blades. My vision blurred. But I didn’t yield.

  I broke free. Shoved her back. She returned with a jagged shard of wood, sharp and long, aiming straight for my eye.

  Instinct saved me. We rolled again. Blow after blow, until I spotted a crack in her armor. I struck it with pure corrosion. She dropped. Trembling. Cursing.

  —Don’t make me kill you —I told her, breathless—. We need you alive.

  She laughed—blood, bile, contempt.

  —Alive? A prisoner? You don’t get it. Locking me up would be healing me... and I don’t want to be healed.

  She lifted her head, something almost human flickering in her eyes.

  —If you want this to end, you’ll have to kill me.

  I clenched my fists.

  Took a deep breath.

  Let all the rancor inside me surge into my right arm.

  —I’m sorry… —I whispered, and threw myself at her with all the strength of my emotion.

  My fist, pulsing with corrosion, struck her jaw, melting flesh and bone until her lower face hung grotesquely, like a limp rag.

  Silke didn’t even have time to scream.

  I looked into her eyes—those eyes full of void—and felt my own harden even more.

  With a second strike, aimed straight at her chest, I pierced her heart. My corrosive magic devoured it all—flesh, bone, life.

  I watched as her gaze faded.

  Her heart stopped.

  And her body fell lifeless to the ground.

  She wasn’t just another corpse.

  She was someone who forced me to cross another line.

  Silke Engel, the woman who taught me that sometimes… rancor can save you too.