Gwyn’s stalemate didn’t last for long, however. The clattering of the bow against dirt, followed by Ash’s own haphazard approach, caught the attention of undead swordsman, his jaw click-clacking together as he turned to face the new arrival. In that moment, Gwyn pushed forward, discarding her own staff as she grappled the armored skeleton. Her arms wrapped around his waist as she pushed forward, a prayer already on her lips as light spilled from her hands, the power of supplication manifesting itself.

But it was as far as she got, before the undead warrior drove his knee into her chest, before one hand grasped her by the waist and tossed her off, sending her sliding against the ice. Ash’s assistance came a moment before he could leap in to finish Gwyn off, and their swords sprayed sparks at they collided, ringing metal filling the air as they dueled. Cut and parry, thrust and deflect. The ranger’s wrists grew sore during the deadly dance, the difference in skill being felt with every movement, every stroke. On the icy terrain, where her core muscles clenched just so she could generate the strength to land an effective attack, Ash found it harder and harder to keep up.

Rangers, after all, weren’t trained off the bat to face foes alone.

With the crunch of a steel edge against armor, the swordsman swatted away Ash’s machete before charging in with a burst of speed, intending on putting an end to this farce and running her through.

Ettamri’s own greatsword swung with force unrivaled even by creatures unburdened by the weakness of flesh. Taken directly, there was no doubt she’d be able to decimate these skeletal warriors the same way she singlehandedly caved in the skull of the giant toad. Rather than the sundering of steel and the pulverizing of bone, there was only the whistling of wind. Moments before impact, the skeletal warrior had dropped down flat, his body sliding through the slick ice as Ettamri’s sword flew overhead. Engaging her in extremely close combat, his short spear struck upwards, a viper aiming for the underside of the white knight’s jaw.

Ettamri was skilled though. This surely wouldn’t be the end for her.

On the other hand, it very may well be the end for Muu.

Still trying to find her feet on the treacherous ground, the Bladedancer wasn’t able to respond in time to the charging axe man, who shoulder-charged her, his skeletal mass still sufficient to smash the smaller girl through the shanty wall and into the decaying hut. Broken bits of wood pierced her skin, and one or two of her ribs must have fractured from the tremendous impact. She wheezed painfully, but her foe gave her no respite, raising his axe over his head to deliver a mortal blow to his prone opponent.

She had less than a second to respond, and even if she did, perhaps it wouldn’t be enough.

Ettamri Belarence

---

It was a risky move, and she would have applaud her enemy for that move, had they still been alive. Had it been any of the small fries, they would have died instantly. But unfortunately Ettamri wasn't that weak. She turned her head slightly, the spearpoint sliding against the angled helm, before her left hand caught the spear shaft. Within moments, her right brought the greatsword swinging across on the ground, kicking up ice and dirt as the large blade continued on its destructive path with terrifying speeds.

It all happened so fast. Too fast. Despite being a Bladedancer, the girl had to put all her efforts into not slipping on the completely new terrain, leaving her undefended as moments later a blunt force catapulted her into the remains of the hut. The pain was, once again, on her side just as the few encounters before. For being supposed to not get hit she did an awfully bad job. Pathethic. At the very least, this hurt nothing like compared to getting one's face melted off.

Being in a position of having to struggle for her own life, rather than supporting the Light in her party, she could thank her reflexes of old as she twisted her body slightly to the side. Only a few inches more, and she would have been a goner. That was the message that the even colder feeling of metal, that brushed past her skin, was telling her.

Granted a moment of respite, as the skeleton's axe dug deep into the ground, the Bladedancer reinforced her hold on the ground with her back and arms as she contracted her legs, just to release them right after for a powerful kick, aimed towards the skeleton.

It sucked. It was so much worse than fighting a goblin. The strength and speed was on a whole other level. The ice made it incredibly hard to stand her ground. She wasn't even trained to fight like a swordsman. She had her bow and her arrow, could track animals, and was a great asset while outside of combat, but inside? She couldn't do much. It was dangerous to fight on ice. A danger that was as equal to herself than it was to others.

As the two had their momentary duel, Ash was disarmed as the swordsman used his armor to slap her dull blade out of the way. She was unarmed in a hostile world. She had her quiver on her back, but what use was old worn leather and arrows in such a melee? The skeletal swordsman went for a brutal thrust—to skewer Ash on the blade that he possessed.

It was a joke. A cruel joke. Every waking moment in this world was terrible. Getting sick, allies in debt, almost dying to a goblin, being constantly forced to the ends of her wit; her life lead to nothing but misery. It was a massive trial. No, that was a misnomer. A trial would imply some level of fairness. This was an execution.

But Ash didn't want to die.

She couldn't.

She wouldn't.

As long as she could think, she would refuse to die. Her thoughts all echoing that sentiment. Her actions, all echoing it. No matter what. She. Would. Not. Die. With a healer, getting stabbed was fine. She could take it. Not well, though. Long enough so that Gwyn could do her duty and get rid of the skeleton that was assailing her. If she had to take a sword in the process, she would.

The ice was a curse, but it could also be a blessing. Her wrists hurt, but she could still manage all of her strength. After all, one could break their limits if they had no other options. With the thrust coming her way, she kept her arms outstretched in front of her. She didn't need to catch the blade. She just needed to push it off center. Once it was off center, she could grab and control the skeleton as best as she could. Wrist, arm, hand, blade, anything that would let her survive, she tried to grab. If they skeleton tried to move with her latched on, she could just abuse the ice and slide on top of it. If the skeleton would demand Ash to fall, then he would too. Ash refused to go out like this.

How much of it was luck, and how much of it was skill? The axe slammed deep but drew no blood, Muu rolling off to the side in the nick of time. Pulling back, the undead warrior wrenched his weapon free from the ground, but she was already in motion before he could unleash a second strike. Roll back, contract, and kick. Like a spring, Muu shot out, the force of her kick unable to do anything more than superficial damage to the undead warrior, but certainly able to knock him away. Rotted boots scraped against the slippery terrain, as he fell on his back, scrambling to get up again while the Bladedancer rose up as well.

It was time to recover, time to put what she had trained for into practice. Time t-

“ASH!”

Gwyn’s strained voice resounded sharply through the battlefield as heavy drops of blood splattered upon the ice, frosting over into an inappropriately-pretty pink.

It was no simple feat to catch a blade, and even when just trying to misdirect it, it was hard. The fear made one quake, the inexperience made one inaccurate, the speeds made harder. Hot, searing pain shot up Ash’s hands as she struck the side of the sword, the first digit of her right ring finger torn right off, bouncing off the ice and falling somewhere. The tip of the sword sliced into her side, what armor she had wholly insufficient for warding off such a blow, and the effect was as if all the bile in her stomach was suddenly rising up. Such pain was nauseating, even through the mind-numbing adrenaline that coursed into her body.

But she wasn’t dead. If she wasn’t dead, she could heal. If she didn’t stop, she could keeping moving. With bleeding hands, Ash grabbed on, grappling to the best of her ability, starbursts of agony punctuated by each strike that landed onto her. Knees to her stomach, elbows to her back, a headbutt to her skull, a pummeling delivered by bone and metal, her vision darkening and darkening.

And then there was light.

The skeletal form that she clung onto dissolved into white ash, revealing Gwyn behind, her palms glowing with holy light. Ash fell into the priest’s embrace, as words of healing were sung into her ears, pushing back the darkness that threatened to take her consciousness.

One down.

In the distance, Ettamri’s monstrous strength manifested in a blow that pulverized spear, shield, armor and bone, crippling another undead warrior beyond its ability to fight properly. Immaculate and beyond reproach, the white knight proved once more that she was leagues beyond anyone else here.

Two down.

More healing prayer seeped into her body, vanishing fractured bones and damaged organs as if it were nothing, and within moments, Ash was able to stand on her own two feet, woozy but otherwise unharmed. Still alive. As awful as a nightmare, but she was still alive.

“Don’t do that again,” the masked priest said, turning away to face the undead mage that continued their wordless, soulless chant. “Luck only takes you so far, Ash. It’s better if you learned how to run away.”

It worked. Not well, but it worked. Her brainless attempt at defense had at least saved Gwyn from being finished off. It had given her enough time for the masked healer to purge the undead menace, even if it was after she had lost a finger. But what mattered was living. She lived through a brazen onslaught of bone and steel long enough for most of her wounds to be healed. Broken ribs, shattered knuckles, and the assortment of cuts from catching the blade alongside the catching of flesh from the armoured strikes had all been mended by a purifying light. While still pained from the event, she could stand. That meant she could move. That meant she could live on.

Gwyn had reprimanded her for her risk taking. Catching the blade, surely a master could do it reliably. But Ash wasn't a master. No, she was less than a newbie. The fact that she caught the blade at only the cost of some blood and her now removed finger on the ice was a miracle. If she had been smart, more experienced, and knew how to fight on the ice, she could possibly have distracted the knight with a single strike and backed off. Then she could leap in to take another blow, just in case Gwyn was unable to prepare in time. That was hindsight, though. Useless hindsight.

She could have just ran, but allowing the healer to perish was pretty much putting Ash up the creek without a paddle. Would she even be able to return alone? She... didn't know. To Gwyn, who had presumably just wanted Ash to be safe, Ash nodded in response.

Surprisingly, it hurt much less than she thought it would. Sure, it was hard to hear things now. Not because her ears were damaged, no. Her mind was just unable to properly process things to their full extent. Her vision was also fallible. She could make out the locations of everyone and everything, but the small details were a struggle. The ice seemed to blend together into a incohesive mess of both black and constantly shifting colour.

But now wasn't the time to dwell on the small things.

Ettamri had reduced the numbers by one and so did Gwyn. There was only two left. The mage and the axe warrior that Muu had to deal with. In terms of priority, Muu just had to stay alive. That much was a given. The mage, however, was a long term threat. A mage could turn the tides of the battle, so getting rid of it was a priority. Ash, rather than grabbing her machete, took the skeleton's sword. If it could take the machete blow for blow, it was certainly better as a weapon. Ash's experience using the machete wasn't even the most useful.

And she walked. Not away, but towards the mage. If the mage went to attack her with some sort of spell, she would just fall to the side and roll. It was hard to move on ice and she was woozy, but she could still get the basic motions down. Rolling was easy to do. She wasn't a hero. She wasn't going to brainlessly fight again. She would act as a guard for both Gwyn and herself this time around, fleeing as best as she could if things went wrong. Neither one would fall.

But she did miss that finger.

Ettamri Belarence

Their formation was broken, she was pushing the offensive.

That meant heading straight for the mage before it outright murdered them all. Why wasn't it taken down already? She'd gut them all but she had already been travelling for most of a day and gotten in two fights already. Gritting her teeth and sucking in her breath, she leapt towards the mage, the ice breaking underneath her feet, as she swung downwards towards its head to cleave it in twain.

"YOU IDIOOOOOTS!"

Muu did not even have time to watch, or pay much attention in the first place, towards the spiel of light and Ash's avoidance of death. The brunette herself had managed to escape death just barely, but now?

She couldn't just walk away from the undead monster to focus on others. This was now between her and 'it.' Her muscles were still aching but her mind was clear. Despite its appearance it certainly knew how to fight but, if anything, it had a slow weapon. It couldn't possibly be stronger than her Master.

Still, yet, this was not a matter of brute force, but grace. Dancing on the battlefield, just like she practiced. Piercing the skeleton surely wouldn't bring her far. Instead, Muu planned to dodge its next attack and counter with the blunt force of her weapon. This time, she was prepared.

As the axe-wielding undead clambered back up again, Muu too was prepared for battle. Her ribs ached, fractured as they were, but it was a pain that was incomparably less compared to having her face melted off. It was something she could fight through, something she could ignore, as the adrenaline, sparked first by fear and then by motion, dulled her agony and brought her up as well.

And thus, their dance began.

The axe was not slow when it gained momentum and continuous swings chained into each other, but Muu, despite being inexperienced, was still skillful, still strong. The footwork learned upon fighting on high rooftops could be applied upon a frozen battlefield as well, and once she grew accustomed to the slight slip that accompanied each step, her movements became so much more optimized, darting in and out, each axe strike countered with a quick blow. But her opponent was armored and could not bleed, and the terrain meant that it was impossible to make any sort of strike that used the entirety of her body. An unstable terrain meant one would have to focus on light attacks, wearing their opponent down.

That was what her Master had taught her. But that meant, against a fatigueless, bloodless foe, this battle would be a long one. A long duel, when they had already took so long.

Ettamri charged, a thunderous roar rattling through her horned helmet. Ash and Gwyn rushed in as well, a pilfered sword raised and a chanted prayer prepared. With a sickening crunch, the white-plated warrior split her foe into two, the raised staff sundered alongside the skull.

But there was a reason why the King of Corpses was so feared.

Magic was of the will. For those cursed with undeath, their will persisted no matter how shattered they were. Back when the King of Corpses still reigned, nothing was more frightening than ‘hidden mages’, undead casters ground to dust and spread across the battlefield to cast with impunity. Their will alone was sufficient to summon forth walls of flame and stakes of ice, bolts of lightning and blasts of wind. And in this case, while Ettamri was fast enough to close in…Gwyn wasn’t.

A party with a mage in it always centered around the mage. No matter how skilled, how strong the others were, none could match the sheer power that one attuned with the spirits could unleash.

Split in half, the undead mage profaned the purity of the spirits and forced them to do her bidding once more, and in that moment, the world turned white.

In that moment, the prayer on Gwyn’s lips became a Ward.

In that moment, Matteo burst out from the foliage.

In that moment…

Icy tendrils burst outwards. They shattered against a translucent veil, Ash given just enough time to scamper back, but Gwyn, selfless and self-sacrificing, was caught fully by the tendrils. They wrapped around her and expanded, and then trapped her completely, freezing her in place. In that frenetic moment, the person that Matteo shoulder-tackled had been Ettamri instead. There was a distinctive ‘click’ as his right shoulder dislocated, but his technique was there, his own masculine frame was there. He stumbled, faltered, and was caught as well, sheer, translucent ice capturing his last expression: doubt, pain, and self-hatred. Even that, however, did not save Ettamri completely.

Her leg had been caught in that icy mass, and now, more ice was racing up her leg. In seconds she would be waist-deep in it.
But she wasn’t frozen over yet.

She wasn’t done yet.

Disaster struck. Try as they could, but they didn't have the cohesion, preparation, or knowledge of the world in order to prepare for what was coming. The mage, who had been silent for only a brief moment, had seemed to make themselves an easy target. How wrong all of them were. That entire time, it had been casting whatever brutal incantation which allowed it to summon forth tendrils of ice. Maybe it was preparations coming into fruition, maybe it was the final will of an indomitable spirit. They had taken Gwyn and Matteo, freezing them over. Ettamri was also afflicted, with ice crawling up her leg.

It was an insurmountable wall. Every time Ash fought, she found the enemy to be obscene, yet still close. There bear was just that; a bear. One could fell a bear if they had the proper preparations. There were the goblins, which Ash had barely been able to fight on equal terms. Then, the toad. Ash did her duty of helping blind the beast and, with Ettamri, everything seemed possible. Ash had even managed to protect herself from the skeleton with a sword.

But this was on a different level.

Her patron god, Kur-Inuus, looked after the eternal cycle. What was Ash even thinking about now? Really, the fragrant disrespect for the cycles had reminded Ash of it. The beast-god that presided over all cycles. Drought and flood, summer and winter, but most important was that of life and death. For the skeleton to freely change seasons and to exist outside of the cycle of life and death was surely a great sin. It fragrantly disrespected everything about the natural order.

Her companions were frozen, battered, and fighting in order to stay alive, but Ash was only a regular human. She wasn't the favoured child of the beast-god. Favoured meal of the man-eating bear, maybe. The great silver wolf who had watched over them that night, but Ash hadn't seen the silver wolves since. Not that she was greedy for the god's favour. No, she simply wanted to live. Anything to live.

She ran and prayed, each step disoriented as the cold bit at her and her mind was unable to cope with the blood loss.

And for the first time, she cried.

Ettamri Belarence

---

"Sunface! Idiot!" Two people fell. Frozen by the mage she had explicitly told to deal with first.

blue skies behind bars the smile and outstretched hands

Perhaps it was just as well that they could not see her face as contorted with rage as it was. That electric atmosphere, that dangerous feeling, her strength, magnified far beyond monstrous. The scream that passed through her lips wasn't human, it was almost completely an explosion of sound as even her lungs seemed to magnify its strength.

The ice seemed but a minor inconvenience as she just pulled her feet away, breaking it away, before launching herself screaming wildly. The greatsword handled so effortlessly before now seemed light as a reed in her hands, the sword flying wildly in mighty arcs, crashing through ice, ground and rock with equal impunity.

Perhaps Ash was correct in retreating.

Muu would have gone mad. In the short time the group had been together, not even a day, the brunette grew awfully fond of the new healer. A sweet, gentle, caring and genuinely nice person. A ray of light in the darkness. Thus, the girl could consider herself somewhat lucky as she had quite literally no time to divide any attention to the ongoings behind the axe-wielding warrior.

There was only him, his axe, her, and the ice beneath their feet. A trance, of sorts. It was difficult. Truly difficult. But for the first time in a long time, she also felt confident. It didn't matter that she couldn't pierce the skeleton's armour to make him bleed. It didn't matter that its empty eye sockets made it just that much more difficult to read its next moves. It didn't matter that his axe, despite his size, was capable of surprisingly quick swings.

There was no frozen Matteo or Gwyn. No charging Ettamri. No chickening out Ash. It was only her and the opponent. In any other situation, on an actual battlefield, this would have likely spelt death. But here? Muu was the weakest of the bunch, so being able to take out an entire opponent by courtesy of keeping him engaged had to account for something. She needed the experience anyway, and she couldn't deny the thrill felt somewhat... fun. Even the pain in her back and the growling of her stomach was currently nothing more than a faint memory.

Nonetheless, it was questionable just how far she could go with her tactic. Her short pommel strikes could bring her only so far, and the skeleton's fighting prowess didn't seem to wane no matter what. No matter how often she struck him. And, ultimately, didn't it mean this was a battle of attrition? That's not how Blade Dancers work.

No. The brunette needed a bigger weapon. Later, she could ask her Master for advice against such an adversary, but right now? This blade simply wouldn't do. Luckily for Muu, this weapon was right in front of her, wielded by the very thing she was set to defeat. She only had to try and disarm him. The girl had managed to strike the monstrosity over various places before, so, surely it couldn't be that hard to focus on his hands? Clearly it didn't seem to feel any pain but maybe, just maybe, the bones would start cracking...

It was akin to a thunderclap, a thunderclap for each drop of rain that fell.

The rage intoxicated, the fury fuelled, and against raw might that turned the very weapon in her hands into scrap metal, the mountain of ice that the undead mage had created could not hold. But that was all. That was it. Ettamri’s violent onslaught could destroy and break all that the undead mage had called forth, but broken steel could not sunder the intangible spirits, and raw power could not end the curse of undeath. There was no end. Ettamri could smash through the ice and the earth, could pulverize the skeletal structure of the bisected mage, could do all that she wanted as her blood ate away her mind, but the magic never ended.

A large chunk of ice flew up, smashing into the side of Ettamri’s fallen steed, ribs snapping under its weight and puncturing the organs beneath.

A forceful blow broke Gwyn and Matteo’s bodies out of their icy prison, their bodies blue and black, frost still eating into them.

An echoing strike finally shattered her greatsword into bits, leaving nothing but a mangled crossguard and a broken blade.

But still, bolts of ice shot up at her, the mage’s spellcraft advancing and receding in waves. And to challenge it, Ettamri continued to answer in kind, breaking and smashing and raging and fighting, incapable of understanding that she could end this without the blessing of the God of Light.

It was meaningless, in the end. Nothing but the tantrum of a child. Perhaps even more meaningless than continuing a fight when the battle had already been decided.

Muu continued to clash blades with the undead warrior before her, so focused on her task that she had isolated herself from the rest of the world. In a battle that had not yet been concluded, it was a vulnerability that could easily end with a knife in her kidneys, a spear through her side, an arrow in her head, but the world responded to her stubborn desire to prove herself and granted her an opponent that persisted in hacking at her just as stubbornly. Rain and debris fell down upon both of them, Ettamri’s onslaught seeing no end against a deathless foe, but she was blind to it. Matteo and Gwyn have fallen, but she was blind to it. The ground beneath her feet, coated once in ice, had now fractured, and yet that too, she was blind to.

All that mattered was breaking the wrist. All that mattered was making those hairline fractures grow and grow with each blow, the nicked, dulled edge of her short sword getting closer and closer with each strike.

And then, there was the break.

The wrists of the axe-wielder finally broke as Muu parried a powerful chop, the axe flying up. She followed its arc in the air, her dark eyes widening.

There was a flash, and there was a boom.

Lightning had struck the axe, an impact so fierce that it sent her flying back, the afterimage seared into her eyeballs as her ears rang horribly. Nauseating. The heat, the noise, the impact, it had all been nauseating. The rain felt gross. No, that wasn’t rain, it was her own sweat. She could taste the salt of her body, could feel, suddenly, just how fatiguing it was on her own body to continuously strike at hard objects. The shock had returned onto her own arms, and now, they trembled violently. Off in the distance, the skeleton she had been fighting was also blown away, ankles shattered and wrists hacked off.

She had won. Did that count as a victory? She won.

The world widened around her.

And now, now, Muu could see the full extent of what had happened.

Everything had happened.

Ettamri Belarence

---

A barred window, the blue of the sky so wide behind it. So wide, open and vivid. The white of the birds she saw seemed so pure and free. Her hands grasped the bar, recoiling as they seemed to bend like clay beneath her hands. The red clashing against the grey. Flesh against metal. A small child her own age, urging her to come out, her hands held out in friendship. Her hands were warm, her smile was friendly and understanding. Encouraging, and accepting. Yet... she had never accepted the black haired child's hands.

For once... she had called out, held out her hand to another, only for them to be struck down within a day. Perhaps if she had been faster, perhaps if she had only used those cannon fodder better. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, those words swirled around within her..

Even within the maelstrom of her rage and grief, the small part of her, the child who had looked out the window and wished to be a bird, had already accepted the futility of her actions. There was no way for her to defeat an undead without sacred weapons or a priest. There was no way for her to survive past this. Perhaps in a way, dying would be better for her.

All she could do, was swing her fists as hard as she could.

Ash is running. She is running with ruined sneakers, through dark and narrow streets filled with refuse. There is a shard of glass stuck in the bottom of the shoe that jabs at her foot every time she takes a step, but she’s still running. It hurts, of course, but so do the bruises over her body, the stomach that’s never really full. She’s in her pajamas. She escaped. She won’t be missed, not in any way that matters.
Her lungs are collapsing, her sides have stitches. The rubber sole of her shoe falls loose, catches upon the ground, and she stumbles, falling flat. More pain. More scratches. More reminders.

There is someone standing before her, the moonlight casting a shadow over them. They speak in a kind tone, and they offer a kind hand.

---

Where was she? Ash had ran without direction. Her fear of death had overcome any loyalty that she had. She had left her bow and machete behind. Well, not that it really mattered. In her rush, her quiver had emptied itself along the way. Not a single arrow remained. For a hunter, it was painful. Though, she did still possess the sword. She had been running for some time, the rain unrelentingly pelting down on her.

Ash was no longer running. No, she couldn't. Her ankle had collided squarely upon a stray root, causing her to slam into the ground. On the way down, the sword she had taken cut into her leg. Not enough to wound or cause further problems, but enough to open a hole in her pants and draw blood. She didn't scream. No, she was too tired. A scream wouldn't have mattered, anyways. There was nobody to help. There wasn't a single soul within the forest. The drops of rain sent the insects, rabbits, deer, and mice to the safe confines of what they could call home. The predators followed suit, knowing there was nothing out.

But Ash remained in the rain.

There wasn't much reason to stop. Her ankle hurt. Would she even be able to run if something happened? Probably not. She would have to just carry on. Using the sword she had taken as support, she got back up and took a slow step. The sword easily dug into the muddy ground, causing her ankle to surge with a severe pain. She landed on her side once more. This time, she was lucky. She didn't fall on the sword. Baby steps. She grabbed a thick branch that had fallen off of a nearby tree. Using that as support instead, she was able to stand. With one foot in front of the other, she pressed onward.

Onward to the home she didn't have.

The World broke before her eyes. A bright flash, an ear-shattering howl, a fierce roar of the thunder.

Muu was victorious. Content — even as she was sent flying.

The colours returned. Her focus widened. The World spoke once more. The awful taste of salt. The disgusting wetness of her own sweat. The numbing aching of her muscles. The shattered corpse of the axe warrior.

Muu was victorious. Content — a mere moment to be proud of her own exploits.

The World widened further. The continuous onslaught of the thunder-giant against the element of the Grave itself. The existence, or rather lack thereof, of Ash. The broken, yet unyielding, mage. And her declining Sun. Gwyn and Matteo. Lying there, lifeless. Cold.

"No..." Her broken voice whispered. "No..." Her proud self wailed. "No...!" She pathetically pleaded. With weak steps, Muu rose up again. Slowly, but surely, one foot in front of the other. A mere mouse between the battle of a tiger and a lion. "No..." She could only repeat.

"Nonono..." Like a cursed chant. "Please..." She could only plea. "Gwyn...!" Getting on her knees in front of Gwyn's corpse unconscious body, she gently started to shake her. "Gwyn!" Again. "Gwyn!" Stronger. "Wake up!" It could be so easy. "We have to move!" If only. "Now!" In a mix of negative emotions, Muu brought down her fist on her Sun — shattering part of her.

The World broke before her eyes, yet Muu had no tears left.

All she could do, was swing her fists as hard as she could.

Striking away in the ditch, lightning rushing out of her body, energy rushing out of her body, leaving less and less of herself. Like a storm, she was being spent. Like a fire, she was burning out. Seconds stretched to minutes, the air around her burnt of oxygen, the sharp tang of ozone seeping into her lungs and depriving her of what truly let her blood flow. Her heart was roaring still, pushing and pushing to the brink of a meltdown, her armor slowly being rent by the ebb and flow of ice magic. The elemental spirits had no true alignment. It did not matter that they were striking away at an unarmed opponent. It did not matter that they were serving a master that was long dead. Nothing mattered, but the winter they brought upon the mines, the ice that climbed up onto Ettamri every time she broke free.

Her attacks slowed. Her knees buckled. Her hands were broken. Her rage ended. Her helmet split. For the first time, she felt the winter wind, juxtaposed by the spring rain. It fell against her cheeks, sliding down and freezing as Ettamri fell down on her knee. Before her, a monster of her own making rose out. Pulverized bone, ground so finely it became a pale dust, swirled together to form an intangible phantom. A living, localized blizzard, undying and untiring, shifting from one shape to the other as it cast its spells again, a great icicle rising above Ettamri.

An executing spike to drive through her skull. An executing spike to skewer her fully. An executing spike to finish a fight that could never end in Ettamri’s favor.

That was what the World had become before Muu’s eyes. Gwyn and Matteo, cold and unresponsive, their bodies flung upon the ground by the tempest of Ettamri’s fury. The white knight herself, kneeling, fatigued, a spear of ice floating above her to deliver her punishment. That was what the World had become. The price of her victory had been the loss of everyone else.

Before her, Gwyn’s frozen face splintered, flesh crackling open as blood oozed out, black and lifeless. Beyond, Matteo laid, his legs twisted in an unnatural position, his eyes glassy and blank. How many more people was she going to lose? How many more would disappear? What happened to Hannah? What happened to Aoi? What happened to Youichiro? Jun? Akane? All phantoms, names that had such emotional weight, yet had such little meaning. All bright stars, now dead coals. The rain fell on, and she could not piece the dead pieces back together.

Was this how it was going to end?

…

In the rain, Ash trudged on, alone, her feet sinking deeper and deeper into the mud.

Was that all they had?

Ettamri Belarence

---

It was as if time stopped.

Her vision, clear of the helm for so long, could make out every single detail of the ice spear, seemingly frozen in mid air. She had long past went beyond feeling pain, just feeling tiredness seeping into her limbs. A sense of acceptance, the anger had long faded. She had fallen on her knees, her expression slack, as if her rage just now took everything she had in her.

That was right, she had done everything she could, and yet it wasn't enough. It was not a failure, it was just how life was. It was alright now. She could just close her eyes, and rest. She didn't need to fight, she didn't need to prove her worth, she didn't need to hide. All she needed to do was...

"Oh? Is that all you have?"

barred window the hand beckoning the sweet voice the child with her red gold in black

something something something

do something

Her eyes fluttered wide open, as she gritted her teeth, raising her arm to deflect the ice spear with her bracers. A show of defiance, one that seemed futile, but at the very least, the rest of the surviving idiots can run away.

Nothing. There was absolutely nothing. And yet, it meant everything. There was clarity.

Was it basic survival instinct? Did she finally break? Or something different altogether? A split? Did it even matter? It was futile. Impossible. Miracles were for fools. What had she even been so sad about mere seconds ago? People die if they were killed.

How much had she known any of them anyway? A few days. A few hours. She was alive. The other's were dead. The reason for that was obvious. No, Muu wasn't weak. It was a small victory, truly, but a victory nonetheless.

Muu could still continue. Still go on. Feeling weirdly light-headed, Muu got up. The pain of her muscles, her hunger and thirst, the sickening odor of rain and sweat. It all didn't matter. Only survival. A quick glance towards the strongest in their small group. Ettamri was truly something else. A beast, about to sacrifice itself.

Muu's lips slightly curled up as she set one foot in front of the other. Yeah, she certainly couldn't deny that the Beast was that much stronger than Muu herself. "Thank you..." She whispered, before setting off... No. Not quite. She was alive, but what did it matter if the second she came to town she'd be imprisoned, or worse? Sure, miracles were for fools, but that didn't mean that Muu was super unfortunate. She was, after all, just a mouse. Or, considering what she was about to do, a hyena. Thankfully Ettamri's obliterated war-steed was rather easy to find.

Thus, taking whatever valuables she could carry, Muu quickly set herself to flee, too. She simply had to get away. Get away and live another day. Without regrets. No regrets. Yeah, that was exactly what she would repeat to herself over and over as a single tear was shed.

It was defiance.

It was futile.

Perhaps she wouldn’t have done it if she knew that the last survivor was looting her horse.

Perhaps she wouldn’t have done it if she was the sort of person that would ever look behind.

But those were never possibilities, not for Ettamri Belarence, the descendant of a knight that fought the King of Corpses, who fought the Ogres of the Mist-Shrouded Nation, who fought and fought and never gave any quarter. Love was death, and death was destiny. Her time simply came earlier than her forebearers, but that too was fate. How many buds were crushed before they could bloom? How many lives were lost before one rose above that mound of death?

It was inevitable.

She let go.

She never let go.

And though it was nothing but an empty show of defiance, nothing but wretched futility before the unkind world that would surely grind her to dust, Ettamri raised her bracers regardless. To deflect a spear that she wouldn’t be able to deflect. To rebel once more.

The rending of steel, the cracking of bone, the shearing of flesh was proof enough of what happened afterwards.

Miracles were miracles, after all, because they rarely happened.