Her staff clattered against the broken stone, mana flickering erratically along its length. Minus forced herself upright, bones aching, limbs tense. She hadn't been hit like that in… centuries, maybe. Not since the war.
Lowe didn't press. Not immediately. He simply stood there, watching her—shoulders rising and falling with each breath. He wasn't just strong.
He was getting stronger.
The more she used magic, the more he resisted it. Fed on it. Broke it.
"You're… adapting," she said, brushing blood from her lip. Her voice wasn't playful now. "That's dangerous."
He said nothing. Just took a step forward.
Instinct flared—she raised her hand and snapped off a high-speed volley of condensed mana blades, thin as needles and faster than sound.
But he was already gone.
She blinked.
He was behind her.
She pivoted too late—
—CRACK.
His elbow smashed into her side, ribs fracturing under the raw, physical force. The world tilted. Her vision went white for a second as her body spun midair, only just catching herself on one knee before she hit the ground fully.
Pain bloomed.
She reached for her staff.
Too slow.
Lowe's boot came down, smashing it out of reach.
"Not yet," he said. His voice was low. Final.
He raised his sword.
Minus snarled and raised a palm—another spell formed on instinct, a pulse meant to repel, to give her distance.
But the mana didn't come.
She felt it flicker. Hesitate.
His presence was drowning it out. Smothering it. Not through magic, but through intent.
That hatred again.
It was like a wall pressing down on her magic, warping it, rejecting it.
Her eyes widened.
This was it.
This is where it might end.
The thought struck her for the first time—not with fear, but with something colder. Calculation.
(If I fall here… the spell must activate.)
She bit her lip, tasting blood.
She had woven the rebirth into her fate—crafted by Serie, unnoticeable to all but her. Hidden so deep that only Serie might sense its stir, if her life truly slipped away.
But now… maybe she would.
Lowe moved.
The sword came down.
She brought her arm up to block.
Too slow.
The blade slashed through her shoulder, cleaving muscle, tearing her stance apart.
She screamed.
And then—lightning erupted around them as her body reacted on instinct, flinging him back in a desperate burst of raw, volatile mana.
Both were thrown apart by the blast. She crashed into a ruined archway, crumbling it on impact. He rolled to a stop amid a heap of shattered brick.
Silence.
Breaths.
A heartbeat later—he rose again.
And this time—
She didn't.
Not yet.
And as her vision blurred, heart pounding, she felt the faint hum of the rebirth spell deep in her core… not yet awakened.
But ready.
Waiting.
Her staff clattered against the broken stone, mana flickering erratically along its length. Minus forced herself upright, bones aching, limbs tense. She hadn't been hit like that in… centuries, maybe. Not since the war.
Lowe didn't press. Not immediately. He simply stood there, watching her—shoulders rising and falling with each breath. He wasn't just strong.
He was getting stronger.
The more she used magic, the more he resisted it. Fed on it. Broke it.
"You're… adapting," she said, brushing blood from her lip. Her voice wasn't playful now. "That's dangerous."
He said nothing. Just took a step forward.
Instinct flared—she raised her hand and snapped off a high-speed volley of condensed mana blades, thin as needles and faster than sound.
But he was already gone.
She blinked.
He was behind her.
She pivoted too late—
—CRACK.
His elbow smashed into her side, ribs fracturing under the raw, physical force. The world tilted. Her vision went white for a second as her body spun midair, only just catching herself on one knee before she hit the ground fully.
Pain bloomed.
She reached for her staff.
Too slow.
Lowe's boot came down, smashing it out of reach.
"Not yet," he said. His voice was low. Final.
He raised his sword.
Minus snarled and raised a palm—another spell formed on instinct, a pulse meant to repel, to give her distance.
But the mana didn't come.
She felt it flicker. Hesitate.
His presence was drowning it out. Smothering it. Not through magic, but through intent.
That hatred again.
It was like a wall pressing down on her magic, warping it, rejecting it.
Her eyes widened.
This was it.
This is where it might end.
The thought struck her for the first time—not with fear, but with something colder. Calculation.
(If I fall here… the spell must activate.)
She bit her lip, tasting blood.
She had woven the rebirth into her fate—crafted by Serie, unnoticeable to all but her. Hidden so deep that only Serie might sense its stir, if her life truly slipped away.
But now… maybe she would.
Lowe moved.
The sword came down.
She brought her arm up to block.
Too slow.
The blade slashed through her shoulder, cleaving muscle, tearing her stance apart.
She screamed.
And then—lightning erupted around them as her body reacted on instinct, flinging him back in a desperate burst of raw, volatile mana.
Both were thrown apart by the blast. She crashed into a ruined archway, crumbling it on impact. He rolled to a stop amid a heap of shattered brick.
Silence.
Breaths.
A heartbeat later—he rose again.
And this time—
She didn't.
Not yet.
And as her vision blurred, heart pounding, she felt the faint hum of the rebirth spell deep in her core… not yet awakened.
But ready.
Waiting.