"Winds of change, dance with me," Clark chanted, his blade tracing arcane patterns in the air. "Twirl and spin, set my spirit free. By the breeze's power, I summon the storm—bring forth the chaos I adore! ZEPHYR'S DANCE!"
The air around him churned violently. In an instant, his body dissolved into a whirlwind—a vortex of steel and fury. The beast roared in confusion, its claws swiping wildly at the empty air. Clark's whirlwind tore through its matted fur, shredding it like brittle parchment. The creature staggered, its furious growls echoing through the cavern. Then, as suddenly as he had vanished, Clark rematerialized behind the beast, his blade poised for another strike.
"Whispers of wind, bear death's blade. Cut through the noise. Let justice cascade! ZEPHYR'S GUILLOTINE!"
A crescent of white energy erupted from his blade, carving through the cavern. The beast's howl exploded as the attack struck its shoulder, severing the limb in a clean, brutal arc. The severed appendage twitched and convulsed on the ground, its fur slick with blood. The creature slammed into the rock wall, trembling with pain and rage.
Clark pivoted, his blade now aimed at the card-wielding girl. "Zephyr's fury, unbound and stark—shatter all before me! BLAST!" he roared.
The beast dashed toward the blast—perhaps out of loyalty to shield its mistress or stupidity.
Whatever his motivations were, they would not be enough to stop the inevitable.
The blast surged forward, hurling the maimed beast into its mistress. Cards detonated in mid-flick, engulfing both in a dense cloud of smoke. "Secure the young mistress," Clark barked at Connor, who was still staggering from the shockwaves of the concussive explosions. Clark's blade and focus remain fixed in the cloud of smoke. "Now!"
Connor steadied himself and rushed for Nora. Lifting her to his shoulder, he retreated into the tunnel they came from. Gerral followed behind despite Connor and Clark's indifference to his presence.
As footsteps retreated down the passage, the smoke cleared to reveal the girl shoving her transformed companion—now resembling a man—off of her crumpled dress. "Rude!" she spat, though her grin widened at Clark's leveled blade.
Clark's blade tilted slightly, its tip aimed directly at her. "Names," he demanded, his voice cold and unyielding. "Last chance."
The girl mockingly curtsied, her cards fanning between her fingers like the start of a magician's trick. "Silly boy, we're your welcoming party," she said sarcastically. "Yours truly, Ouroboros, the Taker. That meat-puppet?" Her chin jerked toward the one-armed man beside her, his body still shuddering from the transformation. "My Backer. You've already met our Tracker's corpse—which reminds me…" Her head tilted. "Where did that damn Chaser go?"
Clark's blade didn't waver. "Assassins introducing themselves? Even children are hunting, now?"
"How else can I be famous?" she replied, her card flickering ominously. "Besides, dead men tell—"
"AHHHHH!"
Her words were cut off by the Backer's scream. His body convulsed, flesh rippling as his jaw unhinged and claws tore from his fingertips. Half-transformed, he lunged at Clark with his remaining arm. Clark's countered. His blade carves ribbons of blood through the beast's fur.
"Zephyr's Shield!" Clark shouted as Ouroboros' cards streaked toward him. The deflected projectiles slammed into the cavern walls, their explosions drowning out her laughter.
"Admirable!" she exclaimed, dancing back from his counterstrike. A fresh card materialized in her hand, its edges glowing faintly. "But tiresome."
The wolf, now fully transformed, lunged for Clark's legs. Clark twisted away, sending a sharp gust that knocked the creature off balance. Its mistress retaliated, flicking two cards toward him. Clark ducked; the cards exploded, shattering the stone behind him.
Using the smoke to his advantage, the wolf charged, lashing into Clark's arm as he swung his sword, poised to release a guillotine strike. The premature strike died in the wolf's jaw.
The girl seized the opening, hurling more cards toward the shackled Clark.
KA-BOOM!
Clark's free hand conjured a shield, but the explosion shattered it, ripping through his sleeves and flesh. The arm trembled, blood dripping in steady rivulets, yet held firm.
Two more cards hurtled toward him. Clark sucked the cards in, twisting his body with a sharp motion that lifted him above the wolf's head. The maneuver dislocated his shackled arm, but he slammed the cards onto the wolf's back—BOOM! The explosion drove the beast into the ground, its jaws loosening as it yelped in agony.
Clark barely had time to recover as the mistress closed the distance, her glowing cards slicing toward him. Teeth clenched, he let out a guttural scream—"Aah!"—summoning a tempest that rippled around him, snapping his dislocated arm back into place. The tempest lifted the frailing beast into the air.
KA-BOOM!
The card exploded on the beast.
"ZEPHYR'S BLAST!"
The blast hurled the writhing beast into its mistress, slamming them both into a cluster of stalagmites.
THUD! They crashed into a mess beside a tunnel.
"Useless mutt!" Ouroboros screeched, shoving the whimpering beast aside. Clark's sword kissed her throat.
"Yield?!"
She blinked, then hollowed a laugh that echoed through the cavern like a ghost's whisper. Cards spiraled from her sleeves, darting erratically in unpredictable patterns. "Oh, darling…" she mocked. "...This is foreplay."
POW! Ting-tang-tik-tik!
A vortex erupted—a whirlpool of metal razored cards forced Clark to retreat. The storm of cards scattered through the cavern, leaving scorch marks in its wake. When the disarray dissipated, Ouroboros and her Backer were gone, their presence reduced to lingering shadows.
—
Clark crept through the damp passage, his footsteps echoing too loudly in the confined space. His shoulders tensed with each backward glance. No shadows stretched across the stone walls, no sign of the assassins who had vanished into the darkness. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint water drip from the cavern's ceiling.
When light pierced the gloom ahead, Clark quickened his pace, bursting into the clearing. He froze, his breath caught in his throat. The scene before him was eerily still. No children's whispers. No trace of Connor's protective stance beside the young mistress. Just scarlet stains splattered across the dust-covered ground like obscene flowers.
Clark crouched, his fingers hovering above the nearest blotch of red. Warmth radiated from the viscous pool, the coppery scent filling his nostrils. "Blood," he rasped, the word sour on his tongue. His head snapped up, his eyes tracking the trail of crimson droplets that led into another passage.
Three paces in, the stench grew stronger. His gaze locked onto a small boot protruding from the shadows. His stomach churned as he stepped closer. Gerral's lifeless body slumped against the weeping stone, his throat carved into a gaping mouth. Streaks of desperate handprints smeared the wall beside him, the marks of a futile attempt to flee—or perhaps to pursue—even as life drained away.