The hovering embers fred with intensity, shifting from a deep orange to a brilliant, almost blinding white-hot bze. Each ember pulsated in the air like miniature stars, casting eerie flickering shadows against the smoke-filled battlefield. They were a testament to the raw, untamed power wielded by the elven fire mage, who stood with unwavering confidence, her silhouette framed by the inferno she commanded. A smirk tugged at the corners of her lips, and her eyes gleamed with the thrill of combat. This was her domain, where fmes danced to her will and destruction was but a gesture away.

  She raised her hands, fingers curling as though grasping an invisible force. Her posture exuded control, and the very air around her shimmered with heat. Then, with a sharp flick of her wrists, the embers responded instantly, swelling and merging into a roaring cascade of fme. The inferno surged forward like a living entity, twisting and writhing as though seeking out its prey. It moved with purpose, all-consuming and unrelenting, converging toward a single target.

  Ly reacted in an instant. She barely needed to think; her body moved on instinct, honed by years of training. Her grip on her staff tightened as she twisted it sharply, calling forth her own formidable magic. A tidal wave of water burst forth, forming an impenetrable barrier between her and the oncoming fmes. The moment the fire met the wall of water, a violent collision ensued. A deafening hiss tore through the battlefield as the opposing elements cshed, sending steam billowing into the air. The force of their meeting shook the very ground beneath them, and for a moment, the battlefield was engulfed in chaos—a swirling haze of heat, mist, and raw power, neither element willing to yield to the other.

  The battlefield became a storm of obscured vision, but Ly knew better than to rely solely on her eyes. Her aunt had trained her for situations exactly like this, where sight alone could not be trusted. Taking a steady breath, she shut out the visual distractions and instead focused on the deeper currents of magic that pulsed through the air. She activated her Mana Sense, a skill that allowed her to perceive the flow of mana and detect the presence of magically infused materials around her.

  It was an invaluable skill in mage duels, and in this moment, it was the key to victory.

  Ly attuned herself to the elements, sensing the shifting moisture in the air, the fluctuating waves of heat radiating from her opponent, and the raw currents of magic thrumming beneath the surface of the battlefield. Every detail, no matter how small, was a clue—a piece of the puzzle that could turn the tide in her favor.

  Then, she moved.

  Like a rushing river, she wove through the mist with fluid, calcuted steps, her movements swift yet controlled. The fire mage’s vision was obscured, giving Ly the advantage. Seizing the moment, she flicked her hand forward, weaving her magic into the earth itself. A barrage of razor-sharp thorns erupted from the ground, surging toward her opponent’s legs with deadly precision.

  The fire mage barely had time to react. She sensed the attack at the st second and leapt into the air, twisting midair to avoid the deadly projectiles. However, Ly was already one step ahead, preparing her next move before the first had even concluded. There was no room for hesitation in battle.

  More thorns streaked through the mist, guided by Ly’s will. The fire mage’s eyes widened as they closed in on her, but she acted fast. With a surge of energy, she summoned a fiery vortex around herself, incinerating several of the incoming thorns in an instant.

  But not all of them.

  One thorn grazed her forearm, leaving a jagged cut that bled freely. Another found its mark in her shoulder, lodging deep into the muscle and drawing a sharp hiss of pain from her lips. The fire mage staggered, momentarily thrown off bance.

  Ly pressed the attack without mercy.

  Summoning another wave of magic, she unleashed a second barrage of thorns. The fire mage raised her hands, calling forth another wave of fme to incinerate them—but this time, Ly had anticipated her reaction.

  As the second wave of thorns shot forward, Ly infused them with water magic, weaving the two elements together in perfect harmony. The moisture clung to the thorns, rendering them resistant to the fmes that sought to destroy them.

  The fire mage’s fiery defenses met the enchanted thorns—but instead of disintegrating, they sliced through unimpeded.

  Three struck home.

  One dug deep into the fire mage’s thigh, another carved a shallow wound across her ribs, and the third lodged itself just beneath her colrbone. A sharp gasp escaped the woman’s lips, pain flickering across her face. The moisture from the thorns clung to her, dampening her power, sapping the heat from her body. Her movements slowed, her control over the fmes faltering.

  Ly seized the moment.

  With a decisive stomp, she channeled her magic into the earth beneath her opponent’s feet. The battlefield trembled as thick, entangling vines burst forth from the ground, seeking to ensnare the fire mage in their grasp.

  The fire mage attempted to leap clear—but in her weakened state, she miscalcuted. The ground beneath her was still wet from the battle’s earlier cshes, and as she pushed off, her foot slipped on the slick surface. A moment of surprise flickered in her eyes as she lost her bance. The world seemed to slow as she tumbled backward, her arms filing for purchase.

  Then, with a sickening crack, the back of her head struck a jagged rock protruding from the ground.

  Her body went limp.

  The fire mage crumpled onto the softened earth, her limbs twitching once before stilling completely. Her once-fiery eyes fluttered closed, and her breathing became shallow. The battlefield, once alive with the fury of magic, fell eerily silent. The swirling steam began to dissipate, revealing the aftermath of the battle.

  Ly stood tall, her staff still raised, her breath coming in steady, measured exhales. Her own body ached from the exertion, but she did not let it show. Slowly, she stepped forward, her gaze locked onto the fallen fire mage.

  She knelt beside her opponent, pressing two fingers against her neck to check for a pulse. Relief coursed through her when she felt the faint but steady rhythm beneath her touch. The woman was unconscious, but she would live.

  Ly straightened, gripping her staff tightly. There was no time to rest—not yet.

  Mauvim circled the white wolf, muscles coiled with restrained power. The battlefield around them raged on, but in this moment, all else faded into the background. His opponent moved with precise, deliberate steps, golden eyes calm and unreadable as though the wounds he had sustained so far meant nothing to him. Mauvim struck at his foe again, his cws slicing through the air in a blur.

  The white wolf evaded effortlessly, shifting just enough to let the attack miss before countering with a swift snap of his fangs. Mauvim twisted away, barely avoiding the bite as he rebounded, using the momentum to unch another strike. Their cws met, sparks flying as raw power cshed against practiced control.

  Mauvim pressed forward, pushing the offensive, but his opponent never faltered. Every attack was matched with equal force, every feint was seen through before it could nd. Frustration cwed at him. He wielded the power of the Jaguar! He was faster, stronger—yet the white wolf refused to break.

  Then, the air shifted.

  The white wolf threw his head back and let out a piercing howl, the sound cutting through the battlefield like a bde. Mauvim barely had time to register the act before the air around them darkened. Shadows stretched unnaturally, warping and twisting as spectral figures emerged from the mist. Wolves.

  Dozens of them.

  Translucent and wreathed in a pale, ghostly light, the summoned creatures prowled forward, their eyes glowing like dying embers. Their bodies flickered like fme-touched smoke, but there was no mistaking their intent. They were hunting.

  They were hunting him.

  Mauvim growled low in his throat, fur bristling as he shifted his stance. The wolves moved in unison, spectral paws gliding over the ground as they closed the distance. The first lunged, its fangs bared, aiming for his throat. He swiped at it, cws tearing through its form, but it did not react like flesh and bone. It rippled, reforming even as another wolf struck from the side.

  A third snapped at his legs, forcing him to retreat. More came, attacking from all directions, each one perfectly coordinated. He was surrounded. Cut off.

  A trap.

  His eyes burned with fury. He would not be caged.

  A deep, guttural snarl tore from his throat as he reached within himself, grasping the primal force that coiled beneath his skin. His magic surged outward, igniting every muscle, every fiber of his being. Then—he let it loose.

  Heart of Frenzy.

  His form expanded, muscles bulging as his jaguar hybrid shape grew in size. Dark fur stretched over thickened limbs, his cws lengthened, his fangs sharpened. The ground beneath him cracked under the sheer weight of his transformation. Power thrummed through his body, a wild, untamed force that burned away the ghostly cold of the summoned wolves.

  They attacked again.

  This time, he did not evade.

  He met the first wolf head-on, his massive cws cleaving through its spectral form with sheer brute force. It dissipated into mist before it could reform. Another lunged—he caught it mid-air, crushing its ethereal body between his jaws before hurling it aside.

  More came. He did not stop.

  Tearing, sshing, breaking. He moved like a storm of cws and fangs, a relentless force of destruction. One by one, the spectral wolves fell, their forms unraveling under his sheer strength.

  The st one vanished into nothingness, and silence followed.

  Mauvim stood in the aftermath, breath heavy, body thrumming with untamed power. His fur was slick with sweat, his eyes burning with the primal fire of his magic. He turned his gaze back to the white wolf, who still stood, unshaken, unreadable.

  His pulse pounded in his ears, the battlefield fading to nothing but the opponent before him. The white wolf remained still, golden eyes locked onto him, inscrutable as ever. Mauvim snarled, ready to lunge—

  Pain.

  A sharp, blinding agony erupted in his back, just below his ribs. The sensation of cold steel sliding between muscle and bone sent a violent tremor through his body. His breath hitched, the fire of battle momentarily drowned by the icy shock of betrayal.

  Mauvim twisted, his massive frame jerking unnaturally as his cws swiped behind him, but there was nothing to strike. His vision blurred for a fraction of a second, and then he saw him.

  A smaller figure stood just behind him, already withdrawing the dagger from his flesh with practiced precision. The bde glistened, slick with Mauvim’s blood. The scent of it was wrong. Thick. Heavy.

  Poison.

  The bck armored goblin remained expressionless, his dark eyes empty of malice, empty of triumph. He simply looked on, dispassionate, as Mauvim staggered forward a step, his limbs suddenly sluggish, unresponsive. The strength he had wielded moments ago—absolute, untamed power—was slipping from his grasp like water through his cws.

  No.

  A guttural snarl tore from his throat as he clenched his fists, calling upon his magic once more. His body fred with heat, his muscles tightening as he forced the transformation deeper, pulling from the wellspring of raw vitality within him. His veins pulsed with energy, racing to mend what had been broken, to purge the venom before it could take hold.

  Bestial Vigor.

  He could feel it working. The surge of magic knitting together torn muscle, fighting against the creeping poison. His wounds should be closing. His body should be regenerating. The fire should have returned.

  But it didn’t.

  The magic flickered, struggling to take hold, to burn away the invading toxin—but the poison was too strong. It resisted his attempt at healing. It spread through his bloodstream like a shadow, corrupting every attempt at healing, seizing his limbs with unnatural weight.

  His breathing grew ragged. His vision swam.

  No. Not like this.

  Mauvim dropped to one knee, cws digging into the dirt as his body betrayed him. His own magic—the force that had made him unstoppable—was failing. His blood felt thick, heavy, burning like acid and ice all at once.

  And still, the goblin watched.

  His expression did not change. No satisfaction. No cruelty. Only cold observation, as if he were merely studying the effects of his work, detached from the suffering he had inflicted.

  Mauvim’s snarl faltered. His limbs trembled beneath him. His breath came in shallow gasps.

  For the first time in a long time, true helplessness settled into his bones. He had always imagined that when the end came he would fight back. In the end though, his body betrayed him before his spirit ever could. His cws dug into the earth, but there was no strength left to tear through it. His vision swam, dark at the edges, as if the world itself was colpsing inward.

  He had always thought he would die on his feet, bellowing his defiance, tearing into his enemies with his st breath. He had always imagined his final moments would be drenched in blood and fury, a testament to the raw, untamed force that had carried him throughout his bloodstained life.

  Instead, he was kneeling. His breath was shallow. His limbs trembled with weakness, not rage.

  His vision blurred, but through the haze, he could still make out the goblin standing before him, still watching, unblinking, unmoved. The dagger in his hand was already clean, wiped free of Mauvim’s blood as if the act of stabbing him had been nothing more than a necessity, a task to be completed.

  Mauvim tried to move, tried to lurch forward, but his muscles refused to obey. The fire in his chest had become nothing more than dying embers, flickering weakly against the creeping cold spreading through his veins.

  The poison was ruthless. His own magic, once a lifeline, now felt distant—choked out by the toxin coursing through him. Bestial Vigor had failed him, its power drowned in the silent, creeping certainty of death.

  He lifted his head with the st of his strength, his breath ragged, his vision narrowing until only his killer remained in focus.

  Still, there was no cruelty in his face. No gloating. No triumph. Only quiet certainty, as if he had known all along that this moment was inevitable.

  The world around him dimmed. The sounds of battle faded into an echo, distant and unimportant.

  His fingers twitched once against the blood-soaked dirt.

  Then, the strength left them entirely.

  And Mauvim fell.