Then something metallic clinked softly between them.

  A small cylinder rolled across the basalt and came to rest in the ash.

  For half a heartbeat, no one moved.

  Vaeris Grimleaf’s eyes dropped to the object. Her mind processed the shape instantly.

  Still too late.

  The cylinder emitted a low, concussive thump, and the air rippled outward in a dull gray wave.

  The effect was immediate.

  The vast reservoir of mana Vaeris had been drawing upon simply… vanished.

  Not drained. Not blocked.

  Gone.

  Her gates slammed shut like iron doors. The wand in her hand sputtered and went dark.

  Across the battlefield, the basalt platforms she had raised trembled and collapsed back into the earth.

  Vaeris staggered.

  “What—”

  Across the flats, Helena Voss gasped sharply. The woman had been shifting density again—molecules spreading apart to slip through the battlefield like a ghost.

  The suppression field caught her mid-transition, and her body snapped violently back into full solidity.

  The backlash struck like a hammer and she crashed onto her back.

  Unconscious.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Helena Voss—feared across entire systems—neutralized.

  Without throwing a single punch.

  For a moment, the battlefield fell completely silent. The storm of magic was gone. The air felt… empty.

  A figure stepped out from behind an outcropping several meters away.

  Helmet visor glowing faintly.

  Rift looked down at the small device still humming faintly on the ground.

  “Ah,” he said pleasantly. “That worked rather well. Shame about the countess, but she was going to lose.”

  Vaeris straightened slowly as she tried again to draw mana.

  Nothing answered.

  Not even an echo.

  Rift watched her with open curiosity.

  “You see,” he continued conversationally, “mages are fascinating creatures.”

  He nudged the device aside with the toe of his boot.

  “They spend centuries mastering their art.”

  Vaeris’ violet eyes locked onto him.

  “But magic,” Rift said lightly, “has weak points. You just have to know where to look.”

  She moved first.

  Pure instinct.

  Her wand snapped upward.

  Nothing happened.

  For the first time since the battle began, uncertainty flickered across her expression.

  Rift chuckled.

  “Oh dear.”

  He unslung his rifle and aimed it lazily in her direction.

  “Did no one ever warn you?”

  His finger tightened on the trigger.

  “Never build your life around a single tool.”

  Vaeris’ gaze never left him.

  “You really want to kill me like that?”

  “Well, yeah,” Rift nodded. “I really do.”

  Then she slowly reached behind her back.

  Rift’s visor brightened with interest.

  “Oh?”

  Vaeris pulled something free.

  A slender handle of pale carved bone, ancient runes spiraling along its length. A small crystal sat embedded in the pommel.

  She pressed a hidden stud with her thumb.

  A series of quiet metallic clicks followed.

  Segments of folded metal slid outward from the hilt and locked into place, forming a long, elegant blade.

  The weapon caught the red glow of Ashfall’s sky.

  Not magic.

  Not tech.

  Just beautiful steel.

  Rift stared at it for a moment.

  Then he laughed. Bright and slightly unhinged.

  Delighted.

  “Oh, that's wonderful.”

  He dropped his rifle.

  Rift's hand found the hilt at his lower back, drawing forth a matte-black vibroblade that awoke with a gentle hum.

  "How refreshing—a proper argument at last," he said, eyes assessing her stance with predatory interest.

  "I wonder, Archmage..."

  He pivoted on his heel, blade raised in a one-handed guard position, his mouth curving into a smile.

  "Do those hands know what to do with beautiful steel?"

  His eyes glittered with anticipation.

  The Silver Witch answered only with her advance, her silence more eloquent than words.