The battlefield was no longer collapsing.
It was convulsing.
Every clash above—Binyamin’s radiant glyph force colliding with the Grand Curator’s cosmic authority—sent tectonic fractures racing across the earth like cracks through glass. Gravity spasmed without warning. Slabs of rock floated, then dropped violently. Molten glyph rivers burst upward in erratic geysers.
The girls no longer flinched.
They adjusted.
The Inquisitor surged forward again, shadow glyph energy threading through his muscles like dark veins. Each strike he threw distorted the air around his fists, compressing space in brutal arcs of close-range devastation.
He did not fight at distance.
He invaded it.
Aylen blocked a shadow-infused punch—her weapon screeched as black glyph energy crawled along its edge. The force drove her knee-deep into fractured stone.
Kara ducked low, narrowly avoiding a sweeping elbow that split a floating slab in half.
Naela didn’t whisper this time.
She stepped forward.
“Left collapse in three seconds,” she commanded sharply.
Aylen didn’t question it.
Kara didn’t hesitate.
They moved before the terrain did.
A massive shockwave from above distorted gravity—just as Naela predicted. The ground beneath the Inquisitor tilted violently.
He adjusted—
But not cleanly.
Aylen saw it.
For the first time—
A delay.
His shadow infusion surged whenever he committed to a full strike. It strengthened him.
But it locked him into motion for a heartbeat longer than normal.
Kara’s eyes sharpened.
“He overcommits when the glyph veins flare,” she muttered.
The Inquisitor lunged again, fury overtaking precision.
“For the Grand Curator!” he roared, driving forward with a barrage of brutal, body-infused strikes.
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Aylen met him head-on.
Not to win.
To stall.
The impact shattered the ground beneath both of them. Cracks spidered outward as molten glyph light bled through widening fissures.
Naela raised her staff—not to defend—
But to redirect.
“Now!” she shouted.
Kara leapt high, deliberately drawing the Inquisitor’s attention.
He took the bait.
Shadow glyphs flared violently along his spine as he pivoted to crush her midair.
Aylen dropped low.
Instead of attacking—
She kicked the fractured slab beneath his planted foot.
It broke.
At the same moment, gravity inverted again due to the clash above.
The Inquisitor’s overextended strike met empty air as his footing vanished.
For half a second—
His balance faltered.
That was enough.
Kara twisted midair, driving her weapon downward—not at his torso—
But at the brightest concentration of shadow glyph veins along his shoulder.
The blade struck.
There was resistance.
Then—
A crack.
Not stone.
Not steel.
Flesh.
The shadow glyph vein ruptured with a violent burst of black-violet energy.
The Inquisitor roared—not in fury—
In pain.
Dark glyph energy sprayed outward like burning embers, destabilizing the infusion across his arm. The limb spasmed unnaturally.
Aylen didn’t hesitate.
She drove forward with everything she had left.
Her strike collided with the damaged shoulder.
This time—
It pierced.
A deep gash tore through shadow-infused armor and into living tissue.
Blood—real blood—hit the fractured stone.
The Inquisitor staggered backward.
The battlefield paused.
Above, Binyamin’s clash detonated again—but below, something had changed.
The Inquisitor looked down at his wound.
At his blood.
At the destabilized glyph veins flickering erratically across his arm.
Disbelief twisted his face.
“You… dare…”
His shadow infusion flared wildly—no longer controlled, no longer disciplined.
Desperation had overtaken devotion.
He surged again, faster, sloppier.
Naela stepped in front.
Not defensively.
Commanding.
“Rotate pattern three. Collapse him toward the fissure.”
They obeyed instantly.
Aylen drew him left.
Kara baited right.
The Inquisitor pursued aggressively, abandoning structure.
A shockwave from above ripped through the terrain again—splitting open a massive molten fissure behind him.
Naela timed it.
“Now!”
Aylen took the hit.
A shadow-infused strike slammed into her side before she could fully evade.
Something cracked.
Pain detonated through her ribs.
She hit the ground hard, breath leaving her lungs.
For a terrifying moment—
She couldn’t move.
The Inquisitor advanced toward her, shadow glyphs destabilizing but still lethal.
“If Binyamin falls,” he hissed, “your suffering will mean nothing.”
Aylen forced air back into her lungs.
Pain sharpened her thoughts.
No more romantic confession.
No more fear.
Only clarity.
She rolled at the last possible second.
The Inquisitor stepped forward—
Directly over the unstable edge of the molten fissure.
Kara struck his injured shoulder again.
The destabilized glyph veins ruptured further, black energy lashing outward uncontrollably.
Naela slammed her staff into the ground.
A focused glyph barrier didn’t shield—
It redirected force downward.
The fractured terrain beneath the Inquisitor collapsed completely.
He fell to one knee as molten glyph heat surged upward around him.
Aylen, barely standing, used the last of her strength to drive her weapon into the same wounded shoulder a third time.
This time—
The blade sank deep.
A raw, guttural scream tore from the Inquisitor’s throat as shadow glyph infusion across his entire arm flickered violently and then partially extinguished.
His arm hung damaged.
Burned.
Bleeding.
For the first time—
He was truly wounded.
Deadly wounded.
The girls stood trembling, battered, one injured—
But no longer prey.
From a wide aerial view, the battlefield remained apocalyptic.
Above—gods tore at existence.
Below—three mortals had just drawn divine blood.
And in doing so—
They had changed the balance.
The Inquisitor rose slowly from the molten-lit fissure, one arm failing, shadow glyphs unstable across his body.
Devotion still burned in his eyes.
But now—
So did fear.
