Chapter 25: Fires of Wrath and Discovery

  The pain was immediate and suffocating—a crushing force around Elaine’s throat, robbing her of breath and scattering her thoughts. She hung in midair, her toes scraping the forest floor, a single massive hand locked around her windpipe. Panic swelled; she kicked and clawed, but her fingernails skittered uselessly over leathery hide. Through a glaze of tears, she took in the monster that held her: a Dread Vanguard, towering head and shoulders above the average man, its body clad in rough, hidebound armor, its eyes alive with some infernal, predatory light.

  A sheen of sweat broke across Elaine’s forehead as she fought the encroaching darkness at the edges of her vision. This was worse than any lab accident, worse than any field expedition gone wrong during her time at Michigan State. She tried to remember the safety procedures she’d learned—a calm mind, methodical response—but nothing could have prepared her for having her windpipe crushed by a monstrous warrior from another world. She was an ordinary human—no mana heart, no supernatural power. All she had was her so-called Divine Gift from her Earthly god, and it required an external source of mana that she simply did not possess. That knowledge mocked her now, as the Dread Vanguard’s grip cut off her air.

  The forest around them was dark, lit only by thin strands of moonlight filtering through the redwood canopy. Each trunk soared like a watchful sentinel, ancient and unmoving, their massive forms dwarfed only by the night sky overhead. Low shrubs and ferns rustled in the faint breeze. If not for the choking terror and the scent of blood, one might have found this place serene.

  But serenity was a distant dream. From somewhere behind Elaine came the grunts and growls of a struggle:

  Xin-ta lay pinned under the weight of two smaller Nightmare Stalkers, known to her clan as “Magic Demons.” Their scaly bodies and elongated snouts glistened with the sticky remains of their last kills, and they hissed with unholy hunger.

  Joseph was sprawled on the ground, his side soaked in crimson. She couldn’t see his face, but the memory of his pained groan echoed in her mind, a reminder that he, too, was at death’s door if no one helped him soon.

  A wave of oxygen-starved delirium swept over Elaine. Her vision blurred, and a frantic thought took shape: I can’t die here… I’m supposed to help them…

  But no matter how she raked the Vanguard’s armor, she gained no purchase. Tears stung her eyes. In that moment, she felt a flicker in her chest—a warmth unrelated to any physical organ. It wasn’t mana. She had none. It was the subtle call of her Divine Gift, a gift that needed outside energy to do anything. Useless, unless…

  With her final thread of air, Elaine forced out a strangled whisper: “S-Ser… a… phion…”

  Her voice cracked on the last syllable. Darkness crowded her, and she thought she heard a triumphant snarl from the Vanguard. Then a sudden surge of electric warmth rushed across the clearing. The hiss of raw power joined the crackle of displaced air. The hand at her throat was ripped away.

  Elaine dropped, coughing and gasping, tears streaming down her cheeks. She tumbled onto moss and scattered pine needles, her nails clawing at her neck in reflex. Through watery eyes, she saw an ethereal glow forming behind her—a figure of wings and armor, taking shape in a swirl of gold and red.

  The Dread Vanguard reeled back, momentarily robbed of its prize. It whipped its head around, lips curled in a snarl. Now standing between Elaine and the hulking warrior was Seraphion: an archangel wreathed in a brilliance that burned the shadows from the forest floor. Crimson wings unfurled behind her, each feather like molten glass flickering at the edges, and her dark metal armor shone with runic etchings that glowed faintly. A halo of searing light crowned her brow. Her eyes, twin embers of molten wrath, locked on the Vanguard.

  “You dare harm what is mine?” Seraphion’s voice resonated, both hush and thunder. “You… will be purified.”

  There was a moment of silence, pregnant with danger. Elaine felt each heartbeat thunder through her bruised throat. The Dread Vanguard let out a guttural roar and lunged, thrusting a long spear at Seraphion’s abdomen. With an almost dismissive elegance, the archangel caught the spear mid-lunge, her gauntleted hand closing over the wooden shaft. Flame raced along the wood, swiftly melting the spearhead to slag. The Vanguard tried to yank free, snarling in fury, but Seraphion twisted, snapping the spear in two as though it were a brittle twig.

  Then came an uppercut—so fast Elaine barely registered it. White-hot flame danced around Seraphion’s fist, and the Vanguard staggered backward, its armored torso scorched. The archangel advanced, wings half-folded like a gathering storm. She raised a gauntleted palm where swirling flames coalesced, pulsing in gold and red.

  “Return to nothingness,” she intoned, calm and terrible.

  A torrent of purifying flame erupted from her palm, the heat searing the air. The Vanguard’s hidebound armor caught fire instantly, and the beast screamed—a sound too animal and too intelligent all at once. The clearing roared with the hiss of superheated air, and Elaine shielded her eyes with trembling arms. She had never seen Seraphion fully unleash this power before. She knew it by name only, and she understood that each time Seraphion invoked it, she inched closer to the limit of her manifestation in mortal realms. Soon, the archangel would need rest, or risk fading entirely back into Elaine’s soul space.

  When the flames died down, the Dread Vanguard collapsed in a blackened heap, hide armor melted, flesh scorched. Its once-fearsome roars had ceased, leaving only the echo of crackling embers. Seraphion stood over it, her eyes still blazing, a final brand of judgment.

  Falling to her knees, Elaine coughed so hard she retched, tasting copper where she’d bitten her tongue. Her neck throbbed, and her lungs burned from the frantic attempts to draw air. She felt a wave of dizziness and tried to focus on the nearest shapes: the blackened remains of the Vanguard, smoke curling off charred flesh, and Seraphion’s shining silhouette.

  “S-Seraphion…” Elaine croaked, voice nearly gone. Her fingers shook from adrenaline and oxygen deprivation.

  The archangel turned, concern warring with the fierce glow of her eyes. “You live,” she said, kneeling down. Beneath the layers of armor and power, there was gentleness in her tone. “Are you badly hurt?”

  Elaine tried to speak, but a harsh cough stole her breath. Dizziness swept over her. “I… I’ll manage,” she whispered at last, though every inhale felt like sandpaper against her throat. “But… Xin-ta—”

  A sudden movement on the far side of the clearing reminded them both that the danger wasn’t over. Xin-ta was still pinned under two Nightmare Stalkers, their sinewy limbs pressing her down. Each breath must have been agony for the beast-woman, whose entire frame strained with tension. They had been so focused on subduing her that they failed to notice the Vanguard’s demise. The Stalkers hissed and spat in their savage tongue.

  “Stay,” Seraphion said, voice quiet but resolute. “I will free your friend.”

  With a surge of her wings, the archangel propelled herself across the clearing. The first Stalker, half-turned in surprise, barely had time to hiss before Seraphion’s armored fist crushed its spine in a single, sickening blow. The second tried to recoil, but she grabbed its scaled arm and flung it aside. The beast slammed into a moss-covered trunk and slumped, stunned.

  “They’re not all dead…” Seraphion observed, noticing one twitch of movement. She stepped back, allowing Xin-ta to recover. “Finish it quickly.”

  Xin-ta coughed as the weight lifted off her. Pain rippled through her torso—one of the Stalkers had clawed her side deeply, and she felt warm blood matting the fur beneath her tattered clothing. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and each exhale sharpened the ache where her previous wounds throbbed. She had only recently been revived by Elaine’s forced evolutions, after all; her body was far from fully recovered.

  Still half-dazed, Xin-ta realized that Seraphion was standing near, no longer taking action. She watched as Seraphion folded her flaming wings, her expression almost clinical, as though testing whether the beast-woman could handle the final adversary herself.

  The last Nightmare Stalker struggled to rise. Its scaly hide was cracked in multiple places, blackish blood leaking out. A violent hiss sounded in its throat, but it seemed disoriented from the impact against the trunk. Xin-ta tried to stand, but her legs wobbled. Pain lanced through her hips, reminding her of how many times she’d been struck tonight. But she forced herself upright, every muscle protesting.

  Seraphion made no move to help. Instead, the archangel’s molten eyes regarded Xin-ta with something akin to expectation—or was it mild impatience? The message was clear: Prove yourself.

  Xin-ta clenched her jaw. She groped behind her back, finding the knife pinned beneath her. Her spear was lost somewhere in the gloom, but this blade would have to do. Gritting her teeth, she lunged. The Stalker twisted, letting out a vile hiss. A scaly arm lashed out, raking across Xin-ta’s already wounded side. She cried out in pain, nearly dropping the knife. White spots danced in her vision. For a moment, she feared she might collapse from sheer blood loss.

  But she refused to yield. Angling her body, Xin-ta sprang forward again, knife flashing downward. The Stalker caught her wrist, snapping its jaws at her face. She smelled its fetid breath, an acrid mix that threatened to turn her stomach. Summoning the last reserves of her enhanced strength—some pangolin-like durability from Elaine’s forced evolution—she twisted free, ignoring the fresh burn of claws scraping her forearm. She hissed back in defiance and reversed her grip on the knife.

  With a sharp upward thrust, she slammed the blade beneath the creature’s jaw. A gargled shriek burst from the Stalker, and its scaly limbs went rigid. It collapsed in a heap, eyes bulging in final disbelief. For one breathless moment, Xin-ta remained poised above it, knife buried to the hilt, panting so hard her ribs ached. Then she wrenched the blade free and staggered back, nearly losing her balance.

  Seraphion, wings folded, observed with a cool nod. “You fought well,” she said. There was a sliver of grudging respect, but also that hint of impatience—like a trainer who expected more speed, more efficiency. Xin-ta, chest heaving, refrained from snapping back a retort. Blood trickled down her arm from reopened gashes. She knew she owed this archangel a measure of gratitude, but the beast-woman’s pride warred with her injuries.

  Meanwhile, Elaine clutched at her bruised neck. She watched the exchange through half-focused eyes, still dazed by the near-strangulation. Seraphion approached her, stooping low with wings half-furled. The archangel’s halo flickered in its brilliance, as though it, too, was taxed by the recent exertion.

  “You risk too much,” Seraphion murmured, her voice losing some of its booming resonance. “If you had died, Elaine, then my presence—and Zeraphine’s—would vanish from this realm as well. We archangels dwell within your soul space; your death would be ours too.”

  Elaine swallowed, her throat raw. “I… I didn’t ask for this,” she managed. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, a potent mix of shame, relief, and leftover terror. “But thank you. You saved me.”

  Seraphion’s molten gaze softened. She exhaled, her stance relaxing slightly. “You are my human, Elaine. My domain is Wrath and Patience, and I must ensure you survive to fulfill our shared purpose.” She tore her eyes from Elaine to gaze at the battered soldier on the ground. “Your companion is gravely wounded. Attend him.”

  Elaine wiped her tears on the back of her hand, nodding. Her entire neck screamed with each movement, and her limbs felt leaden from adrenaline crash. Yet Joseph’s life was at stake. She crawled over to him, ignoring the pounding in her head. He lay amid broken twigs and a growing pool of blood, bandage half-soaked. Xin-ta, cradling her own wounded side, hobbled over to help.

  At that moment, a gentle mental voice threaded through Elaine’s thoughts—Marious, the first archangel who had hijacked Joseph’s gem.

  “Seraphion is correct. This mortal man is badly hurt. Move quickly to stanch his wounds.”

  His words were calm, measured. Elaine silently thanked him for the reminder, though she felt a pang of frustration at her own impotence. She pressed a hand to Joseph’s side, wincing at how hot the blood was against her trembling fingers.

  Joseph moaned faintly, his eyes half-lidded. He was too delirious to speak. Elaine peeled away the soaked bandage and nearly recoiled at the ragged tear in his flesh. Claw marks from the Nightmare Stalkers, perhaps, or from the Vanguard’s spear. The edges were uneven, and the stench of copper was overwhelming.

  “Elaine…?” Xin-ta said hesitantly, crouching beside her. The beast-woman was favoring one leg, and fresh blood trickled from the slash on her arm. Yet she focused on Joseph. “How do we…?”

  Elaine opened Joseph’s field kit with shaking hands, rummaging for antiseptic vials. The label was half-worn, but she recognized the chemical smell. “We… We clean the wound first,” she answered breathlessly. “Then… compress to stop bleeding. I— I can’t heal him. I have no mana to power my Gift.”

  “Seraphion?” Xin-ta ventured, glancing at the archangel.

  But Seraphion only shook her head, wings whispering against the dark. “My domain is Wrath and Patience, not healing. I do not possess the ability to restore mortal flesh.”

  A sense of helplessness sank over Elaine. She gently dabbed antiseptic onto Joseph’s wound, earning a sharp hiss from him even in his semi-conscious state. The skin around the tear looked inflamed, though it might have just been raw from the fresh injury. “I need to… check for an exit wound,” she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else. She rolled Joseph slightly, only to find no exit—the claw had torn into him, not gone through. That was at least some relief.

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  She poured more antiseptic, ignoring the sting in her own throat as she coughed again. Her entire body ached, bruises forming where the Vanguard had gripped her neck. Each swallow felt like swallowing glass. But Elaine forced herself onward, following telepathic prompts from Marious to properly bandage the wound. She applied pressure, re-wrapping it tighter. Finally, Joseph’s breathing eased a fraction, though he remained unconscious.

  Xin-ta, teeth bared against her own pain, helped tie the bandage. Her newly enhanced strength, courtesy of Elaine’s forced evolutions, gave her steadier hands than Elaine’s trembling ones. “He… He might survive,” Xin-ta said, her voice rough. “If we can get him somewhere safer.”

  Elaine tried to nod, but a spike of agony in her throat made her wince. “We can’t drag him far right now,” she rasped. “We need a moment to rest, at least.”

  In the clearing’s dim light, Elaine spotted Joseph’s rifle lying askew under broken branches. The metal barrel glinted dully, bent at an awkward angle. Pain lanced through her chest; that was their best defense, now hopelessly damaged. She crawled over, ignoring the screaming protests of her body. Picking up the rifle, she grimaced at the cracked mana lines. Their only advanced weapon was broken.

  Xin-ta uttered a curse in her own language. “That was… the best chance we had against these demons. Now we’re left with spears, knives, and your archangel.” She shot a tired glance at Seraphion, who gazed back impassively.

  Before Elaine could respond, a light, teasing voice drifted through her mind: Zeraphine (Zee). Elaine recognized the tone of the Archangel of Sloth/Diligence, the same voice that had introduced itself with playful exhaustion before.

  “Mmm, that poor thing is ruined. Next time I come out, I’ll fix it… or maybe make it better. But for now… I’m so tired…”

  Zee’s mental presence faded, leaving behind a warm, sluggish echo. Elaine relayed the message to Xin-ta. The beast-woman twitched her ears irritably. “So many archangels swirling around you,” she muttered, “but no immediate help.” She sighed, scanning the gloom for signs of more enemies. “At least there’s hope of repair.”

  Seraphion’s molten eyes flicked from the ruined rifle to the oppressive darkness at the treeline. “We cannot rely on a broken tool. The forest teems with fresh threats.”

  A distant cackle drifted through the redwoods, that haunting Nightmare Stalker laugh that seemed both mocking and unnervingly human-like. Elaine’s breath caught, and every muscle in her body tensed. The thick canopy allowed only slender beams of starlight, and the shadows between the towering trunks felt ominously alive.

  Xin-ta’s ears flattened. “They’re close,” she murmured, her voice tight with pain. Blood still seeped from her reopened wounds, dripping onto the forest floor. “Could be a large pack. They’ll smell blood. Or sense the magic Seraphion used.”

  Seraphion’s gaze lingered on the smoldering Vanguard corpse, then swept toward the horizon, as though scanning for more. “They may be better organized than you realize. Their alliance with these deeper creatures is… unusual.”

  Elaine rubbed at her neck, her pulse skipping in fear. “We can’t just run,” she said, though the thought of more fighting made her stomach turn. “What if there’s something on these bodies that explains how they bypassed the Guardian’s territory? Or why they’re grouping up?”

  Xin-ta let out a low growl of frustration. She cast a worried glance at Joseph—still lying in a precarious state—but nodded. “Fine. If Seraphion stands guard, we can look fast.”

  Seraphion inclined her head in silent agreement, positioning herself near Joseph. Her wings, once blazing, now glowed at a subdued level, evidence of her spent energy. She folded her arms across her chest, a resolute sentinel.

  Elaine and Xin-ta navigated the clearing, stepping over broken branches, burnt grass, and the carnage left behind by the short but brutal skirmish. The stench of charred flesh made Elaine’s stomach churn. She forced down a wave of nausea, determined to glean information from these abominations.

  They started with the Nightmare Stalkers. Even in her battered state—her throat bruised, neck stiff, and limbs shaking—Elaine felt her zoological curiosity spark. She knelt by one body, carefully turning it over. The scaly chest plate, blackened by partial flames, offered a gruesome view of the organs inside.

  She bit her lip, prying the chest cavity open with shaky fingers. The Stalker’s blood was a strange greenish-brown hue, thick and pungent. “Back on Earth, I studied amphibians and reptiles, but… this is something else,” she muttered, half to herself. She recalled times in the university lab, dissecting frogs or fish, but none of that compared to dissecting a magical predator that breathed flame.

  Eventually, she found a tiny, crystalline organ nestled near the center of the ribcage. Its surface sparkled a dull white under the meager starlight. She poked it with a scalpel from Joseph’s kit, confirming it had hardened. “This must be the ‘mana heart’ you mentioned,” Elaine said, glancing at Xin-ta.

  The beast-woman, arms folded across her bleeding side, peered close but kept a small distance. “It’s… not actually crystal while they live,” she explained, voice hoarse. “At least, that’s what my clan’s shaman says. It’s soft, fleshy. But once they die, it crystallizes.” Her nose wrinkled at the pungent smell. “Magic Demons all have them.”

  Elaine nodded. “So they use it to… store energy, in a sense. And they can breathe fire.” She frowned. “But how do they channel it from heart to mouth?”

  Xin-ta gave a slight shrug, then grimaced at the motion jarring her wounds. “We just… think it, and it manifests. Isn’t that how your flesh shaping works, Elaine? You desire it, you shape it.” She paused, exhaling. “To us, it’s natural. We have… mana veins that carry the power wherever we focus it. You think it, you manifest it. That’s all.”

  The simplicity of the explanation startled Elaine. She studied the creature’s chest again, noticing thin tubes or vessels that gave off a faint, bluish sheen, now deflated and leaking some ephemeral substance into the air that quickly dissipated. “So these are… mana veins?” She reached out with her scalpel, gently lifting a strand of that bluish vessel. “They’re not carrying blood. They’re carrying… energy. I can see it evaporating.”

  Indeed, a faint wisp of shimmering mist drifted off the torn vein, dissolving into the dark air. Elaine’s scientific mind raced with questions. If these mana veins exist in living creatures, how do they form? Do they grow like normal vessels? Do they sense the environment to gather ambient mana?

  Xin-ta touched her abdomen where Elaine had introduced forced evolutions. “My clan is born with a mana heart, which strengthens over time. Infants have it small, nearly useless, but by adulthood, it’s a strong source of power. When we die, it… crystallizes, just like you see here. We usually harvest them for certain clan rituals, or bury them. We never liked messing with them too much.”

  Elaine murmured in fascination. She recalled how Xin-ta used to have faintly glowing, bioluminescent veins visible under her fur in certain lights—maybe that was a reflection of her natural mana flow. “You used to glow sometimes,” Elaine said aloud. “I thought it was some kind of… luminescent bacteria or fungus. But maybe it was these mana veins.”

  Xin-ta gave a wry smile, though her face contorted in pain. “Yes, my clan calls it our ‘lifestream glow.’ But after you used my mana heart to save me, I can’t glow anymore. Perhaps, over time, I might regain it.”

  Elaine wanted to apologize again, but forced herself to remain objective. She carefully dislodged the small “crystal” from the Stalker’s chest cavity. It felt cool to the touch, faintly rigid yet surprisingly brittle around the edges. She held it up to a stray beam of starlight. “It’s so… intricate,” she whispered. “Like layered quartz, but… organic. If it’s basically a battery for ambient mana, that means it can draw power from the air and condense it into a physical resource. Then, when the creature exerts itself—say, breathing fire—it taps this stored power.”

  Xin-ta nodded. “That’s what I was taught. ‘You think it, you manifest it.’ The heart is the reservoir. The veins carry the power. Then you shape it into the physical world.” She eyed Elaine pointedly. “Is that not how your flesh shaping works, too?”

  Elaine managed a thin, rueful smile. “If I had the mana to shape anything, yes. But I’m… powerless right now.” The irony wasn’t lost on her—she had a Divine Gift that couldn’t function without an external battery of mana.

  They turned next to the Dread Vanguard’s corpse. Smoke still rose in wisps from its charred hide. The thick armor strapped to its shoulders had partially melted, revealing ridges of sub-dermal plating. Elaine felt her stomach churn at the smell of burned flesh. Yet she pressed on, gently peeling back a scorched flap of hide with Joseph’s scalpel.

  What she found made her eyes widen. Beneath the hide was a system of reinforced bone plating integrated with large muscle groups. Nothing like the standard skeletal structure she might have seen in a normal predator. There were overlapping layers, reminiscent of an armadillo or pangolin, but fused deeper into the body. She trailed the scalpel down, discovering a bigger cluster of these “mana veins” crisscrossing near a hardened organ in the creature’s sternum region.

  “Xin-ta, help me lift this,” Elaine said, her voice cracking. The beast-woman, despite her own injuries, stepped in, gripping the edge of the plating. Together, they pried it open, revealing a large mana node near the bone. The node was half-destroyed by Seraphion’s flames, but it still retained a solid chunk. Sticky, blackish fluid oozed from the surrounding tissues. The stench was overwhelming, and Elaine had to fight a bout of queasiness.

  “This is… incredible,” she breathed, ignoring the nasty smell. “It’s not just a bigger heart. It’s integrated into the skeleton, like a living battery fused to the body’s entire structure. No wonder it was stronger than the smaller Stalkers.” She gingerly used her scalpel like claw to free a shard of the charred node. Even partial as it was, the chunk glinted with an internal luminescence, like embers trapped in crystal.

  Xin-ta grimaced, one arm clutching her side. “My clan has rumors of deeper demons with more than one mana heart—some said they had multiple nodes to power their feats. That must be how they manage all that weight and still fight so fiercely.”

  Elaine swallowed, carefully storing the shard in a spare pouch. “Potentially, I could replicate some aspects using my Flesh Shaping,” she muttered, half to herself. “But only if I had a… a huge mana source, and a volunteer. Even then, it’s not something to do lightly.” She shuddered. The moral and logistical implications loomed large.

  Xin-ta said nothing, though her expression spoke volumes. No more forced evolutions, her eyes seemed to say. But curiosity still lingered in the beast-woman’s gaze.

  At last, satisfied they had gleaned what they could, Elaine and Xin-ta limped back to Joseph. The entire time, Elaine felt each bruise on her neck throbbing with her pulse, a constant reminder of how close she’d come to suffocation. Each breath brought a slight whistle in her throat. Xin-ta clutched her side, fresh blood darkening her fur. The forced evolutions had given her extraordinary resilience, but it couldn’t erase the pain of repeated injuries.

  Seraphion stood watch over Joseph, her wings partially open. Dwindling embers of light flickered across her feathers. The archangel might have domain over Wrath and Patience, but she was not invincible in the mortal plane. Elaine wondered, fleetingly, how many times Seraphion could unleash that purifying flame before she had to vanish—two, maybe three times, total?

  As they approached, Seraphion turned. “Learn anything?” she asked. Her voice had lost some of its thunderous echo, perhaps from fatigue.

  Xin-ta’s tail twitched. She swallowed a pained groan, answering, “They’re more sophisticated than random beasts. Some have multiple… ‘mana hearts,’ advanced plating… They’re dangerous.”

  Seraphion nodded gravely. “Then we must depart soon. If others of this sort arrive, it will be a battle we may not win.”

  Elaine knelt by Joseph, gently pressing a hand to his bandaged side. He stirred at the touch, letting out a faint moan. Relief fluttered in her chest—he was alive, at least. Turning, she looked up at Seraphion. “We’ll leave,” she promised softly, “just… give him a moment. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

  The archangel hesitated, embers in her eyes flickering. She then inclined her head in acquiescence. “As you wish.”

  In the hush that followed, Elaine closed her eyes, allowing herself a fraction of respite. She was still drenched in adrenaline, body trembling from fatigue and bruises. Her throat felt raw and tender, each swallow a small agony. The memory of the Vanguard’s vice-like grip haunted her. Every so often, she glanced around, half-expecting another Stalker or Vanguard to appear.

  What if more come? she thought, heart pounding. What if I can’t call Seraphion in time, or if the archangel is too drained?

  Within her mind, she felt a fleeting brush of another consciousness—Zeraphine (Zee), the Archangel of Sloth and Diligence. Elaine found the dichotomy apt: Zee was always either half-asleep or industriously tinkering with something. She recalled how Zee had promised to fix Joseph’s rifle one day, if she had enough energy. But that day was not now.

  “Rest a bit, Elaine,” Zee’s mental whisper wafted through her thoughts. “We can only do so much. Sloth can be a virtue sometimes… or diligence, if that’s what’s needed.”

  Elaine managed a weak smile. I’m trying…

  Zee faded again, leaving behind a feeling of half-lidded calm, as though urging her to pace herself. If Sloth could be wise counsel, perhaps it was telling her not to push her battered body too far. And yet, there was no real time to rest. The Redwood forest was full of hidden shapes, and the laughter of Nightmare Stalkers still echoed.

  Pain flared every time Elaine inhaled, her bruised throat protesting. She stole a glance at Xin-ta, who sat on a low log, panting shallowly. Blood from the beast-woman’s wounded side stained the undergrowth. Elaine knew she needed treatment, but the meager supplies in Joseph’s kit were running low. She rummaged for extra bandages, handing them to Xin-ta, who grunted her thanks before awkwardly patching her own injuries. Each hiss of pain reminded them how dire their circumstances were.

  Joseph, though stabilized for the moment, could worsen if they didn’t reach some form of shelter or medical help. Seraphion flicked her eyes to the blackness of the forest, and Elaine sensed the archangel’s urgency.

  They had learned the barest hints about how these demons formed alliances, about their mana hearts and mana veins, but not how to stop them. If the Guardian was truly gone, the Redwood domain was wide open to such horrors.

  And Elaine… she had gleaned glimpses into the biology of these creatures, recognized how they channeled ambient mana through specialized veins. She had half a mind to dissect them more thoroughly, to understand the synergy between body and magic. But time was not a luxury. She felt her bruised body screaming for rest, and she worried for Joseph’s survival.

  Minutes stretched out in uneasy silence. A faint wind stirred the treetops, and clouds drifted across the distant moon, cloaking the clearing in deeper shadow. Even Seraphion’s halo seemed dimmer, its scorching brilliance drained by the purifying flame she had unleashed earlier.

  Elaine looked at Xin-ta, who forced herself to stand upright, flinching at the pain in her ribs. The beast-woman’s chest rose and fell in strained gasps, her new pangolin-like plating probably the only reason she wasn’t eviscerated by the earlier attacks. Beside them, Joseph remained unconscious, his bandaged side rising and falling in shallow intervals.

  Seraphion finally broke the silence. “We cannot linger,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. “Another wave of demons may arrive at any moment. We should move Joseph to a safer locale.”

  Xin-ta muttered a curse under her breath. “Carrying him will be slow going, especially in the dark. But I see no choice.”

  Elaine swallowed hard. The friction in her throat felt like knives. “I can… help you,” she managed to say, though her arms trembled. “We’ll figure it out.”

  And so, under the watchful eyes of Seraphion, who stood guard with her wings half-furled, Elaine and Xin-ta prepared to lift Joseph and make their cautious retreat. Zeraphine dozed in the background of Elaine’s soul space, the Archangel of Sloth and Diligence recharging her energies for when her craftsmanship might be needed. Marious stayed silent for the moment, presumably observing through Joseph’s gem or ensuring Joseph’s vitals didn’t plummet further.

  In the distance, faint cackles still haunted the gloom, a reminder that the Redwood Forest was far from safe. The night felt endless, and the promise of dawn was hours away. Yet each of them—Elaine, Xin-ta, Joseph, and the archangels bound to Elaine—held onto a fragile hope. They had survived this vicious ambush. They had glimpsed the power of these new adversaries and discovered hints about their mana-based physiology.

  Bracing herself against the ache in her ribs and the raw burn in her throat, Elaine bent to hook her arms beneath Joseph’s shoulders. Xin-ta grit her teeth, ignoring her bloodied flank, and lifted Joseph’s legs. Together, they hoisted him, each step a painful jolt through battered muscles. Seraphion walked ahead, her halo a guiding beacon in the darkness. The Redwood titans loomed on every side, silent witnesses to the group’s struggle.

  They pressed on, battered but unbroken, mindful that the Redwood domain—and perhaps the entire land—now faced a threat far greater than random beasts. With the Guardian gone, Magic Demons—and their dread vanguards—roamed freely in search of conquest. If Elaine’s clan or Xin-ta’s clan could not assemble a defense, the forest might fall into darkness.

  Yet in the hearts of these weary travelers, a steely determination burned. Elaine might lack a mana heart, but she possessed knowledge, curiosity, and an unyielding need to protect her companions. Xin-ta might be drained of her mana, but her newly enhanced body gave her hope for survival and restitution of her powers someday. Seraphion, Archangel of Wrath and Patience, glimmered like a guardian star, prepared to unleash final judgments if called upon. And somewhere within Elaine’s soul, Zeraphine (Zee)—Archangel of Sloth and Diligence—slumbered, waiting for the moment to enact her creative spark.

  The night stretched on, full of ominous shadows and hidden horrors. But they walked forward, step by grueling step, refusing to yield to despair. For now, battered though they were, they had each other and a measure of knowledge gleaned from the corpses of their enemies. Dawn was far off, the Redwood Forest thick with menace—but as long as they could still breathe, they would not give in.