Lucas was looking at the betrayal…

  The sky was a storm of color and betrayal. Red banners rose in waves across the square, embroidered with a strange variation of the Empire’s heraldry. Lucas’s breath caught as he realized how close they were… the traitors hadn’t just turned; they’d regrouped behind them.

  Rimebreak forces—his forces—were pinned. The barracks wall loomed at their backs like a silent executioner, and ahead, the Empire’s army fanned out across the square, banners fluttering like hungry tongues.

  Lucy’s voice ripped through the din. “Hoist the colours! Rimebreak, stand by me! Blasted scallywags; give ’em no quarter!”

  Her words cracked something open in the crowd.

  A dozen blue-and-white banners shot up among them, the snowflake of Rimebreak gleaming cold on white fabric… except Lucy, in all her pirate glory, had added bones beneath it. The skull-and-snowflake standard of lunacy and loyalty.

  Lucas winced. Bones? Really? It looked like a tavern logo designed by someone half-drunk. And yet… something about it worked. The flutter of those ridiculous flags made his pulse quicken, and against all logic, the pirate talk actually hit.

  Lisa didn’t need banners to announce herself. She stepped forward, hair whipping in the wind, her staff pulsing with molten light.

  No circles, no precision. Just will.

  Her fire didn’t form so much as break free… spilling out of her in surges that painted the air orange and white-hot. She told him it wasn’t disciplined like Dmitry’s or elegantly woven like the white Grandmaster. Lisa’s flames raged. They obeyed emotion, apparently.

  The heat slapped Lucas’s face as she thrust her arm forward.

  A sheet of fire rolled over the front line of traitors, and one unlucky rogue screamed as her armor went cherry-red. Her HP bar nosedived, half gone already, and the rest started ticking down in pulsing chunks. Her gear blistered, the metal hissing like meat on a forge.

  Lucas’s stomach twisted. Envy, admiration, awe… too many feelings at once.

  He gritted his teeth and raised his hand. Sparks crackled between his fingers, gathering in a trembling sphere. He wove the runes. “Come on,” he muttered, as if the spell needed convincing. Then he released it.

  [Powerful Spark] flared across the square… a blinding thread of blue that snapped into a warrior’s chest. The man convulsed, muscles locking tight, weapon slipping from his grip.

  Three seconds. That’s all his magic gave him. Three seconds while Lisa’s flames could level squads. Lucas exhaled, the taste of ozone on his tongue. They even had Lumi, who was on another level than him.

  He shook his head, re-focusing on the fight. The battlefield screamed around him; steel, magic, chaos. All he could think was that he’d never wanted a higher class more in his life.

  The clash came like an avalanche with no direction… just noise, motion, and madness.

  The first wave hit before Lucas even realized the lines had broken. Warriors from both sides surged forward, their battle cries clashing into a single, mindless roar. There was no formation, no rank, no clean strategy; just chaos wearing steel.

  Shields slammed, blades skidded, the cobblestones turned slick under boots and blood. The city square that had moments ago felt wide and open now felt suffocating, boxed in by walls, smoke, and the sheer density of bodies.

  Rimebreak’s warriors were trying to hold the front, or what counted as one. A line in name only… more like a desperate knot of shouting, sweating figures swinging at whatever moved too close. The enemy pressed in, just as messy, their banners and armor indistinguishable in the blur of light and dust.

  Lucas fell back automatically, along with the other mages and healers.

  His boots scraped against the stones as he retreated a few paces behind the melee, every instinct screaming to stay useful, not useless. The air around him buzzed with mana signatures; flames, water, frost, poison, the rhythmic hum of magic.

  He felt the ozone sting in his nostrils, tasted metal and ash on his tongue.

  In front of the army, Lucy towered above the chaos, hammer in both hands, her pirate coat flaring like a banner of its own. She swung the weapon as if physics had taken the day off… smashing helmets, denting armor, and sending men sprawling. Every hit came with a yell that sounded halfway between a laugh and a curse. “Rimebreak, crush these bilge rats!”

  Her voice cracked through the pandemonium, rallying the few who still remembered what side they were on.

  Lucas ducked as a stray fireball shrieked past, the heat brushing his face. Lisa was next to him, hair wild, her hands already burning with that molten, chaotic light. She looked like she was being consumed and empowered at once.

  Her magic didn’t hum; it howled. Flames erupted from her palms, not as neatly formed spheres but as snarling bursts of willpower. They moved like living creatures, darting out and twisting around enemy spells.

  Lucas tried to keep up. Sparks leapt from his fingertips, crisp and bright, darting through the melee to strike a rogue on the flank. The man jolted, armor twitching, muscles seizing up.

  Not bad. Four seconds was something. Except it wasn’t.

  Because right beside him, Lisa was rewriting the definition of impact. She threw her arm forward with a yell, and a blazing orb the size of a truck screamed across the square. It struck the enemy line, detonating in a burst of heat that washed over everything. When Lucas blinked away the afterimage, ten enemy health bars were already halved and burning down fast.

  He grimaced, wiping sweat from his brow, forcing his own sparks to keep flying. Each one landed, each one mattered; but none of them felt enough.

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  Not next to her mythic-level chaos.

  He saw Pearl then… just for an instant. A flicker of motion too graceful for this battlefield. Her drones, no, her crows, circled high above, catching flashes of combat, sending signals her back. Or however her magic worked.

  Lucy spotted her marking the enemies, and bellowed, “Yarrr! Pearl, set another mark! Smashin’ and splinterin’; me hammer’s hunger ain’t sated!”

  Even in the madness, that ridiculous pirate lilt somehow worked. It pushed the fear back, if only for a second. Lucas felt it; the way her bravado held the line together through sheer absurdity.

  An idea hit him; half panic, half inspiration, the kind that only shows up when everything’s burning. Maybe his sparks didn’t have to fly solo. Maybe if he paired up with someone who actually knew what they were doing…

  He spun toward the water-mage squad. “Nuala! We can combine—”

  The leader turned, all motion and attitude. A petite mage, skin sun-kissed, curls escaping from her hood, eyes bright like polished amber. Even mid-battle, she looked annoyingly composed.

  “We’re counter-fire! Stop bothering me!” she barked, flicking her wrist. Two perfect water orbs blinked into existence beside her, humming with mana pressure. “Bubble left, now!”

  Her squad responded instantly, snapping into position, translucent domes flaring up like shimmering glass shells. The air hissed as stray embers splashed harmlessly against the barriers.

  Lucas froze mid-spell, watching the coordination, the grace… everything he didn’t have.

  Then he exhaled through his teeth, muttering mostly to himself, “But I was supposed to lead…” His grin was crooked, self-defense more than humor. “Cute and terrifying. Great. She’s gonna be the reels’ favorite.” He turned back toward the front, the heat slapping his face again, sparks crawling down his arms like restless insects.

  A sharp whistle sliced through the air. Then… thunk.

  Pain exploded in Lucas’s shoulder. His body jerked sideways as an arrow punched through the joint, the force knocking him to one knee. He gasped, blinking through the sting. The shaft jutted out from his cloth armor, glistening red.

  Behind the front, someone screamed, “They’re firing from the barracks!”

  He turned. Sure enough, archers had lined the upper walls, their silhouettes barely visible in the haze. Arrows streaked down in volleys, thudding into friend and foe alike. The air filled with the hiss of incoming shafts and the crack of spells answering back.

  To his left, a healer extended her hand, golden light wrapping around him. The pain dulled instantly, replaced by a hot throb. She was yelling something, voice shrill over the roar: “We’re surrounded! They’re behind us!”

  The words hit harder than the arrow.

  Lucas’s stomach flipped. Surrounded. The word hollowed him out.

  He was supposed to be leading. He’d sent the signals, given the calls, tried to act like he belonged here. He wasn’t supposed to freeze.

  Not now.

  The battlefield blurred, the screams, the magic, the smoke, all blending into one choking mess. His heart hammered against the wound, syncing with the panic clawing its way up his throat.

  And then…

  For a second, he just stared at the message flashing in the corner of his vision. Then the absurd truth hit him; she was right. He was on the front line. Somewhere between retreating and casting, he’d drifted forward, and now there was an open space behind him under the barracks.

  He forced air into his lungs. His girlfriend was watching from above, her crows seeing everything. He couldn’t let her down. Not again.

  “To the center!” he shouted, voice cracking but loud enough to overpower the chaos. “Warriors, cover us from the barracks’ fire! Nuala take your mages and run!”

  Lisa turned to him, still wreathed in heat, confusion flickering across her face. “What are you—”

  “Move!” He grabbed her sleeve, ignoring the burn of her mana, and pulled. She stumbled with him as they fell back, weaving through mages frantically re-forming ranks.

  Arrows rained down, clattering off stone, striking magic and iron shields alike, piercing gaps in armor. One hit a mage beside him clean through the chest, sending the man sprawling. His nameplate faded. Another respawn, another lost position.

  Lucas bit down the surge of fear and kept dragging Lisa until they reached the relative chaos of the center line.

  Behind them, the warriors finally seemed to realize what the hell they were supposed to be doing. Orders started snapping through the comms. Squad leaders yelled, “Two fronts! Split! Barracks left, Empire right!”

  The line began to re-form; rough, uneven, but something resembling structure. On one side, the Empire’s army pressed forward; on the other, the barracks’ defenders rained death from above. Rimebreak’s battered middle became the fulcrum between them.

  Lisa ripped her arm free, flames still crawling up her wrist. “You could’ve warned me!” she shouted, but there was no anger… just adrenaline.

  Lucas wanted to grin, to make some cocky remark, but his shoulder throbbed and his heart was still clawing at his ribs. “Just saving your mythic ass,” he muttered, voice tight.

  He looked up toward the distant rooftops, where he imagined her standing with her drones—no, crows—circling the battlefield like ghosts. Even now, she was watching him, believing he could handle this.

  That belief was a weight all its own.

  Lucas tightened his grip on his staff, shoulder screaming in protest. Around him, spells cracked the air, warriors clashed steel to steel, and Lisa’s flames painted everything in feverish light. And somehow, despite the fear, despite the pain, he stood a little taller.

  The ground started humming like the stone itself was choking on something it didn’t want to spit out.

  Lucas turned toward the barracks wall just as red light bled through the cracks. Lines, no, runes, tore free of the cobbles, glowing symbols dragging themselves upward like they were clawing out of the floor.

  “Oh, hell no,” he breathed.

  The entire wall pulsed once, the air thickening until it pressed against his chest. Then it ripped open. A wave of raw magic burst from Charlie’s direction and the runes flared, and the first shape clawed its way out.

  Lucas’s heart tripped over itself. “Oh, great. We needed more problems, she could’ve warned me!”

  The demons came in twos at first. Then more. Four. Eight. Dozens. They poured out from under the barracks like the ground itself was vomiting soldiers.

  A rogue barely a meter ahead of him screamed as a glaive sliced through his thigh, cutting his HP in half before he even hit the ground.

  Another demon leapt onto the catwalk, impaling a guard through the ribs and yanking him off like a broken puppet.

  Lucas’s stomach lurched. The demons weren’t picking sides. They didn’t care about banners or colors; they were just cutting everything.

  Behind him, someone yelled, “They’re on our side, right?”

  “Sure,” Lucas muttered, sparks flaring in his palm, “if by ‘our side’ you mean anyone’s throat.”

  He fired a [Powerful Spark] into one of the creatures’ faces. It flinched, just enough for a warrior to finish the job with an axe. The body hit the cobbles, twitching, before melting back into black mist.

  Lucy turned, shouldering her way through the crowd like the battlefield was hers and everyone else was just set dressing. Her hair whipped over her shoulder as she hefted her hammers, the things already glinting with enchantments that hummed low enough to rattle teeth. “Demons, ye say? Har! More vittles for me hammer, I tell ye! To me, scurvy imps o’ Rimebreak. Show ’em teeth!”

  Lisa cursed beside him, already gathering more flame. The heat of her magic rolled over him, and for a second he forgot the pain in his shoulder.

  Demons. Betrayers. Barracks fire.

  Rimebreak was boxed in from every direction, and all he could do was keep his sparks flying and pray the system didn’t spawn something worse.