CHAPTER 71: [71] ENOUGH

Moreau laughed from her position near the artifact, the sound echoing off the stone walls like breaking glass. Her golden eyes gleamed in the amber light, predatory and victorious. The scaled skin of her left arm seemed to absorb the artifact’s glow, making the obsidian-like surface shimmer with hidden power.

"How delightfully naive," she purred, running her normal hand along the edge of the artifact. "Did you think loyalty was about pretty speeches and dramatic gestures? Look at them, boy. Look at what real devotion looks like."

Pierre’s gaze darted between his fallen comrades and Moreau’s smug expression. Sweat trickled down his temple, mingling with the blood from a cut above his eyebrow. Each breath sent spikes of agony through his ribs, but he forced himself to remain conscious. He couldn’t afford to black out now.

Saxe pressed his attack with mechanical precision, his twin sabers whistling through the air. Pierre could see his crew beginning to tire. Alyssa’s throws were becoming less accurate, her blonde hair plastered to her face with sweat, her warnings coming a split second too late. Her usual imperial confidence had given way to raw determination as she fought alongside Raven.

"Left!" Alyssa shouted, but her voice cracked with exhaustion.

Raven ducked under Saxe’s slash, her mismatched red and white hair a blur of motion. Her strikes still hit their marks, but Saxe was adapting, turning his body to minimize the impact of her pressure point attacks. Her blue eyes narrowed in frustration as another perfectly placed strike failed to disable their opponent.

"Damn it," she hissed, darting away from a counterattack. "He’s learning our patterns."

The ancient chamber, with its weathered hieroglyphs and crumbling pillars, became a chaotic battlefield. Dust kicked up from their footwork danced in the amber light, creating ghostly silhouettes that mirrored their deadly dance. The stone beneath them, worn smooth by centuries of forgotten footsteps, offered treacherous footing.

The end came suddenly. Saxe feinted toward Raven, then pivoted and caught Alyssa with the pommel of his left saber. The blow connected with her temple with a sickening thud. She crumpled to the stone floor like a marionette with cut strings, her riding crop clattering away into the shadows. Her pale green eyes rolled back, and for a terrifying moment, Pierre thought she might be dead.

Raven spun to help her friend, genuine concern breaking through her usually cynical facade. "Alyssa!"

That single moment of distraction left her open for just an instant.

It was enough.

Saxe’s right blade swept toward Raven’s exposed back in a gleaming arc. She tried to dodge, twisting her body in a desperate evasion, but exhaustion made her slow. The steel bit into her shoulder with a wet sound, spinning her around and sending her to her knees beside Alyssa. Blood blossomed across her swimsuit top, staining the fabric crimson.

"No!" Pierre roared, finding strength he didn’t know he still possessed. White-hot rage burned away the fog of pain as he lunged forward, his body moving on instinct rather than thought. But his injured body betrayed him, refusing to obey his desperate commands. He made it three steps before collapsing, his vision swimming as pain lanced through his broken ribs. The taste of copper filled his mouth as he coughed up blood.

"Stay down, boy," Moreau called, her voice laced with amusement. "There’s something poetic about watching you struggle, but it’s becoming tedious."

Saxe stood over the two fallen women, his sabers dripping blood onto the ancient stone. The crimson droplets pattered against the floor like rain, forming small pools that reflected the amber light. His scarred face showed no emotion as he raised his right blade for the killing blow, the steel catching the light as it ascended. Pierre could only watch in helpless horror as death descended toward the two people who’d become his anchor in this strange world.

"Don’t you dare," Pierre growled, his fingers clawing at the stone as he tried to drag himself forward. "Saxe! Moreau! I’ll kill you both if you touch them!"

Then Jack moved.

Not with his usual bombastic heroics or shouted battle cries. No declarations about beautiful maidens or the power of friendship. He simply stepped forward, his blue hair shadowing his eyes, his hand closing around Saxe’s descending blade. Steel bit deep into his palm, blood running down his wrist in crimson streams, but his Titan Seed enhancement kept the saber from severing his fingers.

"Enough," Jack said quietly.

The word carried more weight than any of his previous dramatic speeches. It was the voice of someone who’d finally understood something fundamental about the world, about strength, about what it meant to be a hero. His normally boisterous face was calm, almost serene.

Saxe tried to pull his blade free, muscles straining against Jack’s grip. "Release my weapon," he commanded, his voice as emotionless as his face.

Jack’s grip only tightened, his knuckles whitening around the steel despite the blood seeping between his fingers. "No."

The enforcer’s other saber came around in a deadly arc, aiming for Jack’s exposed neck. But Jack caught that one too, his left hand joining his right in holding the weapons motionless. The clash of metal against flesh echoed through the chamber, followed by the soft patter of more blood hitting stone.

"You lost," Jack continued, his voice devoid of its usual bravado. He looked at Saxe, then at Moreau, blood dripping steadily from his wounded hands. Each drop splashed against the ancient floor, joining the growing puddle beneath them. "Not the fight. You. You lost what matters."

Moreau’s golden eyes narrowed dangerously, her scaled hand tightening into a fist. "What are you babbling about, boy? One moment of heroics doesn’t change the outcome here."

From his position on the ground, Pierre watched as understanding transformed Jack’s face. It wasn’t the childish excitement he usually displayed, but something deeper—a revelation that seemed to reshape him from within.

Jack’s gaze moved to Pierre’s crew—Alyssa helping Raven sit up despite her own injuries, the blonde’s hands gentle as she examined the wound on Raven’s shoulder. Both women immediately looked toward their fallen captain with concern rather than fear, their eyes seeking reassurance that he was still alive.

"They’re not afraid of dying," Jack said, nodding toward Alyssa and Raven. Blood continued to drip from his hands, but he showed no sign of pain. "They’re afraid of letting him down. Your people are afraid of disappointing you. There’s a difference."