Fire and Shadows

But it was too late already.

"Advance!" bellowed Loret, his voice shattering the strained silence that had paralyzed the courtyard.

Steel met stone as the Imperial Guard charged ahead in an unyielding rush. The noise was thunderous—a clashing, metallic roar that resounded off the marble walls.

Leon's lips relaxed into a brief, nearly imperceptible smile. He breathed out slowly through his nose, calm and measured. "Then come," he whispered, his tone low but cutting, holding a promise that passed over the air like a shiver.

He stomped his foot on the cracked marble floor. The courtyard shook convulsively beneath his blow. Veins of hot red light radiated out like roots in the ground, writhing through the cracks of the ancient stone. A heavy, hollow thrum welled up from the courtyard, mounting in strength, thrumming in the bones of all the soldiers in the yard.

"[Terra Volcano]," Leon recited, his voice measured but authoritative, as though the earth itself responded to his bidding.

The earth bucked and heaved. Tiles burst into splintered shards as liquid rock burst upward in blazing pillars, consuming the leading ranks of the advancing troops. The atmosphere grew heavy with choking heat; metal distorted and buckled, arms bright-red with a painful, searing light. The cries of the men shredded the smoke, a cacophony of horror blended with the rumble of incandescent stone.

Loret's face contorted in a snarl of rage and terror, his brow slicked with sweat as he slapped his palm down. "Formation! Water screen, now!" His order cut through the chaos, a cry of desperation, but measured and precise, the final desperate try to preserve the line before the storm that had broken at Leon's feet.

Shards of blue light curled around his troops, writhing like live serpents as they chanted in unison, their voices building in one potent beat. "Spell: [Aqua Dome]!" The words crashed through the air with impact, and the earth exploded. A wave of bright water blasted upwards, writhing and curling before crashing into Leon's blaze of flame. Steam spat and spewed, shrouding the battle in a noisome, white haze that made the world seem unrealistic and deadly.

Leon's lips twisted into a hard grin, the excitement of combat shining in his gold eyes. "Not bad," he growled, his voice audible over the noise of the steam. The mist coiled and flexed, and then motion tore through it—violent, liquid, unhaltable. Nova shot past him, her dark hair streaming like liquid night, with filaments of green light along its edges. One moment she was there, the next she was gone into the mist, leaving behind only the head of a soldier spinning through the wet stone, rolling with a final hollow clunk.

Captain Black trailed behind, his massive greatsword chopping through the mist in curves of silver, each blow accurate, every swing shattering armor as if it were parchment. Flashes of sparks flew where metal kissed metal, the sound echoing in the ears of friend and enemy. On the left wing, Ronan and Johnny strode ruthlessly forward, their swords finding chinks, their cutting blows sharp and merciless. Any soldier brash enough to step forward towards Natasha was cut down before they themselves saw the threat.

Loret's men fought in desperation, but courage counted for nothing against creatures who could move as shadows of death. They were men, certainly—but Leon and his friends were beasts now, hunters who mocked the laws of war. The fog rolled about Leon as he advanced, his golden eyes shining through the mist, untroubled and deadly.

And Loret was there in front of him, wild-eyed, sword raised, rage propelling him forward. His sword flashed towards Leon's throat, swift, savage, intent.

Leon moved with the tranquility of one who had danced with death too often to be caught off guard. A shimmering movement, sleek, fluid, and Loret's blow struck nothing but space. The sword bit only air, and in that single beat, Leon's smile grew wider, a hunter enjoying the stalk.

He materialized behind Loret in a flash and punched the man in the stomach. The punch was delivered with a nauseating thunderous crack that echoed off the hall, shaking the stone under their feet. Loret's body jerked spasmodically, his breath torn from his lungs in a harsh, gagging gasp. His boots scraped and slid against the tiles, digging deep grooves as he staggered back.

Leon slowly lowered his arm, the motion controlled, nearly careless, but the strain in his forearm hinted at raw, bottled strength. He curled and uncurled his wrist, allowing the subtle snap of joints to break into the silence. "That's for threatening me," he said, his voice calm, biting with a volatile playfulness that seemed to thicken the air around him.

Loret hacked up a spasm of blood, his lips staining the same color, but he dragged himself into a sitting position, clutching at his sword with shaking hands. "You… impossible… your bodily strength—"

"—is beyond my cultivation level?" Leon concluded lightly, a mocking crinkle at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah. I hear it all the time." The small smile didn't make it to his eyes, which shone with soft, cold amusement.

His face twisted with rage, veins pulsating on his forehead. "You think this is a game?!" he thundered, a combination of terror and anger fueling his voice. His hand shot up, fingers cracking as they drew complex sigils in mid-air. "Spell: [Tidal Vortex]!

The air around him shrieked in reaction. Water was torn from fountains close at hand, from concealed pools, even from the very atmosphere, swirling into a deafening, spiraling column. The power of it slammed through the room, shattering walls, splintering tiles, and hurling shards of stone through the air like lethal confetti. The vortex's roar blotted out everything else, a frenzied symphony of destruction.

Leon stood stock still, shoulders loose, as if the tempest raging towards him was no more than a gentle zephyr. His gaze tracked the downpour, unwavering, and a small, half-amused smile shaped his lips. "Cute," he breathed, the low word slicing through the ferocity of the spell, pointed and intimate, as if taunting the attempt behind it.

He held out his hand, and darkness wrapped around his fingers, alive and trembling, threads of violet light tracing through the ebony black like liquid shadows. "Spell: [Umbral Fang]," he intoned, his voice low and even, with a weight that pushed against the air itself.

From his hand, a shaft of raw black energy burst out, slicing through the whirling vortex as if it were mere paper. It slammed into Loret solidly in the chest, and the commander's water armor burst into fiery flames, rippling beneath the onslaught, just managing to keep him in one piece. He reeled back, the impact propelling him across the tiles of the courtyard, each step jerky and urgent. His breast heaved, and incredulity blazed in his broad, staring eyes.

"You—what magic is that?" he gasped, his strained and trembling voice.