Extra's POV: I am the Sixteenth Son

The sky had opened up like a broken dam, and the three figures in the training field were getting soaked to the bone. Rain hammered down in thick sheets, turning the dirt beneath their feet into slippery mud.

Ares was barely standing, swaying like a drunk man trying to find his balance. His clothes stuck to his bruised body, and every raindrop felt like a tiny hammer on his aching skin. Vael stood frozen, his cocky attitude melting away faster than ice in summer as he felt the waves of deadly intent rolling off the woman in front of them.

And there was Elyra, the maid who looked about as concerned as someone choosing what to have for breakfast.

"Y-y-you! The maid, what are you doing here?" Vael stammered, his voice cracking like a pubescent boy trying to sound tough. He was obviously rattled but still trying to save face, puffing out his chest like a wet rooster.

Elyra didn't even blink. Her face stayed as calm as still water, but underneath that peaceful surface, something deadly was stirring. Her killing intent exploded outward like a bomb going off, making the air itself feel thick and dangerous.

Most people would wonder why she'd waste such intense killing intent on Ares, who was already half-dead and looked like he'd been used as a punching bag. But Ares wasn't her target - not really.

It was Vael. She'd been watching from the shadows all this time, studying him like a cat watches a mouse. The boy was a menace, cruel and ruthless, and watching him slowly torture Ares had made something snap inside her. Her aura leaked out without her meaning to, like steam from a boiling pot.

Well, there went her cover. Time to finish the job and get out before the whole place came running.

She slipped her hand deep into her apron pocket, her eyes going cold and focused. Then she took one step - just one single step - but it was like watching lightning move. Vael's eyes went wide as dinner plates.

"Oh, crap," he muttered under his breath.

He couldn't follow her movement at all, but his survival instincts kicked in harder than a mule. Thinking he was her target, he threw up his defenses like his life depended on it - which it probably did.

Wind mana started flowing from his core, making the air around him dance and swirl. He might only be a low-level advanced rank, but his wind magic was nothing to sneeze at. Level two mastery wasn't something you saw every day, especially not from a ten-year-old brat.

Vael kicked up a cloud of dust and dirt, using his wind powers to spread it around like a smokescreen. "Let's see how you like fighting blind!" he shouted, reaching for the two daggers at his waist.

Without missing a beat, he hurled one of the blades through the air, guiding it with wind magic like a deadly puppet on invisible strings. The dagger sliced through the rain, spinning end over end with perfect accuracy.

Even Elyra had to admit she was impressed. "Not bad for a little monster," she thought, watching the blade come at her. The kid really was an Eisenklinge through and through - body, soul, and that nasty fighting spirit.

She shifted her weight, tilting her body to the side with fluid grace. The dagger whistled past her ear, so close she could feel the wind from its passing. Without pause, she flicked one of the five needles hidden in her palm at Vael, who was standing protectively in front of Ares.

The needle was nearly invisible in the rain and chaos, just a flicker of metal death cutting through the air. Vael almost missed it completely, catching only a glimpse of mana tearing through his wind barrier at the last second.

"Not today!" he growled.

The air around him went dead still for just a heartbeat - like the world was holding its breath. The needle got caught in his wind trap, and he quickly changed its direction, sending it spinning harmlessly into the mud. When he looked back up, Elyra was standing right in front of him.

Way too close for comfort.

Vael planted his feet firm in the muddy ground, his eyes burning with the kind of defiance that came from pure stubbornness. The air grew thick and heavy as he pulled mana through his lungs and pushed it out through his palms, gathering the wind into a spinning dome around his body like an invisible fortress.

He slammed both hands together with everything he had.

BOOOOM!

The sound was like thunder cracking right next to your ear. Grass flattened in every direction. Dust and debris whipped around like a tornado had touched down. Birds exploded from nearby trees, squawking in panic. Even the ground shook for a moment, making Ares stumble and nearly fall.

And Elyra? She just breathed out through her nose, looking almost bored. Like she was watching a child throw a tantrum.

"Really? That's your big finishing move?" her expression seemed to say.

In less than a blink - faster than Vael could even think about flinching - she moved.

CRACK.

Her left palm shot upward like a piston, driving into his diaphragm just below the chest bone. The strike hit with surgical precision, collapsing his breath and shutting down his mana core like flipping a switch. It didn't lift him off his feet - it folded him in half like a piece of paper.

His spine bent backward, knees buckled, and all the fight went out of him in one whoosh of air.

Then came the follow-up. Her elbow drove straight into the side of his neck, right where all the important stuff was - arteries, nerves, the works. It was the kind of blow that didn't need flashy magic or mana flares.

Just perfect technique and ruthless efficiency.

Vael's eyes rolled back, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. Out cold before he even hit the muddy ground.

"Well, that was louder than I wanted," Elyra muttered, wiping rain from her face. The kid's last attack had probably woken up half the estate. She'd moved on pure instinct to shut him up before he caused even more trouble, but now she was running out of time.

She was supposed to have done a clean assassination and vanished like smoke. Instead, she'd been forced into a whole dramatic fight scene. This was getting messy.

She turned to Ares, who was still standing despite looking like death warmed over. His emerald eyes locked onto hers, and she could see his mind racing, trying to figure out some impossible escape plan.

Poor kid had already given up on using his mana - his stamina was completely shot from his training at the Echovault, and what little energy he'd had left, Vael had beaten out of him with his fists.

But even as exhaustion weighed down his broken spirit, Ares couldn't completely let go. Deep down, past all the pain and resignation, a tiny flicker of hope still burned. Maybe someone would come. Maybe this time would be different.

It was foolish, really. Hope had only brought him more pain.

Elyra focused herself, ready to end this whole mess right here and now. She'd put the boy out of his misery quick and clean, then disappear before reinforcements arrived.

She looked at him one more time, and despite herself, she felt a pang of pity. Pity that he'd somehow caught Cassia's attention and ended up with a target on his back. Pity that he was still so young, with so much life ahead of him that he'd never get to live. Pity that she had to be the one to kill him.

"Sorry, kid," she whispered, so quietly the rain almost swallowed the words.

She pulled out her remaining five needles, infusing each one with her deadly aura until they hummed with lethal energy. With practiced precision, she drew back her arm and let them fly, each needle aimed at a different vital point on Ares' body.

At least it would be quick. Peaceful, even.

The needles cut through the rain like silver lightning, spinning end over end toward their target. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl, each second stretching out like taffy. This was it - the moment between life and death, when everything hung in the balance.

Ares had felt this before. That strange, hollow feeling when death came knocking - like falling into a dark, familiar pit. The look of determination on his face slowly crumbled away as the reality crushed down on him. He was really going to die. Again.

The weight of it all pressed against his chest. Six years. He'd only had six years of this new life, and now it was ending just like... just like before. His shoulders sagged with the exhaustion that went deeper than his bones.

He was so tired of fighting. So tired of hoping.

He closed his eyes, surrendering to that cold acceptance that felt more familiar than it should. "At least the rain washes everything clean," he thought, his mind drifting to that empty place where pain couldn't follow.

But then, like a clap of thunder that shook the very earth, the space between him and Elyra exploded.

BOOM!

Dust and debris erupted everywhere, creating a thick cloud that swallowed both of them whole. Neither could see what was happening - the world had turned into a chaos of flying dirt and confusion.

The next second brought a surge of energy so powerful it made Elyra's killing intent feel like a gentle breeze. This new presence was focused entirely on her, pressing down like a mountain trying to crush her into the ground.

As the dust began to settle, an imposing figure emerged from the chaos. Broad shoulders, standing tall at 6'1", with amber eyes that glowed like hot coals in his rage-filled face.

It was Jareth.

The moment Ares saw him, something cracked inside his chest - not quite relief, not quite joy, but something raw and desperate. His lips curved into a trembling smile that looked more like he might cry.

He'd given up. He'd accepted death like an old, bitter friend. But somehow, impossibly, salvation had come anyway.

"I... I thought..." he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rain. The words stuck in his throat. He'd thought he was alone again. He'd thought this was how it ended - the same way it always seemed to end for him.

Jareth's eyes swept over the scene with the efficiency of a battlefield commander. In his hands were the five needles Elyra had thrown, now ground to powder between his fingers. He took in Vael's unconscious form, Ares barely standing on his feet, and the rain washing streaks of blood down both their faces.

His gaze finally settled on Elyra, and when he spoke, his voice boomed across the training field like rolling thunder.

"Who are you?"

The three words carried enough menace to make the rain itself seem to pause. Elyra had been caught red-handed, and now she was facing someone who could probably turn her into paste without breaking a sweat.

This was about to get very interesting.

– – –

A/N – Was it fire or mid? Don't just vanish—powerstone, comment, review. Let me feel your presence.