Visionless

"…How did this happen?" Queen Leah's voice was sharp, her tone laced with restrained anger. "I thought I made myself clear—no unnecessary risks. Did you hear me? Because right now, I am very disappointed."

Her words landed like a hammer blow, and the figures before her—each battered, bruised, or worse—shifted uncomfortably. Most avoided her gaze, even through the masks they wore, as if her disappointment was more painful than the wounds they bore.

The only one who remained unflinching was the one with the mask of perpetual anger. Bandages covered most of his body, yet his posture was defiant, his demeanor unshaken. He stood as if pain had become a familiar companion, almost indistinguishable from his usual self.

Beside him, a much smaller figure wearing a mask of tragedy seemed to fold in on herself, head bowed low as if the weight of Leah's words was unbearable. At her side, her twin, marked by a mask of comedy, fidgeted anxiously. Though the twins' masks displayed opposing expressions, their injuries told a unified story of hardship—cuts and bruises that their clothes only partially concealed. They leaned into one another subtly, a shared lifeline against the storm of the Queen's ire.

To their right loomed a towering figure, his jovial mask grotesquely out of place on a body that seemed deflated, sagging in on itself. His broad shoulders, once symbols of invincibility, now slumped under the burden of defeat. Pieces of his form hung loosely, like a scarecrow beaten down by a relentless storm. Despite this, he remained upright, his presence still formidable if diminished.

In the far corner, another sat apart from the group, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. His mask was plain, almost featureless, as if reflecting the emptiness within. The soft, almost imperceptible whistle that escaped him was weaker than usual, lacking its typical cheer. It carried a melancholy note, the sound of someone trying to hold on to something—perhaps hope or perhaps sanity.

The room was thick with unspoken tension. Leah's gaze swept over them, her expression cold yet scrutinizing. These were her operatives—her chosen few. And they had returned to her broken, their pride and flesh alike battered by failure.

"One of you," she continued, her voice now quieter but no less severe, "tell me how this happened. And don't you dare try to hide the truth. I will know."

The air seemed to grow heavier, silence stretching taut. Finally, the figure with the mask of anger shifted slightly, as if preparing to speak, but hesitated. No one else dared to make a sound. They all knew: whatever came next would determine the fate of their fragile standing with the Queen.

"Pental, explain yourself," Queen Leah demanded, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Of all people, I expected you to follow the plan. To maintain order. Yet here we are." Her eyes narrowed as they bore into the man with the mask of rage. Though his mask portrayed fury, his posture betrayed him—his head hung low, his shoulders tense with shame.

"I thought I could trust you," she continued, her tone sharper now. "It seems I was wrong."

Pental's fists clenched at his sides, but he didn't dare look up. The weight of her words pressed on him more than any injury he'd sustained.

Leah didn't let the tension linger. Her gaze shifted to the twins, standing close together yet visibly uneasy under her scrutiny.

"Beyfell," she said, her tone hardening further, "why did you let your brother go berserk? Your responsibility was to keep him in check, to ground him. Instead, you let him lose control. How could I count on you if this is the result?"

Beyfell's head dipped lower, and though her mask depicted tragedy, the tremble in her shoulders betrayed her silent tears.

"And you," Leah snapped, now addressing Heyfell, whose mask of comedy seemed mocking in the tense atmosphere. "Why did you leave your sister's side? Did you not care what might have happened to her? How could you abandon her like that?"

Heyfell couldn't meet her gaze. His head turned downward, the laughter once signified by his mask now a hollow echo of what it should have been. For the first time, he looked utterly defeated.

"You are both grounded," Leah declared, her voice firm and final. "Until I see proof that you can work together without failing each other, neither of you will leave this castle."

Beyfell let out a quiet, choked sob. Heyfell stood utterly still, the weight of their punishment heavy between them.

The Queen's eyes moved next to the towering figure whose jolly mask seemed almost cruelly ironic. Ludel stood with his fists clenched, the sagging edges of his form only amplifying his exhaustion.

"Ludel," Leah began, her voice softening only slightly, "you were told not to use your fists. And yet, I've been informed that you ignored me."

He tried to avert his gaze, but Leah's sharp tone brought him back. "Don't look away from me," she said firmly. "We both know your curse is the most dangerous among them. Fighting bare-handed only increases the risk—to you and to everyone else. Do you think I would ever want to lose you?"

Her words struck harder than any blow, and though Ludel's mask remained grinning, his hands trembled with frustration.

"From now on," Leah continued, "you will use the tools provided to you, or you will not fight at all. Is that understood?"

Ludel gave a small nod, but his fists remained tightly wound, betraying the storm of emotions he wouldn't voice.

Finally, her eyes turned to the figure curled in the back, arms wrapped around his knees. Due sat in silence, his plain, featureless mask revealing nothing of his thoughts.

"Due," Leah said, her tone lighter but still firm, "how did you manage to get through this without a scratch? I see no injuries on you, yet here you sit. If you're unhurt, go rest. You've earned it."

She sighed, her voice softening even further. "Out of everyone here, only you and Rift followed my orders to the letter. For that, I commend you both. Let Rift know he did well, even if his curse kept him from joining us this time."

Due didn't move, didn't flinch. He sat as if her words had drifted right past him. And then, with a sound like the wind passing through an empty hall, he was gone. The faint whistling that always accompanied him faded into nothing. Leah's gaze lingered where he'd been, her brow furrowing slightly.

"I really need to figure out his curse," she muttered under her breath. "If it ever spirals out of control…"

She shook her head, dispelling the thought, and turned back to the group. Her demeanor, once regal and commanding, now softened into something maternal. Despite her scolding, there was care in her tone—a frustration born not of anger, but concern.

"I'm not mad," she said, her eyes sweeping over the battered team, "just… disappointed. You're better than this. I expect better from all of you. Learn from this failure, and don't make me repeat myself again."

The room was silent, the weight of her words hanging heavily. Each member of her team felt the sting of her reprimand but also the warmth of her belief in them. Even in disappointment, Queen Leah remained their unwavering pillar.

Queen Leah sat heavily in her chair, the weight of responsibility pressing down on her like a boulder. She buried her face in her hands, her regal composure dissolving into a moment of raw humanity. The faint glow of the oil lamps in her office cast long shadows on the walls, mirroring the storm of thoughts brewing in her mind.

"How did it go so wrong?" she whispered to herself, the words muffled by her palms. The mission had been a technical victory, but it felt more like a defeat. The damage her guards had sustained and the escape of several smugglers painted a grim picture. Survivors meant loose ends, and loose ends always came back to strangle you when least expected.

She leaned back, exhaling deeply, her mind shifting to the one bright spot amid the chaos: Adam. The peculiar boy's unexpected contribution had, at the very least, sweetened the bitter failure. Edward's information about the Court of Strings had expanded her intelligence network dramatically. Now, she had a mole inside this elusive organization—someone who could prove invaluable in her future plans.

But even this small victory couldn't fully distract her from the toll her loyal guards had paid. They weren't just her protectors; they were her friends, her family in all but blood. Each had sacrificed something irreplaceable, enduring the agonizing process of binding themselves to curses in their unyielding devotion to her. Their sacrifices, both physical and emotional, weighed heavily on her conscience.

Pental

Pental had cursed himself to gain the flexibility and venom of a serpent. His body could twist and coil in ways that defied human anatomy, and his breath was laced with a deadly toxin. A single exhale could paralyze enemies or, with prolonged exposure, kill them outright. Yet this power came at a terrible cost: his emotional depth. The complexity of his feelings had been stripped away, leaving only muted emotions. The strongest and most prominent of these was rage—a constant simmering anger that he struggled to control. Leah had hoped he would serve as the steady pillar of the group, but his outburst of fury had shattered her trust.

Ludel

Ludel had once been a man of incredible physical strength, a trait he had cherished and honed throughout his life. Yet, his curse had robbed him of this power, replacing it with the ability to manipulate gravity. His body was now light and buoyant, akin to a balloon. He could float, alter his gravitational pull, and even create crushing force fields. However, his newfound abilities came with a dangerous vulnerability. If his body were punctured, he would begin to deflate, rendering him immobile and at risk of death. He wore weighted metal gloves and boots to anchor himself to the ground, but even these precautions couldn't ease Leah's fears.

Heyfell and Beyfell

The twins' curses were two sides of the same coin, making them a paradoxical force.

Heyfell gained speed when he experienced joy, moving faster and faster the happier he became. But there was a dark edge to this gift. The longer he stayed in this state, the closer he came to losing control entirely, descending into a berserk frenzy that endangered everyone around him. Beyfell, in contrast, grew stronger the sadder she became. Her strength increased exponentially with her despair, but if her sadness reached a critical point, she would break down entirely, losing her sense of self and unleashing uncontrollable destruction on her surroundings.

The key to controlling them was keeping them together. Their bond kept their curses in check, with Heyfell lightening Beyfell's despair and Beyfell grounding Heyfell's exuberance. But their failure to do so during the last mission had dire consequences, and Leah had no choice but to ground them.

Rift

Rift was an enigma, even among her cursed. His power was immense—terrifyingly so. He could manipulate everything within a certain radius as if it existed within his own personal dimension. Inside this space, Rift was a god, able to bend objects, people, and even reality itself to his will. But the price he paid was severe. Every use of his power brought excruciating pain, enough to incapacitate him for days afterward. Recently, he seemed to have found ways to mitigate this pain, keeping his mind and body intact, but Leah knew it was only a matter of time before his abilities exacted their toll.

Due

Then there was Due. He was the most mysterious of them all. Leah had no idea what his curse was, nor the price he paid for it. His abilities remained shrouded in secrecy, even from her. He was silent, almost ghost-like in his demeanor, and he came and went as he pleased. When asked, he gave no answers, his featureless mask betraying nothing. His presence unnerved her, but his loyalty was unquestionable—so far.

Ligh

Unlike the others, Ligh had been cursed before Leah had even met her. Ligh's curse allowed her to teleport instantly to any place she had been before, a gift of unparalleled strategic value. But the cost was her voice. If she ever attempted to speak, the curse would activate violently, likely killing her. Despite her silence, Ligh's steady presence and ability to teach others about curses made her an invaluable member of Leah's inner circle.

Leah's thoughts drifted between admiration for their sacrifices and guilt for the burdens they bore. "They've given so much," she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. "And still, they fight for me."

Her fingers brushed against the cool wood of her desk as she sat back, her gaze turning to the dim light of the moon filtering through her window. "I need to be better—for them. If I can't lead them to victory without this level of sacrifice, then what kind of queen am I?"

In the silence of her office, Leah resolved to find a better way, one that wouldn't demand so much from those she loved most. But until then, the fight would continue. The weight of their curses and her crown would have to be enough to carry them all.

_____________________________

Adam glanced up from his seat, his fingers pausing on the pages of a half-read book. Standing in the doorway of his hotel room was Ligh, her sudden appearance startling enough to make Ren, who was sitting nearby, nearly leap out of his skin. Ren's hand instinctively moved toward his weapon before recognition dawned, though the tension didn't entirely leave his shoulders.

"Uh... Ligh?" Adam tilted his head, setting the book aside. "What brings you here? Did something happen?"

Ligh simply shrugged, her expression as unreadable as ever. The gesture seemed to say, "I was bored, so I thought I'd drop by." Her body language was calm, though the makeshift sling on her broken hand and the subtle stiffness in her movements betrayed her recent injuries.

Ren, still rattled, muttered under his breath, "She scared the hell out of me…" He moved to sit down, but his eyes stayed on Ligh, wary.

Adam noticed her hand and frowned. "Actually, how did that happen? I heard you guys got hurt pretty bad. I didn't catch much—I was a little preoccupied, you know, trying not to die." He chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ligh raised her uninjured hand, pointing a finger to her chin as if pondering how best to explain. A moment later, she vanished, the faint pop of displaced air marking her teleportation. Ren's eyes darted around the room. "Where'd she—"

Before he could finish, Ligh reappeared, this time holding a small chalkboard and a piece of chalk.

Adam blinked. "Wait, are you going to—are you going to draw it out?" His tone shifted from confusion to mild amusement. "You can draw?"

Ligh's face remained stoic, but there was a faint air of smugness in the way she flipped the chalkboard upright and began to work. Her movements were quick, though slightly hindered by her broken hand. Adam leaned forward, curious.

Ren groaned, rubbing his temples. "I swear, you two are the strangest people I've ever met…"

Adam glanced at him with a grin. "You're just jealous she didn't pop in to visit you."

Ren scowled, but Ligh's chalk began scratching against the board, drawing their attention back. The crude figures she sketched—stick figures, explosions, and what might have been a very angry blob—were surprisingly expressive. Adam watched, his eyes widening slightly as the chaotic battle scene unfolded.

"Wow," Adam said, his tone hovering between impressed and bemused. "That's... remarkably detailed. I mean, I can kind of see what happened? Is that Pental with the snake tail? And that—wait, is that Beyfell crying while Heyfell looks like he's breakdancing in rage? Oh, and here's you with…" He squinted. "A broken hand. Yeah, that tracks."

Ligh tapped the part of the drawing showing her hand and gave him a flat look, her shoulders slumping slightly as if to say, "Obviously."

Ren, who had reluctantly come closer to inspect the artwork, folded his arms. "I hate how effective this is. I can't even be mad about it."

Adam gave Ligh a thumbs up. "Great work, Ligh. I think I get it now. You guys had a rough time, huh?"

Ligh nodded solemnly, erasing part of the drawing with her sleeve and replacing it with a stick figure that appeared to be holding a cake. She pointed to Adam, then to the cake, and tilted her head.

"…You want me to bake you a cake as a thank-you for stopping by?" Adam asked, genuinely perplexed.

Ligh sighed and shook her head, writing out: Buy one.

"Noted!" Adam said brightly. "Cake it is. Ren, add that to the to-do list."

Ren stared at him flatly. "Yeah, sure. I'll just make sure we prioritize cake procurement above literally surviving."

Adam clapped him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit."

Ligh gave a small, silent chuckle, her shoulders shaking slightly before she erased the board, tucked it under her arm, and teleported away, leaving the two young men alone again.

Ren slumped into a chair, rubbing his face. "I don't know how you manage to stay so calm around her."

Adam leaned back, arms behind his head. "Eh, she's chill. She just has a unique way of expressing herself."

Ren shook his head. "Unique? She's like a walking enigma with teleportation powers and a penchant for artistic storytelling. That's not 'unique,' that's stress-inducing."

Adam grinned. "Tomato, tomahto."

___________________

Ligh's Battle

Ligh regarded her opponents with a cold detachment. This might be annoying, she thought, assessing the trio before her. The swordsman was skilled—annoyingly so. He had come close to landing a blow more than once. The other two, who had turned back from running to assist him, weren't pushovers either. Individually, they weren't much of a threat, but their coordinated teamwork kept her on her toes.

She disappeared in a blink, reappearing on a nearby balcony. From her elevated position, she hurled a pair of knives aimed at the swordsman's back. The projectiles grazed their targets, armor deflecting most of the impact. Ligh teleported again, this time to the alleyway's edge, throwing another set of knives with precision. They landed, but only managed to scratch the three men's defenses.

Their armor is decent, she mused, annoyance flickering across her mind. The swordsman is at least mid-gold tier... the other two are likely silver. Not sure how high, but still... this is doable.

Teleporting once more, she reappeared in front of the swordsman, knife in hand. If range won't work, I'll get as close as possible. She thrust her blade, managing to nick his side, but the swordsman reacted quickly, leaping away to minimize the damage.

The other two closed in. The unarmed fighter aimed an uppercut at her face while the mace-wielder swung in tandem. Ligh dodged the fist and sidestepped the mace's arc, only to be met with a shield bash that forced her backward. Before she could recover, the swordsman's blade arced toward her neck.

She raised her knife to intercept, but the impact dislocated her wrist, pain flaring up her arm. Bothersome, she thought, suppressing any sign of discomfort. She refused to show weakness. The unarmed fighter advanced again, his fist aimed at her head.

Teleport now.

She vanished just as his punch tore through the space where her head had been. Reappearing near the mace-wielder, she struck at the vulnerable joint in his knee with surgical precision. He collapsed with a cry, clutching his leg. The remaining two moved to protect him, forcing her to teleport again.

From the balcony above, Ligh observed their defensive formation. The swordsman stood clear of the injured man, while the unarmed fighter knelt to tend to his ally's wound. Amateurs, she thought, teleporting once more.

This time, she appeared right in front of the swordsman, baiting him into a swing. He reacted instinctively, slashing at her—but she was gone before the blade connected. Confused, he scanned the area, eyes darting toward the buildings.

"Where could they be?" the swordsman muttered.

Here, Ligh thought as she materialized behind the downed mace-wielder, driving her blade into his neck. His body fell limp, blood pooling beneath him. She turned swiftly, delivering a brutal kick to the unarmed fighter's side before teleporting again, narrowly evading the swordsman's counterstrike.

Now on the balcony once more, she observed their new formation. The two remaining combatants had closed ranks, standing back-to-back with just enough distance to avoid hindering each other.

How foolish, she thought, teleporting directly into the space they left between them.

A knife in each hand, she struck first at the unarmed fighter, slashing deep into an artery. He collapsed in moments, blood spurting from the wound. The swordsman, however, moved with practiced skill, evading her second strike. Her dislocated wrist throbbed painfully, her blade grazing rather than piercing.

I had to use both hands... too much force. That probably broke it. Damn it, Leah's going to kill me, she thought bitterly, stepping back to reassess. She now stood alone against the swordsman.

Pental's battle

Pental's fury grew with every passing second. This skirmish, which should have lasted mere minutes, had dragged into what felt like an hour. His scythe twirled in a deadly arc, leaving a trail of carnage as smugglers fell around him.

The sudden arrival of a wind mage had complicated matters. With precise gusts, they neutralized his poisonous breath, scattering it harmlessly into the air. Pental seethed, his reptilian body coiling with rage. Two mages... maybe more, he thought, berating himself for not sensing them earlier.

Fueled by his frustration, Pental's movements became a blur. His scythe carved through the air with impossible speed, its deadly edge striking down anyone who dared approach. His body twisted and turned unpredictably, his serpentine agility making him a near-impossible target. One after another, his enemies fell.

But the wind mage and a group of rangers stayed at a distance, using arrows and projectiles to keep him at bay. The mage hurled sharpened stones, accelerated by powerful gusts of wind, forcing Pental to dodge and weave with increasing difficulty.

His mind burned with rage. They will pay! he vowed, his scythe spinning faster, the air around him shimmering with the heat of his fury. The ground beneath him became a graveyard of the fallen, his rampage unrelenting.

Ludel's Battle

Ludel stood at the far end of the battlefield, towering over four fighters who had formed a disciplined and cautious formation. One bore a large shield, a steadfast paladin acting as the group's anchor. Behind him stood a rogue with twin daggers designed to maximize bleeding wounds. A spearman stood at the ready, while a ranger lingered far in the back, bow drawn, waiting for the perfect opportunity.

How fun! Ludel thought with glee, a wide grin behind his jolly mask. It's been a while since I've had a proper challenge. This should be somewhat fair!

His spiked, metal-clad fists rose into a boxer's stance. With a burst of energy, Ludel pushed off with immense force, dashing forward with speed that seemed impossible for someone of his size. His first punch slammed into the paladin's shield, creating a resonating clang. Though the paladin held firm, Ludel could see his body trembling under the force.

Ludel smirked behind his mask. Let's add a little extra, he thought, subtly increasing his gravitational pull mid-strike. The paladin's legs buckled slightly, his armor groaning under the strain.

"Yes! Finally, someone strong!" Ludel shouted, his laughter booming as he launched a flurry of quick jabs. His fists blurred as they pounded the shield, each strike followed by a devastating left hook. A slow, deliberate kick landed against the shield's edge, seemingly ineffective until the added weight of gravity pressed down on the paladin like an unseen force, rattling his bones.

The spearman stepped in, realizing the paladin couldn't hold out much longer. "Fall back—I'll handle him!" the spearman barked.

The rogue followed closely, daggers gleaming in anticipation.

"Stay focused," the ranger called from the back, nocking an arrow and tracking Ludel's every move.

The spearman struck first, his attacks swift and precise. Thrust after thrust came at Ludel, who intercepted the strikes with his hands, deflecting the spear's head with fluid motions. Each block was accompanied by Ludel's booming, unhinged laughter.

"Come on! You can do better than this!" Ludel taunted, his voice dripping with delight.

The spearman, growing frustrated, feinted a forward thrust before sweeping his spear horizontally, hoping to knock Ludel's guard aside. The rogue darted in, aiming for Ludel's exposed flank.

Ludel, however, anticipated the move. Nice try, he thought, increasing the gravity around him. His hands remained unmoved, like steel pillars, and the rogue stumbled, her legs giving out beneath her. She collapsed to the ground, unable to rise under the crushing weight.

"What the—?!" the spearman shouted, stepping back in shock.

The ranger seized the opportunity, loosing an arrow high into the air. It arced gracefully, aimed to fall directly onto Ludel with the added force of gravity to make it strike like a cannonball.

Ludel glanced up, chuckling. Clever... but not clever enough. He canceled the enhanced gravity around him, allowing the arrow's trajectory to return to normal. Then, with a casual step back, he moved out of its path entirely.

He rolled his shoulders, his laughter bubbling forth again. These aren't ordinary mercenaries. They're trained fighters from the church—I recognize their precision and discipline.

"How annoying," Ludel muttered, though his tone was laced with amusement. His jolly mask betrayed no sign of the thrill coursing through him as he stepped forward, fists raised and ready for the next round. Jab. Left hook. Stab. Spear thrust. Arrow whistling past. A dagger slicing from the side. Shield bash slamming into his ribs. The chaos of attacks blurred together as Ludel fought, his mind slipping into a trance. Somewhere in the flurry, he'd been hit—he only noticed the pain after the last fighter, the bowman, crumpled at his feet.(Oh no... Leah's gonna kill me!) he muttered, hastily applying resin to seal the leak, feeling himself deflate slightly with each second he delayed.

heyfell & beyfells battle

Hey was the first to strike, a blur of motion as he descended on the hidden reinforcements with an unrelenting fury. His laughter echoed in his mind, twisted and wild, as his speed skyrocketed. Each attack came faster than the last, too quick to follow. His body seemed to disappear into a whirlwind of movement, as if he were a force of nature.

Ahhahahaha!

His laughter surged with each strike, growing manic, almost deafening. The more he attacked, the faster he became. Eventually, his two legs weren't enough to keep up with his escalating speed. With a savage grin, he dropped to all fours, sprinting like an animal in a mad dash around the battlefield. His laughter, now a continuous, shrill cackle, was drowned by his movement as he became little more than a blur.

Meanwhile, Bey watched in horror.

"H... Hey, come back! It's dangerous!" she shouted, her voice trembling. Her eyes welled up with frustration, the worry choking her voice. Why can't he ever listen to me? she thought bitterly, tears threatening to fall.

Ms. Leah's gonna be so mad when she hears this...

Her hands gripped the massive hammer tighter, and with a surge of raw emotion, her strength exploded. The hammer swung with the speed of a twig in her hands, an unstoppable force. Her swings became wild and frantic, crushing everything in her path. But with every destructive blow, her sadness deepened, knowing her brother had no control, no awareness of what he was doing.

Hey's speed was completely out of control now. He was no longer aiming for just enemies, but smashing into the walls, the ground, and anything in his path. At one point, he blurred past Due, nearly taking him out in the process. His momentum didn't slow; it only spiraled further into chaos.

Then, something terrible happened. Hey collided with the ground, and in his frenzy, his swords sliced through the earth. The resulting chunk of debris flew through the air, straight at his sister's face. The hit wasn't hard, but it was enough.

Bey froze.

Her body trembled, and for a long moment, she stood still, staring at the spot where the rock had struck her. Then her shoulders heaved with emotion, her breath hitching as a sob escaped her. She could feel the tears welling up. Why does he do this?

A quiet moment of stillness. Then Bey raised her hammer with shaking hands and slammed it down into the ground. The earth trembled under the force, cracking open in a violent quake. The shockwave reverberated across the battlefield, turning the ground beneath her into a crater. Her grief was channeled into raw, unrelenting power.

She didn't even know what she was doing anymore.

She just swung.

Her hammer tore through everything in its path, crushing soldiers, smashing stone, and sending shockwaves through the air. Her swings were chaotic, fueled by a potent mix of fear and helplessness. At one point, her hammer connected with someone with such force that they were reduced to nothing but a bloody smear on the floor.

It wasn't until the battlefield fell eerily quiet that Bey stopped. The aftermath of her rage was all that remained: broken bodies and crumbled stone. She stood there, panting, eyes wide, her expression one of utter devastation.

And in the distance, Hey had stopped moving. His manic blur was gone. He looked at his sister, unsure of how to stop. He had just brought her to the edge. The only damage the twins sustained were the ones they inflicted upon themselves.

Rifts battle

Rift stood on the rooftop, his hands trembling from the overwhelming pain, each breath sharp and labored. How much longer will they take? he thought, struggling to keep his focus. His powers were immense, but the toll they exacted on his body was becoming unbearable. If this continued, he feared he would collapse before the battle ended.

He raised his bow-like instrument with a grimace, pulling the string back with a strained grunt. As the arrow flew and struck one of the rangers, aiding Pental, a searing pain shot through his skull, like a thousand needles digging into his brain. One more, he told himself, gritting his teeth against the agony.

With effort, he pulled the string again, releasing another shot—this one hitting the mage. This should speed it up, he thought, his vision blurring, the world tilting as his body threatened to give out. He was still standing, but his strength was fading fast. Tomorrow, he knew, he'd barely be able to move. But that was a problem for later—right now, he had to push through.