She-Wolf Mask raised her hand.
The movement was small.
It did not need to be large.
Across the clearing, every member of the Night Wolvresses straightened in unison. No shuffle of boots. No nervous breath. Just stillness — sharp and disciplined.
The air between the two groups tightened.
Smoke from distant ruin lingered faintly in the night wind, carrying the scent of something long gone. None of them acknowledged it.
Across from her, Itekan stood just as still.
Itoyea shifted half a step to his right, weight balanced on the balls of his feet. Bukanami rolled his shoulders once, spiritual pressure flickering — rising, dipping, rising again. Kutote remained quiet, gaze fixed on the masks ahead.
No one spoke.
There was nothing left to say.
The She-Wolf lowered her hand.
And without signal, without countdown, without even the courtesy of a blink—
Both she and Itekan moved.
The ground where they had stood ruptured from the force of acceleration.
Behind them, the Night Wolvresses exploded into motion. Animal masks blurred through darkness — fox, hawk, lynx — streaking toward Itoyea, Bukanami, and Kutote with predatory precision.
Itoyea vanished sideways.
Bukanami stepped forward instead of back.
Kutote exhaled once — and jumped into the fray.
But the center of the battlefield belonged to two.
---
Itekan had already prepared.
Even before her hand had fallen, spiritual energy had been condensing in his palm — compact, violent, unstable.
A mini Chajama.
Small enough to fire instantly.
Dense enough to matter.
The moment her silhouette sharpened within range, he thrust his arm forward.
The Chajama screamed.
Compressed energy tore through the air in a spiraling burst, splitting the earth beneath it. Stone lifted and shattered in its wake. The trench it carved raced toward her like a living thing.
It should have hit.
At that distance— At that speed—
It should have struck center mass.
She-Wolf tilted her head.
Just slightly.
At eye-jerking speed, her body shifted — not backward, not fully sideways — but through the narrow margin between impact and absence.
The blast tore past her shoulder, grazing the edge of her cloak before detonating behind her in a bloom of light and debris.
She was already inside his range.
Her blade flashed.
Itekan's shadow erupted upward, forming a thick arc that intercepted the strike. Steel met darkness with a crack that rippled outward like thunder.
For a heartbeat, they were locked.
Up close, he saw her eyes through the wolf mask's slits.
Calm.
Measured.
Not surprised.
"Too slow," she said quietly.
Her free hand snapped forward.
Itekan twisted, but the strike grazed his ribs. Force rippled through him like a concussive wave. He skidded across fractured stone, boots carving deep lines before he stabilized.
Behind them, the battlefield fractured fully.
---
A hawk-masked Wolvress descended on Itoyea from above, twin curved daggers aimed for his collarbone.
He did not draw his sword.
He stepped forward instead.
His shoulder rotated — precise, economical — and his elbow crashed into her sternum. The impact folded her midair. Steam burst from his lips as his palm followed through, cracking against her jaw and sending her spinning across the clearing.
"Swordless Blade Style: Natural Phenomenon!"
Invisible force rippled outward from his sweeping arm, tearing through the formation closing in on him without a blade ever leaving its sheath.
He moved immediately toward Itekan.
He had seen enough.
She-Wolf Mask was not someone Itekacoulf waste time on. She seemed to be very strong. In fact he wasn't sure he could win her alone.
Two figures dropped in front of him.
Itoyea slowed.
Heat radiated from his skin in visible waves, flushing it pink beneath the strain.
"This won't do. Way of the Win—"
His hand moved toward the sword across his back.
Two tomahawks shrieked past his head.
They buried into the earth behind him—
Then curved sharply and snapped back through the air.
Itoyea turned.
A masked Wolvress shot toward him like a released arrow.
"Hïåhk!"
The tomahawks slammed into her waiting hands, glowing with tight violet light.
She closed the distance instantly.
The first slash fell vertical.
Itoyea pivoted and deflected with the back of his wrist, redirecting the strike—
The impact shuddered through his bones.
His hand shook.
For the first time in over a year… his hand shook.
She did not give him space.
The second Wolvress moved in seamless coordination.
A circular blade-ring spun low across his flank.
Itoyea twisted too late.
The ring carved across his upper arm.
Muscle split.
Blood flashed across the stone.
"Tsk—!"
He leapt back, arm trembling now, breath sharper than before.
This was becoming inefficient.
And inefficient battles got people killed.
---
A few meters away, Bukanami roared.
His spiritual pressure surged violently—
Then vanished.
The sudden absence made the fox-masked Wolvress hesitate.
Just a fraction.
That was enough.
The air around Bukanami distorted as something deeper rose from within him. Not sharp. Not blazing.
Heavy.
Oppressive.
It crashed outward like a collapsing sky.
The fox mask fractured as its wearer was hurled backward into a tree hard enough to splinter bark and wood.
Intermediate at best, Bukanami assessed, scanning the field. A few brushing Denkei.
Individually, none of them were a problem.
Together—
They were suffocating.
More closed in.
His black machete trembled faintly in his grip.
It was nearing its limit. He could feel the strain along its spine.
One more push.
One more swing.
One more win.
He stepped forward and drove his forehead into the nearest mask with a sharp crack. As she stumbled, he fully drew both blades.
The golden sword gleamed.
The black machete darkened.
"Divine Dragon Style…"
His grip tightened.
"…Demon Slayer."
Blood-red mist bled from the machete's edge, thick and blooming like petals in water. From the golden blade, the faint outline of a dragon unfurled — silent, watching.
Veins stood out along Bukanami's arms as the technique completed.
Then he swung.
The air tore open.
A crushing wave of spiritual force detonated outward in a wide arc, flattening trees, ripping masks free, hurling bodies across the clearing like broken leaves in a storm.
For a brief second—
Everything stopped.
Bukanami's vision swam.
His fingers went numb.
The dragon's outline flickered… then thinned.
Too much.
He forced himself upright anyway.
Not yet.
---
Kutote faced two.
One low.
One high.
He smiled.
They moved with coordination — one feinting, one committing. Months ago, that rhythm might have cornered him.
Now?
He stepped between them.
Tight. Economical.
The first blade skimmed past his throat. His counterstrike cracked against her wrist, disarming her mid-motion.
The second lunged from above.
Kutote shifted inside the arc and drove his shoulder into her center, flipping her over his back and into the dirt.
They were fast.
But they were not overwhelming.
Not yet.
He turned—
Fist already chambered—
And froze.
The Red Fox masked Wolvress before him had raised her hands.
Only for a moment.
But he saw it.
The unconscious jerk of the wrist.
The slight tightening of the left shoulder before movement.
He had seen it every day for the past two weeks.
Training.
Laughing.
Arguing.
No.
His breath caught.
Her height.
Her stance.
The way she settled her weight onto her back heel—
He didn't need the mask removed.
It was her.
Candice Laīde.
His perception sharpened instinctively.
All aligned.
No mistake.
Candice stood among the Night Wolvresses.
And she was looking straight at him.
.
.
.
Spiritual Energy (SE)
Spiritual Sea (SS)
Spiritual Signature (SST)