Kutote didn't believe it.
Didn't want to.
Because believing would mean accepting what his instincts were already screaming at him — and that truth hurt far more than any wound he'd taken today.
If he believed it, then it was real.
And if it was real, then it meant the person standing before him wasn't just another masked enemy.
The facts stacked up mercilessly.
The way she held her weight.
The way her shoulders shifted before motion.
The unconscious micro-adjustments he had watched for years — the habits you only noticed when you trained beside someone long enough for their movements to become familiar.
This wasn't inference.
This wasn't guesswork.
This was Candice Laīde.
"Candice…" he said, his voice catching despite himself. "What is this—?"
The sound of her name cut deeper than any blade.
Behind the mask, her eyes went blank.
Not cold.
Not angry.
Empty.
As if something had been deliberately shut off.
"Don't speak."
The command carried more than sound. Authority wrapped itself around the words, pressing into Kutote's senses like invisible hands.
She moved.
Not fast — immediate.
The dagger in her grip was small, barely longer than her palm, but the air around it bent as authority condensed into its edge. Kutote reacted on instinct, twisting away, but his thoughts lagged half a breath behind his body.
That half-breath cost him everything.
The dagger twisted mid-flight.
Not thrown — guided.
Authority seized the weapon and curved its path unnaturally, burying it cleanly into the side of his neck.
Pain never arrived.
Instead—
Stillness.
A green venom surged into his bloodstream, spreading faster than he could track. His muscles seized, not tightening but disconnecting, as though someone had unplugged his body from his mind.
His fingers went numb.
His face went slack.
Even his heartbeat felt distant, muffled, like it belonged to someone else.
His limbs didn't feel weak.
They felt foreign.
So… this is how it ends?
His knees buckled.
Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision.
No.
Not like this.
With a desperate surge of will, Kutote forced himself upright. His hand found the dagger still lodged in his neck. Blood soaked his collar as he tore it free, flesh ripping audibly as the blade came loose.
The pain finally arrived — sharp, immediate, grounding.
"Hunguon Kaien…" he rasped, lungs burning. "Resendo!"
He hurled the dagger with everything he had left.
Candice flicked her wrist, telepathy snapping around the weapon mid-air — but it had already crossed the threshold.
Boom.
Flames detonated outward in a violent ring. Authority and law folded into fire, space warping as the explosion devoured the forest floor. Trees ignited instantly. Stone cracked and melted. The ground itself seemed to scream.
Kutote collapsed.
It didn't kill her.
But it forced her back.
Candice landed just outside the inferno, boots skidding through scorched earth as the flames died behind her. Smoke curled around her mask. Her cloak smoldered.
"I'm sorry, Kutote," she said softly. "There's something I have to do."
She lifted herself with telepathy, drifting toward his unconscious body.
Every instinct she had screamed.
She twisted away just in time.
Bukanami crashed down where she'd been, blades blazing, spiritual pressure roaring outward like a challenge.
His black machete was barely holding together — cracked, warped, its edge dulled by overuse. It looked less like a weapon now and more like a promise that refused to break.
Bukanami stepped between her and Kutote without hesitation.
If she had taken Kutote down, then she wasn't like the others.
Not even close.
"Bukanami— stop," Candice pleaded. "Please. Don't get in my way."
"What are you doing!?" he shouted, disbelief and anger colliding in his voice. "Candice!?"
"I need to get Kutote somewhere safe," she said urgently. "If they reach him first—"
"That much is certain," Bukanami snapped, tightening his grip. "Especially with backstabbers like you running around!"
"I haven't betrayed anyone!"
"You're dressed like them. Fighting like them. What exactly are we supposed to think!?"
She clenched her fists, frustration bleeding through her composure.
"We don't have time—"
Whooom.
The air warped violently.
Spiritual density surged like a tidal wave, pressing down on the battlefield with crushing weight.
Both of them froze.
That pressure.
That presence.
Bukanami felt it crawl through his veins — not Spiritual Energy, not Natural Energy, but something deeper. Older. Sacred.
Itoyea had summoned the Dragon Skin Sword.
Across the battlefield, Itoyea moved as though the weapon had always been part of him. There was no delay. No resistance. No energy loss.
Sword and wielder were no longer separate.
Every motion was seamless.
Every strike instantaneous.
The She-Wolf Mask was driven back relentlessly, forced onto the defensive as slashes arrived from impossible angles. It was only through sheer mastery — and experience far beyond the dungeon's norm — that she remained alive.
A blade of condensed sword-energy screamed past her throat.
Warmth bloomed.
Blood slid down her neck.
Itoyea inhaled — and the battlefield seemed to inhale with him.
Golden steam poured from his mouth like pressure venting from a forge.
He went straight into the Fifth Form.
His eyes burned white-hot as the energy behind him shaped itself into the roaring visage of a dragon, lightning writhing through its form.
"Way of the Wind," he said calmly.
"Fifth Form — Celestial Thunder Clap."
His hand dropped.
The lightning dragon surged forward.
There was no evasion.
She knew it.
And she knew he knew it.
Her hand slipped into her cloak.
One use.
The Miracle Vial.
Saintess' tears, sanctified by the High Priest of Light, Namor himself. Three existed in the world.
She shattered it.
The slash landed—
And didn't.
Her flesh unraveled under the pressure — then rewound.
Cause separated from effect. The attack existed — but never arrived.
Itoyea froze.
That had been his strongest technique. Even Korimer would have struggled to defend against it.
She gathered the remaining miracle into her palm, holy energy shaping itself into a radiant spear.
The moment it formed, Itoyea felt it.
Discomfort.
Rejection.
His new source recoiled violently.
It wasn't hatred.
It was incompatibility — two truths that could not coexist.
The Miracle reacted as well, trembling like a beast baring its fangs at a rival.
They hurled their attacks at the same time.
Dragon energy.
Holy light.
They collided—
And the result—
.
.
.
Spiritual Energy (SE)
Spiritual Sea (SS)
Spiritual Signature (SST)
Natural Energy (NE)
Holy Energy (HE)