They moved fast, like bats cutting through a moon-stained night, black robes swallowing blade-glint under the dim silver glow.

Violet stood still, calm as winter water, twin guns lifted level, a ghoul-mask hiding whatever storm lived beneath.

To a bystander, she’d look stunned, fear-locked, no guard raised, just a lone statue under a fading moon.

The clash snapped like ice; the black “demons” bared fang, curved blades whispering through air, sealing every exit and lunging for her heart.

Steel slid true, punching her grotesque armor; hot blood fanned out like a crimson spray, spattering earth as shadows slipped aside.

Any onlooker would call her dead; the stabbers flinched, pulling back, because they felt no flesh, only iron-hard plates that trapped their blades.

They dropped steel without blinking, thumbed the embedded Mana Crystals, but before power bloomed, scarlet thorns punched straight through their chests.

A rasp, too hoarse to be human, crawled from beneath the black robes; heads turned, then the blood-thorns hoisted them high like skewered birds.

In those pierced gauntlets, the crimson Demonic Spears melted into a pulsing blood-sphere; thorns burst out, a scaffold of spikes pinning them midair.

Worse than pain, their blood fled like a red river; the chest-thorns drank greedy, life ebbing like a tide against a cold shore.

If they were devils, the scarlet figure was a winter huntress, tasting their deaths like frost on steel.

Pierce a limb, they’d wriggle free; pierce the chest, and the thorns lodged like barbed arrows, maggots-on-bone sucking at their hearts.

A sharp whoosh split the dark; a curved blade punched the scarlet chest, and a second shadow fell, deep violet light hacking the head free.

The red figure stumbled, ready to topple, and the assassin lunged for the blood-sphere—his hand froze midair like a trapped moth.

A crimson Demonic Spear hurled up from the earth, nailing through his skull; blood pooled wide, blooming like a wet flower.

A lithe shape burst from that pool, simple armor gleaming; she rode a crimson lance, flickering strikes severing breath, pinning him to stone.

It was Violet. Blood-red hair bound with blood-filaments, she smiled like a wolf at the fool who’d dared the dark.

She left one Demonic Spear rooted; she pulled another from the scarlet armor’s back, ready to finish the ones hanging like slaughtered boars.

Hope snapped; the assassins screamed raw, bodies convulsing, deep violet light crawling their limbs as inhuman joints ripped open, whipping tentacles at Violet.

She sprang high, a red streak, the tentacles lashing below like storm-tossed kelp, their strike dense as hail.

A thunderous crack blew the house apart; two figures hurled free, a twisted silhouette flung wide, a pure-white arrow bursting into radiance.

A woman in pure white armor leaped, silver-white light trailing like comet-tail; she hit the twisted shape again, blasting it toward town-center.

“Aphelia!” Violet held her thorns like taut bowstrings and shouted, voice bright as flame in wind.

Aphelia folded down, saw the skewered assassins still twitching; a chill pricked her spine as pure-white Aether shaped into a spear.

She drove the Aether-lance through skulls; the effect was stark—silence fell like snow, and even Violet felt lives gutter out.

“These ones turn into monsters too. Aphelia, something’s wrong,” Violet said, blood-armor reknitting over her skin like living lacquer.

Aphelia’s gaze clouded like stormglass; she’d just fought such a beast, and even her light couldn’t erase it—bring more, and they might slay gods.

“We should go. I’ll get you and Natalie out, then find Lilo—”

“Impossible!” Her word landed sharp, like steel on stone, and her finger touched Aphelia’s lips.

“You won’t throw yourself alone at danger again—no way,” she said, eyes locked like twin blades crossed.

“Relax. I can handle them. Don’t forget my level,” Aphelia murmured, shifting her hand aside as Aether bloomed.

Pure-white Aether unfurled into Crystal Blossoms, delicate and gleaming, floating in Violet’s palm like frostflowers.

Violet felt their strength flare like sunlight through ice; seeing Aphelia’s smile, she sighed, letting the fight drain like rain.

“Fine. I’ll wait outside. If you don’t come out, I act,” she said, voice steady as a drawn bow.

“Of course. Where’s Natalie?” Aphelia asked, a calm bell in wind.

“Her fear’s getting worse for no reason. She almost couldn’t step out the door,” Violet answered, worry like grit in the throat.

“What’s going on…” Aphelia began, relief soft as dawn—then a gust slammed from her flank; Aether flooded, a tight wall rising like jade.

“So you’re still not dead?” she said, eyes narrowing to blades, watching the assassins rise, monsters wearing men like torn cloaks.

She pushed the two behind her, pure-white Aether hardening into a holy spear, grip firm as stone.

She moved first; blazing light collapsed into a cannon, and it hammered the restless shapes like midday sun on ice.

“Go!” Her spear spun into a vast magic circle, engulfing the warped assassins as light-cannon rain fell like a meteor storm.

Aphelia lifted Violet and Natalie, wings of pure white blooming; one soft sweep, and they crossed half the district in a blink.

Before Violet could breathe, the side gate loomed like a dark tooth; they were almost free.

Soldiers in Rune heavy armor lined the wall, magitech weapons raised, glimmers pricking Aphelia’s skin like nettles—danger flared.

She roared; pure-white Aether wrapped the two like cocoons and hurled them over the wall, swift as sling-stones.

Several armored soldiers snapped to, magitech glow locking on like hunting falcons tracking prey.

Before they fired, hands settled on their shoulders, Bracer Gauntlets pressing with mountain weight; knees cracked stone, violet beams skewed wide, gouging barren earth.

“You’re the hunting squad, aren’t you?” a voice asked, bold yet gentle, ringing like bronze in chill air.

They jolted, then thrust magitech blades at Aphelia; deep violet flared, but a heavy force punched their chests, flinging them back like leaves in gale.

With pursuit lost, the Rune heavy-armored soldiers drew cold steel, stowed their glowing tools, and closed on Aphelia like a tightening noose.