They had just turned to leave when shadows dropped like hawks from midair, black Arcane Power pouring with them like a storm at the two.

Pure-white Aether and deep-blue flame blasted out almost together, twin tides colliding in a flash of frost and fire.

The falling figures split at once, as if choreographed by fate; a dark barrier snapped up like a cage, sealing both women inside.

Spears wreathed in dense Arcane Power spun toward them, comet tails screaming, while the raiders hit the ground and advanced without a breath’s pause.

Deep-violet Mana Crystals traced arcs through the air like falling stars; the shrill scrape meant magitech guts were burning hot and fast.

In a heartbeat, a kill-box took shape, neat as a drill square and deadly as a wolf pack closing in.

The discipline chilled Aphelia’s back like winter rain, yet her gaze sharpened like a drawn blade; these were the “hunter squad” she’d met before.

Before Lilo could move, pure-white Aether rose like a bulwark, wrapping Lilo in a clean, cold shell.

Arcane-laced spears slammed the barrier like rams on a gate; power burst off the Aether, a shockwave flipping everything like leaves in a gale.

It felt less like thrown spears and more like a ruinous spell punching the world.

Aphelia’s silhouette vanished inside the wall of light; a pure-white spear swept out like a crescent moon, crashing toward the foremost soldier.

The strike was fast as lightning and hard as iron, yet he slipped it with mirrored footwork, his magitech blade scything for her chest like a hungry wind.

“Ancient Martial Flow?!”

Her face blanched; the power of her Title surged on reflex, yet her hands came up defensive, a measured shore against a breaking sea.

Mana Crystals screamed inside his weapon, and a brutal force hammered down the blade like a falling mountain, pushing Aphelia a step back on her heels.

Runic heavy-armor troopers heard her cry and flinched like startled stags, but the men behind flowed in tight; spiraled short spikes knifed under his ribs, spearing for her heart like hornets.

A faint turning clicked through time like a hidden gear.

In Aphelia’s eyes, the stream slowed again like honey in winter; she would not repeat that mistake, not twice in one life.

A cold gleam cut her gaze; Aether knit into Bracer Gauntlets, and both fists drove for the oncoming spikes like hammers to nails.

But the spikes shrieked with a sudden scrape, a furtive light winking, and slipped free of their masters like eels, shooting for her chest like arrows of dawn.

Time, already dulled, thickened again like a stalled tide; the nearly successful ambush froze an inch from her, held by a bloom.

Crystal Blossoms unfurled in a jeweled flash, petals scattering like snow and sheathing the spikes in a holy frost.

Aphelia dipped low, and her right fist thundered toward the frontmost soldier like a falling star.

White light flickered; the delayed river of time lurched forward, and the Bracer Gauntlets struck true on his chestplate like a drumbeat.

The two short spikes winked from before her, and an old rhythm returned to her bones like a forgotten song.

Ancient Martial Flow—Shattering Fist!

Gauntlets as exquisite as art hit with mountain weight; the front heavy-armor trooper and the two flanking beneath him were blasted back like straw in a tempest.

Runic heavy armor, famed for defense, burst into a storm of shards, glittering like sleet.

Backed by the strength of a True God, the shockwave kicked even those behind them, a rolling surf that forced attackers to twist aside or drown.

Yet the three Aphelia had launched skyward did not fall; they shrugged off the shattered Rune plates like husks and raised magitech firearms like wolves showing fangs.

Muzzles pulsed with deep-violet light like poisonous fireflies zeroing in on prey.

Before Aphelia could move, another volley of spears hurled from the dark barrier like black rain, sealing her angles as if the sky itself nailed them shut.

A heartbeat’s stall erased the edge her Shattering Fist had carved; runic troopers surged again like a tide.

This time, Lilo refused to watch.

Crisp syllables rang like crystal, and deep-blue flame flared like prairie fire, racing along those spears and eating them before they could bloom.

Only deep-violet Mana Crystals fell from midair like plums from a scorched branch.

On her blade, the deep-blue flame twisted into a snarling dragon; a human-shaped wyrm leapt high, and the Mageblade whirled toward the gunners like a comet.

The dragon of flame roared and swallowed them whole like a storm devouring ships.

But the deep-blue blaze didn’t hold; black mist dropped again like tar and smothered it, then billowed outward, a hungry tide lunging to bite back at Lilo.

Savage golden pupils flowered with Runes; her blood boiled like a kettle, and the air around her thickened like syrup.

A dragon’s roar burst from her body like thunder waking mountains.

An endless sea of fire spread in an instant, and even the black barrier looked thin as paper under that tide.

Lilo landed beside Aphelia like a falling feather; the tossed Mageblade flared in flame and flashed back into her grip.

They stood tight as linked shields; pure-white Aether cupped deep-blue flame like moonlight cradling seawater.

Two forces met and sparked in a quiet collision, an unmeant crossing that fit without a seam, birthing a new current like spring from stone.

The same instant, they jolted as if lightning ran their spines; the nature of it rose like instinct, a wordless map in the mind.

The same power sat in both hands, yet each shaped it as different wind carves sand.

“Aphelia, cover me!”

Her eyes filled with white Aether and deep-blue blaze like twin skies; scarlet hair flushed as if the power dyed it, a new Aether in Aphelia’s sight.

Deep-blue flame and pure-white Aether became a vast array under Lilo’s feet, a sigil like a sunlit crown, radiant with sovereign awe.

Her mage robe fell away like ash; dragon-scale and flame laced her body, a living armor breathing heat.

From the magic circle, a dragon spread its wings like stormclouds and hurled a deafening roar at the runic troopers.

For Aphelia, this current fit the hand; a pure-white spear grew in both palms like a winter branch, and she lifted it with calm, sighting the empty air ahead.

As both powers crested like twin waves, ready to break, a clean crack rang above, and the black mist fissured like brittle glass.

Even the runic troopers glanced up, caught bare-headed in the rain.

Before breath could turn, countless tentacles shot like a storm of arrows, punching down through bodies.

Unready soldiers were skewered and drunk by the mist, their shapes sinking like stones into tar.

Terror and distortion crashed back like a black tide; the two answered in the same beat, power flaring like a struck match in dry forest.

The crouching dragon beat vast wings and bellowed like a wrathful god.

Aphelia and Lilo swung their aim as one; hoarded force erupted like a volcano tearing its throat.

Crystal Blossoms bloomed full the instant they formed, a flower poised on the spear-tip like a star, complex and holy sigils unfurling from its heart.

Under Lilo’s hand, the dragon roared; white-and-blue power became wrathful dragonfire, a river of light battering mist and tentacles like surf on reef.

It outstripped the earlier deep-blue blaze, yet against that black sea it only held a wavering line.

Lilo lunged; colossal dragon claws coalesced midair and slammed the fog like a hammer beating iron, trying to drive it back step by step.

Seeing it, True God force gathered at Aphelia’s side like dawn condensing, ready to break.

A soft laugh brushed her ear like a cold feather; the arm that would have hurled the spear locked mid-swing, frozen as ice.

She turned; a figure sheathed in black mist stood on her arm like a perching crow, curled horns and crimson pupils branding her mind like hot iron.

Her spirit reeled, a stumble at the cliff edge.

That blink’s drift was enough; warped mist and tentacles surged like a flood, smothering the mixed power and Lilo, then rushing for Aphelia like nightfall.

She bit down and drove to strike with her left arm, a last spark against winter.

The figure laughed again; a black tentacle speared through her body like a blade, ignoring her force as if it were smoke.

From head to heel she lost the reins, and her mind blurred like rain on ink, resistance washing away.

At the edge of the dark, only a whisper remained, mad enough to fray the ear, a hiss near hysteria.

Twist. Madness. Flesh and tentacle braided a world that ate the space like rot through wood.

Not only the barrier around them, but the town’s outskirts sprouted tentacles and soot-black mist like mold.

Solid walls grew vine-like limbs like creeping ivy, and the once-silent city seemed to… come alive.