The two Magic Maidens in the car had solid basics, like blades tempered in river mist. Together they drove the undead back, metal shining like cold moonlight from one, flames blooming like a campfire from the other. Compared to Night Frost’s blaze, though, her fire was just a normal red flame.

Pinned between them, the undead got nailed into the concrete like a beetle under glass. The fire Maiden turned up the heat, her flames searing the body stapled to the cement like noon sun on tar.

Its mouth tore out a rasp Night Frost had heard a hundred times, like rust scraping bone. Abyssal Aura steamed off its skin like black vapor from a cracked kettle. It finally slumped into a heap of ash drifting like dry snow.

They knew this wasn’t a place to linger, as heat and Abyssal stink rise like smoke and beckon the pack. These undead were dumb as stones, but their strength hit like a flood. They looked weak, yet could smother peers in the First Symphony head‑on.

The two First Symphony girls had used tricks to end it, but their Mana ran thin like a lantern at dawn. If another fight came fast, they’d likely lose. Pulling out was the clean choice, like stepping off thin ice.

Night Frost sank her body into the dark like a shadow under eaves. These kids would head for a student rally point, like birds homing to a grove. She hadn’t found the spatial rift, but she’d found the flock. It was a sideways turn, but still a good omen.

Heh, let me give you a lesson, she thought, humor light as frost on the tongue.

Night Frost tailed the vehicle tight, like a hawk gliding the slipstream, eyes sweeping the streets. Not many undead stirred nearby, like a field after harvest. They’d done their homework; this path had the fewest corpses, like a mapped-out river ford.

The route was likely charted by the two handlers in back, ink turned into motion like plans turned to wind. They’d flexed theory into practice in no time; those two were good timber.

The car wasn’t fast; the driver had the pedal buried like a stake, yet the engine crawled like an old ox. Even slow, it was enough to break a ring of low-tier undead like pushing through tall grass.

But accidents come like sudden rain.

A Magic Maiden with a pistol at her belt burst from a cross street like a startled deer. A stiff smile cut her face, the corner of her lips bent into a wrong curve like a cracked bow. Natural green light crawled over her like moss, wrapped in thick Abyssal Aura like swamp mist.

“Hel—”

She didn’t finish. The car hit her and flung her like a rag in a gale. Night Frost closed her eyes and tilted her head left, a wince running cool as ice down her neck.

A normal First Symphony would be broken or maimed by that blow, like glass on stone. This one rose straight up off the road, her body wrapped in Abyssal Aura like tar, bleeding off the impact like sand swallowing a wave.

This Aura was stronger than that ghostly girl from before, a tide darker and deeper. Her command of magic brushed close to Cantata Two, like a climber’s fingers on the next ledge. A born talent, ruined early by disaster, like a blossom cut in frost.

Greenery snared the tires like serpents, and the four couldn’t push forward. They spilled from the car, backs stiff as spears, and faced the undead under a traffic light’s dull glow.

Abyss-tainted grass spread from the girl’s feet like spilled ink. The metal Maiden gathered light into a knight’s longsword, its edge clean as winter, and cleaved the surge of green in a single waist-cut.

But the growth came relentless, like spring after rain. The sword Maiden forged two more blades and tossed them to the handlers, steel bright as stars. The four stood back to back, cutting the swelling fern-sea while their minds hunted for a way to break this thorn.

Fire was the key, a lockpick of sun. Fire sat near the top among common attributes for raw attack, like thunder in a crowded sky. The two Magic Maidens together might still drop this undead, like hammer and anvil meeting true.

Flames welled between the fire Maiden’s fingers, light flickering like carp under water weed. First Symphony Mana ran thin, so she chose to go all in, like a gambler before dawn. The three with metal swords carved a corridor, blades ringing like rain on iron.

She plowed through the lush grass, green like a floodplain in summer, then swung her full strength straight at the girl. Fire met the Abyssal Aura on that body, denting the visible shell like a boot on wet clay. Flames poured in through the hollow like wind into reeds and wrapped the girl under a bell of heat.

“Did we get her?” Her breath came rough, like a saw on knotwood. That was all she had. If this didn’t end it, then nothing would. They’d die here, like candles in a storm.

Fire burned on, steady as a kiln. No movement came from within, just thick Abyssal Aura drifting skyward like soot.

Only Night Frost knew the girl wasn’t dead, and—

Night Frost narrowed her eyes, a cold glint like moonlight on ice. At the instant the flame poured in, a flood of Abyssal Aura rushed into the girl’s body, like a river forcing a sluice. The world around them shifted a little, like grass leaning before wind.

She’d been the peak of the First Symphony, a bowstring stretched to sing. That dense Abyssal Aura shoved her across the threshold into Cantata Two, like a door kicked open. In that heartbeat, she swapped her flesh for surging green, like a cicada shedding skin. She hid in the uncut mat of growth, a whisper under leaves.

“Who… am I?” The murmur rose light as fog, then sharpened like a new blade. Breaking her shackles, she’d taken on thought. No longer a stuck record begging “save me,” she stood in a new skin.

No, not undead anymore. Use the name Moon Owl gave this new breed.

A Fallen One.

A humanoid from the Abyss, her magic Abyss-born and keen, like a mirror held to a Magic Maiden. She thought swiftly and breathed Abyssal Aura by nature, her temper shifting like wind over water.

In Night Frost’s senses, her power had only just stepped into Cantata Two, but it matched the average like a full cup. A thorny foe. The four wouldn’t handle her, not with dull knives and shallow breath.

The Fallen One seemed to grasp something, a dark green sheen pooling in her eyes like forest shade. She felt the will of the Abyss, a tide pushing at her ribs. She raised both hands, unafraid of exposure, and shouted a name that men couldn’t grasp, like a sound from a deep well.

“I’ll kill you now—” Her voice sang sweet and wrong, a lullaby with a blade.

Green spread in visible waves, grass swallowing the whole intersection like a sea. The Fallen One darted through it like a leopard, smooth and merciless.

The two Magic Maidens sensed the bad wind. The cocoon of Abyssal Aura peeled away like a husk, and out tumbled a sheaf of burning fodder, fire crackling like dry pine. The Fallen One was already behind them, a shadow in reeds.

All four drew knight’s blades with a hiss like frost across glass. They tried to slice the new growth like before, but these plants coiled like cables. Vines wrapped their Blade and their wrists, pinning movement like shackles.

“Wail for me! The best gift—my birth-gift!” Her laughter rustled like leaves.

Night Frost couldn’t watch and wait. She needed these four alive, or the path to the other students and teachers would go dark as a well.

Her Mana wasn’t at its peak; weariness pricked like sleet. She chose not to go all out, planning to play the current first, like a fisher testing the flow.

Crimson Gold Flame bit through the vines like a hot knife through wax. Night Frost dropped before the four with a sure step, landing light as a feather on ice. She didn’t check if they could walk. Her gaze cut to the Fallen One, cold as winter water. She flicked a jade-pale hand.

“I’m an Order Keeper. Get moving. Leave this to me. Now—and don’t take those meds.” Her voice rang like steel on stone.

The four hadn’t caught up to the moment, their minds fogged like windows. One handler reacted first. He nodded, the motion quick as a sparrow. He stamped Night Frost’s words into memory, then sprinted to the car. He clawed at the charred vines with bare hands, smoke curling like snakes.

The Fallen One didn’t want them to leave. She twitched to move, but Night Frost raised a hand and blocked like a gate. Crimson Gold Flame rolled off her palm with a faint pressure, like heat before lightning.

“Cantata Two? Looks like my birthday gift’s bigger than I thought…” Her tone rippled with envy, a ripple across swamp water.

She gave up the chase, regret catching like burrs. She watched the four scramble into the car and flee in a clatter like loose stones. Killing a Cantata Two was worth more than two in the First Symphony; that math ran cold as iron.

Green surged from the Fallen One’s feet like a tide. Night Frost sent fire to meet it, her Crimson Gold Flame burning the summoned growth to cinders, Abyssal Aura rising like black birds.

“Your fire…” The Fallen One heard the wrong note, a grit under the tooth. It was normal for fire to burn Abyss-forged things and bleed a little Aura, like steam off a boil. Night Frost’s flame, though, felt strange.

It burned too fast, like a prairie catching in wind. Even at the same tier, Night Frost’s burn-rate outpaced a fire Maiden’s by too much, like a hawk over a pigeon.

The gold at its heart broke the structure of her Abyssal Aura, snapping the track-like Mana rails layer by layer like a chain cut link by link. Anything Night Frost burned stayed useless for a while, like wet tinder.

Because of that, Night Frost could shred Abyss-condensed attacks easier, like a blade honed for one throat. With this Crimson Gold Flame, Night Frost was a bane to all Abyss, a counter-flame to a bottomless sea.

“Didn’t think I’d meet such a thorn the moment I’m born.” Her smile tightened, sap gone bitter.

Night Frost looked at the Fallen One. Fear thinned the girl’s face like dusk light, a step back forming in her bones. Night Frost pressed the attack, riding the wind like a kite in a gale.

Plants rose like iron thorns and scraped her skin, sparks drifting like fireflies. Flame coalesced into a Crimson Gold Spear in her grip, heat surging like a tiger breaking cover. She hurled the storm forward.

The Fallen One pressed her palms together, drawing in Abyssal Aura like breath, barely holding the blaze at bay like hands against floodwater. Night Frost’s Spear drove into the cocoon of Aura, point biting like a fang.

She braced both arms and yanked right, the motion sharp as a cutting wind. The Spear’s tip skated across the Fallen One’s body. The thick cocoon split in two like bark under an axe.

Crimson Gold Flame danced along the crack, small tongues flicking like foxfire. Inside, the lush growth charred to black, smoke curling like ink.

Night Frost had seen that trick once already. She spun on her heel and cast the Spear, her throw clean as a comet.

The Fallen One had to break her counter and dodge, body slicing the air like a swallow. The Spear crashed into the grass and erupted with a boom like a kiln cracking. Condensed Crimson Gold Flame swept the ground bare, plants turned to ash in a breath.

The Fallen One leapt to avoid the licking fire, silhouette stark as a crow. Night Frost used that beat. She drew an Arcane Firearm from her waist, metal cool as river stone. Her other hand lifted high, and fire surged from her pores like dawn through mist, cloaking her whole body in heat.

“Grant flame to the dragon, grant fire to my hand. Shatter life’s shackles. Let all things burn. Let the strike be fatal. Inferno, burn it down! … Καύση στη φυλακή!”

Flames rose from the ground like geysers, and dozens of Spears punched up to skewer the Fallen One midair, their shafts humming like organ pipes. In the same breath, the sky seeded more Crimson Gold Spears, their points leveled at her brow. They drove through.

Ground-flames roasted her body, heat blistering like the heart of a forge. Crimson Gold Flame burned through her Abyssal Aura, and her scream tore the air like a torn sail.

Undead gathered from all sides like crows to a battlefield.

Even so, Night Frost set her stance like a pine in winter. She would keep this one here, whatever the tide brought.