The Crimson Gold Flame burned quiet and steady. Night Frost lay spent on cracked concrete, while dozens of undead bodies melted into hazy black mist and ash.
Frustration flared first, then pain. Her chest heaved, each breath metallic. Fresh blood welled from new cuts; she corked them with Mana. It would only hold for a while.
And still, the Fallen One got away.
She’d almost reduced the thing to cinders when a tide of hundreds surged from her flank. The mob broke like surf. She had to draw the flame back, turn the spearpoint on the swarm instead of the prize.
One last sliver of the Fallen One unraveled into Abyssal Aura and fled. She’d been a breath away from pinning it here. Close, then nothing.
A chill moved under the ribs. Next time, it wouldn’t be this simple. Next time she’d stand stronger. Night Frost alone wouldn’t be enough.
She pushed herself up, skin clammy against ruined street. Out of Mana, she dismissed her Magic Armor and pulled on clothes. In a dim corner she pressed a Magic Stone to her palm, felt it hum, drew in power like rain through dry roots.
Haa…
Her Mana steadied, a thin lake under wind. She’d head back to find Dawnlight. She marked the map, then cut straight across the Twelfth District toward the outer shelter.
It was deep night when she returned. Dawnlight had scoured most of the Abyssal Aura near the heartline, enough that moving and casting wouldn’t kick the nest.
Night Frost told her everything. A shard of good news in a lean week. The bad dwarfed it like thunder over a candle.
Dawnlight’s eyes flickered, catching the core. “You mean a Fallen One was born from this Abyss?”
A Fallen One wasn’t to be taken lightly. Every known one hit above weight. This one was newborn, yet she’d already fought Night Frost to a near 40–60.
Drag it out, and she’d likely reach Cantata Three. Past what the two of them could handle.
Still, Night Frost had torn her up. That bought time. They’d also found the trail of the students and teachers. The only thorn was the missing spatial gate.
With a Fallen One on the board, they couldn’t loiter. They split now. At a Cantata Two pace, a full lap around the Twelfth District was nothing.
Night Frost’s Mana was a flood of fire. It burned bright and fast. Even with new habits for saving and absorbing, she couldn’t match Dawnlight’s deep, unbroken spring.
So the students fell to Night Frost. She didn’t want the duty, but it fit.
She returned to the marked mall. At first light, Dawnlight would circle the district. They agreed on signals: if anything happened, throw a light ball or fireball into the sky so the other could see.
Undead still drifted through the mall like cold weeds. No matter. They weren’t a threat. Night Frost found the furniture store, took a chair, and sat in the doorway.
Yesterday the students learned an Order Keeper would come. Today, odds were good they’d show.
She scanned the gray morning. The sun was a smudge, a sour disc behind ash.
An engine growled in the distance. The car the students had lifted yesterday eased back into the ruined lot.
They moved carefully until they saw Night Frost waiting in the doorway. Shoulders dropped. They’d met her yesterday; she’d called herself an Order Keeper here to get them out.
She had no reason to lie. And she was short—155 centimeters of stubbornness—smaller than the four of them by a head. To their eyes she looked like a human cub, almost grown. Something like tenderness and awe flickered there.
She ignored it, hopped lightly off the high stool, and faced them.
They kept quiet. They knew she’d gone toe-to-toe with Cantata Two foes. She’d be their shelter for the next few days. Young or not, she had their respect.
“Hi. I’m An Ming. This Magic Maiden who controls metal is Jiang Cheng. The fire Magic Maiden is Su Xiafen. And this is my roommate—call him Dog Egg… uh, Wang Dao.”
An Ming didn’t finish before Wang Dao flicked him hard on the head. Wang Dao was the one who fixed and drove the car, the group’s “agent.” A pair of glasses, a checkered shirt, a young face pulled into a practiced calm.
An Ming wore the standard college shut-in kit: black shirt, black pants, long hair.
The two girls behind them—Su in a slightly torn dress, quiet as rain; Jiang bolder, a tank top and denim shorts cut high on the thigh. Not Night Frost’s style.
“My callsign is Night Frost. I’ll be responsible for your safety. Once we find the exit, my partner and I will take you out.”
Saying her callsign still felt a touch shameful. But the four straightened again. No doubt—she was Cantata Two. Only girls at that level or above had callsigns.
They piled into the car. Night Frost took the back, squeezed between the two girls, watching the shattered city drift by.
Su Xiafen on her left barely spoke, skittish as a deer. Jiang Cheng talked plenty.
They’d been dragged in by a violent pull. Some got lucky and stayed out. The unlucky landed here. This place mirrored the Twelfth District. They’d been dropped into the high-rise at the center of the commercial zone, a decent safe point.
But the drag had hurt many. So the four came out for bandages and painkillers.
When Night Frost asked what they’d eaten, Jiang’s face dimmed.
Their supervising teacher was solid on theory and warned them not to eat unknown things. Someone still tried cake from the office floors. He’d had stomach pain for days. So most of them were just enduring.
Daytime here was short. They didn’t have to move much. Even without food for four days, they’d scraped by.
They carried canteens when they went out. Fortunately, there was still some water. No one had died of thirst yet.
Not for much longer.
They’d come out yesterday because more students couldn’t resist eating, and more were curled up with cramps. No one knew if the medicine here was safe. They had to risk it.
Night Frost nodded. She got it.
Nothing here should be consumed at random—food, water, or pills. Hers weren’t from this Abyss.
She counted her supplies. Blade had clearly thought of the students and teachers. He’d stuffed in extra rations and water. Enough for three meals. Only three.
Dawnlight should have the same. Together, that made six. If they stretched it, one meal a day, maybe eight sunsets.
After eight sunsets, if there was still no door out, they’d have to call it GG.
Along the way, she cleared several packs of undead. Luck tossed back three small Magic Stone fragments. Low grade, rough quality, but precious nonetheless.
She stowed them. The four finally reached the office tower—a thirteen-story glass-faced block, the letters “xd Group” ghosted and hard to read.
The students and teachers were holed up on one floor. Night Frost rode the elevator with them, pressed 9.
Ding. The doors slid open. An empty floor, a handful of people lying on mats. Teachers and classmates tended them like lamps in wind.
Pale faces everywhere. Days without food or water did that.
They saw Night Frost and grabbed scavenged weapons. She barely spared them a glance.
An Ming and Wang Dao explained. The weapons lowered. A teacher stepped up, asked to confirm her credentials.
Blade’s pass worked like a charm. Almost no one questioned it. The badge opened doors—and drew trouble.
Night Frost pulled water and food from her little spatial box. She had the teacher divide it by headcount, and told them to chew slowly.
She scanned the room and spotted Senior Su in a corner, eyes closed. Relief loosened her shoulders.
Then she knelt by a student curled around his belly. This is what happens when you eat what you don’t know?
She set a hand to his abdomen. Threads of Abyssal Aura writhed inside. Beneath the food’s surface lay a rich, hidden taint. For humans, Abyssal Aura was poison. That was the knife twisting their guts.
Her Mana could counter it, but not cleanly. Better to leave this to Dawnlight.
“Finish eating first. I’ve got something to say.”
She picked up a few blister packs from the floor, walked to the window. Flame bloomed in her palm and painted the dim sky with fire.
