Behind the burgeoning wall of plants, Scarlett's amused sigh carried through the foliage, a sound both light and mocking.

Scarlett: "Oh, Mitra. Your magic is beautiful, but is a poor match up against me." A snap of fingers. The distant whoosh of igniting aether.

Mitra didn't wait to see the flames consume her carefully crafted barrier. She sprinted after her students, her dendromancy rippling ahead of them. The forest itself bent to her will—brambles parted like courtiers bowing to royalty, while fallen logs rolled aside to clear their path. Every sapling she passed reached out with slender branches, eager to obey their mistress's final command.

The disciples stumbled over roots that shifted to cradle their feet, their breath coming in ragged gasps. Alan kept glancing back, his face sick with grief. Torran's sword was drawn, though what good it would do against that monster, none could say.

Mitra risked a glance behind them, her heart pounding in her chest like a war drum.

Through the trees, an orange glow brightened.

Then—heat.

The kind that dried eyeballs in their sockets and set armor smoldering from ten paces away. It was a searing wave that rolled over her, a reminder of the destructive power they were up against. Her barrier was burning so bright it was like a sun, a blinding orb of fury that illuminated the darkened woods in a hellish glow. Even without turning back, Mitra could feel the heat radiating toward her, a tangible force that threatened to engulf everything in its path.

Mitra: "Faster!" she urged, shoving Fuse forward as the first embers began to rain down around them like hellish snow. Somewhere in the inferno, Scarlett would be walking toward them, her heels clicking against the charcoal, her smile untouched by smoke.

Scarlett strode confidently through the inferno she had conjured, the flames licking at her skin without leaving a mark. It was as if the fire recognized her as its master, bending to her will. With a flick of her wrist, she silently cast Gregor's Meteoractive Burst, a spell of immense power and complexity.

High above, the sky ripped open as a sphere of concentrated hellfire bloomed into existence—a swirling orb of crimson and gold, its surface rippling with barely contained destruction. It hung like a second sun, casting the entire forest in an eerie, blood-red glow. The spell was a weapon of war designed to reduce fortress walls to molten slag, not designed to be used against individual people. Most S-ranked mages would collapse after a single casting, their aether drained to the dregs. It was a spell meant to be fueled by entire teams of battlemages wielding aether crystals to supplement the aether consumption.

Scarlet cast it seven times.

Six more spheres ignited in rapid succession, each one a miniature apocalypse, their combined heat so intense that the trees beneath them burst into spontaneous flames before the attack had even been unleashed. The air itself seemed to scream in protest, warping under the sheer pressure of the magic.

Then—detonation.

The spheres launched forward with a thunderous BOOM, the shockwave alone knocking over trees. Rings of fire exploded outward from their trajectory, incinerating the air in their wake. The sound was deafening, a roar like the world itself splitting apart as the meteors hurtled toward Mitra and her fleeing disciples.

Mitra felt the attack coming before she saw it—a crushing weight in the air, the aether itself recoiling in terror. She spun on her heel, her instincts screaming. There was no time to outrun this. No time to hide.

She slammed her palms into the earth, her dendromancy and geomancy flaring in tandem. The ground heaved upward as a massive earthen wall erupted before them—thirty feet high, reinforced with a lattice of ironwood roots as thick as ancient oaks. But Mitra didn't raise it straight. She angled it, just slightly, praying that physics would be on their side.

The meteors struck.

The impact was catastrophic. The wall buckled, the sheer kinetic force nearly shattering it instantly. The angled deflection worked—mostly—sending a portion of the blast sideways in a devastating shockwave that ripped through the forest, flattening everything in its path. But this was no ordinary fire spell. This was Gregor's Burst—a spell designed to obliterate enchanted battlements.

Her defenses lasted all of two seconds before disintegrating.

The explosion sent Mitra and her disciples hurtling backward like leaves in a hurricane. She barely had time to summon a net of living roots to catch them, the vines whipping out to snag limbs and torsos before they could slam into the unforgiving earth. They landed hard, the breath knocked from their lungs, their ears ringing from the deafening blast.

Mitra staggered to her feet, her vision swimming as she fought to regain her bearings. The world around her was a chaotic blur of smoke and debris, the air thick with the acrid scent of destruction.

To their right, the world had ended.

Vast amounts of acres of ancient forest were simply gone, replaced by seven smoldering craters, each one a yawning pit of blackened earth and molten stone. The air stank of sulfur and charred wood, the heat so intense that even from a distance, it seared their skin.

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Mitra's hands trembled.

If she hadn't acted quickly, if she hadn't thought to create that wall on an angle, the attack would have cleanly punched through her barrier and struck them directly. The realization sent a chill down her spine. They had narrowly escaped a catastrophic fate.

They wouldn't even be corpses. They'd be ash on the wind.

Scarlett's voice cut through the haze of despair, carrying across the devastation with an amused lilt.

Scarlett: "Oh, good. You're still alive."

Mitra's gaze snapped to her, and she felt a surge of conflicting emotions. There was relief, of course, but also a simmering anger at the nonchalance in Scarlett's tone. The flames that surrounded Scarlett flickered and danced, parting for her like loyal hounds eager to please their mistress.

The situation wasn't just bad—it was hopeless. Mitra's mind raced through her arsenal, discarding spell after spell. Her dendromancy could reshape forests, but against Scarlet's apocalyptic fire magic? She had no useful mobility magic that could whisk them away from Scarlett's wrath—at least none that Scarlett would grant her the luxury of time to implement. The air crackled with tension, and the shadows seemed to deepen around them, amplifying the sense of impending doom.

Mitra's jaw set. There was only one path forward.

Mitra: "Listen, you three—" she began, her voice taut.

Torran: "We're not running and leaving you behind," her disciples cut in, his sword already glowing with aether. The blade trembled—not from fear, but from the sheer power he was forcing into it.

Mitra shook her head sharply.

Mitra: "I wasn't suggesting that. There's no way I can hold her back alone. My death would buy you ten seconds at most." She met each of their eyes. "I need time to prepare something... so I need your help."

Fuse was already starting to use his earth based magic to encase around his forearms like living stone gauntlets.

Fuse: "What's the play?"

Mitra: "You and Torran hold her back while I work. I'll support you, but I can't fight her directly and prepare this at the same time."

Torran and Fuse exchanged a glance—a silent conversation born from countless battles fought side by side. A nod. They turned back as one.

Alan: "Let me help too," Mitra's newest disciple insisted, stepping forward. His hands shook, but his voice didn't.

Mitra's response was gentle but firm.

Mitra: "No. Stay behind me." She gestured to the devastation around them—the still-molten craters, the air shimmering with residual heat. "I need earth or water magic against her. You don't have either."

Before Alan could protest, she turned back to the others.

Mitra: "Only use water or earth spells. And don't get close to her. Understood?"

They nodded.

Then Mitra said the unthinkable.

Mitra: "Drop your wards."

The three disciples stared at her in shock, disbelief etched across their faces. The golden rule in any magical confrontation was to conjure a ward and maintain it throughout the fight. Not having a ward was not just dangerous; it was tantamount to inviting death. One stray spell, even a weak one, could spell disaster.

Fuse: "Mitra, why—" he began.

Mitra: "Just do it!" Mitra's shout cracked through the air like a whip. She pointed at Henry's remains—a blackened silhouette in the dirt. "Any ward you raise won't stop her. She'll punch through it like parchment. But worse..." Her voice dropped to a haunted whisper. "No one knows how she does it, but Scarlett can burn aether itself. Any spell you cast near her is fuel. A ward?" She met each of their eyes. "That's wrapping yourself in oil before jumping into a furnace."

All three of them were shocked, their minds racing to process the revelation. They had witnessed Henry approach Scarlett, cloaked in both a ward and invisibility magic, only to combust into a fiery inferno moments later. Now, with Mitra's explanation, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. Scarlett had ignited Henry's magic, using it against him, and burned him to death with it.

Yet, even with this newfound understanding, confusion lingered in the air. They had always been taught that burning aether was a theoretical impossibility. But Mitra's conviction left no room for doubt; she wasn't lying. The question of how Scarlett could ignite and burn aether remained a mystery.

As they stood there, grappling with the implications of Mitra's words, they felt the weight of their situation pressing down on them. The stakes had never been higher, and the threat before them was unlike anything they had ever encountered.

They all did as they were told, dropping their wards with a mixture of trepidation and resolve. With each ward that fell, a sense of adhesive filled Mitra's disciple washed over them, as if they had unclothed themselves and were now exposed

Mitra's hands were already moving, weaving an unfamiliar pattern in the air, her fingers tracing intricate sigils that shimmered with a faint luminescence. The symbols seemed to pulse with life, resonating with the very essence of aether itself. As she worked, the atmosphere shifted, charged with a palpable tension that made the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end.

Mitra: "You can still use enhancement magic," she said, her voice tight with concentration. "But only earth or water elemental infusions. Those elements are harder for her to ignite." Her eyes locked onto Torran's. "And don't—I repeat—don't any of you get close. Henry was ten paces away when he burned. Assume her range to ignite people is three times that, no, make that five."

Scarlett observed with cold amusement as Mitra directed her students, her crimson lips curling into a smirk. The battlefield crackled with residual magic, the air thick with the scent of ozone and scorched earth, yet Scarlett made no move to interrupt. She simply watched, her ember-like eyes flickering with detached interest as Mitra whispered orders, her disciples scrambling to regroup.

"How quaint." Scarlett thought.

If Scarlett truly saw Mitra as a threat, she wouldn't have allowed them a single breath to strategize. She would have rained down another volley of meteor bursts before Mitra finished her first sentence. But no—there was something intriguing about the way Mitra commanded her students, the way they looked to her not just in fear, but in trust. It was a dynamic Scarlett had once inspired. And that alone made her hesitate.

A cruel smile played across Scarlett's lips as she tilted her head, her voice a silken taunt.

Scarlett: "Well, let's see if you're a better teacher than me, Mitra. I'll play."

The words dripped with mockery, her tone oozes with a vindictiveness of perceived past wrongs. But, beneath them lay something far more dangerous: curiosity. Scarlett had every intention of drawing this out, of toying with Mitra like a cat with a cornered mouse. She wanted to see the hope in her enemy's eyes before she crushed it, and wanted to test the limits of these so-called disciples' loyalty.

Her fingers twitched at her side, red energy coiling around them like serpents, but she held back. For now.

Because the game had only just begun.

(Author note: Strange, why do I hear boss music suddenly starting to kick in?)

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