The silence was deafening, broken only by the rhythmic clatter of the remaining three wheels and the strained breathing of the Spirit Stags.

Damien didn't wait. The moment the carriage leveled out, he was scrambling.

"Leona, how bad is the arm?" he demanded, already applying a simple Earth-Mana compress to the side of her helmet where the visor was jammed shut.

Leona pushed the carriage roof open and dropped back inside, wincing. She was covered in dust and grit. "Clean break, maybe a hairline fracture in the ulna. I'll heal. It's the stags, they're pushing past their limit." She fought to suppress the flare of her Berserk Aura, knowing the raw power consumption would collapse her faster than Baelor could catch them.

The Spirit Stags were breathing in harsh, ragged gasps, their speed maintained only by the sheer momentum and Lyra's constant, faint stream of Phantom Wind urging them forward.

"Lyra, keep them running. We can't stop yet," Damien said, his voice raw. He ran his tongue across his lips and tasted the metallic tang of his own blood, which was crusting beneath his nose.

The backlash of countering Baelor's Intent was a migraine that felt like a chisel was being driven into his skull.

Isabelle looked pale but focused. "The collapse will hold him for hours. That was thousands of tons of rock. Even a 5th Order shouldn't…"

CRUMBLE. CRUMBLE.

The sound was not a muffled rumble; it was a clear, sharp sound travelling through the rock walls of the canyon. It sounded like a dog digging a hole.

Damien's heart dropped. He looked at Lyra, whose eyes were wide with disbelief as she stared at the back wall of the canyon on the map.

"No way," Lyra whispered. "He's using his Aura like a geothermal drill. He's vaporizing the rock."

A Roar of Pure Fury

BOOM!

The sound that followed was the detonation of a mountain. A colossal wave of brown, dust-filled air shot through the canyon like a cannon blast, knocking the carriage sideways and lifting the Spirit Stags clean off the ground.

"Hold on!" Damien screamed, slamming his back against the seat, clutching Leona's good arm to anchor her.

The blast passed, and the carriage slammed back onto the ground, bouncing violently.

And then, the light.

Up ahead, far down the winding path they had just traversed, a harsh, malevolent orange glare appeared. It wasn't the sun. It was the torches of the Slaver King.

But Baelor wasn't just riding; he was flying.

The Steel-Scaled Rhino's massive body was encased in a shell of brilliant brown Intent-Aura. The 4th-Order beast had been transformed into a living, armored projectile, tearing through the canyon floor at a speed that defied its size. It was a terrifying, irresistible sight.

"He's found a way to use his Intent to accelerate the rhino! It's too heavy for the canyon walls to hold him back!" Isabelle shrieked, pressing her hands against her ears to block the sound of Baelor's renewed, wrathful roar.

"Lyra!" Damien yelled, forcing his Will to steady. "Faster! They're gaining!"

Lyra's control over the Spirit Stags was superhuman, but even she couldn't squeeze more speed out of the magical creatures. They were already giving their very essence just to maintain their current, desperate pace.

"I'm at their limit, Damien! We'll lose them to exhaustion if I push them harder!"

Damien looked at the map. They were cornered. He glanced at the side window; they were nearing the canyon exit, where the road opened up to the plains.

The carriage shot out of the canyon mouth, skidding hard onto the open ground.

"Now, Lyra! Push! Push the Stags past their limit, now!" Damien ordered.

Lyra screamed in effort, pouring a torrent of Phantom Wind into the exhausted beasts. They surged forward for a final, glorious burst of speed.

But Baelor was already out.

BOOM!

The Slaver King and his rhino shot out of the canyon like a cannonball, covering the ground Damien's team needed minutes to cross in mere seconds.

Baelor didn't even slow down to attack. He simply projected his raw, overwhelming Intent.

The psychic weight slammed into the carriage.

CLANK. CLANK.

The Spirit Stags, already running on borrowed time, collapsed instantly, their legs folding beneath them as their fear was amplified a thousand times. They hit the dirt, sliding the damaged carriage to a dead stop.

"NO!" Isabelle shrieked as the carriage skidded to a complete halt, throwing them forward.

Baelor didn't use his warhammer. He simply pointed a finger at the immobile carriage, his face twisted in a snarl of pure, humiliated rage.

"You think rocks stop a King?! You belong to ME!"

The psychic weight doubled. Leona gasped, slamming her hand against her injured arm. "He's too fast! We're pinned!"

Damien gritted his teeth, feeling the pressure crushing his Dual-Core. He had spent every ounce of his Will to survive the pursuit, and now he was completely empty.

He looked at the collapsed Spirit Stags, then at the Slaver King closing the distance, less than fifty meters now.

Running is suicide. Fighting is oblivion.

"Damn it!" Damien cursed under his breath. He reached into his shirt, pulling out the silver necklace his mother had given him, the Voss Shadow Medallion.

"We run out of tricks," Damien said, his voice cold with desperation. He forced himself to stand. "Lyra, Leona, Isabelle! Get close! NOW!"

Baelor laughed, the sound booming through the plains. "Too late, little rats! Your escape ends—"

Lyra, Isabelle, and Leona threw themselves at Damien, grabbing his armor, his cloak, and his arms.

Damien slammed the black gem at the center of the medallion with the hilt of his dagger. "Teleport!"

VWOOM!

The black carriage, the Spirit Stags, and the four figures vanished instantly, dissolving into a shadow that was no longer there.

Baelor stopped dead where they had been moments before. He looked at the empty, smoking road. He searched the air, his eyes glowing furiously with Intent.

His chest heaved. He realized they had edcaped. "A spatial artifact!"

He raised his massive war hammer, slamming it against the ground where the carriage had been with a scream of absolute, blinding fury.

BOOM! CRACK!

"RAT! I WILL HAVE YOUR HEAD!" The Slaver King's roar, echoing across the plains, was a promise of terrifying vengeance.

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