The night had become as bright as day, lit by the searing flames erupting from the fiery figure of Bravae. More Braunian soldiers flooded from the castle, while reinforcements stationed in the nearby town sprinted toward the moat.
"Get the artillery and the larger explosives— we cannot let him undermine us!" Shouted a senior officer standing atop a balcony, flanked by his subordinates. He watched grimly as the situation unraveled before their eyes. Bravae was charging full speed into the lines of rifle-bearing troops.
With every blazing slash of his sword, at least fifteen soldiers fell.
They attempted to encircle him, hoping to blindside him—but Bravae leapt high into the air, crashing down into their midst and releasing a devastating surge of thermal energy. Panic spread like wildfire as soldiers scrambled away to avoid being incinerated.
Artillery pieces were now being positioned on castle vantage points.
"Dispatch the Turtle Shells!" the officer barked.
A brigade of specialized soldiers responded, launching a barrage of explosive devices. The air was filled with smoke and fire as the shells detonated—slowing Bravae but failing to stop him. He emerged from the inferno, scorched but unstoppable.
Back on the battlefield, Merab had regained her footing, though Amintoro still lay wounded, groaning softly from the shot he'd taken.
"Bravae! Calm down—you're going to burn yourself out!" she cried, but there was no response.
He couldn't hear her. The sword's spirit had taken control—its power overriding his conscious will.
"Bravae! You have to control yourself, or you'll destroy us all!" she screamed again, desperation lacing her voice.
But her cries were cut short.
A sudden whirring of cables filled the air, followed by a heavy thud as a dark figure landed on a rock overlooking the battlefield— Sir Brian.
His black armor gleamed, and his long hair remained somehow flawless despite the chaos.
He surveyed the scene below with sharp eyes. The artillery was ready to fire, but he raised one hand.
A silent command.
The Braunian troops immediately stood down, rallying behind him as though the tide had turned with his arrival.
Now, the battlefield cleared.
It was a standoff.
Sir Brian vs. Bravae.
"I've been waiting for this day since I was born," Sir Brian said, his voice low but clear.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small glass bottle filled with a glowing, pale blue liquid. He uncorked it and drank it in one gulp, then tossed the bottle aside. Next, he unclipped the helmet strapped to his back and placed it on his head. It expanded, locking over his skull and neck with a mechanical hiss, fusing with his armor.
A thunderous cheer erupted from the Braunian ranks.
Bravae's gaze now fixed on him.
The fiery warrior raised the orange-blazing sword and launched forward, moving faster than any human should be able to.
Sir Brian fired a cable to a nearby tree and swung forward with staggering speed. Bravae hurled another blast of fire and heat toward him.
In midair, Sir Brian's helmet shifted— unfolding like an umbrella. He twisted his body, spinning like a bullet. The spin generated enough wind and velocity to cut straight through the flames unharmed.
The cable detached as he launched from the swing, and mid-flight, he drew his firearm. With expert precision, he fired a barrage of shots directly at Bravae's head.
The bullets struck, sending Bravae flying backward several feet.
Sir Brian hit the ground in a barrel roll, absorbing the impact.
The attack had knocked Bravae down— but not out. He rose from the crater, still burning, still powerful, not even scratched beneath the fire.
With a roar, he charged again.
Sir Brian swung upward into the trees, cables flying, spraying more bullets at the living inferno that chased him.
Meanwhile, Merab dragged Amintoro toward the shade of the trees. Moments later, Orvae emerged from the forest, limping but alive.
"Wow…" he whispered, staring at the field of half-burned, bloodied soldiers surrounding the moat. The carnage Bravae had unleashed was impossible to miss.
"I guess the sword finally responded," he said with a shaky smile.
"We need to get out of here," Merab said, panting. "Bravae's not holding back! He'll burn through his energy soon if this keeps up. And worse… I don't think he's in control. If we get too close, he might hurt us without even realizing it."
"So what do we do?" Orvae asked, eyes wide as the battle raged on in front of them.
"I don't know," Merab replied, her voice weak. "I only have a little energy left, and I want to save that for a teleportation spell to get us out of here."
She watched as Bravae and Sir Brian clashed— flames, bullets, and chaos erupting between them.
Amintoro coughed from where he lay against the tree.
"Granddad!" Orvae rushed to his side.
"Orvae… what are you doing here?" the old man rasped, barely above a whisper.
"Hang on—we're going to be fine. I'll get you help soon," Orvae said, trying to sound braver than he felt.
The old man gave a weak laugh and shook his head. "You've always been full of surprises. I knew you were going to be trouble the day you were born."
Orvae smiled and squeezed his grandfather's hand.
Merab sighed, glancing between the fight and her dwindling magic. She didn't know what to do. The battle had become a deadly game of cat and mouse. Bravae attacking relentlessly, Sir Brian evading every blow with inhuman agility. He perched briefly in a tree, then launched forward again as other soldiers rained bullets and explosives down on Bravae.
The blasts only staggered him briefly.
Then Sir Brian made a critical mistake. He let go of his cable too soon. Bravae spun around, unleashing a sharp, concentrated wave of flame. It struck Brian midair, sending him crashing to the ground.
Bravae charged forward to finish him, flames roaring, but with sheer determination, Sir Brian fired a cable at the last second and pulled himself away from the deathblow.
He landed awkwardly on the balcony, where the senior officer had been shouting orders.
"Artillery! Artillery now!" Brian yelled, gasping for breath.
The officer nodded and barked commands. A volley of shells and gunfire slammed into Bravae in unison, releasing shockwaves and flame that launched him backward across the battlefield.
He tried to rise— but the fire within him had dimmed.
The once-blazing orange sword now flickered, dull and fading.
Bravae could no longer stand.
"He's down! Advance—but move in cautiously!" yelled a frontline officer.
"Bravae is down…" Orvae whispered in disbelief.
"His energy is drained— he can't fight anymore," Merab said urgently. "You need to go get him. Bring him here. I'll start the teleportation spell."
Orvae nodded and bolted toward the field where Bravae lay, seventy meters away.
The Braunian soldiers began to advance too, cautiously avoiding the flames still licking the earth.
Orvae sprinted, dodging smoking debris and half-burned corpses. When he reached Bravae, he found him nearly naked— his clothes burned to ash, only singed underwear clinging to him.
"Bravae, we've got to go!" Orvae shouted.
Bravae gave a faint nod, trying to rise.
Orvae helped him up. "Let's go! No time!"
Bravae staggered forward, dragging the sword behind him.
But he hadn't gone far before he collapsed again.
"Ah, curse me," Orvae muttered, ducking as bullets whizzed past his head.
He scrambled back to Bravae's side, took off his own shirt, and wrapped it around the hot blade as best he could. Then, with a grunt, he lifted Bravae onto his shoulders and clutched the sword with one arm.
The weight dragged at him, each step a struggle. The sound of marching boots and shouting soldiers grew louder behind him.
He ran.
He could hear the bullets cutting through the air, tearing past him. The ground shook beneath his feet.
But then, he saw her.
Merab, standing in a small clearing. One hand clutched Amintoro's, the other spinning in circles as she whispered her incantation, eyes shut tight.
Almost there.
A shot rang out —crack!— a bullet tore through Orvae's thigh. He cried out but didn't stop. The adrenaline pushed him forward.
Just a few more steps.
He reached Merab and grabbed her arm.
In that final instant, he looked back at the battlefield one last time, soldiers closing in, rifles raised.
Whoosh.
In a flash of wind and light, the world shifted.
They were no longer standing in front of a burning castle.
They were at the foot of a quiet, serene mountain.
Orvae collapsed into the soft grass, bloodied and shaking.
So did Merab.
They had survived the fiercest onslaught of their lives.