II.

  The sound of footsteps cuts through the empty hall for several seconds before stopping abruptly. A red dress sways against a woman's silhouette, the rustling fabric echoing through an unexpected silence. Her wide, dark eyes are fully open; her thin red lips parted as she takes quick, shallow breaths. The clicking of her heels is irritating, but not nearly as unsettling as the silence.

  When she stops, she expects signs of pursuit, so she keeps her eyes fixed on the door. The spacious, elegant hall stretches around her, waiting for a party that will never begin—like those her parents hosted in her childhood's golden age, before the first battle. When things were different. Days of peace in a world now distant.

  After a moment, she straightens her posture and inhales deeply, slowly seeking composure. Her long red hair cascades down her back, occasionally lifted by the breeze drifting through the windows. Sweat glistens on her neck where a golden chain rests, bearing a hexagonal red stone that rises and falls with her chest. Then—a footstep shatters the silence.

  "Tired of running?" asks a voice from the corridor's shadows. Two spherical green flames ignite in the darkness.

  "I thought I'd try a different approach."

  A man steps slowly into the light, revealing a vicious grin. His square jaw juts forward as he moves with deliberate heaviness, as if taking root with each step. Dressed in a tuxedo with bowtie, he looks ready for a high-society event. His laughter echoes through the hall—a guttural, unsettling sound.

  The woman scans the empty hall in vain.

  "Victoria!" he calls. She meets his gaze. "So you're the family's bearer now?"

  Her fists clench. She can't let fear take hold. Posture straight. Chin up. Voice steady.

  "You seem to be a bearer yourself."

  The green eyes flare. He tugs at his bowtie, revealing an aged yellow cord around his neck—from which hangs a hexagonal white stone.

  "I need yours." He points to her pendant. "And the others too."

  "You'll get nothing from me."

  He steps forward. She steps back.

  "I don't need you to give it. Don't fool yourself." He spreads his arms. "No one's coming. Your family is in ruins. I am the new order. And you? Just a minor obstacle."

  "None of those you defeated were at full strength."

  "Ah, because they didn’t have their powers?" Another step forward. "Does that make my victories any less real? Or are you making excuses because I killed your husband?"

  Her body stiffens. He takes another step.

  "I killed your brother. Left your sister bleeding out—she'll likely die by morning. And let's not forget your father—the first target. Wasn't he a bearer too? Your teacher?" He plays with the white stone. "This was his. Now—"

  "Shut up! Don't speak of my father!" She shakes her head violently. "Don't talk about my brothers! Don't mention my husband!"

  "Why?" Another step. "Your husband was your father's lapdog. Your brothers were no better. And your father... Wasn't he the one who caused all this?"

  She doesn't respond.

  "I built a mountain of corpses to get here - not because your father was a good man."

  "I don't care about your quarrel with my father. You killed people who had nothing to do with his actions. You came after me knowing I bore no responsibility for what he did. You tried to—" She struggles to continue. "My daughters—"

  "I know exactly what I've done. And what I'll do next. Actually, it is good that you mentioned your girls. They're next. Sending them away was smart. But, eventually, someone will let something slip. Are they still in London? No, you wouldn't keep them so close. Somewhere else in Europe? Or did you ship them off to America? Asia perhaps?"

  She fights to keep her face expressionless, though turmoil churns within. He doesn't want information - the stone is his true objective. Yet his threat to her daughters remains. A battle is inevitable.

  After a slight shake of her head to refocus, she takes a deliberate step forward. Her red lips slowly opens.

  "What do you intend to do with all the stones?"

  He doesn't smile. The green flames that pass for eyes burn in his shadowed face.

  "It’s simple, really. I'll hunt down everyone connected to your family. Every person who was ever associated with that old man. Then, when no one remembers he ever existed..." The corner of his mouth twitches upward. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Wouldn't want to seem overconfident."

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  His tone is mocking, but Victoria sees the abyss in his eyes - a darkness deeper than anything she's witnessed in her lifetime as the stone's guardian. He steps forward, confident. In her mind, a crimson light flares: Attack. He's coming for her daughters. No matter how they train, they won't be ready when he arrives.

  One decisive step forward - her transformed expression speaks volumes. Alert, he leans into her attack. At two meters distance, his hand shoots out.

  Victoria pivots right, evading his palm as her left arm arcs upward in a fluid motion. The man looks down to find a thirty-centimeter spike protruding from the floor, through his foot.

  After only a second's pause, he yanks free and continues walking as if unfazed.

  "This is your power? Matter creation?"

  Victoria masks her surprise at his immediate comprehension. From her position, the red stone at his chest seems to pulse - making those unnatural green eyes glow brighter.

  "How poetic that I'd be your opponent. Still, I expected you'd be stronger."

  She steps forward again, and he retreats, anticipating another attack. Victoria feels her body begging for rest. The fighting started early, and her strength nears its limit. In better times she'd have energy to spare - but those days are years past.

  "You seem weak." The man kicks the spike with his injured foot, shattering it. Victoria sees the centimeter-wide hole straight through his limb. "You targeted the weakest point in my foot, the cartilage. At full strength, you'd have gone for my chest. And distance appears to be another limitation for you."

  She charges toward him. She can't give him time to think. At one meter's distance, she extends her hand. He dodges, and she opens her palm. A small wooden staff materializes, which she grips as she plants her feet. Using both arms for momentum, she swings with enough force to snap the staff across his shoulder. The impact disrupts his posture, causing his hand to veer off-target.

  Victoria wonders about his intent when a sudden discomfort comes from her leg. The staff clatters to the ground as her body collapses leftward. Seeking support, she realizes her leg isn't where it should be. Her body hits the floor just as she sees her right leg flung in the opposite direction. A second later, she registers her knee—or what remains of it. In its place: blood, torn flesh, exposed muscle, and the ghastly interior of a severed limb.

  The pain arrives a heartbeat later, and Victoria can do nothing but scream—an excruciating wail of agony and horrified comprehension. Blood pumps from her leg. Her head falls back, but her desperate eyes still seek the man with flaming green eyes.

  Conserving energy or strategizing no longer matters.

  Victoria screams, chokes down the pain, and thrusts out her hand. He senses the air shifting and leaps back with unnatural speed. Spike after spike erupts from the ground beneath him but finds only empty air. She curses her inability to guide the spikes after creation—forced to predict his movements instead. His speed defies anticipation. When he extends his hand, several spikes vanish as soon as they pierce the surface.

  Within seconds, her vision darkens. Strength ebbs. The weight of impending defeat crushes her as escape becomes impossible. Her mind races but finds no solutions.

  He reaches out. No need to predict the outcome—she knows she can't evade. Victoria raises a feeble hand. The searing pain scatters her focus.

  He closes the distance before she can react, taking deliberate aim at her arm. In an instant, her right elbow ceases to exist. She lacks even the strength to scream, emitting only faint, agonized whimpers. He stoops to collect the severed forearm from the blood-slick floor—now drenched from the twin geysers at her leg and arm.

  "Ah... Had times been different." His tone carries a mocking lilt. "I heard you were once the strongest—that your father never limited your potential. Now you're a shadow of what you could've been. No threat to me."

  She doesn't respond. The woman on the floor feels her body failing. She regrets nothing of the path that led her here. With a final effort, she rolls onto her back to face him squarely. Her daughters are far away. He's still here, preoccupied with her. They'll be safe. They'll have time. They'll have a choice—to fight or flee. Unlike her own past. They escaped. This is her sole comfort: that, perhaps, she gave them the freedom her father denied her.

  Now, only the end remains. She looks down at her ruined body. A mess. And to think such a beautiful dress had to be stained with blood...

  He keeps speaking, but she no longer hears. Something about revenge and her father. She doesn't have time to wait.

  With a final effort, Victoria raises her hand. A wooden spike erupts from the center of his stomach. Stunned, he looks down before his knees buckle, collapsing onto the stone floor.

  "But wh—" he groans.

  She smiles as her arm drops. He trusted too much in his predictive abilities—underestimated her for just one moment. Just long enough for this final move before her face falls against the floor. Before one last sigh escapes her red lips.

  The man slowly rises after gripping and dissolving the wooden spike. He staggers to his feet, disbelief written across his face. Step by step, he approaches Victoria, initially refusing to believe it's truly over. When he finally accepts she can do no more, he grabs the golden chain from her neck and yanks it free in one sharp motion.

  A whistle sounds behind him.

  "That must've hurt." The green-eyed man turns to see a boy leaning against the doorframe.

  "She'll fix this for me."

  "Perhaps. Under different circumstances, I'd ask her to dispose of you. But you've secured the second stone, so our alliance holds... for now."

  The green-eyed man collapses to his knees.

  "She's coming," the boy says. "But you'll have to endure a while longer."

  "I still have unfinished business with this family."

  "We know. We wouldn't have made a deal if we thought you'd be easily satisfied. Now give me the stone."

  "I thought this was meant for the boss."

  "You're not wrong. I'll be responsible for another one when the time comes. Still, I'd rather keep this stone safe until she arrives."

  "Don't you trust me?" The man's voice is weak as he feels his body failing.

  "I don't trust anyone. But that’s not important. I want the stone because in your current state you can't even protect yourself. I'm in better condition."

  Silence falls between them, thick with tension as the two lock eyes. The silence is broken only by the sound of the stone being tossed toward the boy.

  "One part of our deal remains before my role ends."

  "Don't worry. We'll find the girls. The plan proceeds as arranged. You'll have your vengeance... and our time will come."

  *