Drops flew toward Jester as he picked up his pace, his movements swift and precise. With West no longer the center of Reemor's attention, Jester seized the opportunity to charge.
He dodged the incoming drops with ease, his agility making the smaller ones seem almost trivial to avoid. Each step was calculated, each movement fluid, as if he were dancing through the barrage of glass-like spheres.
Reemor's eyes narrowed. He couldn't afford to waste any more time with this newcomer. Jester's speed was a problem, and Reemor needed to end this quickly.
"Multi-Cast: Drops," Reemor muttered, summoning a flurry of smaller spheres to intercept Jester's advance. But the 10th Farkin was faster. He weaved through the onslaught, his movements almost a blur, closing the distance between them with alarming speed.
Jester lunged forward, his blade aimed straight for Reemor's chest. Reemor reacted instantly, summoning a large drop to block the attack. The sphere materialized just in time, deflecting the blade with a sharp clang. Jester didn't falter. He struck again, and again, each attack faster than the last.
But no matter how quickly Jester moved, the drops Reemor summoned for defense were faster. They intercepted every strike, their glass-like surfaces absorbing the impact and protecting their master. Jester gritted his teeth, frustration creeping into his expression.
"Tch, how annoying," he muttered, leaping back to reassess his strategy.
From the sidelines, West watched the battle unfold, his breathing labored and his body wracked with pain. Despite his injuries, he shouted advice to his comrade. "Jester! Don't let him control the pace! He's using the drops to predict your movements—break the pattern!"
Jester nodded, his eyes narrowing as he adjusted his stance. He darted forward once more, this time feinting to the left before striking from the right. Reemor's drops intercepted again, but Jester was relentless. He pressed the attack, forcing Reemor to focus entirely on defense.
For a moment, it seemed like Jester might break through. His speed was unmatched, and his relentless assault forced Reemor to focus entirely on defense.
Jester feinted left, then darted right, his blade slicing through the air with precision. Reemor summoned another drop to block the attack, but Jester was already moving again, his movements a blur. He struck from above, below, and every angle in between, each attack faster than the last.
"You're quick, I'll give you that," Reemor muttered, his voice calm. "But speed alone won't be enough."
Jester smirked, leaping back to catch his breath. "We'll see about that, elf. You're not the only one with tricks up your sleeve."
This time, Jester changed his approach. Instead of attacking head-on, he began circling Reemor, his movements erratic and unpredictable. He darted in and out, testing Reemor's defenses and looking for an opening.
Reemor responded by summoning more drops, creating a swirling barrier of glass-like spheres around him. The smaller drops orbited him like a shield, while the larger ones hovered menacingly, ready to strike at a moment's notice.
Jester's smirk faded as he realized the complexity of Reemor's defense. "Tch, this is getting more annoying," he muttered, dodging another volley of smaller drops. "How many of these things can you make?"
"Plenty," Reemor replied simply, his voice cold and steady.
The battle continued, each combatant pushing the other to their limits. Jester's speed was a formidable weapon, but Reemor's drops were faster, intercepting every strike and forcing Jester to rethink his strategy.
West, still leaning against a tree, watched the fight with growing frustration. "Jester, stop playing around! He's not going to tire out—you need to end this now!"
Jester shot West an irritated glance. "I'm working on it! This guy's not exactly an easy target, you know!"
Reemor seized the momentary distraction, launching a large drop toward Jester. The sphere hurtled through the air, forcing Jester to dive to the side. He rolled to his feet, his expression darkening.
"Alright, elf," Jester said, his tone serious now. "You've got my full attention."
Just as it seemed Jester was going to begin another volley of attacks, a deep, rumbling voice cut through the stillness.
"Enough playing around!" A commanding voice shouted.
The ground shook as a massive figure emerged from the trees, his presence commanding immediate attention. In his hands was a spiked war hammer, its head nearly the size of a boulder. His armor was heavy and imposing, and his eyes burned with a fierce intensity.
It was Puropho, the Second Farkin.
West's eyes widened, a mix of relief and apprehension crossing his face. "Puropho… I'm glad you showed up."
Jester smirked, taking a step back to give the newcomer space. "Took you long enough. I was starting to think you'd miss the fun."
Puropho ignored the quip, his gaze locked on Reemor. The massive war hammer rested effortlessly on his shoulder, its spiked head gleaming in the fading light. "You've caused enough trouble, elf," he growled, his voice like grinding stone. "Let's see how your little glass balls handle this."
Reemor closed his eyes for a brief moment, exhaling slowly through his nose. The weight of the situation settled upon him - three skilled warriors, each dangerous in their own way, and now working in concert against him. While Puropho's brute strength was formidable on its own, the real threat lay in the combination of his power and Jester's blinding speed. West might be wounded, but his tactical mind still posed a danger.
Dropping into a crouch, Reemor pressed his palm against the cold ground. "Frozen Lake," he murmured.
The effect was immediate. A crystalline wave of ice radiated outward from his touch, transforming the battlefield in an instant. The ground became a shimmering mirror, the trees glistening with frost. The ice wasn't thick enough to hinder movement completely, but just sufficient to create treacherous footing - a calculated move to neutralize Jester's greatest advantage.
West gasped as the creeping frost reached him, his bloodied hand freezing to the ground where he'd been bracing himself. He grimaced but remained silent, watching the confrontation unfold through pain-narrowed eyes.
Puropho looked down at the ice coating his armored boots and chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. "Hmm," he mused, hefting his war hammer with both hands, "I was expecting you to be more than just a one-trick pony."
With a roar, the massive warrior swung his hammer downward in a devastating arc. The impact sent shockwaves through the frozen terrain, the concussive force spiderwebbing cracks through the ice in all directions. Shards of frozen dirt erupted into the air like crystalline shrapnel.
Jester, already moving, used the disruption to his advantage. He danced across the fractured ice.
Reemor's fingers twitched in response, redirecting the scattered drops across the battlefield with terrifying precision. A volley of medium-sized spheres - each the size of a knight's shield - launched at Puropho while the smaller faster ones were directed at Jester.
Puropho reacted with brute force, his massive war hammer singing through the air as he batted away the incoming drops. Each collision sent shockwaves up his arms, the vibrations making his teeth rattle. "What the-?" he growled through gritted teeth, his joking tone belying the strain in his corded muscles. "These things are really hard!"
The physics defied reason - swinging his hammer at the drops was like trying to knock aside boulders with a wooden staff. Yet through sheer strength, Puropho managed to deflect them, sending them careening off course though failing to shatter them completely.
Jester meanwhile flowed between the attacks, his body contorting mid-air to avoid the deadly spheres. But Reemor's attention fractured when an ground-shaking crash rolled across the battlefield - louder than any previous ones, the concussion making the very air tremble.
"That," Jester panted between evasions, his voice dripping with malicious glee, "is the sound of your walls crumbling down. Listen close enough, you big eared biped, and you might hear your people screaming." He landed lightly on an ice shard, grinning. "Pity you'll never see them again."
Reemor's face underwent a terrifying transformation. His usually composed features twisted into something primal - eyebrows arching sharply, lips peeling back from clenched teeth, every muscle in his face taut with rage. The air around him seemed to vibrate with barely-contained power.
The two Farkin closed the distance rapidly, now just a meter away with weapons raised. Jester's blades flashed while Puropho's hammer descended in a killing arc-
CLANG!
A deafening metallic shriek echoed across the battlefield as a massive drop materialized around Reemor, perfectly spherical and utterly impenetrable. Both attacks rebounded violently, the force sending shockwaves through the warriors' arms.
Inside this glass-like cocoon, Reemor's voice emerged distorted and hollow: "Summon... Colossal Drop."
The very atmosphere changed. Sunlight fractured through a suddenly-appearing sphere in the sky - a floating monolith of condensed magic so vast it dwarfed the surrounding trees. The shadow it cast plunged the battlefield into twilight, the air pressure dropping precipitously as the impossible weight above them began its inevitable descent.
Jester's smirk died. Puropho's hammer slipped slightly in his grip. Even West's pained breathing stopped as all eyes turned upward.
There would be no outrunning this. No blocking. Only annihilation.
—
A thick plume of acrid smoke curled from the barrel of the siege weapon as its final projectile found its mark. The devastating shot struck true, collapsing what remained of Emphium's once-imposing gates in an eruption of shattered stone and splintered wood. Cheers erupted from the human soldiers as dust clouds billowed over the battlefield, their victory cries mingling with the distant screams of the dying.
Through the settling debris, the full horror of the city's fall became visible. The legendary everleaf trees - those impossible giants that had stood verdant through every season - now lay broken and burning. Their hollowed trunks, which had housed generations of elven families, gaped like open wounds in the twilight. The city's white walls, once gleaming like pearls between the emerald canopy, were now smeared with dark streaks of soot and blood.
Ameria's stomach convulsed as she doubled over against the scorched bark of an Everleaf tree. Bile burned her throat as she retched, her trembling hands barely able to steady herself against the tree's blistered surface.
Estelar's arm settled over her shoulders like a featherweight chainmail - meant to comfort but only serving as a reminder of their shared burden. "It's okay," he murmured, the lie tasting as bitter as the smoke on his tongue. His eyes tracked a group of human soldiers laughing as they overturned an elven cooking cauldron, its contents spilling across blood-soaked dirt in a grotesque parody of their last meal.
Nearby, a human officer casually wiped his blade clean on the embroidered curtains of a child's tree-nest home. The casual brutality of it all made Estelar's jaw clench. "If they demolished a city like this in their wake," he whispered, more to himself than Ameria, "I dread what they'd do to the capital. I've never considered myself a patriot or biased for my race, but this... this is beyond a rescue or revenge mission. This is hate."
Fregran's approach was marked by the crunch of broken branches underfoot.
"Estelar," he asked softly, "how is she?" His gaze flickered to where Ameria was now leaning heavily against the tree, her breathing shallow.
"Ah, she's..." Estelar swallowed hard, adjusting the grip on her shoulder. "She's getting better. But if she keeps being exposed to this..." His gesture encompassed the smoldering ruins, the bodies being piled like firewood, the humans methodically looting what remained of homes. "She needs proper rest at the campsite."
Fregran nodded.
"That sounds wise. Take her beyond the walls - what's left of them anyway." His voice dropped lower. "Neither of you need to witness... the cleanup."
The unspoken meaning hung between them. This wasn't just about Ameria's physical condition. The psychological toll of watching their culture being dismantled brick by brick, leaf by leaf, was another kind of wound entirely.
Estelar carefully wrapped Ameria's arm around his shoulders, his other hand finding her waist. As they picked their way through the devastation, Ameria's breath hitched at the sight of a broken elven lyre, its strings snapped like so many lives.
Estelar tightened his grip and quickened their pace toward the gaping hole where Emphium's grand gates once stood.
Fregran watched them go, his exhale stirring the ash settling on his armor. His eyes lifted towards the west sky.
Somewhere beyond that horizon lay Eethemor, the capial of Minrow. The thought of what fresh horrors awaited there made his bones ache with a new kind of dread.