The ambush began the moment Minus stepped into the valley.
A whisper of steel. A flicker of movement in the shadows.
Then—death.
The first Shadow Warrior lunged from the ruins, blade aimed for her spine. Minus didn't turn. She didn't need to. A pulse of magic shattered the air, warping space itself. The assassin's blade crumbled in his grip before his body was flung backward, colliding with the remains of a stone pillar.
Silence.
Then, the valley erupted.
Dozens more emerged from the ruins, their daggers glinting with enchanted runes meant to sever mana flow. Spells followed, streaking through the air like falling stars—binding hexes, piercing blasts, sealing formations designed to lock her in place.
Minus moved.
A step to the left, and a dagger whistled past her ear. A flick of her wrist, and light coalesced in her palm. A staff took shape—woven from pure mana, flickering between tangible and ethereal. A weapon forged from her own magic, an extension of her will.
She did not flee. She attacked.
Lightning crackled along the length of the staff as she spun it, deflecting an incoming spell before shattering the ribs of the warrior who had thrown it. The Special Forces countered immediately, launching spells in perfect unison. The ground exploded beneath her feet, stone spikes erupting from below. Chains of light snapped toward her wrists.
She crushed them with a thought.
Their coordination was flawless. Their preparation was meticulous. But they had made one fatal error—
They thought she could be overwhelmed.
A wave of golden light burst from her core, twisting like a living thing. It swallowed their spells whole, turning their own mana against them. Mages staggered back, their incantations unraveling. The Shadow Warriors faltered, suddenly caught in the open.
Minus did not hesitate.
In a breath, she was upon them. Her staff crackled with condensed mana as she struck, raw energy lashing out like a whip, breaking bones and shattering enchanted armor. She moved like a storm, weaving through her enemies, her weapon flickering between solid and spectral as she wielded it with precision.
One by one, they fell.
And then—
The air shifted.
A new presence. One that did not belong to the fallen warriors or the scattered mages.
A blade slashed toward her from behind. Faster. Stronger.
She barely turned in time.
Steel met mana, ringing through the valley like a death knell. Sparks of raw energy flew between them as Minus locked eyes with the man who had nearly taken her head.
Lowe.
He did not speak. He did not gloat.
He simply attacked.
Their weapons clashed again, his relentless precision meeting her fluid agility. His strikes were calculated, methodical—each one designed to force her into a losing position. Unlike the Special Forces, unlike the assassins, he did not hesitate.
Minus parried with her staff, then retaliated, unleashing a concentrated burst of magic. The ground trembled as golden energy shot toward him.
Lowe did not evade.
He slashed through it.
The enchanted edge of his sword—crafted to sever magic itself—cut cleanly through the attack, dispersing the energy before it could reach him.
Minus narrowed her eyes.
Problematic.
Lowe pressed forward, forcing her back with a flurry of strikes. His sword nearly found her throat—twice. A lesser mage would have been overwhelmed.
But Minus was not lesser.
She deflected a downward strike with the shaft of her staff, then shifted her weight, twisting out of his reach. A calculated retreat. Her mind worked quickly, analyzing his movements, his patterns. He was dangerous, but she had fought worse.
And yet—
Something's wrong.
She took another step back, preparing to counter—
And then she felt it.
The valley itself trembled. A sudden, crushing pressure filled the air.
Magic.
Not hers.
The Special Forces were preparing something—something massive.
Minus had no time to think. No time to confirm. Only time to move.
She leapt back, breaking away from Lowe just as the valley erupted in blinding light.
A spell detonated where she had stood moments ago. A sealing formation, layered upon itself a hundred times over. Had she been a second slower, she would have been caged.
Lowe's expression did not change, but he did not pursue.
She had survived. But they had forced her hand.
She couldn't stay here.
She turned, vanishing into the storm just as the ruins collapsed behind her.
Lowe watched her go, his grip on his sword unwavering. He had tested her. Measured her.
Now, the real hunt began.
He would chase her into the city. And there—
He would finish this.