Marcus sprinted through burning tents with sixth-level speed, earth cratering under each enhanced stride. Survival instinct overrode pride - thirty years of battlefield experience screamed that regrouping offered his only chance.
Kael's staff flared. "Blink." Spatial distortion carried him directly into Marcus's escape path. "Fiery Prison!" Crimson flames erupted around the fleeing warlord before he could pivot, molten chains anchoring him momentarily.
"Serpent's Bite!" Marcus's counter came snarling through clenched teeth. Sixth-level battle energy condensed into viper fangs that slit through the flames. Charred but unbowed, he surged forward again - only to meet winter's embrace.
Amelia descended like avalanche given form. Her blade traced glowing sigils mid-air, glacial battle energy weaving a crackling lattice. "Frostweb." The containment field slammed downward, ice crystals blooming across Marcus's armor. Every thrash against the energy net deepened frostbite creeping up his limbs.
Kael pressed the advantage. Three Fiery Prisons erupted in staggered formation, their overlapping heat melting Amelia's ice into scalding mist. Marcus's roar of pain echoed through the battlefield as boiling vapor seared his lungs.
"Finish it." Amelia's command held glacial finality. She maintained Frostweb's crushing pressure while Kael's staff gathered swirling hellfire. The White Bear leader's thrashing weakened, sixth-level reserves dwindling under dual elemental onslaught.
Marcus's eyes darted between his captors, decades of cunning seeking nonexistent openings. Combat instincts honed through countless battles confirmed the grim truth - these young predators had outmaneuvered him completely. Survival now hinged on desperate measures.
Marcus's body became a canvas of carnage - sword gashes crosshatched his torso, deepest cuts exposing glimpses of ribcage. The Frostweb's collapse had bought precious seconds. As Kael's Flame Demon's Hand descended, the warlord made his gamble.
Sixth-level battle energy condensed to monomolecular edge. A scream tore from Marcus's throat as he severed his own flaming left arm at the shoulder. Blood geysered, instantly cauterized by lingering hellfire.
"Phantom Overlap!" The forbidden technique flooded his veins with corrosive energy. Veins bulged black beneath ashen skin, pupils dilating to consume the iris. Three ghostly afterimages split from his body, each darting in different directions while the original became blurred smudge.
Even Amelia's enhanced perception barely tracked the escape. Marcus's remaining hand left blood trails on tree trunks as he ricocheted through the forest, speed tripling through sheer physiological ruin.
"Damnation! He got away!" Finn's greatsword embedded itself in the earth, frustration radiating off him in waves.
Amelia studied the smoldering arm stump. "Sacrificial acceleration art. Burns life essence as fuel." Her boot nudged the cauterized limb, frost crystals forming on its surface. "He'll need years to recover - if the backlash doesn't kill him first."
Kael leaned heavily on his staff, magic reserves scraping bottom. The charred path of Marcus's escape told its own story - splintered trees, blood-spattered stones, and the acrid stench of self-immolated potential. A cornered viper always strikes hardest, but even vipers eventually exhaust their venom.
Marcus's escape left bitter aftertaste, but practicalities demanded attention. "Secure the camp first," Kael declared, Earthflame Staff still glowing faintly.
The battlefield told its own story of collapse - White Bear banners trampled into mud, mercenaries dropping weapons with metallic clatter. Amelia's glacial gaze swept over captives. "Their leader's maimed. Without Marcus, they're toothless."
Samuel's baritone cut through the groans of wounded. "Hear this! Your warlord abandoned you with severed arm!" The Blue Rose commander strode through surrendering ranks, boots crunching spent arrows. "Lay down arms, and I'll spare those who fought honorably!"
Kael observed the psychology at work - first mercenary to drop sword triggered domino effect. Within minutes, forty-three survivors knelt in submission, their former comrades already scavenging White Bear's supply tents.
"Owed you three a cask of Dragon's Breath ale," Samuel chuckled, clapping Kael's shoulder. The gesture carried newfound respect. "Spoils split fifty-fifty, per our arrangement?"
"Fair terms," Kael nodded. Magic reserves might be depleted, but negotiation instincts remained sharp. "We'll take portable artifacts over coin."
Finn's return punctuated the discussion, crimson blade still steaming. "Trail went cold at Silverthread Gorge." He spat in disgust. "Found this though." The warrior tossed Marcus's smoldering pauldron - White Bear sigil melted beyond recognition.
Amelia examined the twisted metal. "Blood traces suggest severed artery. He won't last three days without master healer."
As Blue Rose troops herded prisoners, Kael's fingers brushed the illusion mask's edge. Toms's craftsmanship held true - not a single captive recognized their true faces. The mage allowed himself thin smile. Let Marcus haunt shadows; they'd already won the war.