They had thought that the predators had been fast, far exceeding what they expected, but that all changed once Khalifa's spirit reserve ran low, forcing her to disable the distortion ability. Without the drag of Khalifa's localized bubble, the predators' speed dramatically increased. They now seemed like blurs, and in the dim light that filtered into the room, they were almost impossible to track.
Within seconds of realising this, they adjusted tactics.
They cornered themselves into an edge of the room and took stances.
Ronan stood in front, allowing his ink spear to dissolve in flowing ink and grabbed the pickaxe with both hands. Khalifa stood behind him with her machete, watching for openings between Ronan's attacks, so as to be able to input hers. Without a large area behind them, the predators could only come from one angle, and this was enough for their movements to become predictable.
Ronan and Khalifa fell into a rhythm.
One block, one blade.
The first predator lunged low, its bark-laced limbs scraping against the stone floor as it shot forward. Ronan reacted on instinct, dragging the pickaxe downward in a brutal arc. The metal edge collided with the creature's skull with a sickening crack, halting its momentum just inches from his knee. Before the body could slump, another shape blurred in from the side.
"Left!" Khalifa snapped.
Ronan pivoted, but he was already a fraction too slow. The predator's claws grazed his shoulder, tearing through cloth and skin. He grunted, forcing his body through the motion anyway, the pickaxe swinging wide. The hit didn't land clean, but it was enough to deflect the creature's path.
Khalifa stepped in immediately.
Her machete flashed past Ronan's side in a tight, controlled strike. The blade sank into the predator's neck, severing through vine and sinew. She twisted, ripped it free, and stepped back into position just as another pair rushed forward.
When Ronan struck, Khalifa blocked the following attack since Ronan's reaction time was not sufficient to do both. And vice versa.
A predator leapt high, aiming to clear Ronan entirely. Khalifa reacted before thought, raising her machete horizontally. The beast collided mid-air with the blade, its momentum carrying it forward. The impact drove her a step back, boots scraping, but she held firm long enough for Ronan to bring the pickaxe up from below.
The strike split the creature open.
Another came immediately.
Ronan barely had time to recover. He shifted his grip and used the shaft of the pickaxe to brace against the incoming claws. The force reverberated through his arms, numbing them. His teeth clenched. Before the predator could press its advantage, Khalifa's blade cut across its forelimb, forcing it to recoil.
For a moment, clanging filled the room, and the duo repelled the beasts.
Metal rang against hardened bark. Flesh tore. Breath grew heavy.
But they realised something yet again.
They were not losing as of now, but neither were they winning.
And the test of time would definitely not be in their favour.
A predator darted in, feinting right before lunging left. Ronan adjusted, barely catching the movement. The pickaxe came down, but the creature twisted unnaturally, avoiding the full force of the strike. Its claws raked across Ronan's thigh before it retreated.
He staggered half a step.
Khalifa filled the gap instantly.
Her machete lashed out, forcing two advancing predators back. She didn't chase. She couldn't. Every movement had to be measured, controlled. One mistake and she'd cut Ronan instead.
Every hit shook bones, shifted muscles in succession too quick for correction.
Ronan's arms were beginning to feel heavy. Each swing of the pickaxe dragged just a fraction slower than the last. Each impact traveled deeper into his joints, dulling his responses.
Another predator rushed in low, jaws snapping. Ronan brought the pickaxe down, but the angle was off. The creature slipped past the head of the weapon, forcing Ronan to abandon the strike and kick it away instead. The impact jolted up his leg.
Before it could recover, Khalifa stepped in again, driving her blade into its spine.
They had to dwindle the number of predators down faster than time moved, at least in proportion to their endurance.
Ronan scowled deeper than before.
He knew he would break first.
A heavier predator surged forward, larger than the rest. It didn't hesitate. It slammed directly into Ronan's guard, forcing him to absorb the full weight of the impact. The pickaxe handle bent slightly under the pressure as Ronan struggled to hold his ground.
"Khalifa!" he barked.
She didn't respond. She moved.
Her machete struck twice in rapid succession—first across the creature's exposed flank, then into its shoulder joint. The beast recoiled, giving Ronan just enough space to drive the pickaxe upward into its throat.
It collapsed.
But the space it left was immediately filled.
Ronan's breathing grew harsher. Sweat blurred his vision. The predators didn't slow. If anything, they grew more coordinated, testing angles, probing weaknesses.
He was the one on the forefront, and besides that, with Khalifa being directly behind him, she had to carefully time her attacks so that she wouldn't wound Ronan in the process.
Another lunge. Another block.
Ronan caught it, but the force pushed him back into Khalifa. For a split second, their rhythm broke.
That was all the predators needed.
Three surged forward at once.
Khalifa reacted first.
Distortion flared.
For a brief instant, the air warped. The predators' movements dragged, their speed cut down just enough.
Ronan capitalized.
The pickaxe swept in a wide arc, smashing into one, then pivoting into another. Khalifa followed through, her blade finishing what Ronan started.
The distortion vanished.
And with it, the brief advantage.
After a few more strikes and parries, Ronan and Khalifa no longer looked to win, but they looked for a way to exit the room, but the predators were too smart to let that happen.
Every time Ronan shifted even slightly from his position, the predators reacted. They pressed harder, forcing him back into place.
They knew.
They knew that time was all that protected this duo.
And time was insufficient.
Ronan's grip tightened around the pickaxe.
Another predator lunged. He met it head-on, driving the weapon straight into its chest. It didn't go down immediately. It pushed forward, claws scraping against his arms, trying to reach his neck.
Khalifa stepped in, severing its head cleanly.
Ronan shoved the body away, breathing hard.
He glanced briefly at the room.
No gaps.
No openings.
Only eyes. Watching. Waiting.
Ronan contemplated using the last spear that contained the properties of the flammable resin to try to create an opening for them to escape.
He could see it.
Throw the spear.
Ignite the resin.
Create chaos.
Run.
But he was deterred for one reason.
If it didn't work, he would have no spirit left to continue fighting.
And he needed to conserve his spirit.
Another attack came.
He blocked.
Barely.
The impact forced him to one knee before he pushed himself back up.
The decision pressed against him, heavy and unrelenting.
The predators didn't stop.
Khalifa on the other hand, had slowly taken over the tempo of the battle, from their half at least.
She released distortion in batches.
A predator lunged—
Distortion.
Its movement slowed just enough.
Ronan struck.
The creature fell.
Distortion faded.
Another came—
Distortion again.
Short. Sharp. Controlled.
She had noticed that as the range spread, so did the concentration reduce. So as she used it and turned it off before it spread largely, it caused the drag to be much more potent, but for shorter periods.
It was precise.
Efficient.
But it didn't last.
A predator slipped through the timing.
Its claws raked across Khalifa's arm before she could react. She hissed, stepping back, nearly colliding with Ronan.
"I'm fine," she muttered before he could turn.
She wasn't.
But she didn't stop.
It didn't do much to conserve her spirit, it just helped their strikes to land more, and the predators' own less.
Ronan swung again.
And again.
Each strike heavier.
Each movement slower.
The predators pressed closer.
Their numbers hadn't reduced enough.
Not nearly enough.
Eventually, all everything would come down to, would be time, endurance, and Ronan's decision.