They didn't charge in shouting.
That was the first warning.
The footsteps came slow and even, echoing down the corridor like they had all the time in the world. When they stepped into the light, the air itself felt heavier. Five of them. Layered armor, dark plates overlapping like scales, thin lines of light running through the joints. Powered. Reinforced.
Not students.
Not scared staff.
Soldiers.
"Contact confirmed," one of them said, his voice calm behind the helmet. "Target is hostile."
Target.
The word dug into me.
I tightened my grip on the chained axe. The links shivered, responding to my heartbeat, black liquid crawling along the metal like it was listening. Like it was waiting.
They moved together.
Fast.
My first swing slammed into a raised shield, and the sound ripped through the hall—metal screaming against warped air. The impact jolted straight up my arms, nearly wrenching the weapon free. My boots scraped backward, sparks biting the floor.
So they could take a hit.
Good.
They didn't swarm me. Two advanced head-on, switching pressure, forcing me to react, while the others spread out, cutting angles, closing space. One dipped low. Another faked high.
Clean. Efficient.
They were trained for this.
Trained to kill things like me.
"Yeah," I muttered into the earpiece, breath already rough. "I've got a problem."
Kazim's voice came instantly. "Define problem."
"Armored. Skilled. Not dropping."
A pause. Fingers moving fast somewhere far away.
"Hold them," he said. "Extraction's still going."
I let out a short, humorless laugh. "I'll try not to die."
I forced more power into the next swing. The chain snapped forward, and the air tore—just for a heartbeat. A small black distortion opened, dragging dust, sparks, and one soldier's footing toward it. He stumbled.
Didn't fall.
Too strong.
The pressure bloomed in my chest—that familiar warning, the thing I kept locked away. The thing I promised I wouldn't lean on.
But promises don't mean much when the walls are closing in.
"Hurry it up," I growled. "Take the smithing gear. All of it."
Aira's voice cut through. "We're moving. Hold."
I stopped holding back.
The black liquid surged, swallowing the axe, racing up the chain, wrapping my arm like living ink. Every strike tore at the air now—small collapses snapping open and shut, cracking the floor, denting armor, dragging bodies off balance.
Still—
Five of them stood.
Breathing hard. Armor scarred. But standing.
One hit me from the side, the force slamming the air from my lungs. Another blade scraped my shoulder, sparks bursting. Pain flared sharp and hot.
I was losing ground.
Then—
"Kiyo, move!"
Ren and Aira burst in from the side corridor, perfectly timed. Ren slid low, sweeping a soldier's legs while Aira blasted fire just controlled enough to force distance. A second later, Kazim's armor suit crashed in—blades flashing, biting deep enough to leave real dents in their plating.
Monisha wasn't there.
She was holding the portal.
We fought together, but even then it felt wrong—like pushing against a tide. Every step forward burned. My chest tasted like iron. They were too strong.
"Kiyoto," Monisha's voice came through, strained. "Extraction complete. I could only take some. We have to go—now."
"How much?" I shouted.
"About a quarter. That's all I could carry safely."
That was it.
"Fall back," Kazim ordered.
We disengaged hard. Aira covered with fire. Ren dragged me when my legs slowed. I turned—
Pain exploded up my leg.
I dropped to one knee.
A knife—thin, black—buried deep in my thigh.
I bit down hard, refusing to scream as Ren hauled me up. Blood soaked into the white of my armor, spreading fast, ugly.
"Move!" Aira yelled.
We dove through the portal just as it snapped shut, cutting off shouts, boots, metal.
I collapsed on the other side, the world spinning.
We were alive.
Barely.
The pain was unreal—burning, screaming, tearing through me. I couldn't even think straight.
We stumbled into the tent. Monisha knelt in front of me without a word, hands shaking as she grabbed the knife.
"Hold still," she whispered.
She pulled.
The fire in my leg went white-hot. I cried out despite myself, teeth clenched, vision blurring.
When it was out, the wound burned like it had been set on fire.
I lay there shaking, breath coming apart, staring at the ceiling.
Alive.
And paying for it.