"Then donât get close!" Hikari yelled back, looking frustrated. Her flail was useless if she couldnât reach the target. "Just... I donât know, throw something at it!"
"Itâs made of coral! Itâll just regenerate!"
I watched the Centurionâs pattern for two more swings, counting the seconds between each arc. There was a gap. A small one, maybe a second and a half where the anchor reached the end of its swing and reversed direction.
Not enough time for a conventional attack. But I wasnât planning on being conventional.
"Bubblegum!" I yelled, catching Skylarâs attention. She was crouched behind a fallen pillar, her face unreadable behind a curtain of wet hair. "Light it up!"
Her eyes widened for just a moment. Then understanding dawned, and that chaos-loving smirk returned.
"Youâre insane," she said.
"Probably. Do it anyway."
Skylar took another deep breath and exhaled, pouring more Phantasm Smoke into the corridor. But this time, she didnât keep it low. The fog rose in a thick cloud, filling the space between us and the Centurion, obscuring everything in a wall of silvery mist.
The monster paused. Its anemone cluster pulsed erratically, confused by the sudden loss of visual contact. For three heartbeats, it stood frozen, the anchor swinging uncertainly.
Three heartbeats was more than enough.
I raised my hand, feeling the familiar rush of power as Thermal Incision activated. Heat gathered at my palm, concentrating into a point of intense energy. But instead of firing directly at the Centurion, I aimed into Skylarâs smoke cloud.
The beam lanced forward, and the world turned white.
Skylarâs smoke refracted the thermal energy like a prism catching sunlight. The concentrated heat didnât just pass through the cloud. It scattered. Multiplied. The entire corridor became a blinding void of light that seared through the darkness like a miniature sun being born.
The Centurion reeled backward, its anemone cluster overloading from the sensory assault. The bioluminescent organs flared and then went dark, the creature suddenly blind and disoriented.
A shape materialized from the dying light.
Skylar moved like a shadow given form, her soaked combat suit glistening as she burst from the smoke at impossible speed. She hit the Centurionâs extended arm at a full sprint, using its own limb as a ramp. Her boots found purchase on coral and rusted iron, and she ran up the monsterâs arm like it was a staircase.
The Centurion tried to shake her off, but it was still blind, still reeling from the flashbang. Its movements were sluggish, uncoordinated.
Skylar reached its shoulder in two seconds. Her knives were already in her hands, the matte black blades catching none of the ambient light. She didnât hesitate. She drove both weapons into the gaps between the creatureâs coral plates, finding the joints where ancient ship timber met living flesh.
The Centurion made a sound that might have been a scream if it had a mouth. Its anchor dropped from nerveless fingers, splashing into the water with a thunderous crash. The creature staggered, reached up with one massive hand to swat at the pest on its shoulder.
Too slow.
Skylar twisted her knives and ripped them free, taking chunks of the monsterâs neck joint with them. Black ichor sprayed across her face, her chest, mixing with the water that already soaked her through.
She kicked off the Centurionâs shoulder, flipping backward through the air, and landed in a crouch ten feet away. The creature stood frozen for one long moment.
Then it collapsed, the coral making up its body crumbling as the animating force fled.
The team stared in silence. Even Raphael, who was constitutionally incapable of being impressed by anything, looked slightly awed.
Skylar straightened, flicking ichor from her blades with two sharp motions. Her wet hair clung to her face, her combat suit was ruined, and she was covered in monster blood.
Sheâd never looked more beautiful.
"That," she said, her voice carrying that familiar lazy drawl, "was actually kind of fun."
"Youâre welcome for the assist," I said, wading toward her. "The flashbang was my idea, remember?"
"I donât recall needing help."
"The blind monster begs to differ."
Skylar snorted, but there was warmth in her eyes. The same warmth Iâd seen on the balcony, the same warmth she tried so hard to hide behind her armor of sarcasm.
"We need to move," Isabelle said, ever the practical one. "That fight was loud. Everything in the wing knows weâre here now."
She was right. But I allowed myself one more moment to appreciate the scenery. Skylar, dripping wet and splattered with victory. Emi, helping Soomin to her feet, both of them looking like theyâd survived a shipwreck. Natalia, watching me with eyes that promised violence and something else, something hungrier.
Later,
I told myself.
Survive first. Be a degenerate later.
We pushed forward, leaving the Centurionâs corpse to dissolve in the rising water. The corridor widened into a larger chamber, and I pulled out my chronometer to check our time.
We were fast. Faster than the simulation had predicted. At this pace, weâd reach the boss chamber with minutes to spare.
Then I saw it.
A glow ahead, filtering through the darkness. My first thought was more bioluminescence, more fungi or anemones or whatever other nightmare flora this dungeon had spawned.
But it was wrong. Too clean. Too organized.
That wasnât monster light.
That was magic. Specifically, the distinct, pristine glow of Argent magic.
"Stop," I said, holding up a fist. The team halted behind me, sensing my sudden tension.
Skylar appeared at my side, her eyes narrowing at the light ahead. "Thatâs not supposed to be here."
"No. Itâs not."
The Argent Sentinels were in the west wing. We were in the east. There should have been no way for our paths to cross until we both reached the boss chamber.
Unless something had gone very, very wrong.
Or very, very right.
"Juan," I said quietly. "Tell me thatâs not what I think it is."
Juan waded forward, squinting at the glow. His face, usually slack with boredom, had gone sharp. Focused. The lazy genius was actually paying attention, which meant the situation was serious enough to overcome his constitutional aversion to effort.
"Itâs an emergency beacon," he said slowly. "Argent standard issue. They only activate automatically when..."
He trailed off.
"When what?" Emi asked, her voice tight.
Juan turned to look at me, and for the first time since Iâd met him, there was no sarcasm in his expression.
"When someone on the team is about to die."