The silence in the throne hall became palpable, almost physical. The air hung heavy, saturated with the sharp tang of ozone from the scrolls and the thick, coppery scent of spilled blood. Eni and Quivertertar stood frozen in a mirrored standoff: two apex predators weighing the odds for one final, decisive strike. The dust kicked up by their previous clash settled slowly onto the shards of broken shields, and the light filtering through the high windows felt dim and sickly.
It was a stalemate. Whoever twitched first would leave an opening for a counter. Whoever waited too long risked losing the initiative.
Quivertertar broke the silence. He thrust his staff upward, and from its pommel, writhing blood-tentacles erupted like spray from a severed vein. They hissed toward Eni with the velocity of arrows, splattering a caustic substance as they flew. Eni snapped up her trophy shield, taking the impact on the metal. A foul sound echoed—organic matter slamming against steel—and the tentacles slid off impotently, but Quivertertar gave her no reprieve.
He slammed the butt of his staff into the marble floor with shattering force.
Instantly, the slabs beneath Eni’s feet buckled and exploded. Jagged crimson pikes, fashioned from condensed blood, burst from the earth. They skewered the corpses of the fallen zealots littering the floor as easily as if they were made of soft butter. Eni twisted in an unnatural pirouette, barely dodging the spikes, feeling the sharp tips graze the hem of her uniform.
Scrambling out of the kill zone, she immediately activated a fire scroll. Three blinding projectiles tore from her fingers, lacing the hall with orange streaks. Quivertertar merely snorted in derision, holding his staff before him and absorbing the flames without a scratch to his defenses.
"Ha!" He broke into that arrogant smirk again, adjusting his bone mask. "You must be tormented by the question: 'My God, how does he do it? Magic is impossible in this world!' Do you wish to know my secret, little witch? I shall reveal to you the mystery of how blood—"
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"Honestly?" Eni cut him off, breathing heavily and wiping sweat from her brow. "I couldn't care less. I know less about magic than a pig knows about oranges. What use is that info to me? Go give your lectures to someone else."
Quivertertar literally choked on his words. His face, hidden behind the boar skull, contorted in shock. The total dismissal of his grandeur hit him harder than the ice shards ever could. That split-second hesitation was all Eni needed.
Enraged by her indifference, the Lord of the Crimson Palace charged again. Mid-run, he transformed his staff into a massive blood-scythe, its blade pulsing with a thirst for the harvest. Eni stood motionless, staring him down. Just as the scythe was raised for the killing blow, Eni did something utterly absurd: she grabbed the hem of her heavy uniform with both hands and yanked it upward.
From the bottomless, magically expanded space beneath her clothes—governed by the laws of her inventory—an anvil flew directly into Quivertertar’s face.
A thunderous, meaty CLANG of metal hitting bone rang out. Quivertertar didn't even have time to scream. He was thrown backward with such violence that he sailed across the entire hall and was literally embedded into the wall, bringing a ton of masonry down upon himself. A massive grey cloud of dust billowed up, concealing the impact site.
Eni smirked, brushing dust off her uniform.
"Didn't think those old anvils I took from the bandits would come in handy so soon," she muttered.
She didn't waste time. Reaching back into her inventory, she fished out two more vials—one for strength, the other for a speed boost. She drank them calmly, in small sips, watching the dust settle.
From the fog came a wheeze and the rattle of falling stones. Quivertertar’s shadow slowly detached itself from the wall.
"Kh..." He spat a thick glob of blood to the side. "Without your consumables and your tricks, you are nothing. Just a sack of meat."
He stepped out of the dust, limping noticeably. The boar skull on his face had cracked, revealing a portion of a pale, scar-seamed face. His voice now vibrated with pure, unadulterated hatred. He had become aggressive, manic.
"You think this is the end?" He bared his teeth in a snarl. "I am protected! I AM DANGEROUS! I AM IMMORTAL! Even if you hack me into pieces... you cannot erase me. You..." He took a sharp breath, trying to still the tremors in his hands. "Fine. I underestimated you. I admit it. I'll know better than to cross purple women in the future."
Quivertertar took two steps back, his movements becoming jagged and predatory. He began to circle Eni, crouching low to the floor like a beast ready to pounce. The scythe in his hands reverted to a staff, but now it emanated a black radiance that began to swallow the light in the hall.
