The room erupted with movement.
The moment Ishmael, Marin, and Callen stepped in, the air shifted. The heavy silence that had loomed over them all, the sheer dominance of Edmund Ardent, was suddenly contested.
Char could only watch, his heart hammering against his ribs, as the battle truly began.
Marin struck first. A whirlwind of motion, she closed the distance in a blink, her fists like iron, aiming a devastating blow to Edmund's ribs. He twisted just in time, the force of her strike cracking the stone floor where he had been standing moments before.
Before he could counter, Callen followed up with a wicked flourish of his daggers, slashing out in a blur. His movements were fast—faster than Char had ever seen.
Edmund dodged, but not perfectly.
A thin red line appeared along his forearm. Blood.
For the first time, Char saw a flicker of something in Edmund's eyes. Not fear—something else.
Intrigue.
"You're fast," Edmund murmured, examining the cut. "I like that."
Callen grinned. "Yeah? You're about to like me a whole lot more."
Then Ishmael was there.
A sword strike like a falling star, his blade carved through the air with terrifying precision. Edmund barely had time to bring his own dagger up to block.
The impact sent a shockwave through the room.
Char had written Ishmael as strong, but watching him now—seeing him actually fight, in real time—was awe-inspiring.
It wasn't just his strength. It was the sheer control. The effortless brutality of his movements, the way he pushed Edmund back step by step, blade clashing against blade.
Marin and Callen flanked him, a perfect, wordless harmony. Every time Edmund tried to counter, there was another strike waiting for him, another dagger slashing, another fist crashing toward him.
It was incredible.
Char had always thought of them as just people. Just a group of unpowered fighters against a world that didn't favor them.
But now—watching them move, watching them fight together—he understood.
They weren't just survivors.
They were a force.
And for the first time, Edmund Ardent was losing.
The realization struck all at once.
Edmund's breathing had changed. Slightly quicker, slightly sharper. His movements, still graceful, were becoming more precise, more calculated.
He was adjusting.
And then—he used everything.
Shadow Shift.
He disappeared in a swirl of darkness, reappearing behind Marin. His dagger plunged forward—but she was already moving.
She ducked, pivoting on her heel, twisting her entire body into a brutal elbow strike. Edmund barely dodged it.
Sword Saint.
The spectral blades came alive again, surrounding him in a deadly, hovering formation. They struck faster than before, more aggressively.
Callen weaved between them, flipping over one, ducking under another.
Ishmael carved through them, deflecting one, two, three at once—but there were too many.
A blade sliced across Marin's side.
Another stabbed into Callen's thigh.
Char felt his stomach drop.
Edmund smiled.
Then—Golden Veil.
A shimmering gold aura encased his body, protecting him from the attacks that had been landing before.
The tide was shifting.
And just as Char thought it couldn't get worse—
Doppelgänger
A second Edmund appeared.
It was a misty, half-transparent version of him, but it moved exactly as he did. Every motion, every attack, every flick of the wrist—doubled.
Char felt all hope drain from him.
They were barely holding their ground against one Edmund.
Now there were two.
Ishmael swung at the original—but the copy blocked.
Marin dodged one attack, only to get slashed by the other.
Callen tried to counter, but suddenly, there were too many blades.
Tess, still weakened from before, struggled to keep up.
They were losing.
And Char was still just watching.
Something in him snapped.
Without thinking, he moved.
He shoved off the ledge of the skylight, body hurtling toward the ground below.
The moment his feet hit the floor, pain shot through his ankle.
Sprained.
Didn't matter.
His hands moved before his mind caught up, grabbing one of his thin daggers and hurling it forward.
It was a blind throw, a desperate throw.
And yet—
The blade sank into Edmund's back, right through the shoulder.
Edmund stiffened.
The Copycat clone shuddered—then dissipated.
For the first time, real shock flickered across Edmund's face.
Char stood there, breath ragged, chest heaving. His ankle throbbed, his entire body screamed at him—but he had done something.
He had hurt Edmund Ardent.
The room stood still.
Then—Edmund's form blurred.
Shadow Shift.
He was gone.
Silence.
The only sound was the ragged breathing of the team.
Marin clutched her side. Bleeding.
Callen was leaning on one knee, dagger still clenched in his fist.
Ishmael stood, silent, sword still raised, but his chest rose and fell heavily.
Tess looked at Char.
And for the first time since they met—there was something new in her eyes.
Not just intrigue.
Respect.
Marin was the first to break the silence.
"…Nice throw."
Char let out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh.
Callen wiped blood from his mouth, grinning. "Guess you're not totally useless, huh?"
Ishmael sheathed his sword. He didn't say anything—but he gave Char a small nod.
Tess grinned. Slow, wicked.
"Welcome to the team, Charon."