As a warning, there's a somewhat graphic fight scene in this chapter. If that's not your cup of tea, skip the paragraph that starts with "The battle ended". With that said, enjoy.

It all started with a challenge.

All things considered, none of what transpired could be blamed on her specifically this time around.

For Riese, it all started when she looked through her notes for the Inn at the Edge of Time, as she always did as part of her evening routine these days. She was skimming through her recountings of the Conquest and Faith challenge when she came upon her description of Yalla's abilities and simply thought, you know, I'm pretty sure Cryptic would be pretty good against this Yalla. In fact, I could probably handle it even without Adri helping me.

She had beaten her, Braytes San, and the pair combined before, not as a Cryptic but as something more vicious and arguably unsavory (cheese was extremely savory, she had no idea what they were talking about). She hadn't been alone, either; she'd had the help of her fully-trained and ferociously protective dragon during the fight, just as she did for practically every challenge the inn had to offer. She wasn't going to regret her decisions, victory was victory and the axe was really, really nice, but Cryptic was her favored class. An opportunity to use it to its fullest extent was never going to go amiss.

As it was meant to be a self-imposed challenge, her preparations were simple compared to her usual (not that she actually remembered what her usual was but she could make assumptions). She simply strode in in her usual questing gear, without any of her more specialized equipment on hand, bade a greeting at the glowing white Riese at the counter (which was acknowledged with a curt nod), then made a beeline for the challenge boards. Nothing was out of the ordinary. There was nothing to indicate anything amiss. There was a whirl of glowing lights as she entered the arena for the challenge, all exactly as her notes described.

If there was a sizable group of elves surrounding her target, there was still no reason for her to suspect anything was wrong. As far as she was concerned, the fact that she hadn't bothered to make note of them had to be because they were unimportant to the battle. Her notes were solely about the challenges, of the enemies involved and possible ways to take them down. Unless she could make use of the environment in some way or if there were any hazards she had to watch out for, she wasn't going to make any note of it. She knew herself enough to know that. And the way the gathered elves scattered at her opening salvo, she wasn't inclined to believe their presence amounted to any more than just set dressing. If Yalla was more talkative than she expected, that still wasn't cause to think anything amiss. After all, she'd already defeated the inn's Yalla a number of times, once with the elf alone and the other times as a duo with Braytes San, and she'd made no notes on her speech. That had to mean she had nothing of import to say beyond the standard spiel expected of an enemy.

She could not have known better. By the Inn's own design, it was impossible for her to know better.

In any case, it was easy. Battle was practically second nature to her. It was all too simple for her to ward off Yalla's attack with the Exalted Apotheosis before retaliating with rapid strikes of her Ultimate Twin Blades of Destiny before swapping to the Unreal Twin Blades of Doom in order to bypass the Arch-Druid's dynamic armor, and going in for a mind-crushing series of strikes, all the while evading Yalla's own attacks. Her weapons flew fast and struck true, whether guided by telekinesis or by hand, while she remained elusive and illusive, illusions veiling her as she moved. Yalla could only barely hold her ground, could barely even scratch her. The gathered elves scattered not long after the first one-sided exchange and they showed no signs of returning.

The battle ended almost far too quickly, after a vicious swing of her Frostscythe broke through Yalla's paltry attempt to guard, splitting her axe in twain before cleaving through her neck. The elf gurgled briefly at the scythe-blade lodged in her throat, before Riese then sliced down for her heart, Yalla's wooden armor doing nothing from stopping Riese's scythe from ripping through her chest in a burst of gore and viscera. Without much fanfare, Yalla collapsed into a gurgling heap, blood spilling out through her splintered armor and soaking into the ground. It only worsened when Riese pulled her scythe free from Yalla's body and back into her hand, the elf's flesh squelching under her scythe-blade, Yalla unable to do much more than writhe, her weakening hands unable to staunch the bleeding.

Huh. That's really detailed. Then again, I don't play around with my illusions. It makes sense that the mes who made this place didn't play around with their simulations.

She waited a few seconds—her notes mentioned poison was required to kill her past a certain point and she was more than ready to administer—but no, Yalla remained on the ground, her neck ripped open, a vicious L carved through her armor, blood pooling around her stilling form. With one last choking gasp, Yalla died before her eyes.

It had taken maybe five, seven minutes, tops. And on the first try, too.

"Huh."

Her hovering scythe still readied for battle, she began to make her way over to Yalla, eyes fixed on what the corpse. Despite her misgivings, it remained a corpse. She supposed it was possible the combination of neuron discharge, Doom, and Destiny she'd inflicted beforehand had been enough to finish her off just as she'd hit the threshold where it was required but if that was the case… she must've gotten her math wrong or made a mistake writing something down. It wasn't the first time something like this happened but it was more than a little annoying to think she could still make rookie mistakes after all this time. Just when she thought she'd learned…

"Though I guess I shouldn't complain," she said aloud as she knelt down by the corpse, her Cryptic levitation ensuring she (and her armor) hovered at least an inch over the bloody mess that was all that remained of Yalla. "Seriously, that was a lot easier than I thought it would be."

And Adri doubted her.

With a flick of her wrist, she stole the potions Yalla was carrying (why did villains never think to use them? Oh, cinnamon-flavored. No wonder) then proceeded to begin prying the axe out of her stiffening hands. The axe was completely broken but she was sure she'd find a use for it. She actually had the repaired version already, and fully upgraded at that, but a trophy was always nice. She could put it up on her wall or give it to Adriel as a chew toy or—

"You!"

The voice almost made her freeze but she refused. She absolutely refused. She would not freeze. Instead, she quickly telekinetically restored herself with the stolen potions—she didn't have much more than a few scrapes but better safe than sorry—as her hands closed around a new weapon, a staff-like scythe called Warlic's Gift. Though the name was perhaps ironic, she cared more that it was a fiery weapon, one that warmed her hands—a cold comfort though that was in the face of the chilling cold her mere presence inspired. At the very least, if she attacked again, tried to freeze her again, she was ready to defend herself this time.

She spun around and faced Jaania's glare head-on with one of her own, hands tight around her scythe, her dragon roused from his slumber and ready for her signal just as she spat:

"What are you doing here?"

Trying something new. Hope this was enjoyable.