They couldn't have ran faster to the edge of the forest, luckily they were now a good distance from the city, hoping to avoid casualties. The acrid scent of smoke and the tang of magic hung heavy in the air. Tecna tripped over something, stumbling forward. It didn't take her long to realize what it was.

"T-Timmy…? Timmy!" She shook his bloody body.

Flora looked around, seeing her friends scattered amongst trees. Her heart tightened, but then—They were alive! Barely, but alive! Flora could feel it.

"Anagan! You have healing magic, I can feel it! There's life in them!"

"I-I haven't used it in so long, I'm not sure—"

"It's never too late to try again!" Her voice was desperate, pleading, she began to work quickly on Bloom, she'd be able to help with the healing.

Anagan looked to Ogron, his Ogron. Ogron gave a nod of reassurance and support, "Help Flora, we'll take care of my copy cat." After receiving the comforting guidance from him, Anagan began to do his best to heal wounds. He wasn't nearly as fast as Flora, but he had to try.

"Come on, Bloom," Flora whispered. "Stay with me."

Anagan moved to Sky, whose arm hung at an unnatural angle. He muttered an incantation, a warm, golden light flowing from his hands and knitting Sky's broken bones back together.

Meanwhile, Tecna, Gantlos, and Ogron continued deeper into the battlefield, their steps careful and silent. They emerged into a clearing, where Eight stood alone, his back turned to them as he surveyed the carnage with a twisted smile.

Eight turned, his eyes narrowing as he spotted them. "Ah, the cavalry arrives. Too late, I'm afraid. Your friends are already defeated." So he thought they were dead.

Gantlos clenched his fists, his eyes blazing. "You think you're so smart, but you don't know anything," his voice hung low and dangerous.

Eight's smile widened. "I know enough. I know you're outnumbered and outmatched. I know you're weak."

Gantlos's eyes narrowed. "You think I'm weak? I'll show you just how wrong you are."

Gantlos charged at Eight, fists crackling with destructive energy. Eight laughed, easily dodging Gantlos's attacks and countering with blasts of dark magic. The ground shook beneath them, the force of their clash sending shockwaves through the clearing.

"It's a shame you can't be more obedient," Eight taunted. "Luckily, I was able to break the spirit of my Gantlos."

"Where is Duman?" Gantlos demanded, his voice filled with fury.

Eight's eyes glinted with amusement. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

As their battle raged on, Ogron moved to intervene, but he was suddenly confronted by another figure.

"Ana—"

"Please, just Ana, I insist," the other Anagan bowed mockingly. Ogron narrowed his eyes—so that was it then. Ogron couldn't help but chuckle. Ana cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh how pitiful — poor Ana," Ogron made a pouting face at the now irritated man. Ana's eyes flared with warning , but Ogron pressed on, his voice cold and unyielding. "Ana isn't even your own person anymore. You're corrupted and controlled by the Black Circle, by the torture that man put you through, just a puppet on a string."

"SHUT UP!" Ana charged swiftly, utilizing speed to try to wear Ogron down, but ogron could dodge his attacks. True he was fast like Anagan, but he was too aggressive. Too sloppy.

Ogron advanced, relentless. "It seems to me that the Black Circle owns you, not the other way around. You wear your master's chains, and you think calling yourself Ana gives you some semblance of individuality?"

Ana's attacks became more erratic, his concentration breaking. "I am Ana!" he shouted, his voice desperate. A spark flashed in his eyes, Ogron saw it—he was faltering.

Ogron laughed, a harsh sound to the current chaos. "No, you're not. You're Anagan, a wizard of the Black Circle. And the only reason you cling to 'Ana' is because deep down, you know you've lost yourself. It's a sad, pathetic attempt to feel like an individual."

Ana's eyes burned with fury, but the truth in Ogron's words gnawed at him. His movements became desperate, less precise. He lashed out with a ferocity born of anger and confusion, but Ogron could see the cracks forming in his resolve.

"You'll never be free," Ogron said, his voice low and dangerous. "Not until you realize the Black Circle's hold on you. Until then, you're just a shadow of your former self, a broken toy trying to play pretend."

Tecna looked around, she thought to go meet the others, lead them to the battle, but something caught her attention — behind some brush a few feet away, a familiar blonde was hunched over, sitting on the ground.

Cautiously, she approached him, "Gantlos?" He looked up, eyes wide as he tried to stumble like a scared animal. She looked at his face, a large slash across it, amongst other injuries. Someone wasn't fighting him—someone was trying to make him afraid, and her teammates wouldn't do that.

"Hey," she said softly, trying to keep her voice gentle. "Are you hurt?"

He held himself tight

"...Did Eight do this to you?"

Gantlos whimpered, his gaze darting around nervously. "Master…master is angry," he muttered, his words disjointed and broken. "Big mutt ruins everything." He brought his hands to his head, shaking it.

Tecna's heart ached at the sight. She knelt down, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. "You didn't do anything wrong," she assured him. "You're not to blame for this."

Gantlos looked at her with wide, sorrowful eyes. "Love…. my fairy," he said, his voice trembling. "No want anymore …hurting."

Tears welled in Tecna's eyes as she reached out, her fingers brushing his hand. "It's going to be okay," she promised, her voice steady. "I'm going to help you, but you have to stand up to Eight. You have to be strong. I need you to help me stop him,"

Gantlos shook his head vehemently. "Master is nice," he insisted, though his words were laced with uncertainty.

Tecna took hold of his hand, squeezing it gently. "If he's so nice, why does he hurt you?" she asked softly. "Would your fairy want this for you?"

Gantlos stared at her, his eyes wide and filled with confusion. The question seemed to pierce through the fog in his mind, and he looked down at their joined hands, as if seeing them for the first time.

"My fairy…no want hurting," he whispered, his voice barely audible.