Chapter 104: Blinding the Eye: Part 9 - Warrior of the Woods
Avera launched herself forward, a blur of golden motion, hammer swinging with enough force to shatter mountains. The dungeon walls trembled under the sheer weight of her power, the air itself warping around her weapon. But Myla - Myla moved.
Not dodged. Not evaded. She simply wasn't there.
Her body twisted with liquid precision, flowing around Avera's strike like water through cracked stone. The hammer obliterated the space she had occupied a heartbeat ago, sending a tidal wave of force rippling outward, but Myla had already stepped into the blind spot Avera had created in her own attack.
Her staff lashed out.
It wasn't a single strike - it was three, layered atop each other with terrifying speed. One to the ribs, one to the jaw, and one to the solar plexus. The crack of impact echoed through the chamber as Avera skidded backward, but she barely managed to twist mid-slide, landing on her feet with a manic grin stretching across her bloodied face.
"Oh, now we're talking!" she howled.
She came back twice as fast, her hammer a blur of molten light as she drove it downward in a crushing arc. Myla met the blow head-on, her staff spinning in a perfect rotation, absorbing and redirecting the force. The impact sent a shockwave of raw power surging outward, shattering nearby stone, but Myla did not yield.
Avera twisted her hammer mid-swing, attempting to catch her off guard with an abrupt change in trajectory. Myla saw it. Felt it. The shift in mana, the minuscule adjustment in pressure.
She countered before Avera even finished the motion.
Her staff struck the underside of the hammer's head at an impossibly precise angle, deflecting the weapon entirely and forcing Avera to stumble. The elf's balance faltered.
Myla took advantage.
Her body surged forward, moving faster than before. She was everywhere - spinning, striking, attacking from angles Avera barely had time to register. The dungeon became a blur of green and black as Myla's strikes poured down like an unrelenting storm. Each hit sent a shock through Avera's body, battering her defenses, forcing her back, back, back, over and over again.
Avera laughed.
"You, human, are incredible!" she exulted, even as her body screamed under the assault. She twisted, throwing herself into a reckless counter. Myla was already there. She struck before the attack could even finish forming, driving her staff into Avera's side, then her ribs, then her throat.
Avera coughed blood.
Orist, from his perch, stared in something close to disbelief.
"This…" he muttered. His mind raced, analyzing everything, breaking down the impossible. "Her Mana Zone - it's not just controlling the surrounding mana. It's enhancing her." His fingers twitched. "She's adapting in real-time. Calculating every motion, every movement. She's faster because she knows exactly where to place her foot before she even moves. She's stronger because she's redirecting her own power with absolute efficiency."
He swallowed.
"This… is no ordinary Mana Zone."
Down below, Avera wiped blood from her lips, her breathing ragged, her vision swimming.
And she grinned so wide it hurt.
She was being outmatched.
And by the Goddess, it was thrilling.
"Alright!" she roared, shoving Myla back with a powerful kick to the stomach. Myla slid a few feet, but remained standing, breath steady, eyes locked onto her with razor focus. Avera grinned, raising her warhammer high, her mana surging. "I cannot refuse to give you my best after that!"
"You better!" Myla grinned, raising her staff. "I live for moments like these!"
Avera lunged, her warhammer a blazing arc of golden destruction. Myla met her with a whirl of motion, her staff spinning in tight, controlled rotations, intercepting and diverting each earth-shattering strike before it could fully land. The impact of every blow sent shockwaves rippling through the dungeon, the sheer force of Avera's attacks carving trenches into the stone. But Myla moved through the storm as if she were born in it, her footwork a dance of efficiency, her staff an extension of herself—turning aside the hammer's wrath, redirecting it, never truly stopping, never staying still.
Avera laughed between blows, wild and exultant, eyes gleaming with sheer battle lust.
"Ah, you feel it, don't you?" she roared, slamming her hammer down with a force that cratered the floor beneath them. Myla barely evaded, rolling with the momentum of the impact, her staff lashing out at Avera's exposed flank. But Avera twisted, letting the strike glance off her shoulder as she retaliated in the same breath, a backhanded swing that nearly tore the air apart. Myla ducked, shifting her weight with liquid ease, her weapon snapping upward to crack against Avera's ribs. The elf's breath hitched from the force, but the grin on her face only widened.
"You and I, Myla," Avera continued between clashes, hammer and staff colliding in a furious blur of speed, "we live for this, don't we?" A feint - Myla adjusted, predicting the movement, her staff already in place to block the follow-up, but Avera broke the pattern entirely, twisting in mid-air, her knee slamming into Myla's shoulder and sending her skidding back. Myla caught herself just before she crashed into the jagged remains of a shattered pillar, flipping mid-slide to land lightly on her feet.
Avera grinned. "The fight. The rush. That perfect moment where the world is nothing but instinct, where every motion is sharpened to a razor's edge. We breathe in danger, exhale blood, and our hearts pound to the rhythm of battle itself. Tell me I'm wrong."
Myla exhaled, rolling her shoulder where the impact had bruised deep.
"You're not," she admitted, then surged forward before Avera could react, her staff a blur of flickering motion, every strike aimed with terrifying precision. Avera countered with raw power, meeting Myla's technique with brute force, each collision of their weapons igniting sparks of mana.
It was a relentless exchange, neither yielding, neither slowing, the air around them humming with power as their respective energies clashed in perfect contrast - Avera's explosive might against Myla's adaptive flow.
Avera's laughter only grew wilder. "You're just like me." She broke through Myla's defensive weave with a sudden shift in momentum, her hammer sweeping upward in a rising arc that Myla barely deflected. The force sent her airborne, but she adjusted mid-air, twisting to land lightly a few feet away. Avera planted her feet, her stance widening. "And because of that… I won't hold back any longer."
Her mana surged.
The air around her thickened with pure pressure, golden light coalescing around her body in spiraling layers of power. The temperature in the dungeon spiked, the stone beneath her feet fracturing under the sheer intensity of the energy she was unleashing. Myla felt it - a shift in the very flow of magic, something deeper than raw strength, something honed to absolute perfection. This wasn't just Avera's own ability.
It was hers and Anastacia's.
Myla recognized the technique, even before Avera lifted her hammer high.
"This," Avera declared, her voice reverberating with the weight of her magic, "is true Armament Magic. A technique forged in the fires of battle, wielded by the greatest warriors of my people, perfected by my host, Anastacia herself." Golden glyphs spun into existence around her, layering over her body like armor, searing with the brilliance of the sun.
Then, they shapeshifted into brilliant black and white armour, smooth but jagged at the same time, power emanating from every facet. Though it left her calves and forearms exposed, every inch of her looked protected, to the very last hair. In the centre of the chestplate, there was a brilliant, light blue diamond that glowed with the intensity of a thousand suns. A winged, gold rimmed helmet covered most of her head, though it left her face exposed.
"Armament Magic: Mana Zone - Full Release - Ares Herald!"
Myla exhaled. When was the last time I had fun like this?
For a split second, her mind drifted.
…
The first time Myla laid eyes on Mereoleona Vermillion, the girl was all fire and arrogance, a cub who thought herself a lion.
Fifteen years old, fresh from the ceremony where she had received her grimoire, yet she already carried herself like the strongest warrior in the kingdom. She prowled the edges of the untamed forest with a restless energy, her smirk daring the wilds to challenge her. But the wilds did not care for the bravado of nobles.
And neither did Myla.
She had been resting against the roots of an ancient oak, arms folded, an infant Oda secured to her back with a strip of worn cloth. The morning had been productive—a successful hunt, a few odd jobs completed in a nearby village, and a brief skirmish with a group of bandits too stupid to recognize who they were dealing with. She had been planning on closing her eyes for a few moments before heading deeper into the forest.
Then, the voice rang out.
"You're the so-called Warrior of the Woods, aren't you?"
Myla cracked one eye open.
A girl stood before her, arms crossed, chin tilted upward in something between amusement and condescension. Red hair, wild and untamed, already resisting the shackles of nobility. Her uniform was pristine, but the way she stood—the way she held herself—was raw, hungry, undomesticated.
But Myla had seen plenty of rich kids playing warrior before.
She yawned. "Depends. Who's asking?"
Mereoleona's eyes glinted with something sharp. "I've heard the rumors. A grimoireless rogue who does odd jobs just to survive. No magic, no status, just scraping by on scraps. Sounds like you're nothing but a pauper barely clinging to life. Hardly worth my time."
Myla exhaled slowly, rolling her neck, easing the stiffness in her shoulders. "Then beat it." She didn't even bother sitting up. "Unless you've got money to give me, I don't have time for some noble brat looking for a distraction."
Mereoleona's nose wrinkled in distaste. "I hate weakness," she said, voice sharp. "And I hate hearing about some no-name mercenary wandering my forests like they matter."
"Your forests?" Myla replied incredulously.
Then, without hesitation, she lifted a hand.
A grimoire appeared, fluttering open with a glow of mana. Fire roared to life at her fingertips, raw and unrefined but hungry. The spell coiled around her arm, heat distorting the air.
"Flame Magic: Calidos Brachium."
The fireball shot forward.
Myla didn't even sigh.
She reached behind her, carefully unwrapped Oda, and set him down in the grass, smoothing the cloth around him with deliberate ease. Only then did she rise to her feet. The moment she moved, the air changed.
Mana thickened.
The world bent.
Mereoleona didn't even see her move.
One instant, her flames were racing toward their target. The next, Myla had closed the distance with terrifying speed.
The fireball never even reached her.
Mana Zone expanded outward in a silent, invisible wave. The spell flickered and died before it could touch her, smothered by sheer force of will.
Mereoleona barely had time to register what had happened before a strike slammed into her ribs. Too fast. Too precise. She staggered, then another hit struck her mid-step, faster than she could react. The world blurred - before she could even brace herself, she was already on the ground, coughing, stunned.
And Myla?
Standing over her, arms crossed, utterly unimpressed.
"Try that again," she said, "and you won't be getting up next time."
Mereoleona gasped for breath, staring up at the woman who had just humiliated her.
And for months after, she refused to accept it.
She came back, time and time again, sneaking out of the Vermillion estate, vanishing into the wilds, returning to challenge Myla in whatever way she could. Ambushes, direct attacks, surprise tactics - none of it worked. Myla dispatched her with ease every single time. There was no excitement, no challenge, only exasperation.
But the girl never stopped.
And after a while, Myla stopped feeling exasperated. She started watching. Noticing.
Noticing the way Mereoleona learned. The way she adapted. The way she fought like someone who would rather die than accept inferiority.
So, Myla made a choice.
She didn't teach her Mana Zone. She forced her to survive it.
Trial by battle.
For three years, she broke her. Pushed her past exhaustion, past comfort, past limits she didn't even know she had. Myla did not explain theories. She did not instruct. She made her feel it - made her live it. She showed her how to manipulate the very air around her, how to make the world bow to her presence.
And by the time Mereoleona was nineteen, she had become something else.
Which was why Myla knew their time was running out.
One last battle.
…
The forest was alive with fire and fury, the very air shimmering under the weight of colliding mana. Heat roared through the clearing, waves of flame licking at the sky, searing the earth black beneath their feet. It was a battlefield of their own making, a space where nothing else existed - no titles, no expectations, no rules. Only the fight. Only the clash.
And at the heart of it, Myla stood, barefoot on the scorched dirt, grinning like a wolf.
Loose, relaxed, utterly thrilled.
Across from her, Mereoleona burned.
Not just in magic, but in presence, in hunger, in the kind of overwhelming, undeniable power that she had carved into herself over years of relentless pursuit. There was no arrogance in her stance now, no recklessness, only the raw, honed certainty of a predator that knew it was at the top of the chain.
She rolled her shoulders, eyes glinting with fire. "Today's the day, old hag."
The words had been thrown at Myla a hundred times before, sneered in frustration, spat out through gritted teeth. But this time was different. There was no desperate, childish bravado in it now - only truth.
And damn, wasn't that exciting?
"I'd like to see you prove it." Myla let out a low, delighted laugh, shaking out her limbs.
Then the world shattered.
Mereoleona was on her in an instant, a force of nature in human form, her flames condensing into a razor-sharp onslaught. It was nothing like the wild, untamed brawling of her youth - this was sharp, precise, controlled destruction. Every blow struck harder, every movement flowed into the next without hesitation, the relentless rhythm of someone who had spent years refining herself for this very moment.
And Myla met her head-on.
The ground cracked beneath their feet as mana clashed, the clearing illuminated by bursts of violent energy. Myla's body moved on instinct, dodging, redirecting, slipping through the gaps with the kind of effortless efficiency that had made her a nightmare in battle. She caught Mereoleona's strikes before they landed, countered before an attack could fully form.
But she felt it.
The shift. The difference.
Mereoleona was keeping up.
No - more than that.
She was pushing her.
Each strike came sharper, faster, adapted mid-motion to Myla's reactions, anticipating counters before Myla even made them. Where before, the girl had relied on brute force, now she moved with intention, with understanding, with mastery.
And Myla?
Myla loved it.
She laughed through the chaos, through the heat and the sweat and the ache of exertion, thrived in the battle like it was the most fun she'd had in years. Her blood pounded in her veins, her instincts sharpened to their limit. This was what she had been waiting for.
Mereoleona was no longer the cub that had charged into the forest thinking she could take on the world.
She was the wildfire now.
A feint. A twist. A trap.
Mereoleona moved in a way she never had before—not recklessly, not with raw aggression, but with calculated, deliberate movement. The split-second shift in footwork, the precise angle of attack-
It was a setup. Myla saw it too late. An instant to react - dodge, deflect, counter…
No.
She let it hit.
Flames erupted, engulfing her in a roaring inferno, swallowing the world in fire and searing heat. She felt her body lift, weightless for a moment before she hit the dirt, mana flickering, muscles aching, every nerve alight with the burn of it-
And she laughed.
Loud, raw, triumphant.
Finally. Finally.
She cracked an eye open through the smoke, chest rising and falling with exertion, skin still smoldering. Mereoleona stood over her, fists clenched, breathing hard, her whole body trembling—not from exhaustion, but from the sheer, overwhelming rush of it.
For a long, stretched-out moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Mereoleona let out a breathless, exhilarated laugh. "You lost."
Myla grinned, all teeth, bruised, burned, and so damn proud. "Took you long enough. Ya really are a brute."
It was the last time they fought, and the last time Mereoleona saw her.
Until six years later, when she overheard the servants whispering in the Vermillion estate, voices hushed and disbelieving. A name she had not heard in years, a legend she had once known better than anyone, and the most absurd, impossible revelation of all.
The Warrior of the Woods had joined the Green Mantis.
…
As Myla stared down Avera's newly crowned form, there was no doubt in her mind - no thoughts clouded her judgement.
Except an overwhelming desire to win. To hunt, and come out victorious over her prey.
One step towards her opponent became two, then she broke into a blinding run as she swung her staff towards Avera's neck.
Avera's grimoire flipped, and she materialised a Glorious Sabre from out of nowhere, blocking her attack and causing ripples of mana to erupt throughout the chamber once again.
Her blocks are firmer than last time, Myla thought, as she used the force from the block to push herself upwards, twist acrobatically, and descend upon Avera with a crushing blow from her staff, increasing the mass of its tip with Wood Magic.
Avera blocked again, her grin widening as she pushed harder, trying to break the stalemate. Her Glorious Sabre shifted, changed shape and form into her warhammer as she pushed Myla away from her, eyes blazing again.
Avera's laughter rang through the dungeon as her golden aura blazed even brighter, every swing of her hammer like the fall of a hammer to the anvil of the world. She had never felt such exhilaration. The fight had become a drug, an intoxicating mixture of blood, sweat, and the raw thrill of battle. Myla was a mirror of her - no, she was more than that. Something beyond just an opponent. She was a storm that couldn't be contained, a warrior who didn't hesitate to meet Avera head-on.
The ground beneath them cracked, the air thick with the roar of their clash. Myla's staff met Avera's warhammer again and again, their weapons colliding with such force that the very air seemed to hum with each impact. The sound was deafening, the power behind their strikes shaking the stone walls, causing dust and debris to rain down on the fighters. Avera's eyes never left Myla, her grin widening as she met each of Myla's strikes with unrelenting strength.
"That's it!" Avera yelled, her voice almost a growl of excitement. "Give me everything you've got!"
Myla's heart pounded in her chest, her body moving like lightning. She was everywhere - always one step ahead, her footwork a blur as she danced around Avera's relentless blows. She shifted, leaping, rolling, spinning - each movement designed to keep Avera off balance, to exploit the slight weaknesses she knew would appear. And Avera? She was a force of nature, taking each strike and returning it with twice the fury.
Avera's eyes flashed with a sudden, dangerous gleam as she swung her hammer in a wide arc, aiming for Myla's head. Myla ducked low, twisting to the side and darting forward, her staff moving in a blur, aiming to strike at Avera's exposed ribs. But Avera was faster, twisting mid-swing, catching Myla off guard with an elbow to her side. The blow was brutal, but Myla absorbed it, letting her body flow with the impact, using it to carry her forward. She lashed out, her staff connecting with Avera's thigh, sending the elf stumbling back.
"Ah, so close!" Avera roared, her voice a mixture of exhilaration and madness. "You're good. But not good enough."
Avera's mana surged around her, the golden light intensifying, shifting from raw power to something far more dangerous. She wasn't just wielding the mana anymore; she was becoming it. The ground beneath her feet shattered with each step, her warhammer glowing with destructive intent. Myla had to force herself to focus, to stay grounded in the chaos.
"I'll end this, now!" Avera bellowed.
With a roar, Avera slammed her fist to the ground, and the air seemed to explode. Myla's eyes widened as a massive, golden gauntlet of mana erupted from the ground, charging toward her at breakneck speed. Myla didn't hesitate - she had no time to. She leapt sideways, twisting her staff to absorb the shockwave from the gauntlet, but the sheer force of the blast was too much. The very air around them vibrated, the ground buckling beneath the impact.
The smoke was blinding.
Myla stumbled, breath ragged, her body shaking with exhaustion. Her mind screamed for her to move, to react, to fight back, but every muscle in her body felt like it was on fire. She didn't know how much longer she could keep going, how much longer she could push her body to its limits. And yet, as the smoke cleared, she saw Avera standing in front of her, her grin still wild, her energy crackling with intensity.
But Myla wasn't done yet. She wasn't ever done.
She raised her staff once more, sweat dripping from her brow, her vision blurry but unwavering. "Come on then, Avera," she spat, her voice hoarse but filled with defiance. "I'm still standing."
Avera blinked, and for a moment, there was something almost tender in her eyes—if only for a heartbeat. "You really are a thrill, Myla," she said softly, before the grin returned, fiercer than ever. "But I'm going to end this."
She rushed forward, the ground beneath her feet crumbling as she barreled toward Myla. The golden gauntlet shimmered with destructive power once more, ready to crush Myla's body with one final blow.
Myla's heart raced. The moment was here.
She moved to meet it.
But the attack came too fast.
There was no avoiding it. The gauntlet slammed into her chest with the force of a hundred collapsing suns, and the world around Myla went white.
Avera stood tall, breathing heavily, her warhammer still raised in triumph. She stared at Myla's unmoving form, her chest heaving as she fought to calm the pounding of her heart. The battle had been exhilarating, beyond anything she had experienced in years. But it had come to an end.
Or so she thought.
Myla stood.
Somehow, impossibly, Myla stood.
Her body was shaking, her eyes half-lidded, but she was still on her feet. Her staff wavered in her grip, but her determination held firm. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale a battle of will.
But even she knew - she couldn't take much more.
With a final, violent effort, Myla collapsed to the ground, her staff clattering beside her, her body utterly spent. Her breath was shallow, her pulse faint, but there was still a fire in her eyes, still something left in her.
And then, she was still.
Orist, watching from his perch, didn't even blink. "It was a foregone conclusion," he muttered, his voice low and analytical. His fingers twitched, eyes scanning both of the fighters with an intensity that bordered on obsessive. He stepped forward, watching Myla crumple to the ground, his gaze flicking back to Avera.
Then, he saw it.
Avera stood there, her chest heaving, sweat dripping from her brow. Her eyes were unfocused, her legs shaking, and with a sudden, strangled breath, she too collapsed.
He cursed under his breath.
With a flick of his fingers, Orist summoned his spatial magic, the air around him shimmering as he stepped into his pocket dimension. He placed Avera inside Wraith's Haven, his personal space, and sealed it shut with a snap of his fingers.
His priority wasn't the fight anymore.
It was her.
He stepped back into the real world, his mind already calculating his next steps. He had to heal her - maybe find Alya? The fight had drained her more than he realized. But it wasn't over.
As he prepared to leave, he turned, only to see Zere standing silently in the doorway, her arms crossed, her gaze locked on the two fallen warriors.
She stared at the unconscious Avera, her lips twitching into a small, almost imperceptible smile.
"I haven't felt her fight this hard in a long time," Zere commented, her voice soft but filled with something resembling respect.
Orist looked at her, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. "The human won't be bothering us anymore," he said flatly, though there was no malice in his voice. "I'm pretty sure she's dead."
Zere's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the room seemed to grow colder. "You're certain of that?"
Orist nodded slowly. "I am."
Zere said nothing more as she turned away, leaving Orist to his thoughts.
She didn't need to say it.
In this world, death was always an option.
A/N: myla is probably my favourite character to write in general - even more than lars
she deserves her own chapter