The Fallen One

FORZA

There was no rain around me anymore. The storm had long since vanished from my immediate surroundings, chased away by the altitude I'd reached. The clouds that once raged with thunder and downpour were now nothing more than distant shadows beneath me, swirling and screaming, yet unable to touch me. I was above it all—high, even by my standards—adrift in the vast openness of the sky, where the winds howled without apology and the air grew thinner with every breath.

It should've been suffocating, but I didn't mind. Not the cold. Not the pressure. Not even the biting wind that gnawed at my skin. Up here, the sun had finally broken through. Its light spilt across my armour and cheekbones, offering a warmth that clashed violently with the storm below. And maybe that contradiction—serenity above chaos—was exactly what kept me frozen in place.

I knew Lucius was still down there. Fighting the Chimaera. Alone.

The same Chimaera we hadn't expected to encounter us first this deep into the territory, her territory. A beast not just terrifying in presence, but a former alpha. SS-ranked. The kind of threat you study in survival manuals—not something you fight alone unless you've got a death wish. There was no possible way he could last more than a few minutes on his own, not against something like that.

And yet... knowing all that, I hadn't moved.

I told myself I needed time to stabilise my flight. That my senses were still disoriented from the sudden ascent. That the wind currents at this height were too strong to cast properly. But they were just pathetic, lame and 'don't make any sense' excuses. Thin, pathetic excuses that I clung to because deep down, something in me had frozen—and not from the cold.

I tried again, commanding my body to dive, to cut through the clouds and return to the battle. But my limbs hesitated. My magic stuttered. My mind flooded with memories and reasons and doubts, all crashing into each other like the storms below. I wasn't afraid of the beast—I had faced worse. No, it wasn't the Chimaera that terrified me. It was the feeling I couldn't shake, the one that whispered that this was my fault. That Lucius was down there alone because I'd made the wrong call. Because I'd dragged him into this.

I gripped my staff tighter, its familiar hum vibrating against my palm. The wind element within it responded to me like it always had—loyal, constant—but I didn't summon a single spell. I just hovered there, wrapped in sunlight, warm and miserable.

It was supposed to be a simple mission. I had extended my senses farther than ever before, pushing wind mana to its limits, weaving it into the atmosphere so I could feel everything across a wider range. And it worked... for a moment. I detected more mana signatures than I thought possible. But by doing that, I gave away my own position. I made myself vulnerable.

The moment I sensed something odd for a split second, which now I'm sure was a Chimaera, it sensed me too.

Had I chosen a cloaked sensory scan—more limited in range but masked in presence—none of this would've happened. But I wanted more. I needed to cover more ground. To be useful. To prove that I could do something right on my own.

And now... Lucius was paying for that choice.

The worst part? He didn't even know why.

He didn't know what I was really chasing—what obsession had slowly dug its claws into me over the years. In his mind, I was just another lost girl trying to prove her worth after being abandoned by her parents. That's what he thought this was all about.

And honestly? I couldn't even blame him. That's the part he knows. That's the part I let him see.

But the truth... the real reason I've pushed myself so far... is buried beneath a dozen locked doors even I'm afraid to open.

Because half a truth is more dangerous than none at all.

And I had left him to fight with only half the picture.

Lucius—always so composed, so focused in the thick of chaos—was probably not even blaming me. That was just who he was. Right now, as the battle between him and the Chimaera raged on in the middle of that swampy wasteland, his mind was likely clear, locked onto survival and instinct, onto the next movement, the next strike. He'd have no room to waste on thoughts of betrayal or abandonment. Not when every second could determine his future... or his end.

Still, I couldn't ignore what I knew. His odds were low. He was an S-rank, true—a level most would kill to reach—but it wasn't enough. Not against that. Not today. He had lost an eye, too—an irreplaceable wound. A permanent sacrifice. One that would follow him like a shadow for the rest of his life, if he even lived through this. And that future, that survival... it now rested on the decision I was about to make.

So what was it? What was I still afraid of?

The question echoed through my head like a slap, bouncing off the walls of every excuse I'd hidden behind. Because the truth? I could descend right now. I could summon the full fury of my magic and hammer that Chimaera with a barrage it couldn't hope to defend against. And Lucius would back me up. Together, we'd stand a chance. A real one.

So why was I still up here? I questioned myself for the thousandth time.

"Calm down. Breathe in," I whispered aloud, the words shaky but honest, at the very least.

My breaths were shallow. Too fast. It was starting to affect my flight, my mana control. I knew this feeling—panic. Self-doubt. And I hated it. I wasn't like Lucius. I wasn't built for direct combat or sudden death duels. But that didn't mean I was weak. I was trained. I was ranked. I was wielding a devastating affinity that could reshape the battlefield. I was more than just a scholar, more than a researcher in love with theories and history. This—this moment was my battlefield too. One I had prepared for, one I had earned. This is my second nature, one I'm proud to possess and flaunt.

And deep down, I knew the truth.

Years ago, I'd held my brother in these very arms as the life faded from his eyes. I had been powerless. Magicless. Barely even human in the face of death's cruelty. I had begged for another chance to save him, or someone else, a form of pathetic compensation, never to feel that helpless again.

Well... here it was, no longer a pathetic way of compensation for my brother's life.

Another chance. Another life hanging by a thread. And this time, I was no longer helpless. I was the wind. I was the storm. And I would not let him die as well. Not on my watch, no, I cannot, and will not allow that.

My grip on the staff tightened instinctively, the air around me roaring to life in response. My manifested wings crackled with fresh energy, the armour wrapping around my body humming with an intensity I hadn't felt in years. Then it happened—subtle, but unmistakable. A new layer of magic began to form, an ethereal crown of wind and light settling upon my forehead. The crown I had once worn with pride. The symbol of who I was... and who I refused to forget.

I opened my eyes fully, searching within myself for any final trace of fear or hesitation. Anything that might cripple me in the seconds of a battle to come. But there was nothing left. No fear. No excuses. Just resolve.

My body began to fall, not in surrender, but in purpose.

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The wind screamed around me, guiding my descent like a loyal guardian. The sunlight caught the edge of my armour one final time, blessing me with its golden warmth before I plunged into the thick, churning clouds below.

No more waiting. No more doubt.

I was coming, Lucius.

And this time, I wouldn't be a powerless spectator. A fool hoping- begging, praying the Almighty for a miracle that never comes.

LUCIUS

"How can anyone hate the rain?" They ask. .. This, this is exactly how.

I've always thought swamps and rain were useless phenomena—good for little more than keeping our canteens full and giving water elementals something to chew on. But today… today, I discovered they're also fantastic conductors for this damned electricity.

Lucky me.

The Chimaera's grip clamped around my torso like a steel vice—easily strong enough to crush ribs, organs, whatever it felt like. The way it whipped me around, thrashing my body like I weighed nothing, I was half-convinced I'd already died and was just waiting for my brain to catch up.

But I didn't die.

Somehow, I lived long enough to turn the very water trying to drown me into a weapon. A compressed vortex of swamp water, guided by a telekinetic pull I didn't even know I could muster. Don't ask me how. I barely understand how I pulled it off, and I am the one who did it.

That swamp—murky, dense, choking—wasn't just rainwater pooled over soil. It was deep. Deep enough to drag even a creature like the Chimaera further down with each frantic movement. And with how bloated and oversized that beast was, it didn't take long for it to sink deeper into the sludge.

The moment the vortex, I shaped cone-like and spinning violently, slammed into it, right below its thick neck, I knew I'd struck something vital. The creature let out a muffled, guttural roar beneath the surface, expelling a stream of bubbles that rushed up toward me. Nothing dangerous in them… just panic. Raw, primal panic.

Still, for someone already half-drowned, those bubbles were enough to freak me out.

The injury must've startled her. She released me—not out of mercy, but instinct. Her dominant arm, the one pinning me, jerked back to shield the wound. But even in retreat, her claws tore through me, slicing straight through my armour and deep into flesh.

Pain exploded through my torso.

I didn't scream—I couldn't. My lungs were already starved of air and half-filled with swamp water, as the heaviness I felt in my chest couldn't be explained by anything else. Kicking against the heavy, plant-choked water, I forced myself upward. Up toward the faint shimmers of lightning above the surface. My limbs thrashed, blood spiralling out behind me, mixing with the mud and rot. I could feel the swamp pressing in from all sides—like it had a will of its own, eager to drag me back down.

This wasn't water. This was death.

Breathless, bleeding, half-conscious, and terrified, I clawed toward the surface. The fear rising in me wasn't just the instinctual panic of drowning—it was something deeper. Something primal.

The same realisation that hit every fool who's ever tried to fight underwater:

This battlefield doesn't belong to you. Like hell it belongs to anyone.

I glanced up, spotting Snowhite—my blade—buried deep in the trunk of a half-felled tree. Must've gotten lodged there when the Chimaera and I came crashing down. With a flick of my hand, I reached out for it, pulling with telekinesis.

The resistance surprised me. The damn tree held onto that blade like it had a personal grudge against me. My grip faltered for half a second, but I didn't have time to marvel at stubborn woodwork. The Chimaera was still somewhere nearby, lurking in the swamp. And every second I wasted gave it another breath.

Just as Snowhite began to tremble free from the gnarled trunk, I felt it—
A ripple.
Movement in the water ahead.

I slammed my back against the base of a young tree, lungs heaving, arms shaking. I was still trying to crawl my way upright when the surface broke. A low splash, the kind that signalled she was about to pounce.

The Chimaera erupted from the swamp like a serpent, its tail whipping behind it in a blur. Using it like a propeller, it hurled itself forward, faster than any beast its size had a right to move. And right as Snowhite was finally released—too far to grab—the monster was already on me.

I did the only thing I could. I let it go.

Snowhite dropped like a silver streak into the swamp, vanishing beneath the murk with a muted splash.

Then came the clang.

Its claws collided with my last line of defence—Crimson Ultima. The crimson-blue blade met the beast's talons in a furious crash, the sound slicing through the forest like a thunderous earthquake.

The slash didn't break my sword. It didn't even chip it...

But the force behind it?
Unstoppable.

I flew backwards. The impact launched me, slamming through a tree trunk with a clean hole blown through its centre. Then another. And another. I crashed through five trees in total, each one giving me a fresh reason to spit blood.

One tree was thick and unforgiving, another splintered like brittle bone. One had outward-pointing scales—scales—because apparently Mother Nature was in a particularly sadistic mood when she made it. Every hit cracked something new.

My vision blurred. Not from shock—my skull had literally bounced off two of those trees. Headgear? Hanging on by sheer will. My back? Numb. Legs? Can't really feel them. Arms? No idea.

Maybe it was the blood loss, or the sheer amount of blunt trauma I'd just eaten like a free buffet, but part of me almost welcomed the numbness.

Good, I thought bitterly, as I sucked in what little oxygen I could. At least that'll keep the pain at bay for a few more seconds.

But then I felt it.
Not a sound.
Not a sight.
Just a tremor beneath my feet, which I somehow felt crawling upwards, towards my battered chest.

A vibration that echoed up through the ground, like afterlife itself approaching on all fours.

I didn't need eyes to know she was coming.
Didn't need clarity to know who it was.

The Chimaera.
Still alive and well. Still relentless.
Still coming for me.

My grip tightened around Crimson Ultima, the sword still in hand by some miracle. It rose with me, barely—almost like it had adjusted its weight, sensing my body's failing strength.

My vision was smeared in blood and sweat and something else I couldn't name. My breath came in shallow gasps. My heart pounded against cracked ribs. But I still stood.

Because this monster wasn't done, and neither was the will to fight and survive within me.

The beast launched skyward on all fours, climbing several meters into the air like a boulder hurled by the gods. She curled her limbs mid-air, shadow blotting out the battered treetops above, ready to crash down and erase me in a single, brutal blow.

Apparently, these monsters have a thing for dramatic landings.

I couldn't stand straight—not really. My legs were trembling, my ribs cracked, and my vision was smeared in red and blurred. But I held my ground, blade in hand, spine locked. I didn't have a counter ready. I barely had breath. But I'd endure. Anything short of death.

Above me, the Chimaera was a dark mass blotting out the stormlit sky, her gaping jaw cracked open in a silent snarl. She was just a few seconds away from impact.

I activated Crimson Ultima.

The blade ignited with a furious surge—deep crimson fire spiralling around its edge like a phoenix screaming through the downpour. Flames bloomed wildly around me, defying the rain, roaring upward as if they knew this might be our last stand.

But then—

Something blurred past the edge of my fractured vision.

The Chimaera jerked midair, violently slammed from the left with a sickening crunch, and was hurled sideways like myself from a few moments ago, crashing into the soaked forest floor to my right.

For a second, I thought my brain had finally snapped from the trauma.
Then I sensed her.

Forza.

She hovered a few 10s of meters off the ground, wrapped in that shimmering armour forged from sky and wind. Her wings flared behind her, greyish-blue feathers streaked with mana. She held her staff in a reversed grip, palm near its base, while the head of it still glowed from a violent compression spell.

Right at the tip of her staff had been a spell no bigger than a tennis ball, so tightly condensed it whined against the air. The moment it touched the Chimaera, it detonated—a concentrated blast that knocked the beast into a new timeline. The look in her eyes—those four oddly mismatched orbs—froze, wide and unblinking, right before it vanished into a whirlwind of broken trees and ruptured swamp.

The forest shuddered. Then came the wind.

A fresh surge of divine gales swept through the battlefield, ripping across the waterlogged earth, pushing back the smell of blood and decay. It didn't just clear the air.

It changed it.

Where the storm had screamed panic, Forza's presence brought order. Calm fury. Controlled violence. Hope.

She spared me a glance.

Her eyes scanned my bloodied frame. Her brow creased slightly. I looked like I'd just been chewed up and spit back out by a forest fire. Probably because I had been.

"…I'm fine," I croaked, summoning two healing potions from my pouch. My hands shook. One of the bottles nearly slipped.

Forza didn't speak. She just gave a curt nod and flew past me, toward the fallen beast.

I tried to lean against the nearest tree, trying to breathe without coughing up half a lung. I'd barely swallowed the first gulp of potion when the sky exploded.

Not thunder.

Lightning.

But it wasn't falling from the heavens—it was rising from the earth.

Bolts of pure voltage shot upward, from the ground itself, like spears trying to stab the sky. The entire horizon lit up in an eerie violet-white glow, illuminating Forza's silhouette as she dove toward the storm. Lightning crawled around her like it recognised her as kin.

It wasn't natural.
Wasn't some storm trick.

It was the Chimaera.
Awakened.
Enraged.
Finally going all out.

I felt it in my gut. The difference. The kind of shift that separates a battle from a war.

"I have to hurry," I whispered to myself. "Can't be as late as Forza was."

Because that lightning boom just now? That wasn't just a spell.
That was an open warning and challenge.

And the monster that made it wasn't just hunting anymore.
She was declaring war on us.