Mercy later

The village had gone full storm.

Shadows sprinted between flames, steel flashed in streetlight. The team moved with practiced chaos—tight formations breaking apart and snapping back together like a dance they'd rehearsed for years.

Johnny blocked a blade with his dagger and spun to cover Shylo's blind side. Milo's clone backed up Kenneth, setting distractions so he could land clean hits with his blazing gauntlets.

The villagers fought to protect her. But they weren't trained. Some were barely armed. Farmers. Fathers.

And still—blood hit the walls all the same.

Maverick pushed forward, the princess slung over his shoulder. She fought like a wildcat, kicking, squirming, biting—but he didn't let go. His arm locked around her waist like steel, and he still managed to parry every strike that came their way.

Then the ground shifted.

Fast.

Like the dirt itself twisted beneath them.