Sand and dust whipped through the air. Hazle hovered low, his figure like the shadow of a storm ready to devour anything that dared stand in his path. The last of Jester's troops, newly arrived on the shoreline, stared in wide-eyed horror.
"Shit… he's… he's going to attack us," one soldier whispered, his voice catching in his throat.
"I… I can't move…" muttered another, knees trembling like a puppet cut from its strings.
The wind silenced their steps. A hollow thunder echoed in their ears—followed by an invisible strike of air, hitting like a bolt of lightning.
BOOM!
The troops were flung in all directions, bodies crashing into rocks, flagpoles, and twisted debris. Screams rang out for only a moment before vanishing beneath the howling tempest.
In the distance, Charlotte squinted into the chaos. Her aging frame leaned heavily against a jagged boulder, her thick mustache fluttering like a battle-worn banner in the gale. Beside her, Zeco panted hard, one trembling hand pressed tightly to the wound on his ribs that refused to close.
"I suppose now's a good time to regret never writing a will…" Charlotte muttered, her voice dry as the sand around them.
Zeco glanced sidelong at her. "That's a joke, right?"
Charlotte gave a slow nod. "Well… half of it. The other half's dead serious."
"Just make sure I don't die without knowing which half," Zeco said, forcing a bitter smile.
The air trembled.
Hazle had yet to touch the ground, but the cracked earth beneath him fractured further, as though terrified of bearing his weight. His white eyes gleamed briefly—then dimmed, as if the very concept of humanity had been burned out of him. The wind encircled his form, forming a gleaming, spiraling funnel. Each breath he took stirred the world around him, a quiet prelude to the calamity he was about to unleash.
He was ready to move.
But then—through the tempest—a sharp voice rang out.
"HEEEYYY!"
Jester's voice, raw and defiant. He stood amid the rubble, suit in tatters, face bloodied with shallow cuts and burns. "Don't you… recognize me?"
Hazle turned. His feet, at last, touched the ground.
Jester took a breath. Despite his bravado, this wasn't posturing. He knew. Knew this wasn't the same boy who once hesitated. This was a force. And Jester wasn't sure even he could bend it.
Hazle raised his right hand. Wind curled like a predator around his palm, condensing into an invisible spear that shrieked in anticipation.
But before it could launch—Jester moved.
One sidestep left. Then right. The first spear sliced through the air where he'd just stood. Two, three, four more followed—each one closer. But Jester twisted, ducked, rolled, slipping through the eye of the storm with a dancer's rhythm.
"I know… you're not human anymore," he muttered under his breath, sweat running into his eyes. "But I'm no ordinary man either, you damned monster…"
Hazle offered no reply. Only action.
He charged.
Wind fused with his limbs. He swung a fist—not at Jester, but at the air. The resulting blast struck like a cannon, hurling Jester backward. He grunted, catching the blow with a shimmering arcane shield, layers peeling off as they cracked under the pressure.
The ground buckled beneath them. Fire flared from the shattered wreckage nearby.
Charlotte and Zeco watched in breathless awe.
"I'm about to say something I've never said before," Charlotte muttered, eyes unmoving.
Zeco didn't look away. "What's that?"
"If we survive this," she said grimly, "I'm gonna kiss this rock and hug it for three days straight."
Zeco blinked. "Why the rock?"
"Because it's the only damn thing that hasn't abandoned me in this fight!"
Zeco shook his head. Even now—on the edge of death—the dwarf's absurdity cracked something human in him. Laughter. Brief, but real.
Back at the center of the chaos—
Hazle and Jester faced one another. And Hazle… had begun to unravel.
He no longer moved with purpose. He moved with rage—pure and blinding.
And Jester knew. If he failed to stop this incarnation of fury here, now—his entire war, his twisted ambitions, even his own life—would be ash on the wind.
Hazle lunged.
The earth tore beneath him.
The sky howled with the sound of rupturing air.
But before his punch could land, Jester spun and countered—delivering a precise, brutal strike to Hazle's face.
THUD!
Hazle was knocked back—but did not fall.
He hovered there, motionless, suspended by wrath alone.
Jester staggered two steps, arms shaking from the impact. He exhaled raggedly.
"I miss my younger days…" he said with a twisted grin. "Those crazy fights… can't believe I still got it."
Hazle raised his head.
No blood.
No bruise.
No sign of harm.
Only wind—and the promise of destruction.
And in that single breath of stillness—
—the storm deepened.