The night was still and cold as Florence's hired mercenaries moved carefully through the dense trees, their silhouettes shadows beneath the gleam of the full moon. 

Florence was nowhere in sight, and they couldn't help but mutter complaints as they edged closer to their elusive target. A few of them glanced around in quiet frustration — left without much choice but to trust his vague instructions.

They moved into a clearing, their eyes adjusting to the strange, ethereal glow emanating from a field of hyacinths stretching far and wide under the moonlight. 

And there, standing quietly in the center, was the sorceress herself. Melana. 

Her back was turned to them, her long dark hair a cascade of midnight against her pale, almost ghostly figure. She seemed to be waiting, but her shoulders were relaxed, her stance casual, as though she sensed no threat at all.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" one of the men, a swordsman, whispered, his voice barely carrying in the silence.

A woman nodded, confusion flashing across his face. "It's just... it's just a girl."

"Just a girl," the archer repeated under his breath, uneasy. 

He had expected some monstrous entity, not someone who appeared so young, so unassuming. But Florence's orders were clear. Capture her — no questions asked.

The archer raised his hand, signaling the others to fan out and surround her. They glanced at each other in brief hesitation, each expecting Florence to appear and take charge. But when he didn't, they pressed forward, stepping into the clearing, each blade and bow drawn tight in tense readiness.

The moment they moved, Melana's head tilted slightly. 

She lifted her arms, and the field of hyacinths around her trembled, a whisper of sound carried by the night wind. "You dare intrude upon this... this peaceful place..."

Without turning to look, she rose gracefully into the air, the flowers at her feet stirring and lifting along with her — thousands of petals swirling up around her like a violet storm. The mercenaries stared, half-frozen in awe as the petals shimmered, catching the moonlight. 

"I-it's... beautiful." one of them, the swordsman, says half-mindedly.

Then, in a single fluid motion, Melana twisted her hand, and the petals transformed into glinting, razor-sharp blades.

"Move!" the archer shouted, shoving the dazed swordsman toward the cover of the trees. But before they could all react, the petal blades surged forward in a deadly wave, slicing through the air toward them.

Most of them scrambled behind trees, narrowly escaping the deadly rain. But the guide — the wiry man with weathered skin and a thousand-yard stare — wasn't quick enough. He stumbled, the petals of purple embedding in him with brutal precision. 

He staggered forward, eyes wide with shock as blood bloomed through his clothes. He fell to the ground, lifeless, his body crumpled in the delicate flowers that continued to swirl ominously around Melana.

"Damn it!" The archer gritted his teeth, notching an arrow. "You wanted a fight, girl? Fine!"

He drew his bow taut and fired an explosive arrow straight toward her, aiming to shake her concentration. "Dragon's Kiss!"

As the arrow neared her, Melana's hand shot out, her telekinetic hold snapping around it mid-air. But even with her grip, the arrow detonated, engulfing her in a cloud of smoke and blinding the mercenaries to her exact location.

Seizing the opportunity, the female mage muttered an incantation, her hands glowing as she cast spells over the swordsman beside her. The enchantment took hold, strengthening the swordsman's arms and speed. 

Without hesitation, the swordsman unsheathed his twin blades and charged into the smoke, aiming to catch her off-guard.

Emerging from the haze, he spotted her figure — and swung with all his might. Melana sidestepped, the edge of his blade barely grazing her shoulder. Her hand shot out, grabbing him by the leg. 

With a vicious strength, she hurled him back, sending him flying into a thick tree trunk with a sickening crack. He slumped to the ground, the force having shattered the tree...and his spine.

The archer, undeterred, fired three arrows in quick succession. "Song of Swallows!"

Simultaneously, the mage summoned thick vines from the earth, which snaked around Melana, binding her limbs. "Nature's Embrace!"

The arrows, however, had been deflected by the hyacinths that surrounded the sorceress as she turned her furious gaze on the mage. But as the vines tightened, her concentration wavered, allowing for a small opening amongst the swirling petals, which someone in the distance clearly took.

And that was when Florence finally emerged from the shadowed treeline, clutching a scroll that glowed with a charged, crackling energy. The scroll was of rare, destructive power, a single-use artifact intended to unleash devastation on armies. He aimed it at the gap, straight at the sorceress, his eyes fixed on her. "Heaven's Fury."

In a heartbeat, he unleashed the spell. A massive bolt of lightning erupted from the scroll, streaking across the clearing and consuming Melana in a blinding, furious blaze. 

But the magic's reach extended further than he'd intended, the mage who had cast the vines now caught in the crossfire. With a scream that was lost to the sound of thunder, she was vaporized in an instant, disappearing into the blinding storm of light and energy.

The force of the spell left a thick, smoldering cloud hanging over the clearing. Florence stood still, watching as the smoke slowly began to dissipate, revealing scorched patches of flowers and charred earth. 

The only movement was from the surviving archer, who stumbled over to Florence, his face pale and his eyes wide with anger.

"Y-you lied to us!" the archer snarled, his voice shaking. "You set us up in a death trap! A-and Helen... you killed her, you bastard!"

Florence didn't respond, his gaze still trained on the thinning smoke. He barely seemed to register the archer's fury. He waited in the silence, his face expressionless as the embers cooled.

The archer took a step back, incredulous. "What? What are you waiting for? That was a spell strong enough to level a city! She has to be dead!"

Florence's mouth twisted slightly, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. "That would be too easy."

He wasn't ready to declare victory, not yet. Melana was powerful, dangerous beyond their comprehension. And until he saw her fallen, her magic crushed completely, he wouldn't trust any amount of fire or lightning. 

His fingers tightened on the handle of his sword, his eyes scanning the clearing as he braced for any sign of movement within the still, smoking shadows.

As the smoke cleared, the archer's heart sank. There, standing amid the scorched earth and scattered remains of hyacinths, was Melana, unfazed, her dark figure seemingly untouched by the blast's raw power. She stared at the two survivors, her eyes cold, the faintest trace of a smile forming on her lips.

"You lot just can't leave well enough alone, can you?" she whispered, her voice carrying a dangerous, almost playful edge.

Before they could react, Melana unleashed a relentless barrage of arcane magic. Bolts of purple energy streaked across the clearing, tearing through trees and scorching the ground. 

The archer scrambled for cover, barely escaping the first wave, while Florence sidestepped a lethal strike, the blast grazing his cloak and leaving it smoldering. He clenched his jaw, feeling the sting of the arcane energy tearing through the air.

"What mastery..." Florence would think to himself as he removed his cloak. "To think she could cast a lot of high-tier magic without uttering a word..."

With a swift movement, Florence dashed toward her, his fingers flickering with arcane symbols as he summoned protective wards to shield himself. 

The wards deflected most of her attacks, shimmering briefly under each impact, but stray bolts slipped through, searing cuts into his arm and side. He pressed forward regardless, refusing to let her overpower him.

As he neared, Florence tossed two summoning stones to the ground. The stones shattered, and two hulking stone golems erupted from the earth, their rough, towering forms lumbering toward Melana. They swung heavy fists at her, but she turned to them with a casual flick of her hand, her eyes glowing with power. 

She lifted both golems off the ground and crushed them with a mere thought, reducing them to rubble that clattered to the ground around her.

In that instant, while her back was turned, Florence darted in from her blindside, Blood Matron unsheathed, its crimson glow pulsing with an insatiable hunger. The blade struck her side, slicing through her defenses as she staggered, feeling the sting of the enchanted blade. 

Blood Matron's glow intensified, the crimson light transferring to Florence, mending his cuts as the blade greedily absorbed her blood.

With a sharp cry, Melana spun, delivering a swift, powerful kick. Florence barely had time to react, blocking it with Blood Matron, but the force of her blow sent him flying backward, crashing through the underbrush. He skidded to a halt, his breath knocked out of him, but the healing energy from Blood Matron had already sealed some of his wounds. 

Undeterred, he pushed himself up, his eyes locked onto her with renewed determination.

Gripping another pair of summoning stones, he flung them into the air. The stones transformed into two winged gargoyles, which immediately swooped down on Melana, diving and attacking with swift strikes to distract her. Melana smirked as she raised her hand, a wicked grin on her face.

"Practice targets," she muttered. With a single burst of power, she obliterated both gargoyles in one devastating blast, the explosion filling the air with a thick cloud of smoke and dust.

Seizing the opportunity, Florence had Blood Matron absorb his own life force, murmuring an incantation. Blood Matron's magic surged, and two nearly perfect duplicates of Florence materialized, each one circling around Melana from a different direction. They moved in sync, surrounding her, waiting for her to make a move.

Without a moment's hesitation, Melana unleashed another powerful blast, aiming at each Florence in unison. The clones disintegrated immediately, their forms dissipating into misty trails of blood. 

The real Florence, standing some distance away, prepared himself as he pulled out two scrolls, each glowing with potent enchantments. One scroll crackled with raw energy — the same spell that had unleashed the massive lightning blast. The other was an ancient sealing scroll, its surface covered in dark, intricate symbols. 

This sealing spell, if completed, would bind Melana for centuries, trapping her in a deep magical prison. He knew that if he timed it perfectly, he could use the first scroll to distract her just long enough to cast the seal.

Unfurling the lightning scroll, he braced himself and began the incantation, his voice steady, each word ringing with ancient power. The clearing began to vibrate, the air filling with a low hum as the spell gathered energy. "Heaven's Fury!"

Melana turned, her eyes narrowing as she sensed the immense power building up. She raised her hands, prepared to counter whatever Florence had planned, but the moment the spell unleashed, she was enveloped in a blinding torrent of electricity. 

The lightning consumed everything in its path, striking the ground and setting the flowers ablaze, the air thick with the sharp scent of ozone and burning hyacinths.

Florence, not wasting a single second, unfurled the sealing scroll and started chanting the binding incantation. 

A circle of arcane light appeared around Melana, runes glowing as they formed a prison of energy around her. The lightning subsided, revealing Melana standing within the glowing circle, her face twisted in fury. She pushed against the boundary of the spell, but the sealing magic held firm, containing her like an invisible cage.

As Florence continued the chant, the seal's strength increased, tightening its hold on her. Melana thrashed against it, but every movement was futile, her power blocked by the ancient magic binding her in place.

Florence held his breath as he completed the final line of the incantation, the binding circle now fully closed around Melana, sealing her movements and her magic within. "Hundred-Year Prison!"

For the first time since he had entered the clearing, Florence allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. 

But just as he lowered the scroll, the air around him grew tense, the silence vibrating with unspent energy. Melana's eyes met his, her fury burning brighter than ever. With a chilling smile, she whispered a single word.

"T-this is.... insulting."

As the glow of the binding spell faded, Florence eyes widened with disbelief. Melana's smile deepened, her eyes glinting with an unnatural light as the circle of arcane runes around her began to fracture. Her voice, low and seething, echoed through the clearing.

"Did you really think a spell as simple as this would hold me?!"

The archer, watching from behind a tree, cursed under his breath, realizing they'd bitten off far more than they could chew. He nocked three arrows, sweat beading on his forehead. 

As the first crack in the binding seal splintered, he took a deep breath and muttered, "I-impossible."

Florence's gaze remained locked on Melana as the binding spell began to crumble under her pressure, and his mind raced. 

"She's... breaking it," he muttered, his hand tightening around Blood Matron. 

With a final, powerful burst, Melana shattered the binding seal entirely, sending fragments of magical energy exploding outward. 

Florence shielded his face from the blast, but even before the smoke cleared, the archer let three of his arrows fly. It was a split-second decision, and he aimed straight for Melana's heart. "Song of Swallows!"

Melana's hand snapped up mid-air, and the magic-infused arrows halted mere inches from her chest. She stared at the archer with a sinister grin, twisting her fingers as the arrows spun in place, redirecting its deadly point back toward him. With a flick of her wrist, all three arrows shot back at the archer with even greater force than it had been loosed.

Florence watched in horror as the archer barely dodged two of three, with one of the arrows hitting him in the shoulder. 

"Seems like a missed," Melana taunted. "Apologies, I was never good with bows."

Florence wasn't about to let her play with them any longer. He steadied himself, gripping Blood Matron tightly, feeling the pulsing energy within the blade. The sword was his last hope, the only artifact with enough power to drain her strength if he could get in close enough.

He took off toward her in a dead sprint, tossing another summoning stone to the ground. This time, a thick cloud of smoke burst from it, obscuring him from view as he approached. The smoke swirled around her, but Melana seemed unfazed, her eyes tracking his presence as if she could see right through the haze.

The archer, after forcing the arrow off his shoulder, took another aim, lining up with Florence's movements. If he could time it right, maybe he could create an opening for him.

"Florence!" he shouted.

Florence surged forward, Blood Matron aimed directly at Melana's heart. Melana raised her hand, summoning a barrier of energy between them, but the enchanted blade cut through the field, striking true. 

Blood Matron's crimson glow intensified as it drank from her, sapping her power and transferring it to Florence. He felt a surge of strength and resilience, the blade healing his wounds as it drained her.

But Melana gritted her teeth, eyes blazing with fury. She pressed her palm to Florence's chest and muttered a single word. A blast of raw magic erupted from her hand, sending him hurtling backward. He crashed to the ground, but Blood Matron's healing had left him strong enough to push himself up almost immediately.

"Persistent little rat," she sneered, raising her hand to gather energy for a final attack.

The archer knew he had only one chance left. Drawing his last explosive arrow, he took a steadying breath, locking eyes with Florence across the field of carnage. 

Florence's gaze was fierce, and with a subtle nod, he signaled his readiness. Just then, Melara gathered her energy, a deadly beam of arcane power forming between her hands.

The archer whispered to himself, "Dragon's Kiss..." and released the arrow.

It streaked through the night like a comet, racing toward Melara's beam. The instant her spell fired, it collided with the arrow midair, unleashing an explosion so brilliant it turned night into day. The impact swallowed the entire clearing in a blinding, fiery flash, flinging everyone back.

For a few stunned moments, silence reigned. The smoke began to clear, revealing the aftermath.

Florence lay on his side, disoriented, feeling a strange numbness in his body. When he tried to push himself up, a searing pain shot through him, and he looked down to see his right arm...gone, scorched at the shoulder. 

The archer scrambled to his feet nearby, horrified but unable to look away from Florence's injury. "Florence... your arm!"

Florence gritted his teeth and pushed himself up once more, his body protesting with each movement. His right arm was nothing but a charred stump... the stump where his arm used to be... and the pain from the wound was unbearable, a constant, gnawing reminder of his desperate gamble. 

Blood Matron felt heavy in his left hand, but he gripped it tighter, determination coursing through him despite the waves of dizziness threatening to overtake him.

His first instinct had been to use the sword as he always did — to strike down, to end the battle. But now, with his arm lost and his strength ebbing, he had no choice but to rely on the sword's other powers.

Using what remained of his left arm, he quickly placed Blood Matron across his stump. A searing pain flared as the sword's magic responded, its red glow intensifying. Blood Matron thrummed with dark energy, and Florence gritted his teeth as the blade seemed to draw from him — not just the blood, but his pain. 

The blood in his veins surged, and the sword's magic knitted the wound together, sealing it, the raw edges of his arm beginning to stabilize. It was a temporary solution, a painful one, but at least it stopped the bleeding. The sword had healed him before, but never so brutally, and Florence could feel the strain it was putting on him. Every fiber of his being screamed in protest, but he couldn't afford to falter now.

Through the dissipating smoke, he saw her... Melara... kneeling in the center of the clearing. 

She was trembling, her breaths ragged and shallow. Her aura, once pulsing with dangerous energy, was now flickering weakly, clearly drained. The sight of her broken and vulnerable made the blood in Florence's veins run cold, and for a moment, he was unsure whether to take advantage of her weakness and end it all right then and there, or just let her die.

"You... what did I ever... do..." Melara spat, but there was a tremor in her voice that betrayed her. The confidence in her eyes had been replaced by a flicker of fear, her energy almost entirely spent.

Florence took a slow, painful step forward, his body screaming in protest, his vision blurring with each movement. The weight of his missing arm felt like an anchor pulling him down, but he didn't dare slow his pace. Blood Matron pulsed softly in his hand, its red glow steady and calm, almost eager to end this battle once and for all.

The archer, still kneeling with his last arrow drawn, remained silent beside him, his quiver nearly empty. His fingers trembled as they gripped the shaft, the pressure of the moment overwhelming. He too could see the end in sight — but Florence knew they couldn't let their guard down just yet.

But then, something unexpected happened. Melara's eyes fluttered shut, her body slumping forward slightly. The aura that had surrounded her began to fade, dissipating into the night air like smoke. The relentless storm of magic that had raged just moments before vanished into nothingness.

For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though the battle was finally over. Florence's breath hitched, his injured body trembling from the effort it had taken just to stay standing. He barely heard the archer's relieved sigh, his own pulse thundering in his ears as he finally allowed himself a moment to rest. The fight was over.

Or so it seemed.

The clearing grew eerily quiet, save for the ragged breathing of the two men. Florence's vision swam in and out of focus, his body on the brink of collapse. But before he could even consider lowering his guard, a faint chuckle echoed through the forest — a laugh that seemed to come from all around them, from everywhere at once.

Florence and the archer whipped around, their brief moment of relief evaporating like smoke in the cold night air.

Melara's supposed body, still kneeling in the ground, began to decay rapidly, skin withering to bone, until she was nothing more than a skeletal, brittle corpse. And as the last of her withered flesh turned to ash, they realized in horror: it was a trick. A decoy.

"Encore, encore!" Melara's voice mocked from everywhere and nowhere.

Shadows twisted and writhed all around them, and within seconds, a legion of undead staggered from the darkened trees, their eyes glowing with hunger, their movements jerky and disjointed. The stench of decay and rot filled the air, the overwhelming tide of the dead closing in from all sides.

"Run!" Florence shouted, pushing the archer forward as they sprinted through the forest. Florence's chest burned with each step, and his body felt like it was being torn apart, but there was no time to stop, no time to think. 

The undead were relentless, but the forest was just as unforgiving.

The archer stumbled, his foot catching on a twisted root that had emerged from the earth like a serpent, and he fell hard, scraping his hands against the ground. 

"Florence, help!" he shouted, his voice panicked, pleading.

Florence's heart clenched, and honor compelled him to turn back, to help, but the horde was closing in too fast. He saw the archer's desperate hands reaching out, but Florence knew there was no saving him. The undead were too close, too many. The archer was already doomed.

He hesitated, just for a moment, his breath ragged, but in the end, he turned away, leaving the poor soul. He couldn't afford to waste another second.

Behind him, the archer's final scream was drowned out by the sickening sounds of flesh and bone being torn apart, swallowed by the relentless, gnawing hunger of the undead. 

Florence didn't look back, his feet moving with a single purpose — escape.

Branches clawed at his face as he pushed through the underbrush, thorned vines rose from the ground like hungry snakes, lashing at his ankles, attempting to trip him. Roots ripped up from the earth, each one conspiring to slow him down. It was as if the entire forest had come to life, joining the undead in their pursuit.

Florence swung Blood Matron in wide arcs, severing anything that came too close, but with every stroke, his energy waned. 

The exhaustion was taking its toll. His steps slowed, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Suddenly, cold hands grasped at the back of his coat, dragging at his skin like claws on stone. He could feel the sharp teeth of the undead closing in on him, the damp chill of their breath on his neck. Every muscle in his body screamed for rest, but there was no time.

Desperation surged through him. Florence gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep moving. He pulled Blood Matron across his remaining limb, the sword draining him of his own life force. The pain flared, white-hot, but it wasn't enough to stop him.

"Come on," he muttered, a strangled prayer to the sword.

Blood Matron responded to his essence, its magic flaring to life. The sword hummed with dark energy, and before Florence could even process what was happening, the world around him shifted. 

Blood Matron pulsed, and in an instant, a cocoon of glass-like blood shards formed around him. The blood fused together, sharp and crystalline, creating a barrier strong enough to hold back the undead.

The undead lashed out with ferocity, their hands scrabbling at the walls of the blood cocoon, clawing at the surface, but their efforts were in vain. The barrier held firm. Florence pressed his back against the inside of the cocoon, his breath shallow as he slumped down to the ground.

His body was battered, every inch of him sore and bruised, his wounds still bleeding sluggishly. His right arm — now a stump — ached horribly, and though the cocoon protected him, the exhaustion was overwhelming.

Minutes stretched into eternity as Florence lay there, listening to the gnashing of teeth and the incessant scratching from the undead outside. They wouldn't stop, not until they had him. The sound of their claws on the blood-shard walls was maddening, but he didn't move. He couldn't.

Slowly, his breathing evened out as the adrenaline began to wear off. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, too tired to stay alert. The cocoon of blood was all that kept him safe now. He had no more tricks, no more spells. He was spent.

But then, something strange happened. 

The undead's incessant attack slowed, their clawing fading. One by one, the creatures began to disintegrate. 

It was subtle at first, just a few turning to dust, but then more followed. The bodies of the dead crumbled to ash, as if some unseen force was slowly undoing them. Florence, still huddled within the cocoon, watched in silent disbelief as the horde he had feared so much began to vanish.

The night was still. It seemed like, for that moment at least, he was alone, but Florence wasn't taking that chance.

****

Meanwhile, Melara emerged on the other side of the forest, breathing heavily. Bruised, but alive.

The sorceress gritted her teeth, frustration and exhaustion etched into her face. That battle had drained her, far more than she anticipated. 

She felt a warm trickle sliding down her nose and touched it, her fingertips coming away stained red. Melara stared at the blood for a moment, then wiped it from her face with a look of cold resolve, forcing herself to steady her breath despite the toll on her body.

She'd escaped Florence's sealing scroll, but the effort had drained her mana reserves dangerously low. The constant shield she'd maintained, the spellwork, the summons — too much, all at once. She was getting dizzy and faint now, her energy fading fast.

"Toying with them... what a mistake," she muttered, trying to force a laugh while clutching her side. "Should've finished them straightaway... too cocky..."

In the midst of her thoughts, a door materialized in the forest before her, blending seamlessly with the shadows. 

Without hesitation, Melara stepped toward it and slipped inside, disappearing as silently as she had arrived.