Feathers materialized around her, suspended in the air—each one a vivid, pulsing red. They cast a crimson glow that highlighted the deep orange hue of her hair, turning it into liquid fire against the backdrop of night.

  The old Phoenix god had appeared to her in the form of a man, claiming he had stopped time itself. He spoke with certainty—declaring she was the reincarnation of his long-lost wife, going on about mana signatures and noble sacrifices.

  What did he expect? That she’d swoon into his arms? He definitely hadn’t seen the punch coming. Old creep.

  She hadn’t gotten the reaction she expected. Instead of anger or sorrow, he simply laughed—a warm, nostalgic sound—and said she hadn’t changed a bit. Then, just like that, he vanished, as suddenly as he had arrived.

  Moments later, a system notification blinked into view.

  You have Received [Blessing of the Last Rainbow Phoenix]

  [Blessing of the Last Rainbow Phoenix]

  Description: One of only two Rainbow Phoenix ever born within the System, the last now stands alone—his mate long gone. He remains a sentinel of memory, guarding her legacy with unwavering resolve. His flames will consume any who dare threaten his sacred domain.

  Effect: While you hold this blessing you will gain [Phoenix Resonance- Passive- Divine]

  Skill Gained

  [Phoenix Resonance- Passive- Divine]: The Rainbow Phoenix’s legacy flows through your blood, enhancing all Phoenix-based abilities with the essence of memory and flame. This passive will make it easier to form and hold Phoenix-Based abilities, putting less mental strain on the user.

  Jean wasn’t one to turn down free power—especially when it proved useful.

  The red feathers danced around her in slow, deliberate arcs. She stood still, waiting. They were out there—somewhere. She had taken down one, but the rest still followed, lurking in the shadows, just beyond reach. Watching. Waiting.

  They had found her. Somehow, they’d regrouped with other inmates—four hardened, full-grown criminals hunting down a single girl. Bet they wished they'd brought more now.

  "Come on, I know you're out there," Jean called, taking cautious steps backward. Not that it mattered—nowhere was safe. They were waiting her out. The forest was too dark, too quiet. They could be behind any tree, in every shadow. For all she knew, she was already surrounded.

  She had to make a break for it. Jean thrust her hand forward, unleashing seven brilliant red feathers in a wide arc. It was a scatter shot—chaotic, desperate. Spray and pray.

  She didn’t stop to see if she’d hit anything—she just ran. A scream split the air behind her, raw and furious. She knew one of them was down, writhing on the ground as fire ate through flesh. But no kill notification came—unlike the one she’d seen when the man at the pond was consumed by the red flames.

  "I must have built some distance by now," she muttered, her voice strained, breath hitching with each word.

  The slash wasn't deep—just a glancing blow aimed low at her legs—but it was enough. She stumbled as agony tore through her muscles, a scream ripping from her throat.

  Jean expected another blow, but nothing came. Who ever had hit her had disappeared back into the darkness.

  "What, scared of one girl? Hit and run, big guys?" Jean growled, popping a health pill. The shallow wound began to reknit almost instantly—then split open again, raw and stinging. Her health bar climbed, but the injury refused to seal. The regeneration effect kept trying, but something was interfering.

  Poison. It had to be. They didn’t finish her off because they knew she’d bleed out on her own. Once the regeneration effect wore off, she’d be in real trouble.

  Jean formed more feathers and fired—just enough chaos to throw off their aim. She needed a distraction.

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  The moment she released, the feathers scattered, forcing her pursuers to drop and scramble for cover. Jean used the chaos, concealing the flame she conjured in her hand. Biting down on the collar of her robe, she pressed her palm to the wound. The pain was blinding, nearly enough to knock her out, but she gritted her teeth and held on.

  The wounds were sealed—cauterized by flame, burning away the poison. In a few moments, the health regen would take care of the rest. But her pursuers wouldn’t know that.

  She had to hope her theory was right—they wouldn’t strike again right away. They’d hang back, keep their distance, and wait for the poison to do its work. That hesitation could be her opening. It might give them false confidence—maybe even make them reckless.

  She rose unsteadily, launching another flurry of feathers as she staggered forward in a feigned stumble. She couldn’t afford to look fully healed—she had to sell the illusion. She needed to be the wounded prey.

  Then she hit a wall—literally. The cliff face loomed up before her, an unyielding wall of stone. A dead end. She was trapped.

  Back to the wall, she waited—eyes shut, breath shallow. The snap of branches, the rustle of foliage—closer now. They were coming to finish the job.

  "She’s so pretty. So young. Never had a redhead before. Think the boss would mind if I took a little fun first?" The skinny knife-wielder brushed a strand of hair from Jean’s face, his fingers lingering far too long. Jean had to fight the instinctive shiver, willing her skin not to crawl.

  Jean remembered the man from the prison. She knew she shouldn’t have, but she always glanced through the prisoners’ files when filling their meds. This one had been vile—convicted of drugging women, with twenty confirmed victims when they finally caught him. It looked like the System hadn’t fixed that part of him.

  But she would fix him. He’d gotten too close.

  Jean’s eyes snapped open. In an instant, the feathers flared to life—there was no missing at this range. Two red feathers shot forward, piercing his chest. The flames crawled hungrily over his leather, devouring it like dry leaves.

  He dropped the blade and screamed, thrashing on the ground, trying to smother the fire. But the red flames weren’t ordinary—they didn’t just burn. They clung, they consumed.

  She sent more.

  Three additional feathers struck with deadly precision. His screams rose to a crescendo before cutting off abruptly, swallowed by the roar of fire and the stench of burning flesh curling into the night air.

  The silence that followed was absolute. Then, the notification flickered into view:

  You have slain [Human level 3, Light Warrior level 6]

  This guy didn’t have a profession—just a leveled class. So where had the poison come from? Was it a class skill, or had he gotten it from somewhere else? Someone else?

  She rose to her feet as five men stepped into view. Had the others been hiding all this time? Only four had attacked her at the pond—and she’d already killed two of them.

  Jean attacked. Feathers streaked forward, but slammed into translucent barriers mid-air. Two figures had stepped into view: one in a white robe, the other in black, both raising their hands in unison, conjuring shimmering shields that absorbed every strike.

  This was it. Nothing left to fight with. All she could do now was stall... and hope for a miracle.

  "Seven of you? Really? All this for little old me? Good to see old habits die hard. Nothing like a good gang-up to make a girl feel special." Jean scanned the group, frowning. Something wasn’t right.

  Then she saw it—their eyes. Slightly glazed, unfocused. They looked distant. Out of it. Every last one of them wore the same vacant expression.

  "Boss says there's extra in it for us if we bring you back alive," rumbled a broad man clad in dull metal plate. He held a short sword and shield, his tone slow and spaced-out, like someone halfway between a high and a blackout. Eyes dull, smile vacant—he wasn’t fully there.

  Jean hesitated, a chill crawling down her spine. 'Boss'? Who the hell were they talking about?

  It couldn’t be... him. Her old manager?

  The System had grouped them together when they first arrived. He’d been chosen healer. But how had he gone from that to controlling people like this?

  She knew he’d been a kingpin—supplying drugs to half the inmate population before the System ever arrived. Everyone knew. But now, her thoughts turned to her own alchemy profession. Had he ended up with something like that too? Was he crafting poisons? Were these his creations?

  "What's that freak given you?" His voice was raspy, slurred. But Jean knew she wouldn’t get an answer—not from them. Whatever he’d done to them, it had stripped away more than just their will. Their thoughts were gone, burned out, hollow.

  The inmates moved in, blue barriers forming with every movement, they had her.

  Then came a thunderous bang—something slammed into the group, sending bodies hurtling in every direction.

  Jean shielded her eyes against the blast. She braced for the end—then the world exploded. And when the dust cleared, someone stood at the center.

  Who the hell…?

  A towering dark-skinned man stood at the center, his dreadlocks adorned with dark grey metal rings that clinked softly with each movement. He wore a dark blue tunic, the fabric stretched over broad shoulders and a calm unshakable presence.

  In one hand, he held a short-handled hammer, compact, yet thrumming with heavy potential. Scattered pieces of armor clung to him like remnants of a war well survived, practical, worn, and earned.

  But it was his boots that drew the eye—dark metal etched with intricate concentric circles, each one glowing with a vivid, electric blue light.

  Jean stared, wide-eyed. She didn’t know his name—but suddenly, she wasn’t alone.

  The blue light pulsed brighter—building, humming, rising to a crescendo—before erupting in a deafening Bang that split the night wide open.