Loa hovered above the marsh, wings stirring the mist as she watched Mina hold her ground against the Nekomata. Impressive—reckless, but impressive. Mina fought with the stubborn joy of someone who believed coordination was optional. Loa had tried, repeatedly, to signal a tighter formation between them. Mina hadn't so much as glanced up.

  Fine. If Mina wanted to wrestle a victory out of chaos, she was welcome to it. Loa had her own assignment: keep Whirlkool occupied and contained. Below, the river bulged. A smooth dome of water rose and broke, and Whirlkool surfaced with a low exhale, droplets sliding off her turtle-shell armor.

  "Difficult target…" the kappa muttered, eyes narrowing at Loa's barrier. She raised her water-gun cannon—barrel, scope, and all—yet Loa felt no real concern. Talisman seals and spectral feathers floated around her in a spiraling sphere, shifting gently with each breath she took. Whirlkool had already fired shells, pressurized blasts, and aquatic explosives; Loa's barrier hadn't buckled once.

  Whirlkool had been the premier artillery specialist back in DreaGoth, and Loa respected the reputation. She respected her own reputation even more. But pride could strangle a strategist quicker than any blow. Loa quieted her breath, narrowing her focus. They were stuck in a peculiar stalemate: each of them too well-equipped to block the other's best attacks, neither able to land a decisive strike.

  That changed when Whirlkool lifted a bazooka made of sculpted turtle shell, its grooves glowing faint sapphire. The weapon thumped, firing a compressed sphere of water high into the air. Loa lifted her hand. Psionic fire sparked in her eyes—

  The orb detonated against her barrier in a thunderous bloom. The silenced crowd shuddered despite themselves.

  The shield held, but the blow was the hardest yet. Talismans frayed at the edges; several feathers dissolved into static. Loa winced.

  Whirlkool clicked her tongue. "So if I raise the magnitude from six to eight… maybe I can finally crack that thing."

  Loa's feathers prickled despite her composed fa?ade. A six had nearly broken through. An eight—

  "Sorry, Loa," Whirlkool called, her lazy tone drifting like swamp fog. "Boss won't take a loss well. Gotta take you out. What a bother…" Loa hated that voice. The slow, bored drawl of someone who treated battle like a mild inconvenience—someone who still had strength to spare. Very well. Loa would choose the next tempo.

  "Magnitude six, yes," Loa murmured as her talismans tightened their orbit. "Then let me show you how meaningless numbers are without deception." A single feather slipped from its path. It drifted downward toward Whirlkool's reflection; not the kappa herself. The moment it touched the water, the reflection shivered, expanded—and a second Loa rose from the surface, wings unfurled, talismans blazing like ribbons of light.

  The illusion flickered subtly. Good. Real enough to target. Unreal enough to waste Whirlkool's time.

  Whirlkool locked onto it instantly. "Target acquired." The bazooka boomed. The water orb slammed into the decoy and obliterated it, a towering pillar of mist erupting from the impact.

  Loa smiled. "Bait." She dove through the rising fog. The crowd vanished behind a curtain of white. Inside, talismans circled her fingers as she stitched psionic lines through the damp air—thin threads of light forming a wide, delicate trap just above the water's skin. She waited. Whirlkool's voice floated upward. "Trickery… ugh. Always hated puzzle fights." A ripple pulsed through the water. Then silence as she dipped under. Predictable.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The sigils trembled, then finally made contact. Loa snapped her wrist. The trap collapsed inward, feathers and talismans flashing into a cage that clamped around Whirlkool the instant she broke the surface. "Caught you."

  The cage constricted, wringing water from her aura like a sponge. Whirlkool grunted, trying to load her cannon, but Loa ignited the sigils with dissonant energy—her Dominion of {Disrupt} unraveling Whirlkool's calculations. Static crawled into the kappa's thoughts; Loa could sense the ailment taking hold.

  "You—dirty fighter…!" Whirlkool snarled. Loa allowed herself one quiet laugh. Then the cage bulged.

  Water surged from Whirlkool's shell, pressure building with alarming speed. Loa gripped harder—too hard. Her magic stiffened, became brittle. "Not good. Overcorrection," she whispered. The explosion ripped the cage apart. Water exploded outward, tearing talismans to shreds, flinging Loa across the marsh. She slammed into a jagged stone, pain sparking through her ribs.

  The crowd roared as she struggled to breathe. Loa forced herself upright, blood trickling down her temple, wings trembling. Her talismans flickered weakly before reforming, orbiting with uneven rhythm.

  "You overextended," Whirlkool called, staggering free of the cage. She was battered—scuffed shell, bleeding knuckles—but somehow still wearing that maddeningly calm grin. "Strategists crack when they try to brawl."

  Loa spat into the mud. "And artillerists," she rasped, "crack when they assume the fog is only fog."

  Whirlkool blinked. Behind her, another Loa rose from the mist, kanji glowing across spectral feathers. Wrong target.

  The real Loa struck from the flank, a razor-sharp psionic feather slicing into the seam of Whirlkool's cannon. The weapon jolted. Pressure misaligned. The cannon bucked violently, shrieking as the internal flow ruptured. Whirlkool was thrown backward into the swampwater.

  Loa hovered, panting. "Rule one: never measure me in numbers. Rule two… never assume the strategist is where you last saw her." The crowd erupted—half awe, half fury. Annoyingly, Loa's ribs blazed with pain. Her wings wavered. Whirlkool could still recover—if she did, one good hit might break Loa completely.

  But she couldn't falter. Mina needed assistance. No. Mina wasn't coordinating at all. Loa pressed a talisman to her temple, sending her voice across the psychic tether.

  'Mina. Do not overextend. The Nekomata thrives on attrition. You cannot brute her down in a straight line.'

  Mina's laughter boomed back at her, warm and reckless. 'Yeah, yeah, strategist-bird. You handle your puddle-girl. I've got a cat to declaw.' Loa's jaw clenched. Mina wasn't listening at all—she was reveling in the fight. Across the marsh, Mina swung her kanabo in a vicious arc, shattering the Nekomata's second shell. Ceramic fragments sprayed across the swamp like shrapnel. The crowd howled with her. Mina turned, eyes wild.

  'I told you, Loa—just keep your fish busy! I'll break this doll apart piece by piece. Eight, seven, six—heh, I'll count 'em down for you!' Frustration spiked through Loa. Her talismans flickered—only for a heartbeat, but enough.

  Whirlkool seized the opening.

  The water orb fired from the cannon with a shriek. It crashed into Loa's half-formed barrier and hurled her back through the fog. Feathers burst into ragged spirals. Her ribs screamed. She barely kept from collapsing. How she scorned the pain—she always hated the sensation. 'Mina!'

  Again, Mina ignored her.

  Loa forced herself to stand, her eyes blazing despite the pain. "Very well, Mina," she whispered through clenched teeth. "Break yourself if you must. But when you stumble—when the swamp swallows you whole—I will still be here, piecing victory from the wreckage you leave behind."

  Her talismans spun faster, weaving a new net of illusions across the swamp. Whirlkool was circling for another shot, eyes sharp despite her wounds. Mina was dancing through chaos, deaf to guidance. Foolish.

  Loa steadied herself. Wings trembling. Magic burning. Fury sharpening her thoughts to a blade's edge. If her ally would not heed strategy… then Loa would force the battlefield itself to obey her.