Philippa's lunge carried her inside the armored skitterer's reach before its barbs could fully descend.
She drove the knife upward with everything she had. The serrated blade caught the joint of its front limb and tore through with a wet, grinding crunch, severing the appendage halfway. The detached limb hit the ground with a heavy thud, dark ichor spraying in a wide arc that painted the pavement and her already blood-soaked clothes. The creature screamed — a high, rattling sound that ended in a wet gurgle as more fluid poured from the stump.
She didn't stop. Pain flared from her multiple wounds with every movement, but she pressed the attack, stabbing again into the exposed soft tissue beneath the armor. The knife sank deep with a juicy squelch, twisting through muscle and organs. Hot, foul-smelling blood gushed over her hands and arms, the metallic stench mixing with the rot of the creature's insides. She felt the blade scrape against something hard inside, then push through with a series of wet pops as tissue gave way.
The skitterer thrashed wildly. One remaining barb raked across her side, reopening the crack in her ribs. Fresh blood welled up instantly, soaking her torn shirt in a heavy, warm flood that ran down her torso and mixed with the ichor already covering her. The pain was sharp and nauseating, making her vision blur for a second, but she kept the knife buried until the creature's movements weakened.
Only then did she pull back, breathing ragged, knife dripping thick fluid. Her legs felt unsteady. Blood continued to trickle down her side and leg, warm and sticky, pooling in her shoes.
Sylcath was already there.
He didn't wait for the skitterer to die. Crimson energy flared around his hand as he stepped close — closer than he had been all night. Their shoulders nearly brushed. The creature's body jerked violently as he ripped a large chunk of essence straight from its core. There was a sickening, prolonged tearing sound, like wet leather being slowly peeled away from meat. Dark blood and strands of tissue trailed the glowing essence as it streamed into his palm. The skitterer collapsed in a final spasm, its opened body leaking heavily onto the ground in a spreading, steaming pool that smelled of bile and copper.
Sylcath absorbed the power with a slow breath. Then he turned to her fully.
The Echo Ripple hit him hard this time. Philippa watched his expression shift as the ghost of her sacrificed laughter, the hollow ache of lost memories, and the burning pain from her ribs and thigh all washed over him at once. His hand pressed against his own side instinctively. His jaw clenched, and for the first time the arrogant mask cracked visibly.
"You're making this personal," he said quietly, voice no longer carrying its usual mocking lightness. "Every time you carve out another piece of yourself, it leaks into me. Into everyone nearby. Do you even realize what you're doing, Philippa?"
She leaned against the wrecked car behind her, trying to steady her breathing. Blood kept flowing from the gash in her side, warm rivulets running down her skin and soaking into her waistband. She looked at him — really looked. The Force Wielder who had mocked her sacrifices from the first moment now stood covered in the same gore, his clothes stained dark, his usual confidence fractured by the ripples she kept sending out.
"I realize," she said, her voice coming out hoarse and tired. "But at least I'm choosing what I lose. You rip power out of dying things and pretend it costs you nothing. How many people have you watched bleed out tonight just so you could take their Gift? How many times have you stood there while someone screamed, waiting for the perfect moment to steal?"
Sylcath's eyes narrowed, but he didn't deny it. Instead, he took another step closer, closing the distance until she could smell the blood on him mixed with something sharper — ozone from his power. The proximity made the Echo Ripple stronger. She saw him flinch slightly as another wave of her pain and emptiness hit him.
"You think my way is worse?" he asked, tone low and intense, almost challenging. "At least I keep what I take. You're disappearing piece by piece. What happens when there's nothing left of you to protect that brother you're so desperate to reach? Or do you plan to sacrifice every memory, every feeling, until you're just an empty shell walking through this nightmare?"
The words hit harder than any barb from the monsters. Philippa pushed off the car, ignoring the fresh spike of pain in her ribs that made her breath hitch. She could feel the next sacrifice pressing against her mind — something even heavier this time, something that would leave a deeper scar. The hollow silence where her laughter had been made the thought feel even lonelier, like she was already fading.
Before she could offer it, another rift tore open nearby with a loud glassy crack, louder than the previous ones. A new threat pushed through — not another skitterer, but something larger and more disturbing. A hulking, humanoid-shaped Echo with elongated arms ending in hooked talons, its body glitching between realities like bad static. Its eyes glowed with stolen light, and it locked onto them immediately, drawn by the heavy scent of blood and the leaking ripples radiating from Philippa.
Philippa tightened her grip on the slippery knife, heart pounding harder. The hollow silence inside her chest felt louder now, pressing against her thoughts. Sylcath raised his hand again, crimson energy beginning to gather, but his gaze flicked back to her for a split second — a mix of irritation, reluctant concern, and something unspoken passing across his face.
The hulking Echo charged forward with a distorted, glitching roar, hooked talons raised high, as Philippa prepared her next desperate sacrifice and Sylcath stepped forward beside her, their shoulders almost brushing in the blood-soaked street. The tension between them crackled thicker than ever, the air heavy with unsaid words as the creature closed the distance fast