The hulking Echo charged with a distorted roar that sounded like two voices layered over each other — one human, one monstrous.
Philippa braced herself, knife slick with blood and ichor. The creature's elongated arms swung down, hooked talons slicing through the air with a glitching shimmer. She dodged the first strike, but the second grazed her already injured shoulder, tearing a fresh gash. Hot blood sprayed from the wound in an arterial arc, splattering the cracked pavement and mixing with the pools already there. The pain burned like fire, making her arm go momentarily numb.
She countered desperately, stabbing upward into the Echo's torso. The blade sank in with a strange, resistant squelch — the flesh felt wrong, shifting between solid and insubstantial. Dark, oily blood that flickered with violet light poured out, burning where it touched her skin like acid. The stench was nauseating: burnt ozone mixed with rotting meat and something metallic-sweet.
The Echo screamed, its body glitching harder. One moment it was solid muscle and talon; the next, parts of it phased translucent, revealing writhing shadows inside. Philippa twisted the knife deeper, feeling the blade scrape against something that wasn't quite bone. More flickering blood gushed over her hands, the violet-tinged fluid hissing as it hit the ground.
Sylcath moved in sync with her for the first time.
He didn't hang back or mock. Crimson energy exploded from his palm as he slammed it against the Echo's side. The creature convulsed violently, its glitching body jerking as invisible force tore into it. There was a prolonged, wet ripping sound — like reality itself being shredded — as he ripped a large, glowing chunk of essence straight from its core. Strands of shadowy tissue and flickering blood trailed the essence, some of it phasing in and out of existence before dissolving into his hand.
The Echo staggered, one arm hanging limp, oily blood pouring from the fresh wound in heavy, glitching pulses that sometimes vanished mid-air only to reappear on the ground.
Philippa pulled her knife free with a grotesque sucking noise and immediately stabbed again, aiming for what looked like its throat. The blade tore through shifting flesh, releasing another spray of burning violet fluid that splattered across her chest and face. Some of it landed on her lips. The taste was bitter and electric, making her tongue go numb for a second.
She gasped, wiping it away frantically. "What the hell is this thing?"
Sylcath's breathing was heavier now, his usual composure cracking. "An Echo from a fractured world. Stronger than the small ones. It's pulling power from multiple realities at once." He glanced at her, eyes narrowing as another wave of her Echo Ripple hit him — the hollow silence, the burning pain from her wounds, the fading warmth of sacrificed memories. He winced visibly this time, pressing a hand to his chest.
The proximity was dangerous. Every ripple she leaked now transferred directly to him because he stood so close. She could see the toll it was taking — his movements were slightly slower, his jaw clenched against phantom pain that wasn't his.
"You're hurting me too, you know," he said through gritted teeth, voice low and rough. "Every sacrifice you make… it doesn't just leak. When I'm this close, it bleeds into me like it's mine. The emptiness. The pain. The things you're throwing away."
Philippa felt a flicker of guilt mixed with defiance. Blood continued to flow from her multiple wounds — shoulder, side, thigh, forearm — warm and relentless, making her clothes heavy and her grip slippery. "Then maybe you should stop standing so close," she shot back, but there was less bite in her voice than before. The forced teamwork was changing something between them, whether she liked it or not.
The Echo recovered faster than expected. Its remaining arm swung in a wide arc, talons hooking toward Philippa's midsection. She twisted away at the last moment, but the tip still caught her stomach, slicing a shallow but painful line across her abdomen. Fresh blood welled up immediately, soaking into her torn crop top and running down in warm streams.
Sylcath cursed and lunged forward, driving his crimson-powered hand straight into the Echo's chest. Another violent ripping sound filled the air as he tore out more essence. The creature howled, its body glitching wildly, parts of it fading in and out of existence. Oily violet blood sprayed in erratic bursts, some droplets vanishing before they hit the ground.
Philippa used the opening to stab again, driving the knife into the Echo's thigh. The blade sank deep with a wet crunch, twisting through shifting muscle. More burning blood poured out, hissing where it touched her skin.
The Echo was weakening, but it wasn't done. It reared back, both arms raised for a final, desperate strike, its glowing eyes locked on Philippa with unnatural focus. The air around it crackled with fractured energy.
Philippa prepared her next sacrifice — something even heavier this time, something that scared her to consider — as the creature brought its talons down in a blurring arc. Sylcath moved to intercept, crimson energy flaring brightly around his hands, their bodies close enough that their arms brushed in the chaos. The tension between them crackled like the rifts themselves — rivalry, resentment, and an unwilling connection all tangled together — as the Echo's strike descended and Philippa raised her knife to meet it, blood still flowing freely from her wounds, heart hammering with the weight of everything she was losing